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“Stop being so dramatic, Jorge!” Maria called over her shoulder, her Spanish accent thick with exasperation. “The saffron will survive!”

“That saffron is from Valencia!” Jorge’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “It’s sacred! You can’t just?—”

“Sacred is my abuela’s recipe, which needs that saffron!”

“Your abuela never made Korean food!”

“She would have if she’d known how good it is!”

Caleb settled me into a chair with the kind of gentle care usually reserved for priceless antiques or extremely tipsy grandmothers. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he dropped a kiss on my forehead and ruffled my already catastrophic bedhead.

My treacherous heart forgot how basic cardiac rhythm worked, and I swear my face heated up so fast I probably looked like a tomato having an identity crisis. Seriously, how was I supposed to maintain any dignity when he did things like that?

Scout immediately claimed my lap as his new pillow, while Shadow and Storm took up protective positions on either side of my chair. The whole setup felt disturbingly domestic, like some picture-perfect family scene from a magazine—just with added supernatural creatures and way more sexual tension than your average breakfast table.

Anna practically floated back in with coffee, her eyes sparkling with barely contained glee. She looked like she was watching her favorite television drama unfold live.

Caleb sat beside me, his arm casually draped across the back of my chair. His fingers found the nape of my neck, drawing lazy patterns that made me want to purr like a cat. Or wolf.

“So,” I managed, trying to focus despite Caleb’s very distracting fingers, “does everyone in the house know about the whole…” I waggled my fingers in what I hoped was a wolflike gesture.

“The whole what?” Caleb teased. “The fact that we turn into giant wolves? That you’re our mate? That you fought off a rival pack with a stick like some kind of supernatural Jackie Chan?”

“Oh God, don’t remind me. I still can’t believe I?—”

The words died in my throat as Derek and Marcus walked in. Shirtless. Sweaty. Looking like they’d just stepped out of some high-end fitness magazine’s “Supernatural Hotties” spread.

Coffee sprayed from my mouth in a spectacular fountain.

“Really?” Caleb groaned, grabbing a napkin. “You two couldn’t put on shirts?”

Derek grinned, all rippling muscles and morning stubble as he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Sleep well, little mate?”

“I…”Don’t stare at the abs. Don’t stare at the abs.“Slept like a dead log. Woke up feeling like roadkill. You know, typical morning after fighting supernatural creatures with garden implements.”

Marcus frowned, his own impressive torso glistening in ways that should be illegal before noon. “Perhaps we should have Dr. White examine you?—”

“No!” I squeaked, then cleared my throat. “No doctors. I’m fine. Just… sore. And confused. Very confused. Like, what exactly am I? What are you? I mean, obviously wolf shifters, but…” I gestured vaguely at their general existence. “And my mom? She knew about all this? And what happened in the past? With me? With you? With?—”

“Breathe, little one,” Marcus said softly, and I realized I’d been rapid-firing questions like an anxiety-powered machine gun.

“Sorry,” I said, absently scratching Scout’s ears. “It’s just… a lot. And you two being all…” I waved at their state of undress. “…distracting isn’t helping.”

Derek’s grin widened. “Distracting, huh?”

“Go put on shirts,” Caleb ordered, his fingers tightening possessively on my neck. “We can’t have a serious conversation while Kai’s brain is short-circuiting.”

“My brain is not—” I started to protest, but then Marcus stretched, and whatever I was going to say evaporated like morning dew.

“Shirts,” Caleb insisted. “Now. Before Kai drowns himself in coffee.”

“Fine,” Derek rumbled, looking far too pleased with the effect he was having on me. “But only because our little mate needs to eat without choking.”

“I’m not going to—” Another stretch, this time from Derek. “Okay, yes, please go. For the sake of my dignity and Jorge’s tablecloth.”

The brothers exchanged looks that were way too smug for my peace of mind before heading upstairs, their movements deliberately slow and predatory. Show-offs.

“Those boys,” Maria tutted as she loaded my plate with fresh bread and what looked like enough eggs to feed a small army. “Always strutting around like peacocks.”