Page 22 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

But first, caffeine. Because if I was going to deal with werewolves, territorial magic, and my mother’s increasingly suspicious behavior, I needed to be properly caffeinated.

“Just remember,” I told myself, pocketing the keys and following Eomma’s determined march toward the café’s entrance, “Kai dealt with all this while running on nothing but anxiety and spite. The least I can do is handle it with the help of overpriced coffee.”

The café was exactly as pretentious as I’d expected—all exposed brick and artisanal everything. The kind of place that probably charged extra for using words like “ethically sourced” and “artfully crafted.” At seven a.m., it was mostly empty except for…

I felt them before I really saw them. Three men who looked like they’d walked off a luxury fashion shoot, all blond and perfectly styled despite the ungodly hour.

One was built like an aristocrat—tall and sharp-featured, with platinum-blond hair and ice-blue eyes that should have looked cold but somehow burned.

He caught my eye and actually smirked, his whole bearing screaming old money and older power.

I hated him immediately. And I definitely wasn’t noticing how that smirk made something in my stomach flip.

“You’re in the way,” I said, because apparently my mouth had a death wish.

The smirk widened. “Am I?”

His voice was pure privilege, the kind that expected the world to rearrange itself for their convenience. His companions—brothers, they had to be, with those matching golden good looks —turned to watch our exchange like it was the most entertaining thing they’d seen all day.

One was built like a professional fighter, all controlled power barely contained in designer clothes. The other had a tech mogul vibe, younger and leaner but with the same dangerous grace. But it was Ice Eyes who held my attention, much to my annoyance.

“Yes,” I said sweetly. “Some of us actually have places to be.”

“How fascinating.” He stepped closer, and those impossible eyes seemed to see right through me. Warning bells exploded in my head—the same ones that went off whenever Eomma’s “special” clients visited her shop. “And where might you be heading in such a hurry?”

Eomma appeared at my side, her prayer beads clicking softly. She sized up the three brothers with a look I recognized from her shop—the one she used when sensing something not quite normal. “Luke,” she said, “get us table by window. Good sight lines.”

Ice Eyes’ gaze narrowed slightly at her words, like he was trying to place her accent or maybe her face. The youngest one’s attention shifted from me to Eomma, something calculating in his expression.

“Of course, Eomma,” I replied, noting how all three brothers tracked the exchange. Their interest seemed to sharpen at my lack of accent, probably trying to piece together the puzzle of a Korean woman and her clearly mixed-race son.

I steered Eomma toward a sunny corner booth, but not before catching the tech mogul type studying us with undisguised curiosity. The fighter’s eyes followed our movement with an intensity that made my skin prickle, and not entirely unpleasantly.

“Something’s off about them,” I said in Korean once we were seated, trying not to notice how the three men had taken a table with p erfect sight lines to ours. The way they moved was too coordinated, too predatory to be entirely human.

“Mmm,” Eomma hummed noncommittally, but her fingers were running over her prayer beads in that way they did when she sensed supernatural energy. “Very interesting family. Very… old presence.”

The waitress, a cheerful blonde with Amy written on her name tag, appeared with menus and coffee.

I ordered the biggest breakfast they had—something called the Lumberjack Special that promised enough calories to fuel an actual lumberjack.

Eomma spent five minutes photographing her French toast from various angles—“For kakao group chat!”—before adding extra whipped cream and fresh berries.

“Must document American breakfast,” she explained, adjusting the plate for optimal lighting. “Sister-in-law very jealous of travel photos.”

I focused on my mountain of eggs, bacon, and hash browns, trying not to notice how the three brothers seemed to take turns watching our table.

Ice Eyes maintained his aristocratic poise while somehow making coffee look like a power move.

The fighter demolished a stack of pancakes, his golden eyes occasionally meeting mine with unsettling intensity.

The tech mogul typed on his phone but kept glancing at Eomma’s prayer beads with poorly concealed fascination.

“Food good here,” Eomma announced, taking another photo of her perfectly arranged plate. “Though need proper Korean breakfast for strength. Good thing we packed kimchi.”

“Eomma,” I hissed, “we’re not breaking out the kimchi in a diner.”

“Why not? American breakfast need more?—”

The tech mogul chose that moment to approach our table, moving with that same predatory grace as his brothers. His smile was calculated to charm, but there was genuine curiosity in his eyes as he studied Eomma’s prayer beads .

“I couldn’t help but notice your… interesting accessories,” he said, his smile calculated to charm. “Are they religious in nature?”

“She’s not going to curse anyone for you,” I said before Eomma could answer. “At least not without a substantial deposit.”

His green-gold eyes snapped to mine, surprise melting into something far more dangerous. “Curses? I was merely asking about?—”

“The prayer beads, yes,” I cut in, enjoying how my interruptions seemed to both irritate and intrigue him.

“Which you noticed because you’re fascinated by religious artifacts, not because you’re hoping to find someone to hex your business competition or that ex who dumped you for your golf instructor. ”

Eomma kicked me under the table, but I caught her hiding a smile behind her teacup.

“I’m a shaman,” she told him cheerfully, as if I hadn’t just accused him of seeking supernatural revenge. “From Korea. Very expensive. Very effective. But no curses before nine a.m. Bad luck.”

Ice Eyes had materialized behind Tech Mogul, looking both amused and calculating. “A shaman? How… unexpected in our little town.”

“Just passing through,” I said, meeting his ice-blue stare. “Unless someone needs a particularly creative hex. Then we might be persuaded to stick around.”

“Luke,” Eomma scolded, but her eyes were twinkling. “Don’t tease potential clients.”

“My apologies,” Ice Eyes said smoothly. “Where are our manners? I’m Alexander. These are my brothers, James and Liam.” He gestured to the fighter, who’d joined them with the silent grace of a predator. “We have… interests in the area.”

“Fascinating,” I echoed his earlier tone. “Do you always interr ogate random tourists about their religious practices, or are we just special?”

The tech mogul’s laugh was surprised and genuine. The fighter’s lips twitched. But it was Ice Eyes’ slow, dangerous smile that made my pulse jump.

“Oh, I think you’re very special indeed,” he said softly.

“Right,” I drawled, even as something in my chest hummed at his words. “Because nothing says ‘special’ like harassing sleep-deprived travelers.”

“Sleep-deprived?” The fighter—James—spoke for the first time, his voice a rough purr that definitely didn’t do things to my insides. “Long drive?”

“The roads here are very… interesting,” Eomma said diplomatically, giving the brothers a look that made them shift slightly. “Many unexpected turns.”

“Ah, yes. The local geography can be quite… challenging for visitors.” Ice Eyes’ smile turned knowing. “Perhaps we could offer some guidance? There are several routes that?—”

“We’re good, thanks,” I cut in, noting how all three brothers seemed to lean in at my continued defiance. “I’m sure you have better things to do. I don’t know, posing for luxury watch ads or whatever it is you do when you’re not looming over strangers’ breakfast tables.”

The tech mogul—Liam—actually choked on a laugh. “He’s got you there, Xander.”

“Xander?” I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Alexander was too pretentious?”

“Says the one named Luke,” Ice Eyes shot back, but his eyes were dancing. “Short for Lucas, I assume?”

“Bold of you to assume anything about me.”

Eomma’s prayer beads clicked ominously as she reached for the syrup. “Food getting cold,” she announced cheerfully. “Unless young man looking to purchase curse after all?”

“Not today, Mrs.…?” Ice Eyes left the question hanging .

“Kim,” she supplied, then added with perfect innocence, “very good at revenge curses. Special discount for handsome young men. Even better discount if they let others eat breakfast in peace.”

The fighter’s sudden grin was all teeth. “Your mother’s quite protective.”

“You have no idea,” I said, just as Eomma added something under her breath in Korean that made my eyes widen. “Eomma!”

“What?” She blinked innocently. “Just saying nice young men should be careful what they hunt.”

The temperature in the café seemed to drop several degrees. The brothers exchanged loaded glances that set off every warning bell in my head.

“Hunt?” Ice Eyes’ voice was silk over steel. “What an interesting choice of words.”

“English not first language,” Eomma said, her accent suddenly thicker. “Sometimes use wrong word.”

But the way her fingers traced the prayer beads told a different story. The same way she traced them when warning “special” clients away from her shop’s more dangerous items.

“I’m sure,” Ice Eyes murmured, but his gaze was fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Not unpleasantly. Which was exactly the problem.

“Well, this has been sufficiently awkward,” I announced. “Thanks for the morning entertainment, but?—”

“Let me buy you another coffee,” the tech mogul cut in quickly. “Both of you. It’s the least we can do for interrupting your breakfast.”

“The least you could do is actually leave us to our breakfast,” I pointed out, but Eomma was already nodding.