Page 48 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

M arcus tensed. “What about him?”

Knox glanced around nervously, then leaned closer. “There are others looking for him. Not wolves. Something… else. They’ve been watching our territory for weeks. Asking questions.”

“What kind of questions?” Derek demanded, now back in human form.

“About old legends,” Knox replied, the word sending a chill through the assembled crowd. “About children born of two bloodlines.”

Was he serious? What next—unicorns and fairies having a tea party in the forest? This supernatural world was getting more crowded by the minute.

Marcus’ gaze snapped to where I sat, his expression unreadable. “And what did you tell these… visitors?”

“Nothing,” Knox insisted. “We know the old laws. But they’re persistent. And they’re here. Now.”

As if summoned by his words, the energy in the clearing shifted again. The mist that had been gathering at the edges of the fo rest seemed to thicken, taking on shapes that were almost—but not quite—human.

“Marcus,” Elder Grey called, her voice sharp with warning. “We have uninvited guests.”

The reaction was immediate. Derek’s team formed a protective circle around our group, weapons appearing as if by magic. The Stone brothers moved back-to-back, their postures screaming danger. Even the Blackwoods were suddenly on their feet, their previous arrogance replaced by wary alertness.

“Show yourselves,” Marcus commanded, his voice carrying the full weight of his alpha power.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, like ghosts materializing from the mist, they appeared—figures dressed entirely in white, their movements fluid and silent as they emerged from the tree line.

I counted at least fifteen, their faces concealed behind white masks decorated with stylized tiger markings.

“What the—” Imo gasped. “White Tiger Clan? Here?”

Her reaction told me everything I needed to know—whatever these white-clad ninja wannabes were, they weren’t part of Imo’s supernatural world. Which meant we were dealing with yet another faction in this increasingly complicated supernatural mess. Great. Just great.

“We come in peace,” announced the figure at the center, removing his mask to reveal the face of an elderly Asian man with eyes that seemed to see right through me. “We seek only what is ours to protect.”

“Nothing here belongs to you,” Marcus replied, his voice dangerously calm. “This is Stone territory.”

“Not the land,” the man said, his gaze finding me unerringly despite the crowd. “The heir. The last of the Imperial Dragon bloodline. The child of Sarah Chen.”

Imperial Dragon bloodline? My mother? What the actual?—

If I could have spoken in my wolf form, I’d have had a few choice words about this new revelation. My mother was supposedly from some imperial dragon bloodline? The same mother who couldn’t even kill spiders without calling me to help?

“Kai Chen is under our protection,” Derek stated flatly. “Any claim you think you have is irrelevant.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward that caused Derek’s team to raise their weapons. “We do not claim him. We serve him. As we served his mother, and her mother before her.”

Served? My mother had servants?

“He doesn’t know,” the man realized, studying my confused expression. “Sarah never told him of his heritage.”

“I do not know what game you play,” Imo said sharply, “but Kai-ya is under my protection now. What you think you know about his mother?—”

“A Korean mudang,” the man observed, studying Imo with interest. “Interesting company for the last dragon heir. Your traditions are different from ours, but your power is respected, shaman.”

Imo stiffened, clearly not appreciating being interrupted or having her abilities assessed by a stranger.

“Enough riddles,” Marcus snapped. “State your purpose clearly or leave.”

“Our purpose is his protection,” the man replied simply. “Especially now that the Crimson Serpent Society has found his trail.”

The words meant nothing to me, but they clearly meant something to Imo, whose sharp intake of breath sent a new wave of tension through our group.

“The Serpents?” she demanded, her voice tight with alarm. “You are certain?”

The man nodded gravely. “We’ve tracked them since the festival. They wait, as we wait. But not for long.” He turned to Marcus. “Alpha Stone, you have claimed the dragon heir as mate. But you cannot protect him from what comes. Not without our help.”

“We’ve managed so far,” Caleb replied, his usual charm nowhere in evidence.

“Against wolves, yes,” the man acknowledged. “But not against blood magic. Not against those who have hunted the dragon bloodline for centuries.”

Blood magic? Dragon bloodline? This was getting better by the second. Next, they’d be telling me my father was actually Godzilla and I was destined to save Tokyo.

As if to punctuate his warning, a new tension filled the air—a different kind of energy, colder and somehow slick, like oil on water. At the edge of the clearing, new figures appeared. These wore crimson robes, their faces obscured by hoods, their hands adorned with scales.

“Too late,” the elderly man murmured. “They’re here.”

The crowd erupted into chaos. Wolves who moments before had been formal observers scrambled for safety, clearing the benches in seconds. Derek’s team closed ranks around us, while the Stone brothers moved to intercept the newcomers.

“Give us the abomination,” called a female voice from among the crimson-robed figures. “The half-breed must not be allowed to reach maturity.”

Abomination? Half-breed? Okay, now I was getting offended. I might be stuck as a tiny wolf, but I had feelings, damn it.

“You will not touch him,” Marcus snarled, his voice barely human.

The woman laughed, the sound like breaking glass. “You cannot stop what has already begun, wolf. The convergence approaches. The blood moon rises again.”

Blood moon. The words triggered something in me—a memory, a nightmare, a primal fear that sent me burrowing deeper into Luke’s protective hold. Images flashed through my mind —moonlight on blood, screams in darkness, the smell of fear and death.

“We need to get him out of here,” Imo urged, her hand gripping Luke’s shoulder. “Now.”

But before anyone could move, a third presence made itself known. This one carried no visible form, just a crimson mist that seeped from the ground itself, coiling around the ancient stones like living blood.

“It cannot be,” Elder Grey whispered, her composure cracking for the first time. “They were destroyed. Banished.”

“What is it?” Luke demanded, his hand finding Imo’s arm. “What’s happening?”

“The Blood Moon Coven,” Xander Blackwood answered, his aristocratic features tight with something that looked remarkably like fear. “They’ve returned.”

The Blood Moon Coven? Seriously? Could these supernatural entities have more dramatic names? What was wrong with something simple, like “Bob’s Evil Club” or “The Really Bad Guys”?

The mist thickened, taking on a pulsing rhythm like a massive heartbeat. Where it touched the ground, the grass withered and died. Where it brushed against the standing stones, ancient symbols began to glow with unholy light.

“It was never about the duel,” Derek realized, his tactical mind putting the pieces together. “This was a trap. To gather us all in one place.”

“To gather him,” the elderly man corrected, pointing at me. “The heir to two bloodlines. The perfect vessel.”

Vessel? For what? I was nobody’s vessel, thank you very much. I was barely managing being a quarter-wolf—I didn’t need “supernatural container” added to my resume.

The answer came in the form of a voice—not spoken, but felt, resonating through the ground beneath us and the air around us .

The twice-blessed child returns , it purred, the sound slithering into my mind like a parasite. How considerate of you all to bring him to us. Again.

Again? What did it mean, again?

“We have to get him out of here,” Luke insisted, pulling at Imo’s arm. “Now!”

The crimson mist surged forward like a living thing, tendrils whipping through the air with lethal intent.

From my position in Luke’s protective grip, I could see it wasn’t just creepy fog—it was something ancient and hungry, something that fed on supernatural conflict.

Where it touched, it burned—Johnson flinched as one brushed his hand, the skin blackening and withering like frostbite on steroids.

Shadow, Storm, and Scout immediately formed a protective circle around us, their massive forms no longer looking like oversized pets but the lethal wolf guardians they truly were.

Shadow’s hackles rose as he positioned himself directly in front of Luke, who clutched my tiny wolf form against his chest. Storm and Scout flanked us, their teeth bared in synchronized snarls that would have made Derek proud.

“Protect the heir!” the elderly Chinese leader shouted, and his followers moved with fluid grace, their white-clad forms a blur as they formed a defensive line.

The mist laughed—actually laughed—the sound like bones breaking underwater.

It surged upward, forming a towering crimson pillar that pulsed with stolen life force.

From within its depths, faces appeared and disappeared—twisted, agonized visages of past victims that made my tiny wolf heart race with primal fear.

You cannot stop what has already begun , it hissed, voice resonating from everywhere and nowhere. The convergence approaches. The blood moon rises again.

Marcus shifted in an explosion of power, his black wolf form launching itself at the nearest tendril.

His jaws closed around the cr imson mist, which should have been impossible—how do you bite fog?

—but he somehow managed it, tearing away a chunk of the living darkness.

It screamed as he shook his head violently, black ichor spraying across the stone circle.