Bound To The Biker Alpha

CHAPTER FIVE

Dante

The whiskey in my glass burned like guilt.

I downed it anyway, the heat searing a trail down my throat, momentarily silencing the gnawing voice in my head that sounded too much like Talon.

She’s a threat, Dante.

I exhaled sharply and set the glass down on my desk, watching the amber liquid settle like calm over chaos. Every bone in my body vibrated with tension. Not from anger, or even fear—but from the kind of pressure only a mate bond could bring.

She’s here. She’s close.

And I couldn’t have her.

Not the way I wanted. Not the way I used to take what I wanted in this life.

The problem with fate? It doesn’t ask permission. It just slams into your soul like a thunderclap, and you either drown in it—or burn alive.

I chose to burn.

I left the office and made my way through the back hallway that led into the side of the bar. The music was low; only a few regulars hung around during the early hours. Zara gave me a quick glance from behind the bar, raising a brow like she wanted to grill me, but I gave her nothing and kept walking.

I needed air.

Outside, the evening was cool, the sky painted in steel-blue shadows and streaks of orange. The bikes lined the side of the bar like loyal sentinels, chrome gleaming under the fading light. My black Harley stood out—sleek, matte, and still covered in dust from yesterday’s patrol.

I straddled it but didn’t start the engine. I just sat there, the leather seat cold against my jeans, gripping the handle like it might anchor me.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

I’d just broken the heart of my fated mate. I told myself it was mercy, that I was protecting her. But I’d seen her face when I said it was just a fling. The way her shoulders dipped, the pain she refused to show but couldn’t fully hide. That image was going to haunt me longer than her scent ever would.

And still—I couldn’t undo it.

Letting her in would be like opening the door to every enemy I’d ever made. Elias. WHO. The Council. Blood would spill, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop it from being hers.

I heard boots crunching gravel behind me. I didn’t need to look to know it was Talon.

He leaned on the rail beside the bikes, not saying a word.

“Here to finish the lecture?” I muttered.

“No. Just making sure you haven’t taken off to put a bullet in someone’s head.”

I smirked. “Tempting.”

We stood in silence for a moment.

Then he said, “The patrol saw something strange near the southern woods.”

I turned toward him. “Define strange.”

“Rogue markings. Burned grass. Something smelled… off. Not pack. Not full-blood rogue, either.”

That got my attention.

“Human?”

He shook his head. “Worse. Tainted. Like they’ve been… altered.”

Modified wolves. The kind the Council sometimes used for dirty work—drugged, reconditioned, sometimes bonded with hunters through old magic. They were sloppy, violent, and rabid.

“How close?”

“Too close,” Talon said. “Another mile and they’d have crossed into the outer ring.”

I cursed under my breath. “I’ll run the border tonight.”

“I already sent Axel and Micah. We’ll rotate the guards in twos till morning.”

I nodded. At least Talon was still on my side—even if we didn’t see eye to eye on Shirley.

He gave me one last look, then added, “You should get some rest. You look like hell.”

“Don’t worry,” I said dryly. “I’ve been living there.”

He smirked and walked off.

I sat there a while longer before finally getting up and heading back inside. I had paperwork to check—order reports, payment records, and the weekly shipment from Crescent Supply that had been short two boxes. I needed a distraction, and the club always gave me one.

Inside, the bar was starting to fill up. Music thumped through the floor, beer flowed, and the scent of grilled meat and leather curled through the air.

I passed by the bar and noticed Shirley wasn’t there anymore. Zara caught my glance.

“She said she was taking a ten-minute break outside,” she said casually, pouring whiskey into two shot glasses.

I nodded, pretending I didn’t care. But my gut twisted anyway.

Ten minutes turned to fifteen.

I reviewed the inventory logs in my office but couldn’t focus. Her scent was still in the air—soft vanilla and something wild beneath it. My wolf growled low in my chest, anxious. On edge.

I told myself I wouldn’t check on her.

I told myself she was fine.

But then I heard it.

A scream.

High, sharp—and hers.

It sliced through the night like a knife through skin.

I was already moving before the sound even finished, vaulting over the bar’s front steps, claws pressing against the insides of my fingers, my blood rushing with violence.

My mate was in danger.

And whoever touched her was going to die screaming.

My feet slammed against gravel as I rounded the corner, vision already blurring at the edges with rage. The wolf in me surged forward, demanding blood, demanding vengeance. Her scent—panicked, sharp, tinged with salt—hit me like a damn freight train.

I followed it, sprinting past the dumpsters and toward the back lot where we kept the backup kegs. That’s when I saw her.

Shirley stood with her back against the wall, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide and full of something I hadn’t seen before—fear laced with confusion. Her fingers were clenched tightly around a broken bottle, aimed at a shape that was already limping away into the dark.

Blood. There was blood on the ground. Not hers.

She turned at the sound of my boots skidding to a stop.

“Dante…”

My wolf snarled in my chest, zeroing in on the scent trail of the attacker. It reeked of rot and silver. Not just rogue—engineered.

I moved toward her, slow and low, checking for wounds, barely holding back the instinct to shift.

“Did he touch you?” I growled, jaw tight.

She shook her head.

I didn’t believe her.

But I did believe someone was about to die tonight.