All Chapters of The Biker Alpha Who Claimed Me Again: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Athena Power doesn’t fade after awakening. It settles. Like a second skeleton beneath my skin. The Sanctuary releases us at dawn, stone gates closing behind with the sound of something ancient going back to sleep but I don’t. I don’t sleep at all. I walk. I breathe. I listen. And everything sounds louder now. The crunch of snow beneath boots. The whisper of wolves shifting beneath human skin. The subtle hitch in Orion’s breath when he thinks no one’s watching. The way Maerith’s heartbeat never changes steady, calm, unreadable. I feel the land too. The mountains ache. They know something is wrong. We make camp just beyond the Sanctuary’s outer wards, a temporary perimeter formed by Razorback MC and pack wolves working side by side. Fires burn low, smoke drifting thin and pale into the frozen sky. No one speaks louder than necessary. Everyone feels it. The fracture. I sit near the fire, Tristan beside me, his arm a solid weight around my shoulders. He hasn’t

Athena The morning light doesn’t comfort me. It’s sharp and cold, slicing through the remnants of smoke and blood that linger over the northern battlefield. The Iron Fang’s attack was just the opening move. I can feel it in every nerve, every pull of the bond something bigger is coming, something they don’t want me to see. Tristan walks beside me, silent, golden eyes scanning the horizon. He moves like a predator, but his presence is a shield I can’t live without. The bond thrums between us, taut and alive, a constant reminder of what we are together: Alpha and Sovereign, mate and anchor, equal parts power and restraint. Orion rides ahead, scouts flanking him, reporting nothing but the quiet tension that settles over the forest. I can feel the air itself bracing for the storm we know is coming. “Something’s wrong,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. My wolf surges beneath my skin, anxious and impatient. The Sanctuary’s echo still lingers, a reminder that my awakening

The clubhouse was too quiet for a place built on noise.That was the first thing I noticed when I pushed the door open with my shoulder. No engines outside. No laughter spilling from the bar. Just the low hum of a single bulb flickering overhead and the smell of oil, leather, and something burned coffee left too long on the burner, maybe. Or nerves.Mine.I hadn’t planned to come back like this. No warning. No call. I told myself it was just unfinished business, that I needed answers, not him. But lies sound thinner when you say them in empty rooms.I felt him before I saw him.A presence like pressure. Like gravity shifting.“You’re late,” his voice said from the shadows.I stopped. Didn’t turn. Didn’t breathe right away either.“Still keeping time for me?” I asked, forcing lightness into my tone. It came out brittle.Boots moved. Slow. Measured. He didn’t rush. He never had to. By the time he stepped into the light, my pulse had already betrayed me.The biker alpha my mistake, my ad

The helmet settled over my head like an old promise familiar weight, familiar scent of leather and faint exhaust. I clipped the strap under my chin without hesitation this time. No trembling fingers. No second-guessing glance back at my car parked crooked in the lot.He swung a leg over the black Dyna first, the bike dipping slightly under his weight. The engine turned over with a low, throaty rumble that vibrated up through my boots. He didn’t look back to check if I was ready. He didn’t need to. For once, that felt right.I climbed on behind him, thighs bracketing his hips, hands finding the familiar rests at his sides instead of wrapping around his waist like before. Small choice. Big difference. He noticed I felt the slight shift in his shoulder but he said nothing. Just eased the clutch and rolled us out of the garage lot, gravel crunching under fat tires.The city peeled away fast. Streetlights gave way to darker stretches where sodium lamps thinned out and the night got serious

The first crack didn’t come from us. It came from the world around us, the part we never fully controlled no matter how deliberate we tried to be. I learned that on a Tuesday that felt too ordinary to matter get. gray sky, lukewarm coffee, my phone buzzing while I stood in line at a roadside café pretending my life was simple. I saw his name and didn’t answer right away. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I’d learned the difference between impulse and intention, and I needed one breath to choose which one I was following. When I picked up, his voice was tight. Focused. The kind of calm that came from holding something down by force. “Where are you?” he asked. “Outside town,” I said. “Why?” “Finish your coffee,” he replied. “Then go home. Lock your door.” That did it. My chest tightened. “What happened?” “Nothing yet,” he said. “But it might.” I hated that answer. Hated how familiar it sounded. “You don’t get to manage danger alone anymore,” I said. “We talked about that