Falling For My Amnesiac Biker Alpha

Jenna’s POV

There's a man bleeding in my bathtub.

Not just any man.

Caesar Greywood!!

The rules at Creedmoor College are simple: follow them without question, stay invisible, and above all—never, ever cross Alpha Caesar Greywood.

I've built my entire college existence around these principles, constructing a careful routine that keeps me safe, unnoticed, and blissfully disconnected from the chaos that seems to follow the campus elite.

Until tonight, I'd never broken a single rule.

It was a Tuesday like any other. Classes ended at 3 PM, then I headed to the animal shelter where I volunteer. The work is predictable and comforting—animals don't judge, don't demand anything except food and affection. By 7 PM, I'm usually packing up, ready to head home.

The other volunteers had already left for their dorms when I heard the clock chime. I grabbed my bag and keys, exhaustion settling into my bones as I walked toward the entrance. The clinic was eerily quiet, just the hum of the old refrigerator and my footsteps echoing against the tile.

I'd just inserted the key into the lock when every hair on my body stood on end.

Someone was behind me.

The realization didn't come from sound or sight—it was something more primal, the way prey knows when a predator is near. The air itself felt different, charged with a threat I couldn't name.

My hand froze on the key. My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat.

"Don't turn around just yet, sweetheart." The voice was smooth, almost pleasant. That somehow made it worse.

I turned around anyway, because what else could I do?

He stood well over six feet, all corded muscle beneath a black shirt that looked painted on. Dark hair fell across a face that might've been handsome if not for the coldness in his eyes—the kind of empty, calculating look that said he'd done terrible things and lost sleep over none of them. When he smiled, it didn't reach those dead eyes.

"W-who are you?" The words came out broken, my teeth chattering despite the warm evening air.

"Just a friendly neighbor." His smile widened, revealing perfect white teeth. "Looking for someone."

He moved closer, deliberately invading my space in a way that made my stomach clench. When he reached out and touched my cheek, his fingers were ice cold.

"I think you might know where he is."

"I don't—I don't know what you're talking about." My voice barely qualified as a whisper.

"No?" He pulled out his phone with his free hand, never breaking eye contact. "Take a look."

The photo on the screen showed a young man—handsome, dark-haired, with striking features and an arrogant tilt to his chin. Even in the picture, he looked dangerous. My heart stuttered because I did recognize him, though not from any personal encounter.

Everyone at Creedmoor knew Caesar Greywood.

"You know him." It wasn't a question. The stranger was watching me too carefully, reading every micro-expression on my face.

Think, Jenna. Think.

"No, I don't." The lie slipped out smoother than I expected, and I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Why would I?"

Something flickered in his expression—doubt, maybe, or annoyance. He studied me for a long moment, and I could feel sweat beading at my hairline despite the cool air.

"Interesting." He pulled a white business card from his pocket and pressed it into my palm. His grip lingered, just long enough to make me uncomfortable. "If that changes, you call me. Immediately. Understand?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Good girl." He patted my cheek, the gesture patronizing and possessive, then he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the darkness.

I stood frozen for a full minute after he left, my hand still clutching the card hard enough to crumple it. Then my survival instincts kicked in and I fumbled with the lock, threw myself into my car, and drove home going twenty over the speed limit.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, my hands had stopped shaking. Barely.

I practically ran from the car to the front door, my keys jangling as I unlocked it. The house was dark—Rachel and Enid must be out partying again. Typical. I didn't bother calling out to them as I made a beeline for my room, my mind still spinning with that encounter.

Who was that man? Why was he looking for Caesar Greywood? And more importantly, why did he think I would know anything about him?

I peeled off my jacket and collapsed onto my bed, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. The stranger's face kept flashing through my mind, along with that photo of Caesar.

Thud.

I froze.

The sound had come from downstairs. Heavy and deliberate.

"Rachel?" I called out, my voice thin in the empty house.

"Enid?" I called out again but I was only met with silence.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I reached under my bed for the bat I kept there. Mom always said I was paranoid for keeping it, but right now I was grateful for my paranoia.

I crept downstairs, the bat raised, my palms slick with sweat. The living room was empty, shadows pooling in the corners. No sign of my roommates.

"Who's there?" I called out, then immediately felt stupid. Like an intruder would announce themselves.

Nothing. No response, no more sounds.

I was being ridiculous. It was probably just the neighbor's door slamming. Still, I checked the locks on all the doors and windows before heading back upstairs, the bat still clutched in my hand.

My room was exactly as I'd left it. Safe and normal.

I tossed the bat aside and started stripping off my clothes, desperate for a shower to wash away the grime of the day and the lingering feeling of that stranger's fingers on my skin. By the time I was down to my underwear, I was already feeling steadier.

I pushed open the bathroom door and flicked on the light.

A piercing scream escaped from my lungs at the sight in front of me.

There was a man in my bathtub, slumped and motionless, his white shirt soaked through with blood.

For a moment, my mind simply refused to process what I was seeing. This couldn't be real. This was shock, or exhaustion, or maybe I'd fallen asleep downstairs and this was just a nightmare—

"Help..." The word came out as barely a whisper, broken and desperate. "Please... help me."

He lifted his head, and even through the blood and pain contorting his features, I recognized him instantly.

Caesar Greywood.

The man from the photo. The most dangerous person on campus. Alpha of the most powerful pack. The one person I'd spent three years successfully avoiding.

He was in my bathtub, bleeding out, begging me for help.

"Who the hell are you?!" I screamed, even though I knew exactly who he was.

"Please..." Blood bubbled at his lips, spilling down his chin. His eyes were unfocused, glazed with pain. "Please don't... don't let him find me."

Him. The stranger.

My mind raced, medical training warring with common sense and self-preservation. I should call the police. I should run. I should do literally anything except what I was about to do.

But then he coughed, more blood spattering across the white porcelain, and something in me snapped into action.

"Shit. Okay. Okay." I rushed forward, my hands hovering over him, trying to assess the damage. "Where are you hurt?"

He tried to answer but only managed a weak gesture toward his side. I helped him sit up, peeling away his ruined shirt with shaking hands. The wound underneath was deep—a stab wound, maybe, or a slash from something sharp. He needed a professional.

But if I took him to a hospital, people would ask questions. That stranger would find him. And something told me Caesar ending up in that man's hands would be very, very bad.

"This is insane," I muttered, but I was already moving, already making the decision I knew I'd regret. "Stay here. Don't move and Don't die."

I ran downstairs and grabbed my first aid kit—the industrial-sized one I kept because Rachel and Enid were disasters on two legs. My hands moved on autopilot as I gathered supplies: disinfectant, sutures, gauze, bandages.

When I returned, Caesar had slumped further into the tub, his breathing shallow and ragged. No time for second thoughts now.

I worked quickly, cleaning the wound, stitching it closed with hands that steadied as I fell into the familiar rhythm of medical procedures. He barely flinched, either too far gone to feel it or too stubborn to show pain. Probably both.

By the time I finished bandaging him up, my bathroom looked like a crime scene and I was covered in his blood. Caesar was unconscious, his face pale but his breathing more stable.

I managed to half-drag, half-carry him to my bed, maneuvering his considerable weight with difficulty. He collapsed onto the mattress with a low groan but didn't wake.

For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at him. At Caesar Greywood. In my bed. Bleeding and vulnerable and completely at my mercy.

What the hell had I just done?

My phone buzzed, making me jump. Roger's name flashed on the screen.

I almost didn't answer. Almost let it go to voicemail. But Roger was my best friend, and if anyone could help me figure out this mess—

No. I couldn't tell him. Couldn't involve him in whatever this was.

How could I explain that I'd lied to a dangerous stranger and then helped the man he was hunting?

I grabbed some clothes from my dresser and went to clean up in the downstairs bathroom, scrubbing Caesar's blood from under my fingernails and trying not to think about what I'd done.

When I returned to my room, he was exactly as I'd left him—unconscious, breathing steadily, looking almost peaceful despite the bandages.

I perched on the edge of my desk chair, too wired to sleep, watching him and trying to make sense of the night. Who was the stranger? Why was he after Caesar? And how the hell had Caesar ended up in my bathtub of all places?

That's when I noticed it—the business card from the stranger, still crumpled in my jacket pocket. I pulled it out, smoothing it against my thigh.

No name. Just a phone number in black ink.

I was about to set it aside when Caesar stirred.

My heart leapt into my throat as his eyes fluttered open—dark, intense, and suddenly very alert. His hand shot out with surprising speed, his fingers wrapping around my wrist in an iron grip.

"You..." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, but there was something dark in it. Something that made my blood run cold.

His eyes bored into mine, fever-bright and full of something dangerous, before they rolled back and he lost consciousness again.

I sat frozen, his fingers still wrapped around my wrist, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.

What had I done?

And what was Caesar Greywood going to do to me when he woke up?