Page 74 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

The commotion drew Anna from the living room, where she’d been arranging flowers. Her dusting cloth dropped to the floor as she spotted me.

“Is that…?” Her voice rose to a pitch that probably shattered windows in the next county.

“Kai,” Caleb confirmed, looking far too amused for someone whose mate was experiencing a supernatural catastrophe. “First shift.”

“He’s so TINY!” Anna squealed, abandoning all pretense of professionalism to rush over. “Look at his little paws! And those markings! He’s like a baby fox!”

And just like that, I was surrounded by humans treating me like the world’s most exotic puppy. Maria was speaking rapid Spanish that I couldn’t follow, while Anna looked like she might actually combust from the effort of not squeezing me.

“I must tell Jorge!” Maria declared, already hurrying toward the kitchen. “He will prepare special meal for wolf-form shifting!”

The dogs, apparently sensing the excitement, came bounding in from wherever they’d been lurking. Three massive canine faces suddenly appeared at eye level, sniffing curiously at the new addition to their pack. Shadow gave a low whine before tentatively licking my face.

Ugh. Dog slobber. I tried to growl in protest, but it came out as a pathetic yip that only encouraged the others. Soon I was being thoroughly “cleaned” by three enthusiastic tongues while the brothers laughed.

“They’re welcoming you to the pack,” Derek explained, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t drowning in canine saliva.

“Alright, enough,” Marcus finally intervened, lifting me higher. “He’s had a long day.”

The kitchen door swung open, Jorge emerging with a wooden spoon in hand, his eyes widening at the sight of me. “Dios mío! Is that our Kai?” He broke into a wide grin. “Our little wolf has found his paws!”

He immediately turned back toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “I will prepare special protein-rich meal for shifting recovery! Maria, we need the venison from freezer!”

“Venison?” I wanted to protest. “I was thinking more along the lines of a burger and fries. Maybe a milkshake to drown my sorrows about being stuck as a pocket-sized canine.”

But Jorge was already gone, and I was left with the dawning realization that my entire household routine was about to be rearranged around my furry predicament.

Marcus carried me to the living room, settling onto the couch with me still cradled in his arms. The position should have been embarrassing—I was literally being held like a baby—but there was something soothing about being surrounded by his scent and warmth.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmured, seeming to sense my distress. His fingers gently stroked through my fur, finding spots behind my ears that made my back leg twitch involuntarily. “Your body just needs time to adjust to the shift.”

I whimpered, trying to convey my frustration.

“I know,” Marcus soothed, pulling me closer until I was tucked under his chin. “I know it’s scary.”

His heartbeat was steady against my small body, his scent wrapping around me like a security blanket. Despite my panic, I melted into his embrace, a pathetic whine escaping my throat.

“Shhh,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “We’ve got you, little mate. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Caleb settled beside us, his hand joining Marcus’ in stroking my fur. “Look at it this way—now you can finally experience what it’s like to be properly small. Maybe you’ll appreciate our perspective on your usual height.”

I growled, but there was no heat in it. It was hard to maintain proper indignation when being petted in all the right places.

Derek stood nearby, his expression softening as he watched. “We should call Dr. White. She might have insights about quarter-wolf shifting patterns.”

“Already texted her,” Caleb said. “She’s coming by tomorrow morning.”

Great. Another person to witness my humiliation. At this rate, I’d need therapy for my therapy.

And dinner that evening? It turned out to be a special kind of hell.

“He sits at table like family,” Maria declared, stacking books on a chair until they formed a makeshift booster seat. I was placed atop this literary throne, my nose barely clearing the edge of the table.

Jorge had outdone himself, preparing what looked like a gourmet version of dog food alongside the regular human dinner. “Special blend of proteins and nutrients,” he explained proudly, setting a shallow bowl in front of me. “For optimal shifting recovery.”

I stared at the bowl, then at the forks everyone else was using, then back at the bowl. The message was clear: lap it up, wolf-boy.

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