Page 42 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

B eing bathed by Caleb Stone was a unique form of torture.

Not because he wasn’t gentle—he was, infuriatingly so—but because being scrubbed down like a prize poodle while stuck as a miniature wolf was not how I’d imagined our relationship progressing.

My fantasies had involved considerably less fur and more actual talking.

The past week hadn’t been all bad, I had to admit.

Once I got over the initial depression of being stuck on four legs, I’d thrown myself into learning how to actually use them.

The brothers would shift and run with me through the safer parts of the woods, teaching me how to navigate terrain with my frustratingly short legs.

I’d actually gotten pretty good at darting through underbrush and weaving between trees—even if I still couldn’t manage the supernatural strength and speed that seemed to come naturally to full shifters.

That was the weird part. According to Marcus’ endless lectures about shifter abilities, when wolves changed form, they automatically accessed their supernatural powers.

Enhanced strength, speed, healing—it should all come as naturally as breathing.

But for some reason, I was stuck being basically a regula r wolf, just smaller.

Like something was blocking that part of my abilities, leaving me with all the inconvenience of four legs and none of the perks.

“Hold still,” Caleb murmured, his fingers working shampoo into my fur with the precision of someone who’d done this far too many times in the past week. “You’ve got something sticky in your fur. How do you even manage that? You’re literally carried everywhere today.”

I would have pointed out that Jorge’s “special protein treats” were the culprit, but my current vocabulary consisted entirely of yips, whines, and the occasional growl that had all the intimidation factor of a squeaky toy.

Try expressing existential dread through ear movements. It’s harder than it looks.

“There we go,” Caleb said, rinsing me carefully. “Now you smell like a proper wolf again instead of maple syrup.”

The indignity of it all. A week ago, I’d been a functional adult with opposable thumbs and the ability to bathe myself. Now I was being cooed at like a toddler who managed to use the potty correctly. “Who’s a clean wolf? You are!” Next, they’d be giving me gold stars for not chewing the furniture.

My mind wandered to what Marcus had mentioned earlier—the duel with the Knox Pack. Three nights from now, under the full moon, my mates would face down the wolves who had attacked me in the woods. The thought sent a shiver through my small body.

“Cold?” Caleb asked immediately, his hands stilling.

I shook my head, sending water droplets flying like I was auditioning for a dog shampoo commercial.

“Thinking about the duel?” he guessed, eerily accurate as always. “Don’t worry. They don’t stand a chance against us.”

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t going to be attending a supernatural showdown while stuck in pocket-sized wolf form.

What if something went wrong? What if the Knox Pack had allies?

What if I had to pee during the ceremonial part?

These were the questi ons keeping me up at night, besides the snoring symphony of whichever brother had won the nightly “who gets to sleep with Kai” lottery.

“Your mind is racing so loud I can practically hear it,” Caleb said, lifting me from the water and wrapping me in a towel so fluffy it practically swallowed me whole.

I looked like a furry burrito with eyes.

“The Knox Pack is already beaten. Derek’s been systematically dismantling their operations for weeks. This is just the formal conclusion.”

I huffed, unconvinced. From what I’d gathered, these duels were ancient traditions with specific protocols.

All it would take was one mistake, one moment of distraction…

But sure, let’s all be casual about the supernatural fight club I was being dragged to while stuck in a body that could fit in a designer handbag.

“Stop,” Caleb commanded gently, his fingers finding the spot under my chin that never failed to make me melt. “We’ve been protecting this territory for generations. Three alphas against one pack? It’s not even a fair fight.”

I wanted to believe him. But my mind kept circling back to Imo’s revelation—that I carried two supernatural bloodlines, not just one. Wolf blood from my father and… something else from my mother. Something she’d been hiding, running from.

All those years moving from city to city, never staying in one place too long. Since discovering I was quarter-wolf, I’d naturally assumed we were running from wolves—from the supernatural world my father had belonged to. Made perfect sense.

Except, as Marcus had explained during one of his many Werewolf 101 lectures, wolves don’t do well in concrete jungles.

Cities are the last place they’d look for potential prey.

So why did Mom keep dragging us from one urban center to another, always looking over her shoulder, always startling at shadows?

So what had my mother actually been running from all those years? Who had she been hiding me from? And most importantly, did this other bloodline come with any abilities that might, oh I don’t know, HELP ME SHIFT BACK TO HUMAN FORM? Just a thought.

“There’s that look again,” Caleb observed, carrying me to his bed where he began gently drying my fur. “The one that says you’re overthinking everything. Your eyebrows do this little furrow thing—even as a wolf.”

If only he knew. My entire life had been built on half-truths and omissions.

My father was a wolf—surprise! My mother carried some ancient bloodline—double surprise!

Next, they’d be telling me I was secretly royalty from a small European country, and I’d have to hit supernatural creature bingo. Maybe I’d win a toaster.

“I know it’s frustrating,” Caleb continued, his voice softening. “Being stuck like this, unable to ask all the questions you must have.”

That was the understatement of the century. I had enough questions to fill a book, with footnotes and an appendix. And the only way I could communicate was through elaborate charades that usually ended with everyone guessing wrong and me wanting to bang my tiny wolf head against the wall.

“Imo seems convinced your mother’s heritage is the key,” Caleb said, working a comb carefully through my fur. “Something about ancient bloodlines and dormant powers.”

Great. Because “dormant powers” sounded exactly like what my life needed right now—more supernatural complications.

I’d been perfectly happy being normal, thank you very much.

Normal people didn’t get stuck as wolves or discover their mothers were secretly…

whatever she had been. Normal people worried about student loans and bad dates, not ancestral magic and interspecies politics.

“There,” Caleb declared, setting the comb aside. “Fluffy and presentable again.”

I glanced at my reflection in his dresser mirror.

The small silver-white wolf staring back looked distinctly unimpressed with l ife.

My fur, at least, was now glossy and smooth, the dark markings along my spine standing out in stark contrast. If I was going to be stuck as a wolf, at least I was a photogenic one. Small victories.

“Derek should be back soon,” Caleb said, checking his watch. “He’s been running the Knox Pack ragged all day. Probably wants first dibs on cuddle time tonight.”

I growled softly. The brothers’ nightly competition for who got to sleep with me had become an embarrassing routine.

You’d think having a tiny wolf in their bed would lose its novelty after a week, but no—they still argued over it like children with a favorite toy.

“It’s my turn with the Kai-wolf!” “No, you had him yesterday!” I half expected them to start pulling my tail in opposite directions.

“Don’t give me that look.” Caleb grinned, scooping me up. “You love the attention.”

I did not. Okay, maybe a little. There was something undeniably comforting about sleeping surrounded by massive wolf shifters who would literally tear apart anyone who threatened me.

But still—principle. I had a reputation as a strong, independent quarter-wolf to maintain.

Even if I did occasionally enjoy being the little spoon to a six-foot-four alpha.

Dinner was its usual humiliating affair.

Jorge had outdone himself with what he called “fusion cuisine for transitioning shifters”—essentially gourmet dog food with Korean influences, thanks to Imo’s input.

I sat on my tower of books, trying to maintain some dignity while Marcus hand-fed me bits of meat.

Shakespeare, Austen, and Dickens would be so proud of their contribution to booster seat technology.

“The council is sending formal observers tomorrow,” Derek was saying between bites. “They want to inspect the dueling grounds before the ceremony.”

“Standard procedure.” Marcus nodded. “Elder Grey will oversee the preparations personally. ”

“And the Blackwoods?” Caleb asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“They’ve confirmed their attendance,” Marcus replied, his fingers lingering on my fur. “As observers only.”

The tension around the table was palpable. Even Maria, who usually pretended not to notice supernatural politics, frowned slightly.

“Will they bring their full retinue?” Derek asked.

“Just the brothers, according to the formal response,” Marcus said. “Though I wouldn’t put it past Edmund to send others separately.”