Fated and Claimed by Four Alphas

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~Spring's POV~

Wide, asphalt-black, curved like a serpent in motion, with lanes that stretched around what looked like a custom-built racing circuit.

Dim but vibrant lights glowed along the edges. A few bikes were parked nearby. They were matte and metallic, clearly not for beginners.

A handful of people milled around—helmeted racers, a couple of mechanics, and some standing along the sidelines. Everyone looked like they belonged in some underground racing movie.

"What is this place?" I asked as Tyrion turned off the engine and slid his helmet off.

He turned to me, dark hair tousled by the ride, eyes sparkling. "My second home."

I raised a brow. "You brought me to a racing ring?"

"I told you I'd show you something better than chemistry," he said, grinning. "This is the side of me you don't see in class. No uniforms. No rules. Just speed and instincts."

I rolled my eyes, knowing sometimes the heirs did not wear their school uniforms.

I pulled off my helmet slowly, trying not to smile but I failed. "So, this is your idea of a date?"

"Not just a date," he said, stepping off the bike and offering me his hand again. "An experience."

I looked at his hand, then up at the track. The lights, the growl of distant engines, the subtle scent of oil and adrenaline in the air.

Everything screamed out danger, thrill, and excitement!

It was nothing like I expected. And yet… somehow, it felt like exactly what I needed.

I took Tyrion's hand and stepped into his world. The second my boots touched the pavement, I felt it, energy, vibration and rhythm.

This wasn't just a racing track—it was a pulse—a world with its own language and heartbeat.

Tyrion led me forward, weaving past the matte-finished beasts of bikes and low murmurs of nearby racers.

His hand was warm in mine, and his thumb brushed my knuckles in a way that said 'I'm glad you're here.'

"What kind of races happen here?" I asked, noting the thick rubber scorch marks that marred parts of the track.

"Street-legal customs only," he said. "One-lap drifts. Ten-lap sprints. Time trials. Depends on the night." His voice held a note of pride. "Tonight's the Mirage Loop."

"The what now?"

He pointed at the winding part of the track that curved into a near-impossible S-shape.

"Mirage Loop. Short, sharp, deadly. One-on-one races, three brackets. Whoever clocks the best lap time at the end gets the pot."

My eyes widened. "And you're racing in that?"

Tyrion gave me a slow, confident grin. "Always."

I barely had time to absorb that before three girls—tight leathers, flawless hair, and fake lashes that could swipe flies out of the air—approached from the side.

The tall and platinum blonde one curled her glossed lips into a grin when she saw Tyrion.

"Well, well," she drawled. "Ty Babe finally shows up. We thought you got bored with winning."

Another girl with bubblegum-pink streaks in her braids looped her arm through his. "You racing tonight, Ty?"

Tyrion didn't flinch. "You know I never miss a Mirage."

"Oh, we know we just thought…" the last bimbo looking soul, a brown haired girl with puppy evilish eyes, began only to stop mid-sentence.

That's when their eyes—three pairs, sharp as knives—landed on me.

Pink braids frowned. "You brought someone?"

"She's new," Tyrion said easily, releasing her arm and stepping back beside me. "Meet my girl. Spring."

I blinked. My… what?

"Your—" Blondie's tone dropped. "Huh. Cute."

The third one with an evilish puppy eyes no-nonsense stare—gave me a slow once-over. "She doesn't even have a racing badge. You sure she belongs here?"

I smiled sweetly. "I didn't know I needed permission to stand beside someone who actually wins."

Tyrion's jaw twitched, holding back laughter. Blondie's fake smile cracked.

"You got fire," she said flatly and narrowed her eyes.

"I get it from people trying to burn me," I replied, then turned to Tyrion. "Can we watch from somewhere nice, or are we stuck with the plastics?"

Tyrion grinned outright this time and placed a hand on the small of my back. "Come on. You'll get the VIP spot."

As he guided me up toward a metal-railed platform that overlooked the entire track, I heard Blondie mutter, "She'll cry the second he crashes."

I didn't even look back. But Tyrion did.

"I never knew you plotted my demise." She swallowed like a child being caught eating all the cookies. Then Tyrion gave a charming smile.

"You sure you girls want to watch me from the finish line… or from second place again?" he said smoothly.

Oof. The silence that followed tasted better than chocolate.

Once we reached the platform, Tyrion pulled off his jacket and handed it to me.

"It gets chilly when the wind kicks up," he said.

"You're smooth, you know that?" I muttered, slipping it on.

"Only when I ride."

I scoffed softly. Cheesy boy. "I still have my uniform."

"You left your jacket in school. You're just in a sleeveless sweater, honey."

Tyrion winked and turned to walk toward the lineup of bikes being wheeled into place.

The announcer's voice crackled through the speakers.

"Racers to the pits. Time trials begin in two minutes!"

I sat on the rail, jacket oversized on me, heart beating just a little faster as Tyrion mounted his bike—a sleek obsidian machine with deep violet accents.

"She's called Nyx," he'd told me earlier. "She runs better than any girl I've ever known."

I shook my head, just recalling the cheesy line he used earlier.

And when the engine roared to life, a deep, predatory growl that vibrated in my bones.

He glanced once over his shoulder and caught my eye. I gave him a thumbs-up then blew him a kiss, and he smirked, winking at me.

With his helmet on, engine snarling, Tyrion shot forward with the other racers to take his place on the starting line.

I watched the girl from earlier bite her nail bitterly from the edge of the pit.

And all I could think was: He's mine. Eat your lashes, Barbie.

The lights overhead blinked from red… to yellow… to green.

"GO!" The audience roared in yells and laughter.

And then they were off.