Page 27 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

“They were traditional!”

“They were a fire hazard,” Marcus cut in smoothly. “This year, perhaps we could focus on more… conventional decorations.”

My phone buzzed with Luke’s eleventh text of the day.Tell your wolf boys we’re doing this call at seven p.m. sharp. Mom’s wearing her formal hanbok and everything. Also, I swear to God if they’ve been making you sleep in some creepy dungeon or whatever, I will find a way to?—

I switched off the screen before the threats could get creative. Luke had been… adjusting to the whole supernatural revelation thing. Mostly by threatening bodily harm to three alpha werewolves who could bench-press a car.

“Your friend seems protective,” Marcus observed, definitely not reading over my shoulder because he was a proper alpha wolf with manners. Unlike some people—Caleb, I was looking at Caleb.

“Yeah, well, last time he saw me, I was human and normal. Now I’m apparently part wolf and living with three giant”—I gestured vaguely at their ridiculous muscles—“you know.”

“Devastatingly handsome alphas?” Caleb suggested.

“Territorial possessive wolves?” Derek added with a smirk that suggested his morning activities had involved more than just patrolling.

“Problems,” I finished. “Three giant problems.”

The brothers shared one of those looks that meant they were probably having a silent conversation about how adorable I was. I hated those looks. Mostly because they usually led to?—

“Aw, little mate,” Caleb cooed, right on cue. “You love us.”

I threw a Yorkshire pudding at his head. He caught it in his mouth because of course he did.

“Seven p.m.,” I announced, trying to sound firm. “Everyone will behave. No wolfing out, no territorial displays, no”—I pointed at Storm, Shadow, and Scout, who were giving me their best innocent puppy eyes—“and no trying to steal the show with your cute faces. I’m looking at you, Scout.”

The smallest of the three dogs actually pouted. These were supposedly fierce guard dogs. Right.

“We’ll be perfect gentlemen,” Marcus promised, which might have been more convincing if Derek wasn’t currently plotting something with Johnson via eyebrow signals through the kitchen window.

Jorge muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I should make tteokbokki” as he disappeared into his experimental kitchen lair.

I had a feeling this video call was going to be… interesting.

After lunch, I spent the afternoon sprawled in the manor’s library, alternating between watching “Beginner’s Guide to Fitness” videos and reading ancient texts about werewolf history. Totally normal research topics. The fitness videos were depressing enough—who actually enjoys burpees?—but the werewolf texts were something else entirely.

The Comprehensive Guide to Pack Dynamicswas basically a manual on how to be a proper wolf mate, complete with helpful illustrations that made me slam the book shut in public spaces.First Pack Bloodlinesread like a supernatural soap opera with more violence and mating rituals. AndQuarter-Wolf Physiologymight as well have been written in ancient Greek for all I understood it.

At least the videos were straightforward, even if the peppy instructor’s “You can do it!” enthusiasm made me want to throw my phone across the room. I’d created a playlist called “How Not to Die During Derek’s Training” because apparently, that was my life now.

The brothers had been suspiciously scarce since lunch. Marcus was “handling correspondence” in his study, which probably meant more supernatural politics I didn’t want to know about. Derek had disappeared with his team again, though I’d caught snippets of phrases like “perimeter check” and “reinforced boundaries” that sounded ominously tactical. And Caleb was supposedly helping Miguel with “grounds maintenance,” though the power tools I’d heard earlier seemed excessive for basic landscaping.

By six thirty, I’d learned exactly nothing useful about quarter-wolves but had somehow memorized twelve different types of push-ups I never wanted to try. I’d also discovered that werewolves apparently had a thing for elaborate ceremonies, complex hierarchies, and marking everything—and everyone—as territory.

That last bit explained so much about the brothers’ behavior that Idecided to stop reading before I found out anything else I couldn’t unknow.

Now I just had to survive a video call with my overprotective best friend and his ritual-ready mother while managing three alpha werewolves, their massive “dogs,” and whatever chaos Jorge and Maria had planned.

The universe was definitely laughing at me.

Then at precisely six fifty-five p.m., the manor erupted into what I could only describe as organized chaos.

Marcus was arranging everyone like he was staging a diplomatic summit. Derek kept glaring at Johnson through the window because apparently, the security team needed to be “visible but not threatening” during the call. And Caleb was trying to convince Scout that no, he couldn’t sit in my lap during a video chat.

“The lighting is all wrong,” Maria fretted, adjusting table lamps. “We want to look welcoming, not like a horror movie set.”

“We’re werewolves, not vampires,” Caleb said, still wrestling with Scout.

“Tell that to Marcus’ interior decorator,” I shot back, eyeing the gothic chandelier above us. “Pretty sure they were going for ‘brooding supernatural chic.’”

---