Page 8 of Marked By Alphas 2: Claimed

My face heated. “Don’t you have some coding to do?”

“The dogs will stay with you,” Marcus cut in smoothly, adjusting his perfectly tailored suit. “And Maria and Jorge are here.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not actually five, you know. I can handle being alone for a few hours.”

“Of course,” Marcus said smoothly, but the look he gave the dogs was pure alpha command. Shadow immediately took up position by my feet while Storm and Scout flanked me.

“Really?” I gestured at my furry security detail. “This is unnecessary.”

“Humor us,” Marcus said, dropping a kiss on my forehead that made my knees weak. Derek and Caleb followed suit, and suddenly I was very grateful for the dogs’ support because apparently, three men’s kisses in quick succession were my absolute weakness.

After Marcus and Derek left, I collapsed onto the living room sofa, immediately surrounded by furry bodies. “They’re ridiculous,” I informed the dogs. “You know that, right?”

Shadow’s tail thumped against the floor in what felt like agreement.

“Here, cariño,” Maria said, handing me my battered phone. “One of Derek’s men found it in the woods this morning. It’s a bit… worse for wear, but it still works.”

My poor phone looked like it had gone through supernatural fightclub—which, technically, it had. The screen was spiderwebbed with cracks, the case scratched and dented, and there was definitely some forest floor ground into every crevice. But when I pressed the power button, it miraculously flickered to life.

I pulled up my messages, the screen protesting with every touch. Luke had been calling all morning—which was weird considering we’d just talked last night before my date. But Luke had always had an uncanny sense for trouble, like that time he’d called me seconds after I’d fallen down the stairs in our dorm.

He picked up on the first ring. “Something’s wrong.” Not a question. Just that eerie certainty that always made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though I should have known better than to try fooling Luke’s weird sixth sense. “Just had an… interesting night.”

“Interesting?” His voice had that sharp edge it got when his ‘feelings’ were acting up. “What happened after dinner? And don’t try lying—you know I’ll know.”

I scratched Scout’s ears, trying to figure out how to explain without explaining. “Let’s just say some people showed up who weren’t very friendly, and the brothers… dealt with it.”

“What people? What do you mean ‘dealt with it’? Kai, you’re scaring me.”

“I’m okay,” I assured him. “Really. Just… processing some stuff.”

“That’s it. I’m coming up there.”

“No!” I said too quickly. “No, please. Just… give me a few days? I promise I’ll explain everything soon. I just need to figure out some things first.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Luke said firmly. “You have twenty-four hours to ‘figure things out.’ Then I’m calling the police. And don’t think Eomma won’t drive up there herself—she’s already started a new batch of kimchi and is stress cooking every Korean dish she knows you love.”

Twenty-four hours to figure out how to explain supernatural mates and quarter-wolf genetics to my best friend. Perfect. “Deal.”

The morning passed in a hazy blur of painkillers, Maria’s fussing, and Jorge’s increasingly creative Spanish curses from the kitchen. Every muscle ached, but it was a different kind of pain than last night—more like I’d run a marathon while being hit by a truck, rather than actively being mauled by supernatural creatures.

“More tea, cariño?” Maria appeared for the fifth time in an hour, somehow managing to straighten pillows and tuck blankets around me while balancing a tea tray.

“I’m good,” I assured her, though she’d already set down another steaming cup of what smelled like ginger and honey. The dogs barely lifted their heads from their positions around the couch.

Anna flitted through occasionally, dusting things that probably hadn’t had time to collect dust since her last pass. The manor’s efficient routine continued around me—the quiet hum of the vacuum upstairs, the clinking of dishes from the kitchen, and the occasional burst of Spanish when Jorge and Maria disagreed about lunch preparations.

“No más(no more) gochujang!” Jorge’s voice carried. “This is paella, not Korean fusion!”

“It needs something,” Maria insisted. “Maybe if we?—”

“Touch my rice again and I quit!”

I smiled, settling deeper into my nest of blankets and pulling up YouTube on my phone. ‘Supernatural strength training’ probably wasn’t going to yield useful results, but maybe ‘extreme fitness transformation’ would give me somewhere to start.

“Planning your workout routine already?”

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