My Alphas Are Bikers

Chapter 5: Too late, brother

—Nitasha’s POV—

The door exploded inward, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.

Zane froze.

We both knew who it was before we turned.

Enzo.

He stood in the doorway like something feral, something unleashed—hoodie half-zipped, fists clenched, his chest rising and falling in sharp, controlled bursts. But it wasn’t exhaustion that had him breathing like that. It was restraint. And his eyes—f**k—his eyes burned with a fury so cold it turned the air to ice.

“Touch her again,” he said, voice a blade wrapped in velvet, “and I’ll rip your goddamn hands off.”

Zane didn’t flinch. Didn’t even move. Just turned his head slowly, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth—the same hand that had been on me—his grin a razor’s edge.

“Too late, brother.”

I ran—not because I feared what Enzo would do to Zane. I didn’t need to stay to know it would be merciless. I ran because I didn’t trust myself. Not anymore. Not after the way I kissed him back. The way I craved it. The way my blood surged like something ancient was waking, grinning with teeth.

The gym doors slammed behind me like a final curtain, cutting off their snarling voices, slicing the air like the end of a play I never auditioned for. The cold night struck my face, wind and rain pummeling my skin—pain without hands. I ran into the alley behind the arena, feet sliding on wet ground, breath crashing in my chest.

It felt like fleeing a fire I’d lit myself. I didn’t know where I was going—only that I had to run. From the war I’d sparked like a match. From Enzo’s fury. From Zane’s flames. From the version of myself I no longer recognized.

What am I doing, for God’s sake? Two days. Two Alphas.

Two kisses—unplanned, far from innocent—but I didn’t regret them. That was the most terrifying part. I should have. I should’ve felt shame. Guilt. But instead, it felt like I’d kissed something mine. Their stares still pressed against my skin like fingerprints.

One scarred me with fire. The other challenged him for it.

And me? I was splintering in places I didn’t know existed. I hadn’t come to Ashbourne for this. Not for them. Not for glances that turned to accusations, or a world with blood in its bones and wolves in its breath. I came to disappear. To rebuild so quietly the world wouldn’t notice.

But they saw me. And the worst part? Some fractured, hidden part of me wanted to be seen. Wanted to belong—even if it killed me.

The rain turned to a downpour—cold, heavy, and indifferent. It soaked through my hoodie, clung to my leggings, plastered my hair to my cheeks. Still, I ran. Past the dorms, the student center. Up the slope behind the east side of campus, where the woods pressed close and the overlook waited—high, breathless, raw.

I stopped there. Chest heaving. Arms limp. The wind shrieked like something in pain. Below, Ashbourne’s lights flickered through the storm—streetlamps, dorm windows, a gold haze behind silver rain. It looked distant. Unreal. Like a memory I wasn’t sure was mine anymore.

Salt touched my lips. It took me too long to realize it wasn’t the rain.

I was crying. I pressed my fists to my eyes, like I could shove the feeling back in. The shame. The need. The aching pull I couldn’t make sense of. I wanted to scream. But I didn’t—because a voice split the wind instead.

“Don’t drown in it.”

It wasn’t loud. A whisper—still and careful, like it didn’t want to scare me off. Like mist in your ear, a sound you doubt until it settles. I turned—

Lucien stood beneath a twisted oak, its black branches clawing the sky like bones. His hood was up, rain threading down. His shape was half-shadow, nearly ghostlike in the dark. But his eyes… his eyes were there. And for some reason, I wasn't surprised.

"You following me?" I asked, voice cracked and bitter. I wiped my face, furious at how much I was shaking.

He shook his head once. “No. I just know this is where I come when I need to scream without making a sound.”

“That’s... oddly poetic,” I muttered—sarcasm, my shield against the sting in my chest.

He leaned in slightly, lips curled. “So are you.”

A shaky half-laugh escaped me. “You don’t even know me.”

His boots were silent on the wet grass as he stepped closer—slow, careful, like I might vanish. “Don’t need to,” he said softly. “Some souls just… recognize each other.”

The wind punched the silence between us. Still, he didn’t look away. Neither did I.

Lucien didn’t burn like Enzo or strike like Zane. He lingered. A hum instead of a scream. A presence that asked nothing, but made the air feel heavier. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel. But I felt something.

He stepped beside me, shoulder brushing mine so lightly it might’ve been imagined, eyes on the storm-lit campus. The space between us wasn’t empty. It was full—of things we didn’t have words for.

“Why are you like this?” I asked, surprised the words came out at all.

He didn’t move. Just let the question hang in the rain.

“The others—they’re loud. Taloned. But you.” I faltered.

He gave a low, bitter laugh. “I’m the one who cracked first.”

Rain blurred my vision as I blinked. “What happened?”

He was silent for a long time. Then slowly pushed his hood back.

That’s when I saw them—the scars. Pale, fine lines along his jaw, climbing his neck like ghost vines. Subtle, nearly invisible. But once seen, they were everywhere. And too fresh to be forgotten.

“I tried to leave the pack once,” he said, voice raw. “Thought if I ran far enough, I could outrun what was in my blood.”

My chest tightened. “They came after you?”

He looked at me. And it hurt. The pain in his eyes wasn’t new.

"No," he said. "I did."

It took a moment for the weight of it to hit. When it did, I felt it in my throat. In my chest. In every part of me that had ever thought of disappearing without warning.

I said nothing. I just stepped closer.

"I've run too," I whispered. "From things I don’t say aloud."

His eyes searched mine—and I saw it: understanding. Shared pain. The same wound, still bleeding beneath the surface. He reached for me, unsure. Our palms met halfway. And then—he kissed me. Not like Enzo. Not like Zane.

Lucien kissed me like he didn’t think he should. Like it might undo him. His lips trembled—soft despite the cold, hesitant despite the need. It wasn't a demand. It was a question. And I answered.

My hands found his chest, felt the tremor in his ribs. His fingers circled my waist like it was the only place they could land. I leaned into him—not to forget someone else, but because this felt different. This wasn’t craving. It was healing.

We kissed beneath the storm, as if trying to survive it. And for a moment—we did.

But he pulled back, soaked and breathless. I pressed my forehead to his.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded—small, fragile. "I am now."

I wanted to believe him. But the sky split with a sound that wasn't thunder. The ground stayed still, but something inside me didn’t. And deep in the woods—too far to see, too close to ignore—something moved.

"So you're cursed... just like us," he said, eyes locked to mine.