Page 28 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

“Everything was great until Luke’s photos hit social media,” she said.

“Min-seo said you looked too thin; Maria agreed but said she’d been working on it, and then Min-seo said ‘clearly not working hard enough’ and…

” She made a gesture that somehow conveyed both explosion and despair. “It’s been downhill since then.”

The manor’s back terrace—usually a magazine-worthy dream of natural stone and trailing vines—had transformed into what I can only describe as Celebrity Chef meets Battle Royale .

The pizza oven blazed on one side like some ancient Italian deity, Jorge presiding over it with the intensity of a man guarding state secrets.

On the other side, Imo had established what looked like a small Korean restaurant’s worth of banchan.

I counted at least fifteen different side dishes, which meant she was actually holding back.

“Aigoo!” Imo spotted me with the heat-seeking precision of a missile defense system. “Kai-ya! Come, come! Too skinny in photos. These wolves not feeding you properly!”

Maria materialized from somewhere—probably the same dimension where she stored her endless supply of food and judgment—wielding a plate of fresh focaccia like a shield. “He’s been eating very well. Jorge’s nutrition plan is perfectly balanced.”

“Balanced for what? Bird?” Imo scoffed, though her eyes sparkl ed with the kind of competitive spirit usually reserved for professional sports. “Growing boy needs meat! Protein!”

“I’m twenty-two,” I pointed out, which was apparently the wrong thing to say because both women whirled on me with identical expressions of maternal outrage.

“Still growing!” they declared in perfect unison, then looked startled at their agreement before immediately returning to their standoff.

The outdoor dining area should have been peaceful, with its elegant pergola and subtle lighting.

Instead, it had become ground zero for what I could only describe as extreme competitive feeding.

My three wolves watched with poorly concealed amusement as I was herded to the head of the table like some prized show pony.

“Sit, sit,” Imo commanded, already preparing a ssam with the precision of a surgeon. The lettuce wrap was a work of art—perfectly grilled meat, garlic, and ssamjang with a precise amount of kimchi arranged in what was probably the golden ratio of Korean cuisine. “Open.”

“I can feed my?—”

Too late. The wrap was in my mouth, Imo beaming like she’d just won gold in the Maternal Olympics. The brothers’ eyes gleamed with something between amusement and jealousy, probably because feeding me was usually their job. Though they typically used less forceful methods. Usually.

“Delicious, no?” Imo was already constructing another architectural masterpiece of lettuce and meat. “Now another?—”

“Try this first,” Maria swooped in with what looked like the world’s most perfect pizza bite.

Luke, the traitor, was recording everything for social media posterity. “This is better than premium streaming,” he whispered, angling for a better shot of Imo’s increasingly elaborate lettuce wraps .

“I hope you choke on your content,” I muttered between force-fed bites.

“Both excellent cooks,” Jorge offered diplomatically from his pizza station, probably trying to prevent an international culinary incident. “Though perhaps we should let Kai feed himself?”

The twin looks of maternal outrage could have curdled milk.

“Need meat on bones!”

“More substance for winter!”

“Look how thin!”

“Growing boy!”

My wolves had been relegated to hovering around the table with their wineglasses, displaced from their usual positions by the dueling maternal forces.

They seemed more amused than put out by the situation, the traitors.

Marcus caught my eye and raised his glass in a silent toast to my predicament, while Derek and Caleb didn’t even try to hide their grins.

“Having fun?” I asked Marcus dryly as Imo prepared what looked like an architectural masterpiece of lettuce and beef.

“Immensely,” he murmured. “Though I admit, I’m a bit jealous. Usually feeding you is our job.”

“I heard that!” Imo brandished her tongs like a weapon. “You three, big strong alphas but look at him! Too skinny!”

“We’ve been working on it,” Derek defended, though his lips twitched suspiciously.

“Work harder!” Imo declared.

The dogs, proving that evolution had given them superior survival instincts, had positioned themselves strategically around the table. Scout, Shadow, and Storm’s heads moved between Jorge’s pizza station and Imo’s Korean BBQ setup like they were watching the world’s most delicious tennis match.

“No feeding dogs from table!” Imo scolded as Scout deployed his secret weapon—the puppy eyes that could probably end wars. Then, when she thought no one was looking, she droppe d a piece of bulgogi that Scout caught with ninja-like precision.

“I saw that,” Maria said primly, then proceeded to “accidentally” drop a piece of perfectly cooked hanwoo beef that Storm gracefully intercepted.

The outdoor dining area was chaos incarnate—a perfect blend of Korean BBQ and Jorge’s artisanal pizzas, with three tactical wolves executing complex food-catching maneuvers underneath.

Jorge had taken his place at the table, eagerly learning how to properly wrap a ssam from Imo while Anna tried not to laugh at his intense concentration.

“No, no,” Imo corrected, reaching over to adjust his lettuce-to-meat ratio. “Like this. Must be perfect balance!”

“Got it,” Jorge nodded seriously. “It’s like building the perfect pizza—each component has to work together.”

“The boy needs more meat,” Maria declared, her Spanish accent thickening with concern as she eyed my plate. “Not eating enough, mi amor .”

“That’s what I say!” Imo agreed enthusiastically. “Need feeding!”

Luke, still documenting everything from his prime position across the table, paused between bites of his perfectly constructed ssam. “The roads around here are crazy,” he commented. “And Blackwood Heights is weird. Like walking into a freezer full of old money and judgment.”

I felt more than saw the subtle shift in atmosphere. The brothers exchanged one of their telepathic looks while Jorge’s hand stilled over the pizza he was cutting. Even Maria’s perpetual motion of filling wineglasses paused for a fraction of a second.

Marcus’ voice was carefully neutral. “Be careful in that area. You and your mother both.”

That made me look up sharply. The brothers were never this obvious with their warnings .

“Oh?” Luke raised an eyebrow, but Imo was already nodding.

“Yes, yes. Strange energy there.” She turned back to my plate with renewed determination. “Now eat more! Need strength!”

“Sí, more food,” Maria agreed quickly, sliding another slice of pizza onto my plate. “Growing boy needs energy!”

“You could help, you know,” I mouthed at Marcus, who was watching the whole scene with poorly concealed entertainment.

He simply raised his glass in a mock toast, the traitor. Derek and Caleb weren’t any better, looking far too amused by my predicament.

“More garlic,” Imo insisted, already crafting another architectural masterpiece of lettuce and meat. “Good for health!”

“And the herbs,” Maria added as she added more toppings to my pizza slice. “Make him stronger.”

“I’m going to explode,” I protested weakly.

“Nonsense!” both women declared, and suddenly I was being fed alternating bites of Korean and Italian cuisine while Luke continued to document my suffering.

“You realize,” I told Luke between bites, “this is technically your fault.”

“Hey, I just brought Eomma.” He grinned, adjusting his camera angle. “Not my fault she and Maria formed an alliance. Though I have to admit…” He eyed the spread appreciatively. “Jorge’s pizza game is pretty impressive.”

“Best combination,” Imo agreed, already preparing another ssam. “Korean BBQ and good pizza. Perfect meal for growing boys!”

By the time dinner finally wound down, I felt like a Thanksgiving turkey—stuffed to bursting with a combination of Korean BBQ and Jorge’s artisanal pizzas.

The mothers’ feeding competition had only ended when they ran out of horizontal surface area on my plate, and even then, they’d started plotting breakfast plans with terrifying enthusiasm.

We’d stayed up late into the evening, the conversation flowin g as easily as the wine. Luke had enough blackmail material recorded to last several lifetimes, and Jorge had learned how to wrap the perfect ssam under Imo’s exacting tutelage.

Now, settling into bed, I could hear Imo’s melodic chanting drifting down the hallway as she blessed her guest room.

The familiar sounds of her protection rituals mixed with the manor’s usual nighttime symphony—Maria’s quiet humming as she did her final checks, the brothers’ steady footsteps on their security rounds, and the soft clicking of the dogs’ claws as they arranged themselves around my room.

Scout claimed his usual spot at the foot of my bed, while Storm and Shadow took up their guard positions by the door and window.

Despite being stuffed like a holiday roast and slightly worried about tomorrow’s breakfast plans, I felt oddly content.

Maybe it was the food coma, or maybe it was just having all my favorite people under one roof—even if some of them were clearly conspiring to feed me to death.

I drifted off to sleep with Imo’s gentle chanting in my ears and three furry guardians keeping watch.