Page 13 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

T he thing about being quarter-wolf, apparently, was that you healed really fast. Suspiciously fast. Which explained a lot about my childhood “lucky escapes” but didn’t make the whole situation any less weird.

“More shepherd’s pie, pequeno?” Jorge appeared at my elbow with another heaping plate. “I’m trying this British comfort food thing.”

“I’m good,” I said, even as my stomach growled loud enough to make Scout’s ears perk up.

“Lies,” Caleb sang from across the kitchen island. “Your wolf needs fuel to heal. Eat.”

Right. My wolf. Because that was a thing now. Just casual lunch conversation about my newly discovered supernatural side.

The Stone brothers had been suspiciously chipper since their return, especially Derek, who’d come back from his morning “patrol” looking like the cat—or well, wolf—who’d got the cream.

Even his team had been grinning when they’d pulled up in their black SUVs.

Marcus had returned from his council meeting earlier wearing a similar satisfied expression .

I’d learned not to ask too many questions about these patrols or meetings. Mostly because Derek would get this gleam in his eye that made me want to hide behind Marcus. Not that I’d admit that. Ever.

“I’ve also made Yorkshire puddings,” Jorge announced proudly, though they looked more like Spanish churros gone wrong. “And speaking of British traditions, are we doing the churro again for the Cedar Grove Harvest Festival?”

“The what now?” I asked, even as I demolished the shepherd’s pie. Apparently, supernatural healing burned through calories like a furnace. Who knew?

“Cedar Grove’s biggest event of the year,” Maria explained, her eyes lighting up. “Three days of festivities under the harvest moon. The whole town participates.”

“The Stone family always hosts the main events,” Jorge added. “Though this year will be… interesting.” He shot a meaningful look at the brothers that I pretended not to notice.

“Because of the churro stall disaster last year?” Caleb asked innocently.

“That was your fault.” Maria pointed her wooden spoon at him. “You and those ridiculous fairy lights?—”

“They were traditional!”

“They were a fire hazard,” Marcus cut in smoothly. “This year, perhaps we could focus on more… conventional decorations.”

My phone buzzed with Luke’s eleventh text of the day. Tell your wolf boys we’re doing this call at seven p.m. sharp. Mom’s wearing her formal hanbok and everything. Also, I swear to God if they’ve been making you sleep in some creepy dungeon or whatever, I will find a way to ? —

I switched off the screen before the threats could get creative. Luke had been… adjusting to the whole supernatural revelation thing. Mostly by threatening bodily harm to three alpha werewolves who could bench-press a car .

“Your friend seems protective,” Marcus observed, definitely not reading over my shoulder because he was a proper alpha wolf with manners. Unlike some people—Caleb, I was looking at Caleb.

“Yeah, well, last time he saw me, I was human and normal. Now I’m apparently part wolf and living with three giant”—I gestured vaguely at their ridiculous muscles—“you know.”

“Devastatingly handsome alphas?” Caleb suggested.

“Territorial possessive wolves?” Derek added with a smirk that suggested his morning activities had involved more than just patrolling.

“Problems,” I finished. “Three giant problems.”

The brothers shared one of those looks that meant they were probably having a silent conversation about how adorable I was. I hated those looks. Mostly because they usually led to?—

“Aw, little mate,” Caleb cooed, right on cue. “You love us.”

I threw a Yorkshire pudding at his head. He caught it in his mouth because of course he did.

“Seven p.m.,” I announced, trying to sound firm. “Everyone will behave. No wolfing out, no territorial displays, no”—I pointed at Storm, Shadow, and Scout, who were giving me their best innocent puppy eyes—“and no trying to steal the show with your cute faces. I’m looking at you, Scout.”

The smallest of the three dogs actually pouted. These were supposedly fierce guard dogs. Right.

“We’ll be perfect gentlemen,” Marcus promised, which might have been more convincing if Derek wasn’t currently plotting something with Johnson via eyebrow signals through the kitchen window.

Jorge muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “I should make tteokbokki” as he disappeared into his experimental kitchen lair.

I had a feeling this video call was going to be… interesting.

After lunch, I spent the afternoon sprawled in the manor’s librar y, alternating between watching “Beginner’s Guide to Fitness” videos and reading ancient texts about werewolf history.

Totally normal research topics. The fitness videos were depressing enough—who actually enjoys burpees?

—but the werewolf texts were something else entirely.

The Comprehensive Guide to Pack Dynamics was basically a manual on how to be a proper wolf mate, complete with helpful illustrations that made me slam the book shut in public spaces.

First Pack Bloodlines read like a supernatural soap opera with more violence and mating rituals.

And Quarter-Wolf Physiology might as well have been written in ancient Greek for all I understood it.

At least the videos were straightforward, even if the peppy instructor’s “You can do it!” enthusiasm made me want to throw my phone across the room. I’d created a playlist called “How Not to Die During Derek’s Training” because apparently, that was my life now.

The brothers had been suspiciously scarce since lunch.

Marcus was “handling correspondence” in his study, which probably meant more supernatural politics I didn’t want to know about.

Derek had disappeared with his team again, though I’d caught snippets of phrases like “perimeter check” and “reinforced boundaries” that sounded ominously tactical.

And Caleb was supposedly helping Miguel with “grounds maintenance,” though the power tools I’d heard earlier seemed excessive for basic landscaping.

By six thirty, I’d learned exactly nothing useful about quarter-wolves but had somehow memorized twelve different types of push-ups I never wanted to try.

I’d also discovered that werewolves apparently had a thing for elaborate ceremonies, complex hierarchies, and marking everything—and everyone—as territory.

That last bit explained so much about the brothers’ behavior that I decided to stop reading before I found out anything else I couldn’t unknow.

Now I just had to survive a video call with my overprotective best friend and his ritual-ready mother while managing three alpha werewolves, their massive “dogs,” and whatever chaos Jorge and Maria had planned.

The universe was definitely laughing at me.

Then at precisely six fifty-five p.m., the manor erupted into what I could only describe as organized chaos.

Marcus was arranging everyone like he was staging a diplomatic summit.

Derek kept glaring at Johnson through the window because apparently, the security team needed to be “visible but not threatening” during the call.

And Caleb was trying to convince Scout that no, he couldn’t sit in my lap during a video chat.

“The lighting is all wrong,” Maria fretted, adjusting table lamps. “We want to look welcoming, not like a horror movie set.”

“We’re werewolves, not vampires,” Caleb said, still wrestling with Scout.

“Tell that to Marcus’ interior decorator,” I shot back, eyeing the gothic chandelier above us. “Pretty sure they were going for ‘brooding supernatural chic.’”

My phone buzzed. Luke had sent a photo of Imo in full ceremonial hanbok, complete with jade accessories and what looked suspiciously like ritual scrolls arranged behind her.

“Oh God,” I groaned, showing the brothers. “She’s got her protection bells out.”

“Her what?” Derek peered at the screen.

“Those little bronze bells can apparently banish evil spirits,” I explained. “Though I’m pretty sure they’re not rated for werewolves.”

“We’re not evil,” Caleb protested, finally giving up and letting Scout climb onto the couch. “We’re just?— ”

“Aggressively protective?” I suggested.

“Territorially invested,” Marcus offered diplomatically.

“Extra,” Maria concluded, making Jorge snort from somewhere behind us.

My laptop chimed with an incoming call. Everyone froze.

“Places!” Maria hissed like we were about to perform a Broadway show.

I clicked ‘Accept’ and immediately regretted every life choice that had led to this moment.

Imo Min-Seo’s face filled the screen, resplendent in deep-blue silk and enough jade jewelry to sink a small boat. Luke sat beside her, trying to look stern but clearly fighting a grin at whatever he saw on his screen.

“Kai-ya!” Imo’s voice rang with authority. “Are you eating well? You look thin. These wolves”—she rattled something that jingled ominously—“they are feeding you properly?”

“I think Jorge is trying to fatten me up for winter,” I assured her, as Jorge made an offended noise in the background.

“Good, good. And these alphas—” She squinted at the screen where the brothers were attempting to look harmless—key word: attempting. “They are… very large.”

Luke lost his battle with composure. “Mom, they can hear you.”

“Of course they can hear me. Wolf hearing.” She shook a bell at the screen. “You! Big one in the middle!”

Marcus, to his credit, managed not to laugh. “Yes, ma’am?”

“You are the oldest? The leader?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Imo narrowed her eyes. “My Kai is very small.”

“Mom!” Luke choked.

“He is! Look at them—” She gestured at the screen. “Like trees! My Kai is a flower. A very small flower.”

“A precious flower,” Caleb agreed solemnly, earning himself my elbow in his ribs .

“And you!” Imo pointed at Derek. “Why do you look so pleased with yourself?”

Derek’s smug expression faltered slightly. “Ma’am?”

“Like cat with cream. Or wolf with…” She frowned. “What do wolves eat?”

“Apparently shepherd’s pie,” I said.