Page 55 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

Luke nodded. “Yeah, but it wasn’t that bad?—”

“It was that bad. I saw the gash. But the next day it was just… gone. I thought that was normal because, well, the same thing happened to me all the time. But now…”

I watched Luke’s eyes widen slightly, something uncertain flickering across his face. Before either of us could pursue that particular revelation, Scout bounded into the room and launched himself at me, nearly knocking me off my perch.

“Yes, hello, you attention-seeking missile.” I laughed, scratching behind his ears. “Did Maria send you to check on us?”

“So,” Luke said after a moment, clearly deciding to tackle one supernatural crisis at a time, “about these brothers. You said they’re your… mates?”

“Apparently.” I focused on Scout’s fur, avoiding Luke’s eyes. “It’s a wolf shifter thing. Like… supernatural marriage? But more intense? I’m still figuring it out myself.”

“So what you’re telling me is you somehow acquired three supernatural husbands who live in a Gothic mansion in the middle of nowhere and own designer towels.”

“When you put it that way, it sounds ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous!” Luke threw his hands up. “This is?—”

A loud chanting echoed up from downstairs, followed by what sounded suspiciously like bells.

“Oh no,” Luke groaned. “Eomma found something that needs cleansing.”

“We should probably?—”

“Yeah.” Luke sighed, standing. “Before she decides to sage the entire west wing. Derek seems like the type to get twitchy about people messing with his weapons room.”

As we headed downstairs, Scout trotting behind us, I couldn’t help but wonder about Luke’s healing. But that was definitely a crisis for another day. Right now, we had to stop Imo from accidentally exorcising any helpful ancestral spirits—or worse, reorganizing Jorge’s kitchen in the name of better energy flow.

Chapter 12

Lunch had been amazing, as always, but watching Jorge and Imo debate the proper ratio of gochugaru to salt in kimchi while Maria took detailed notes was a special kind of entertainment. I’m pretty sure Jorge was already planning a Korean-Spanish fusion menu, if the gleam in his eye was anything to go by.

“Ready?” Caleb asked, dangling his car keys. His eyes kept drifting to the garden where Imo was setting up what looked like a portable shrine, complete with bells, incense, and enough ritual items to stock a small spiritual boutique.

“Is that a traditional Korean drum?” he asked, watching Imo arrange colorful silk scarves around a wooden structure.

“Buk,” Luke supplied. “Though usually there’s more?—”

“YAH!” Imo’s voice rang out as she spun in a circle, bells jingling. “Bad energy, OUT! Good energy, IN!”

Maria and Jorge, seated on the garden bench with expressions of fascinated respect, applauded. Shadow and Storm sat at attention nearby, their heads tilted in perfect synchronization as they watched Imo dance.

“Should we…” Caleb started.

“Nope,” Luke and I said together.

“But she’s?—”

“Trust me,” Luke said, steering us toward Caleb’s SUV, “once Mom starts a cleansing ceremony, you don’t interrupt. Last time someone did, they ended up with blessed salt in places blessed salt should never go.”

As if to prove his point, Imo’s chanting grew louder, punctuated by the rhythmic beating of the drum. I caught glimpses of her spinning through the garden, silk scarves flowing, as she paused at various points to ring bells and wave what looked suspiciously like a bundle of sage.

“Aigo!” she exclaimed, pointing dramatically at a particularly ancient oak tree. “Very stubborn spirit here! Need more bells!”

Maria leaned forward, completely engrossed. Jorge was taking notes.

“Should we tell her that tree is older than the manor?” I whispered to Caleb as we climbed into his SUV.

“Definitely not.” He grinned, starting the engine. “I want to see Marcus’ face when he finds out the pack’s sacred oak has been spiritually realigned.”

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