Page 53 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

“I’m sure we can handle spicy food,” Derek said, looking mildly offended. Poor, sweet, delusional Derek. He had no idea what he was getting into. Imo’s “mild” kimchi could strip paint.

Luke and I shared a knowing look. “Your funeral,” he said, and I had to bite back a laugh. The mighty alpha wolves were about to meet their match in fermented cabbage form.

“Come, come. You must be tired from the drive,” Maria said warmly from behind me.

Before anyone could move, I finally broke free of my frozen state and practically tackled Luke in a hug. After weeks of only phone calls and texts, after that intense conversation where I’d dropped the whole “surprise, I’m part werewolf” bomb, having him here felt like a piece of home clicking back into place.

“Missed you too, disaster,” Luke muttered, hugging back just as tight.

We eventually pulled apart, and Luke gave me his patented ‘we’ll talk about this mess later’ look that I’d seen way too often during college. Some things never changed, even when everything else had.

“Oh no,” I whispered as Imo headed toward the kitchen, already pulling out more containers. “Jorge’s kitchen is about to be reorganized, isn’t it?”

“Let’s move to the living room,” Maria suggested smoothly, heading off any potential kitchen invasion. “Much more comfortable there, and we can have coffee while everything gets settled.”

The living room, with its wall of windows overlooking the gardens, quickly filled with the controlled chaos of family gathering. Anna arranged fresh pastries on vintage plates while Jorge brought out coffee in delicate cups. Imo immediately began adding her own contributions—sweet red bean buns,hotteok, and what looked like three different types of rice cakes.

“These are beautiful,” Anna exclaimed, examining the intricate patterns on the rice cakes. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Family recipe.” Imo nodded approvingly at Anna’s careful handling. “Very good for protection. Also delicious with coffee.”

The dogs stationed themselves strategically around the room, employing their most pitiful expressions. Scout, the most shameless, rested his chin on Luke’s knee.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned as Luke’s hand twitched toward a pastry. “They’ve already had breakfast. Jorge will kill us if we spoil their appetite before lunch.”

“Speaking of lunch,” Maria interjected smoothly, “Jorge is planning something special. But for dinner…” She glanced at the impressive array of Korean ingredients still being unloaded. “Perhaps a combination?”

I watched the scene unfold with a mix of amusement and relief. Here was my chosen family meeting my… well, whatever the brothers were—mates? boyfriends? alpha overlords with control issues?—and somehow the world hadn’t imploded. Yet.

“Korean BBQ, actually,” Luke chimed in with a grin that was definitely too smug for someone who’d just survived a road trip with a shamanic GPS. “That’s why we brought all the hanwoo beef Halmeoni insisted on sending with us. It’s got a shelf life, and apparently, it’s criminal to let it go to waste.”

I could practically see the brothers’ ears perk up at the mention of meat—well, more than usual. Their attention was sharper than Scout’s focus on a dropped crumb. It was kind of adorable how three powerful alpha wolves could be reduced to eager puppies at the mention of premium beef. Not that I’d ever say that out loud. I liked living.

Imo nodded, pulling out more containers with a flourish. “Got all the sides and wraps for it—ssamjang,kimchi,kongnamul muchim,oisobagi,myeolchi bokkeum, and fresh lettuce and perilla leaves. Everything you need for a proper feast.” Her voice held the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious ceremonies.

The dogs’ behavior was killing me. I’d seen them take down training dummies twice their size, yet here they were, executing perfect “starving orphan” impressions. The cognitive dissonance between “fierce pack guardians” and “shameless beggars” was giving me whiplash. They sat up straighter, eyes wide and tongues lolling out like they understood every word. It was almost as if they were imagining the spread of food. Then again, they probably were; I wouldn’t put it past them at this point.

“Sounds amazing,” Caleb said, looking as eager as the dogs. “We’re definitely looking forward to it.”

Marcus nodded in agreement, his gaze flicking between the ingredients being unpacked and Imo herself. “It’ll be a welcome change to our usual fare.”

Derek just grunted an affirmative, but his eyes betrayed his anticipation—like a kid promised candy if he could sit still through dinner.

The conversation shifted smoothly from culinary plans to curiosity about Imo’s shop in Seattle. Jorge leaned forward, genuine interest lighting up his features. “I’ve always admired traditional practices,” he said. “What sort of items do you sell?”

Imo brightened at the question and dug into her bag for her phone. “Many things,” she began as she swiped through photos. “Medicinal herbs mostly—ginseng,goji berries,danggui. Also charms for protection and good health.” She flipped through images of shelves lined with jars filled with mysterious roots and dried plants.

Watching Jorge and Imo interact was like seeing two master craftsmen recognize each other’s art. The way they discussed traditional practices and healing properties made me wonder if maybe this whole supernatural revelation wasn’t as earth-shattering to them as I’d thought. Then again, Imo did keep dried mugwort hanging from her shop ceiling “for emergencies,” so maybe I shouldn’t be surprised.

Maria peered over her shoulder at the screen, nodding appreciatively at each photo. “And these?” She pointed to an array of colorful talismans hanging from the ceiling of Imo’s shop.

“Ah, those are for warding off evil spirits,” Imo explained with a tone that suggested this was common knowledge—like explaining milk went well with cookies.

The brothers listened intently, fascination clear in their expressions. It wasn’t every day you got to chat with someone who wielded spiritual might like some people wielded kitchen knives.

I watched in amusement as Scout’s puppy eyes reached new levels of pathetic, his gaze locked on the array of sweets with an intensity usually reserved for squirrels in the garden.

“Those eyes should be classified as a lethal weapon,” Luke said, trying to resist.

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