Page 1 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

C onsciousness returned like a sledgehammer to the face. Everything hurt. Even my eyelashes hurt, which I didn’t think was anatomically possible.

“Ugh,” I groaned into something warm and furry. “Did anyone get the license plate of that werewolf pack that ran me over?”

A wet nose pressed against my cheek in response.

I cracked open one eye to find Shadow’s massive head looming over me, his dark eyes somehow managing to look both concerned and amused.

Storm was sprawled across my legs like a weighted blanket made of muscle and fur, while Scout had apparently claimed the entire right side of the bed, leaving me a sliver of mattress that I was barely clinging to.

“So,” I said, scratching behind Shadow’s ears, “was the whole ‘my crushes are actually wolf shifters’ thing a dream, or did that actually happen?”

Scout’s tail thumped against the mattress in what felt suspiciously like confirmation.

“Great. Fantastic. Wonderful.” I tried to sit up, which was a mistake of epic proportions. Every muscle screamed in protest, and I flopped back with a whimper. “Oh God, everything hurts. Even my dignity hurts, and that’s been dead for years.”

Storm shifted his considerable weight off my legs, which was both a relief and a new kind of agony as blood flow returned to my lower extremities. Scout nuzzled my hand sympathetically while Shadow maintained his dignified watch from the pillow.

“Okay, team,” I announced to my furry audience.

“Phase one: bathroom. Should be simple. Just need to stand up and walk like a functioning human being. Or… wolf being? Whatever I am now.” I paused.

“Why are you all looking at me like that? Stop judging. I’d like to see you try walking after fighting off a wolf pack with a stick. ”

Getting vertical was an adventure in pain management and creative cursing. The dogs watched with varying degrees of concern as I shuffled toward the bathroom like a penguin with arthritis.

“I’m fine,” I insisted as Shadow tried to support my weight. “Just peachy. This is my new signature walk. Very fashionable in Paris this season.”

The bathroom mirror revealed exactly what I expected—I looked like I’d gone ten rounds with a supernatural fight club.

Which, technically, I had. My hair was a disaster zone, my borrowed silk pajamas were rumpled beyond salvation, and there were shadows under my eyes that suggested I’d been punched. Twice.

The journey back to the bedroom felt like crossing the Sahara Desert. On my hands and knees. Through quicksand.

I opened the door to find Caleb waiting, looking unfairly fresh and gorgeous in casual clothes.

“No,” I said immediately, recognizing the look in his eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

“You can barely walk,” he pointed out, already moving toward me .

“I’m practicing my zombie impression. Very method acting. Could win an award.”

Before I could protest further, he scooped me up. The dogs, the traitors, wagged their tails in approval.

“This is unnecessary,” I grumbled into his stupidly comfortable shoulder. “I am a strong, independent wolf being who doesn’t need carrying.”

“Of course,” Caleb agreed, his chest rumbling with suppressed laughter. “That’s why you were using the wall as a crutch.”

“The wall and I have a special relationship. Very supportive. Unlike some people.”

He started down the stairs, the dogs following like an honor guard. “I’m literally supporting you right now.”

“Details.” I waved dismissively, then winced as the movement reminded me of last night’s impromptu stick-fighting session. “Besides, what will the staff think?”

“They’ll think I’m taking care of my mate,” Caleb said, his voice dropping to that low, possessive tone that did things to my insides.

“Oh God, don’t start with the ‘mate’ thing before coffee. I need caffeine to process supernatural relationship labels.”

We entered the breakfast room to find Anna setting the table. Her eyes lit up like Christmas had come early as she took in the sight of Caleb carrying me.

“Good morning!” she chirped, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ll get fresh coffee right away!”

“Anna, it’s not what it—” I started, but she was already skipping toward the kitchen, humming what sounded suspiciously like a love song.

“Great,” I mumbled as Caleb settled me into a chair. “I’m now starring in the household’s favorite morning drama. The Young and the Werewolf . Coming to daytime television never. ”

The aroma of fresh bread wafted in as Maria bustled through the door, carrying a basket that smelled like heaven.

“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.”

“Very sweaty, extremely muscular peacocks,” I murmured into my coffee.

Jorge burst through the kitchen doors, brandishing a wooden spoon like a weapon. “Maria! What have you done to my kimchi? It’s supposed to be fermenting!”

“It was fermenting for two weeks! Any longer and it would have grown legs and walked away!”

“That’s the point! The flavor?—”

“The flavor is perfect now. I already used it in the breakfast fried rice.”

Jorge gasped like Maria had just confessed to a culinary crime. “Without telling me?”

“I’m telling you now,” Maria said sweetly, spooning a genero us portion onto my plate. “Try it, carino ,” she said to me. “Show Jorge how good it is.”

I took a bite, and oh God. “This is amazing,” I moaned around a mouthful of perfectly spiced rice. “Illegally good.”

Jorge’s outrage melted into preening pride faster than butter on hot toast. “Of course it is. My kimchi recipe?—”

“Our kimchi recipe,” Maria corrected.