Page 7 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

Mom’s warnings echoed in my head: Never let them examine you too closely. Never let them take blood samples. Never let them see the scar. For years, we’d avoided medical care unless absolutely necessary, and even then Mom would find ways to get us out before things got too thorough.

“Dr. White’s family has been our pack physicians for generations,” Marcus explained. “Her mother helped deliver me and my brothers. They’re one of the few shifter families who specialize in both human and supernatural medicine.”

“She’s the best,” Caleb added. “Especially with unique cases like yours.”

I touched my scar unconsciously. The last time I’d had a physical, the campus doctor had asked too many questions about my unusually high body temperature and rapid healing from a sprained ankle. I’d barely managed to convince her it was nothing before fleeing the student health center.

“Still a hard pass on the whole medical examination thing. I’m fine. Just a bit sore. Nothing a hot bath and some pain killer won’t fix.”

Derek snorted. “You can barely move.”

“I’m cultivating a new way of walking. Very avant-garde. Paris will love it.”

“Kai.” Marcus’ voice had that alpha tone that made my spine want to straighten automatically. “This isn’t negotiable. If you want to train, you need to be cleared by Dr. White first.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. They had me there. “Fine. But if she clears me, we start training immediately. No more protective alpha delays.”

Marcus’ lips twitched. “Agreed. Though I think you’ll find our training methods quite… thorough.”

The way he said ‘thorough’ made my mouth go dry. “Right. Good.”

“For now, you need to rest. Perhaps a hot shower would help with the soreness,” he said.

“I can walk to the bathroom myself,” I protested as Derek moved to help me up.

“Of course you can,” Caleb said soothingly, even as his hands supported my waist. “We’re just being helpful.”

“You’re being overprotective,” I corrected, but I let them assist me anyway because, honestly, everything hurt. Scout trailed behind us like a furry nursemaid while Shadow and Storm maintained their guard positions.

From the kitchen, Jorge and Maria’s bickering provided familiar background noise.

“Dios mío!” Jorge’s voice carried. “Maria, you cannot!”

“Watch me!” Maria shot back.

Anna appeared with fresh towels and what looked like clean clothes. “These might fit,” she said. “They’re from when Miguel was younger.”

In the en suite bathroom, I peeled off the borrowed silk pajamas, wincing as new bruises made themselves known. “Holy…” I twisted in front of the mirror, cataloging the damage. Purple and blue bloomed across my ribs, a particularly impressive bruise wrapped around my hip, and there was definitely something going on with my shoulder that explained why lifting my arm hurt.

But it was the scar that caught my attention. The strange triangular mark on my lower right side was practically humming, sending little tingles across my skin like static electricity.

“Stop that,” I muttered at it. “I’ve got enough weird supernatural stuff to deal with without you joining the party.”

The shower was heaven. I stayed under the spray until my muscles started to unknot, steadfastly ignoring both the bruises and the increasingly energetic scar.

Downstairs, I found Marcus in his study, phone pressed to his ear. “Yes, that would be perfect. Thank you, Kate.” He hung up and turned to me. “Dr. White can come by around four this afternoon.”

“Great,” I tried to sound enthusiastic. “Can’t wait to be poked and prodded by supernatural medical professionals.”

“She’s very good at what she does,” Marcus assured me. “Now, unfortunately, I have some meetings in town to handle.”

Derek was already by the door, dressed in tactical gear. “I need to coordinate with the security teams. After last night…” His jaw tightened. “We’re reinforcing territorial patrols.”

“I’ll be in my office,” Caleb added from his spot by the stairs, laptop tucked under one arm. “Running systems checks and updating security protocols.”

“You don’t have to babysit me,” I said, aiming for annoyed but probably landing closer to fond exasperation. “I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself without supernatural supervision.”

Caleb’s smile turned predatory. “Trust me, baby. If I was babysitting you, neither of us would be getting any work done.”

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