Page 5 of Marked by Alphas 2: Claimed (The Blood Moon Chronicle #2)

The morning passed in a hazy blur of painkillers, Maria’s fussing, and Jorge’s increasingly creative Spanish curses from the kitchen.

Every muscle ached, but it was a different kind of pain than last night—more like I’d run a marathon while being hit by a truck, rather than actively being mauled by supernatural creatures.

“More tea, carino?” Maria appeared for the fifth time in an hour, somehow managing to straighten pillows and tuck blankets around me while balancing a tea tray.

“I’m good,” I assured her, though she’d already set down another steaming cup of what smelled like ginger and honey. The dogs barely lifted their heads from their positions around the couch.

Anna flitted through occasionally, dusting things that probably hadn’t had time to collect dust since her last pass.

The manor’s efficient routine continued around me—the quiet hum of the vacuum upstairs, the clinking of dishes from the kitchen, and the occasional burst of Spanish when Jorge and Maria disagreed about lunch preparations.

“ No más (no more) gochujang!” Jorge’s voice carried. “This is paella, not Korean fusion!”

“It needs something,” Maria insisted. “Maybe if we?—”

“Touch my rice again and I quit!”

I smiled, settling deeper into my nest of blankets and pulling up YouTube on my phone. ‘Supernatural strength training’ probably wasn’t going to yield useful results, but maybe ‘extreme fitness transformation’ would give me somewhere to start.

“Planning your workout routine already?”

I jumped, nearly dropping the phone. Caleb had materialized beside the couch, looking amused at my screen. “Don’t you have code to write?”

“Lunch break,” he said, settling next to me. “Though I see you’re keeping busy. ‘How to get ripped in thirty days’?”

“I’m being proactive,” I said, feeling my face heat. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m basically a scrawny midget compared to you guys. I need to at least try to get some muscle definition. Maybe even abs. Give me three months.”

Caleb’s laugh was warm against my ear. “Ambitious. Though you might be surprised—once your wolf side fully awakens, your body will naturally adapt. It’s in our genes.”

I perked up. “Really? Like automatic supernatural six-pack?”

“Something like that.” He grinned. “Though training will help speed things along.”

“Perfect.” I clicked on another video with renewed enthusiasm.

“The sooner I heal, the sooner I can start. I mean, I’ve always healed pretty quick anyway—like that time Luke and I tried skateboarding and both ended up with sprained wrists.

We were fine in like two days.” I paused, remembering.

“Actually, Luke’s always been weirdly quick to bounce back from injuries… ”

Before I could follow that train of thought, Miguel appeared in the doorway, covered in dirt but grinning. “Lunch is ready! And Jorge only threatened to quit twice, so it should be good.”

“Three times,” Anna corrected, appearing with fresh napkins. “You missed the gochujang incident.”

“That wasn’t a real threat,” Maria called from the dining room. “He says he’ll quit at least twice a day. Now come eat before it gets cold!”

Caleb stood, offering me his hand. “Need help?”

“I can walk,” I insisted, then immediately winced as I tried to stand. “Mostly.”

His smile was far too knowing as he helped me up. “Of course you can. Just like you’ll have a six-pack in three months. ”

“Just you wait,” I said, letting him support more of my weight than I’d admit. “I’ll be bench-pressing Derek by Halloween.”

His laugh echoed through the hall as we made our way to lunch. “Now that I’d pay to see.”

Derek appeared in the doorway, still in his tactical gear and looking unfairly attractive for someone who’d spent the morning patrolling territory. Sweat glistened on his neck, and the tight black shirt left nothing to the imagination.

“Bench-pressing me by Halloween, huh?” His grin turned wicked as his eyes raked over me. “I’d rather teach you some other exercises first. The kind that requires you underneath me, working up a sweat…”

My entire body flushed hot. The image his words conjured made my knees weak, and not from injury this time.

“Quit it,” Caleb snarled, his grip turning possessive on my waist. The playful brother from moments ago was gone, replaced by something darker, more primal. “He needs to eat first.”

“First?” I squeaked, my voice embarrassingly high.

Maria swooped in like a blessing, shoving a basket of fresh bread at Derek. “ Ya basta (enough)! Wash up and sit down. Both of you stop terrorizing the poor boy.”

I sank gratefully into my chair, trying to will away my blush. “Is Marcus joining us?”

“Alpha business in town,” Caleb explained, sliding into the seat beside me—notably closer than necessary. “Some of the local pack representatives wanted to meet after last night’s… incident.”

Jorge set down a massive paella that smelled divine. “Politics,” he snorted. “Always politics. But food first! Maria only tried to add Korean spices to the side dishes twice.”

“Three times,” Maria corrected proudly, bringing out a dish that d efinitely had a Korean flair. “And my kimchi-seasoned vegetables were delicious.”

“This is a traditional Spanish meal!” Jorge protested, but there was fondness in his exasperation. “Save your fusion experiments for tomorrow’s lunch.”

The familiar bickering washed over me as everyone settled in. Even the dogs seemed content, crunching away at their own fancy-looking meals in the corner. Miguel and Anna shared knowing looks across the table while Derek and Caleb subtly competed to fill my plate with the best portions.

It felt… normal. Well, as normal as lunch could be with two alpha werewolves, their very human—and apparently completely unfazed—relatives, and three massive wolf-dogs.

After lunch, the manor settled back into its routine.

Caleb disappeared upstairs to his office, muttering about security protocols.

Derek headed out for another patrol round, his tactical gear making him look like some kind of supernatural SWAT team leader.

Maria bustled around with her usual efficiency while Jorge’s Spanish cursing indicated he was already planning dinner.

“Here, carino,” Maria said, setting a tablet in my lap. “Much better for your eyes than that broken phone. And look—I already bookmarked some good workout videos.”

I scrolled through her selections, touched by her thoughtfulness. Though I had to laugh at some of the titles: “Ultimate Body Transformation” and “Beast Mode Training” seemed a bit ambitious for someone who currently needed help standing up.

The afternoon drifted by in a haze of YouTube fitness gurus and Maria’s endless tea supply.

Anna’s determined dusting reached new heights of obsession—I swear she polished that same vase six times.

I was deep in a video about proper squat form—because apparently my dreams of supernatural strength needed proper form, who knew?

—when that familiar tingle raced down my spine .

Marcus filled the doorway like some kind of luxury fashion fever dream come to life.

Seriously, how did someone make a business suit look like couture runway material?

It should be criminal to look that good after hours of alpha politics.

He moved toward me with that liquid grace all three brothers shared—part predator, part runway model, all dangerous to my mental health.

The leather couch creaked softly as he settled beside me, and suddenly the spacious living room felt about three sizes too small.

His presence wrapped around me like an expensive cologne-scented blanket, making my skin prickle with awareness.

Great. Just what my poor gay disaster heart needed—Marcus Stone in full alpha mode at point-blank range.

“I have something for you,” he said in that voice that belonged in a phone sex hotline for the supernaturally blessed. He placed a sleek box in my lap—the latest phone model, because apparently when you’re a Stone, you don’t do anything by halves.

“Marcus, I can’t?—”

His lips brushed my forehead, and my brain immediately went offline.

Error 404: Coherent Thought Not Found. “Your numbers are already programmed in—mine, Derek and Caleb, Maria, Jorge, Miguel, Anna. Everyone you might need.” His fingers traced my jaw, tilting my face up, and hello, butterflies in stomach, nice of you to join the party.

“You’re our mate, little one. Let us take care of you. ”

I swallowed hard, caught between the heat in his eyes and the weight of what had to be the world’s most expensive ‘sorry you got attacked by werewolves’ gift in my lap. “I— That’s not— You don’t have to?—”

“I know I don’t have to,” he said, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “I want to. We want to. That’s what mates do—they provide, they protect, they cherish.”

The way he said ‘cherish’ was downright dangerous.

Actual ly, this whole situation was unfair—his proximity, his scent (what was that cologne, Eau de Alpha?), the way his presence seemed to fill the entire room like some kind of supernatural space heater.

How was anyone supposed to form coherent arguments against expensive gifts when faced with all…

that? It was like trying to debate economics with a Greek god.

“Thank you,” I managed, proud that my voice only shook a little. Though whether that was from the gift or from the way his eyes had gone midnight dark, I wasn’t sure.

His smile was pure satisfaction, like a wolf who’d just cornered particularly tasty prey.

“Good boy,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous octave that probably made flowers bloom and small animals swoon.

Good thing I was already sitting down because my knees definitely got the memo about turning to jelly.

“I think that deserves a proper thank you, don’t you? ”

“I already said thank—” The words evaporated like morning mist when his hand cupped my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip again like he was mapping territory. Hello, gay panic, my old friend.

“A proper thank you,” he repeated. “Just one kiss.”

Right. Just one kiss. Like anything with Marcus Stone could ever be ‘just’ anything.

But who was I to argue when he was looking at me like that—like I was something precious and edible all at once?

I meant it to be quick, just a brief ‘thanks for the ridiculously expensive phone’ peck.

But the moment I leaned in, Marcus growled—actually growled—and suddenly ‘quick’ wasn’t even in the same zip code as what was happening.

His mouth claimed mine with the kind of precision that belonged in a tactical operation manual.

Chapter One: How to Destroy Your Mate’s Higher Brain Functions in Ten Seconds or Less.

His tongue swept inside, and whatever remnants of coherent thought I had left, packed their bags and went on vacation.

My hands fisted in his stupid expensive suit as he pulled me clo ser, practically into his lap.

Every stroke of his tongue, every gentle bite to my lower lip sent electricity shooting down my spine like some kind of supernatural defibrillator.

He kissed like he was mapping uncharted territory, claiming every inch, and my traitorous body responded with embarrassing enthusiasm, melting against him with a needy whimper that I’d definitely deny making later.

So much for playing it cool. Though honestly?

Cool had left the building around the same time Marcus walked in.

When he finally released me, I was dizzier than that time Luke convinced me to try that spinning teacup ride after eating corn dogs.

The world had narrowed down to just this—his taste (expensive coffee and pure sin), his touch (devastatingly addictive), and the way his eyes had gone from midnight to total eclipse.

“Always one step ahead, aren’t you, brother?”

I jumped at Caleb’s voice, turning to find him leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. Fantastic. How long had he been watching? And why did that thought send heat pooling in my stomach instead of mortification to my brain?

“Buying our mate a phone to earn kisses?” Caleb pushed off the doorway with the kind of grace that made my heart skip several beats. “Clever.”

He settled on my other side, effectively trapping me between two supernatural space heaters. This was fine. Everything was fine. I was just sandwiched between two impossibly gorgeous wolf shifters.

“It’s not really fair though, is it?” His fingers traced my jaw, turning my face toward him, and oh boy, here we go again. “I think I deserve a kiss too.”

“I— I need a minute,” I managed, still reeling from Marcus’ kiss-induced brain scrambling. “Just to clear my head?—”

“You can clear your head after,” Caleb purred—actually purred. “Right now, I want to taste you. ”

His kiss was different from Marcus’—less conquering general, more seductive artist. Where Marcus conquered, Caleb painted, his tongue teasing mine with playful flicks that had me chasing his taste like some kind of kiss-drunk butterfly.

His hands tangled in my hair, tilting my head for better access as he deepened the kiss.

I moaned embarrassingly loud when he sucked on my tongue, my body practically vibrating like I’d mainlined espresso.

By the time he pulled back, I was panting like I’d run a marathon, my head spinning and my body on fire. Both brothers watched me with heated eyes, looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Smug werewolves should not be this attractive. It wasn’t fair.

“I think we broke him,” Caleb observed with the satisfaction of someone who’d just won gold in mate-kissing.

Marcus hummed in agreement, his thumb still stroking my kiss-swollen lips. “Yet he takes it so beautifully.”

I should probably be offended by them talking about me like I wasn’t there, but honestly?

My brain had officially checked out, gone on vacation, and left a “sorry we missed you” note on the door.

Between Marcus’ conquering general kiss and Caleb’s artistic seduction, I was pretty sure I’d never think straight again.

Which, given that I was gay, was probably fitting.