Marked (Marked by Alphas #1)

Chapter 2

T he road stretched ahead of us, dark trees looming on either side like silent spectators. I needed to fill the silence before my imagination ran wild with thoughts of exactly how many bodies could fit in the bed of this truck.

“So, do you often rescue stranded motorists, or am I just special?” I asked, aiming for casual and probably hitting somewhere around mildly unhinged.

Caleb’s lips twitched. “Only the ones with questionable grocery choices. Seriously, how many types of instant ramen did you buy?”

“Hey, don’t judge my survival strategy. Some of us can’t live off the land like…” I gestured vaguely at his entire… everything. “Whatever woodland deity you clearly are.”

He laughed, deep and genuine. “Woodland deity? That’s a new one.”

“Well, you appeared out of nowhere in the middle of nowhere, offering help like some kind of lumberjack guardian angel. What else am I supposed to think?”

“Just a local good Samaritan,” he said, still grinning.

“Please tell me there’s at least cell reception out here?” I held up my phone like a divining rod. “Because I have serious concerns about becoming the start of a horror movie. You know, city boy moves to creepy cottage, loses phone signal, never heard from again?”

“It comes and goes,” he said diplomatically.

“Goes more than comes, I’m guessing? Great. Do the local bears at least have Wi-Fi? Maybe I can negotiate some sort of interspecies data-sharing agreement.”

His laugh filled the cab again. “Bears might be the least of your worries out here.”

“Oh God, what’s worse than bears? Please don’t say wolves. Or axe murderers. Or axe-murdering wolves.” I paused. “Though I suppose that would require opposable thumbs…”

“You always this imaginative?” Caleb asked, looking far too amused.

“Only when I’m being driven to a remote cottage by a suspiciously helpful stranger who looks like he bench-presses trees for fun. Speaking of which, is that like, a requirement around here? The whole…” I waved my hand at him again. “…mountain man aesthetic?”

“Mountain man aesthetic?” Caleb repeated, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s just how people grow out here. Must be something in the water.”

“Mental note: stick to bottled water. I barely manage my current five-foot-six status. Any more growing and my entire wardrobe would revolt.” I squinted out the window at the passing shadows. “So what else should I know about this neck of the woods? Are there any local customs I should be aware of? Secret handshakes? Mandatory barn raising events?”

He chuckled. “You’ve been watching too many small-town movies.”

“Hey, my entire knowledge of rural life comes from Hallmark channels and horror films, and given the current situation, I’m leaning toward horror.” I ticked off points on my fingers. “Broken-down car? Check. Handsome stranger? Check. Creepy woods? Double check. I just need to trip while running and my horror movie bingo card will be complete.”

“Handsome stranger, huh?” His grin was audible.

“Oh please, you own a mirror. Unless that’s against the local customs too? Along with cell reception and probably pizza delivery?” The horror of that last thought hit me. “Wait. Please tell me there’s pizza delivery out here?”

“Well…”

“I’m going to die. Death by pizza deprivation. My tombstone will read ‘Here lies Kai Chen, who never knew DoorDash could dash away.’”

Caleb’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “There’s a great diner in town.”

“A diner. Singular. As in one? One single establishment responsible for all my future food cravings?” I slumped in my seat. “Do they at least have decent coffee? Because I noticed a disturbing lack of Starbucks on my way through town.”

“Cedar Grove Diner has the best coffee in three counties,” he said with surprising conviction.

“That’s either really impressive or really concerning depending on the competition.” I straightened up as a thought hit me. “Oh God, please tell me there’s a grocery store closer than the one I just left. Because I’m pretty sure half my ramen supply is currently achieving escape velocity from my trunk.”

“There’s a general store about fifteen minutes from the cottage.”

“A general store. Like, with actual barrels of things? Do I need to learn to barter? Trade my city-slicker ways for a pound of coffee beans?”

The truck rumbled over another rough patch, and Caleb steadied me again with those unnervingly quick reflexes of his. “You’re going to fit right in here,” he said in a tone that suggested he knew something I didn’t.

“Was that sarcasm? That felt like sarcasm. Also, how much farther? Because I’m running out of small-town stereotypes to panic about, and I’d hate to have to start recycling material.”

“Actually, we’re here,” Caleb said, turning onto what I thought was a driveway, though it looked more like nature had briefly considered the concept of a path.

Something twisted in my gut. A memory, maybe, or a warning. Both? The trees looked different in the dark, but something about the way they bent over the path felt… familiar. Like déjà vu, but with more dread.

“Oh good, because nothing says ‘welcome home’ like a road that’s actively trying to kill—” The words died in my throat as the cottage materialized out of the darkness. My scar tingled, and for a moment, I could have sworn I saw…

A person running. Moonlight. Shadows moving wrong.

I blinked hard. The cottage stood there, innocent as any building that size could manage—which wasn’t very. It was bigger than I’d imagined, yet exactly the size I remembered, which made no sense because I didn’t remember it at all. Did I?

“That’s… not a cottage,” I managed, trying to shake off the weird double vision of present and past. “That’s what cottages have nightmares about becoming when they grow up.”

Caleb pulled to a stop in what might have been a designated parking area. Or was it always the parking area? Had Mom’s old Civic sat in this exact spot?

“It’s not that bad.”

“Says the man who probably lives in a house made of fallen logs and pure masculinity.” I peered through the windshield, fighting the urge to check if the upstairs window on the left still had that crack in the corner. How do I know about that crack?

He killed the engine, and suddenly the night felt very… night-y. And familiar. And wrong. My scar ached.

“Want me to help you get your car situated?”

“By ‘situated,’ do you mean ‘not blocking the escape route if demons attack’?” I tried for humor, but the word ‘escape’ felt too real on my tongue. Like maybe I’d said it before, here, in the dark. “Because yes, please.”

I reached for the door handle, then froze as another wave of déjà vu hit me. The motion sensor lights. There were supposed to be… “Um, quick question—are there motion sensor lights or am I about to audition for City Boy’s Last Stand ?”

“There’s a switch by the front door,” he said, already sliding out of the truck.

Right. By the door. Behind the loose board that never quite— I cut that thought off. How did I know about a loose board?

“Right. Front door. Which would be…” I squinted into the darkness, trying to ignore how my feet wanted to take me there without guidance. “Somewhere behind all that looming?”

I followed him to the door.

“Wait a minute,” I said, watching him. “How do you know where everything is? The light switch, the…” I gestured vaguely. “Everything?”

Caleb’s pause was almost imperceptible. “The Stones maintain several properties in the area. Including this one, actually.”

“The Stones?” My mind flashed back to Karen’s gossip at the store. Three brothers, old money, basically own half the town. “As in…”

“Yeah, that’s me. Caleb Stone.” He had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “Should’ve mentioned that earlier.”

“Right.” I tried to process this new information. “So you’re telling me that the mysterious local family my cashier warned me about actually maintains my inherited cottage? That’s not weird at all.”

“Karen’s been spreading stories again?” His smile was carefully neutral.

“Oh, you know Karen too. Of course you do. Small town and all that.” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. “Any other surprises I should know about?”

“Just trying to help, Kai,” he said softly, and something in his tone made my scar tingle. “The cottage… it’s been in our care for a while now.”

Since we left , my brain helpfully supplied, though I had no idea why I was so certain about that.

“Right,” I muttered, eyeing him with renewed wariness. “A Stone brother. Maintaining my mother’s cottage. Nothing suspicious about that at all.”

Caleb’s laugh carried through the night air, but it felt different now. More weighted. “Come on, let’s get you inside before you convince yourself I’m part of some small-town conspiracy.”

Aren’t you? I wanted to ask, but I followed him anyway, fighting both the weirdness of my returning memories and the new tension of knowing exactly who was leading me into my childhood home.

My feet knew where to step, avoiding roots and dips in the ground that I shouldn’t have known existed. Like muscle memory from a life I couldn’t quite remember. Meanwhile, Caleb moved with the easy confidence of someone who’d walked this path countless times. Because he had.

“Watch your step,” he warned, just as I automatically sidestepped a broken paving stone.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to ignore how my heart was hammering in my chest. “You know, it’s weird. I used to live here, apparently. Not that I remember much. My childhood memories are about as reliable as my car right now.” I paused, studying his profile in the darkness. “But you probably knew that already, didn’t you? Since your family’s been maintaining the place.”

Something flashed in Caleb’s eyes—too quick to catch—before he carefully looked away. “Must be strange,” he said, avoiding my question, “coming back to a place you can’t remember.”

“Strange doesn’t begin to cover it.” I rubbed at my scar absently. “It’s like… you know when you walk into a room and forget why you came in? It’s like that, but with an entire chunk of my life. I know I was here, but…” I gestured vaguely at the looming cottage. “It’s all just… blank.”

We reached the front door, and my hand automatically reached for the loose board to the right—the one we used to hide the spare key under. I froze mid-motion. How did I…?

“You okay?” Caleb asked, closer than I expected. His presence felt different now that I knew who he was. More significant somehow.

“Yeah, just…” I swallowed hard. “Having one of those moments where my body remembers something my brain doesn’t. Like phantom muscle memory or something.” I forced a laugh. “Next thing you know, I’ll be remembering where Mom hid all her emergency chocolate.”

Top shelf of the pantry, behind the fancy tea tin that no one ever used.

The thought came so clearly it made me dizzy. I wondered if Caleb knew about that too. How much did the Stones know about our life here?

“Here,” Caleb said, reaching past me to flip the porch light switch. Warm light spilled across the wraparound porch, chasing away some of the shadows but not my growing suspicions. How many times had he done this exact same thing while “maintaining” the property?

I fumbled with the key, trying to ignore how familiar the door’s weathered wood felt under my fingers. The lock stuck slightly— it always does, you have to lift the handle while turning —and then clicked open.

“Home sweet potentially haunted home,” I muttered, stepping inside. The scent hit me immediately: old wood, dust, and something else. Something that made my chest tight. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Caleb asked, hovering in the doorway like he was waiting for an invitation. Which, given all the local rumors about his family, was either ironic or concerning.

“Nothing, just…” I inhaled again. “Lavender. Mom used to…” The memory slipped away before I could grab it, leaving only the ghost of purple flowers and summer sunshine. “Never mind.”

My hand found the light switch without looking— left of the door, hip height, ancient brass plate —and overhead lights flickered to life. “Huh. It works.” I shot him a look. “Thanks to your family’s maintenance, I’m guessing?”

“We take care of what’s ours,” he said, then seemed to catch himself. “What’s in our care, I mean.”

The room was both foreign and achingly familiar. “The furniture’s different,” I said, though I hadn’t known I was expecting anything else. “But the room is…” Still has the scratch marks on the doorframe where Mom measured my height. Still has the crooked floorboard by the stairs that always creaked. “You kept a lot of the original features.”

“Takes time,” Caleb said softly, “for old places to feel like home again.” Something in his tone made me wonder if he was talking about more than just the cottage.

I turned to him, studying his carefully neutral expression. “Is that small-town wisdom, personal experience, or Stone family secret?”

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Want help bringing in your surviving groceries? Before the ramen makes its great escape?”

“Changing the subject? Smooth.” But I followed him back out anyway. “Lead the way, Mr. Stone.”

He winced slightly at the formal address. “Caleb is fine.”

“Sure it is,” I muttered under my breath, following him into the night. The cottage seemed to watch us go, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that both it and Caleb Stone knew far more about my past than I did.

Just what exactly did Mom get us mixed up in?

“That should be the last of it,” Caleb said, setting down what remained of my grocery haul on the kitchen counter with effortless grace. “At least your ramen stockpile survived the great radiator disaster.”

“Hey, don’t mock the ramen. It’s gotten me through worse than mysterious cottage situations.” I watched him move around my kitchen— my kitchen—with the ease of someone who knew exactly where the weak spots in the floorboards were. How often had he been in here, maintaining the place? What else did he know about this house? About us?

“Thanks again for… you know, everything. The rescue, the towing, the heavy lifting.” I paused, unable to help myself. “The years of mysterious property maintenance.”

He had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. “About that—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Totally normal. Rich local family just happens to look after my mom’s old cottage. Probably out of the goodness of their hearts, right?” I started unpacking groceries, mainly to have something to do with my hands. “I’m sure there’s absolutely nothing weird about that at all.”

“Kai—”

“And I’m sure Karen was just being dramatic at the store. You know, with all that cryptic warning about the Stone brothers.” I shoved a package of cup noodles into a cabinet with perhaps more force than necessary. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? You’re just my friendly neighborhood… whatever you are.”

His laugh was soft, almost sad. “You always this suspicious of people trying to help?”

“Only when they turn out to be part of the mysterious family my mom never mentioned despite them apparently being our property caretakers for years.” I turned to face him, crossing my arms. “Speaking of which, how much do I owe you for all that maintenance?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s been… taken care of.”

“By whom? The cottage fairy? The maintenance gods? The Stone family foundation for suspiciously specific property care?”

His smile returned, genuine this time. “You’re kind of incredible, you know that?”

“And you’re changing the subject again.” But I felt my lips twitching despite myself. “Fine. Keep your secrets, Mr. Stone—”

“Caleb.”

“—but don’t think I’m not onto you.” I pointed an accusatory package of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos at him. “This whole small-town charm thing might work on everyone else, but I’ve got my eye on you.”

“I’m counting on it,” he murmured, so quietly I almost missed it. Then, louder, he added, “I’ll come by tomorrow morning to look at your car, if that works for you?”

“Yeah, that’s…” I swallowed, suddenly aware of how alone we were in this big old house. “That’s perfect. Though I should warn you, my car maintenance knowledge starts and ends with ‘put gas in when empty.’”

His laugh echoed in the kitchen, bouncing off walls that seemed to remember other laughs, other voices. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle the complicated stuff. Around nine?”

“Sure. I’ll try to have all my conspiracy theories organized by then.”

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement? Concern? Both?—before he headed for the door. “Get some rest, Kai. And…” He hesitated. “Try not to overthink everything?”

“Have you met me?”

His answering smile stayed with me as he headed out into the night. After the door clicked shut, the cottage seemed to exhale around me, settling into a silence that felt both empty and expectant. Like it was waiting for something. Or someone.

“Right,” I announced to the quiet kitchen. “Let’s see what other surprises you’re hiding.”

First priority: testing the utilities. I hadn’t expected anything to work, figuring I’d be roughing it until I could call… someone. But when I flipped the kitchen tap, it sputtered and coughed before producing clear water.

“Huh.” I watched the stream, mesmerized. “Guess the Stones really did maintain everything.”

The pipes made that familiar gurgling sound— they always do that, honey, just ignore it —and I jerked my hand back like the memory had burned me.

Amazingly, when I plugged in the ancient fridge, it hummed to life with only minimal protest. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” I muttered, wiping dust from its surface. “Guess I could’ve bought perishables after all.”

I started putting away my groceries, my hands automatically reaching for certain shelves before I could think about it. Cups and plates in the cabinet by the sink. Ramen and dried goods in the pantry where Mom used to—

I froze, one hand on the pantry door. The fancy tea tin. Top shelf.

Sure enough, there it was. Different tin, obviously, but same spot. Same purpose? I reached up, fingers brushing metal. Empty now, of course. No emergency chocolate stash after all these years.

“This is getting weird,” I told the tin. “Like, horror movie prequel weird.”

Upstairs beckoned, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for that yet. Instead, I tested more lights—all working—checked more taps—all functional—and tried very hard not to think about how everything felt simultaneously foreign and familiar.

The living room windows still had those weird latches that always stuck in humid weather. The third step from the bottom still creaked when you stepped on its left side. The back door still had that slight gap at the bottom where cold air would—

“Nope,” I said aloud, cutting off that train of thought. “We’re not doing this tonight. Tonight is for surviving on ramen and pretending everything is totally normal.”

But as I heated water in a suspiciously functional microwave, I couldn’t help but wonder: if the Stones had maintained everything so perfectly, why? What did they want with this place?

What did they want with me ?

The stairs loomed before me like a challenge. Each step felt like a page turning in a book I wasn’t sure I wanted to read.

“It’s just stairs,” I muttered, gripping my cup of ramen like a shield. “Just normal, creaky, possibly haunted stairs in a perfectly normal cottage maintained by a suspiciously attractive member of the town’s mysterious founding family. Totally fine.”

Don’t run on the stairs, sweetheart. They’re old.

Mom’s voice, clear as day. I gripped the banister— right side, the left is loose —and started up.

Three bedrooms. I knew that before counting them, just like I knew the master bedroom was at the end of the hall— Mom’s room, don’t go in without knocking —a small guest room that smelled of mothballs on the right, and…

My room.

I stood in the doorway, heart hammering. The furniture was different—generic guest room setup now—but the dimensions were the same. The window still had that weird diamond-shaped pattern in the glass that used to cast strange shadows on the wall when the moon was full.

Don’t look at the shadows, honey. Just close your curtains and go to sleep.

My scar tingled as I stepped inside, nearly spilling my ramen. There used to be glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, I think. And a bookshelf by the window where I’d hide with a flashlight after bedtime. The bed was in the same spot, though not the same bed. Not my old race car bed with the squeaky spring in the left corner.

Something scratched at the edges of my memory—a night, a sound, Mom’s voice urgent and scared…

“Don’t look back, baby. Just run.”

I backed out of the room, shutting the door maybe a little too quickly. My ramen sloshed dangerously.

“Okay, that’s enough memory lane for one night,” I announced to the empty hallway, voice only slightly shaky. “Time for some quality time with my cup of noodles and absolutely zero thoughts about mysterious maintenance men or weird childhood flashbacks.”

But as I descended the stairs, my scar still tingling, two thoughts wouldn’t leave me alone. Why did the Stones care so much about this place? And why did Mom never want me to look at the shadows?

I eyed my duffel bag where I’d dropped it by the door. The sleeping bag strapped to it suddenly seemed like the best decision I’d made all day.

“Sorry, mysterious upstairs bedrooms,” I muttered, unrolling the sleeping bag on the living room floor. “You’re a bit too horror movie for my taste tonight.”

I’d planned to rough it anyway, not expecting working utilities or maintained furniture. Now, despite the perfectly good beds upstairs, something in me rebelled at the thought of sleeping in any of those rooms. Especially mine. Formerly mine.

“This is perfectly normal,” I told myself, wedging my makeshift bed into the corner between the couch and coffee table. The position gave me a clear view of both the front door and the stairs, with solid furniture at my back. Perfect for a quick escape, if needed. “Lots of people prefer to sleep in their living rooms instead of their perfectly good bedrooms because of totally not creepy childhood memories and weird feelings about shadows. And lots of people definitely arrange their sleeping bags like they’re setting up a defensive position in a horror movie.”

I tried not to think about how natural it felt, picking the most defensible spot in the room. Or how my body seemed to remember the exact angle to position myself—close enough to the door to run but protected enough to see anything coming.

After hours on the road in summer heat, the shower felt like heaven. The water pressure was surprisingly good—yet another Stone family miracle—and I finally felt human again, the sweat and travel grime washing away. I changed into my favorite space-themed pajamas, the ones Luke always said made me look like Area 51’s least threatening escapee.

Speaking of Luke… I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. He picked up before the first ring ended.

“YOU’RE ALIVE!”

I held the phone away from my ear. “Indoor voice, Luke. And yes, surprisingly not murdered yet.”

“Why didn’t you call earlier? I was about to send in the National Guard. Or my eomma. She’s scarier.”

“My car broke down,” I said, settling into my sleeping bag, feeling refreshed but exhausted. “But fear not, I was rescued by a suspiciously helpful local named Caleb who offered to tow me to the cottage.”

“You got into a stranger’s car? In the middle of nowhere?” Luke’s voice went up an octave. “Please tell me you at least had your location sharing on.”

“Before you start, yes, I know every horror movie ever begins this way.”

“Kai Chen, I swear to God—”

“He’s coming back tomorrow to look at my car properly. Seems nice enough.”

“Coming back?” Luke’s voice was doing that thing where it mixed concern with judgment. “To your remote murder cottage? Alone?”

“As opposed to what? The crowds of witnesses in this thriving metropolis?”

“Don’t sass me when I’m worried about you.” He paused. “What’s he look like?”

I rolled my eyes. “Really? That’s your concern right now?”

“Hey, if you’re going to get murdered by a local, he should at least be hot.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait! I’m serious—I couldn’t find anything about this town online, and Eomma’s been chanting your name all day. She says she has a bad feeling.”

“Luke—”

“Don’t ‘Luke’ me. And text me every hour or she’ll drive up there herself to perform a full protection ritual.”

“ Imo (Aunty) rituals are scarier than the National Guard.”

“Right? She’s already got her prayer beads out. I swear she has a sixth sense for when I’m worried about you.”

“Tell her I’m fine, and her favorite almost-son promises to text regularly and avoid any obvious murder scenarios.”

“You better. Or we’ll both be getting cleansed into next week.”

I hung up, grinning despite myself. Luke’s family superstitions were oddly comforting tonight. I pulled my laptop from my bag, setting it up on the coffee table. At least there was Wi-Fi—another mysterious courtesy. The blue light from the screen felt comforting, modern, safe. A barrier between me and whatever memories this place wanted to drag up.

“Just until I figure out what’s going on,” I promised the cottage at large, burrowing into my sleeping bag. “Just until things feel less…” Dangerous? Familiar? Watched?

The living room felt safer somehow. More neutral. No weird shadows from diamond-patterned windows, no half-remembered warnings about not looking back. Just me, my sleeping bag, and the reassuring glow of modern technology.

The cottage creaked and settled around me, its familiar yet strange noises both soothing and unsettling. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard groaned.

I pulled my sleeping bag tighter around me and definitely didn’t think about shadows or running or why my mother never mentioned the Stones.

I pulled up Google Maps, trying to get my bearings. Cedar Grove wasn’t even big enough to show up as more than a tiny dot, buried between vast stretches of national forest. The nearest real city, Bellingham, was technically only an hour away—if you could call it “away” when the only route there involved narrow mountain roads that disappeared under snow half the year. The map showed a deceptively simple line between here and civilization, but it didn’t show the patches with no cell service, the hairpin turns that became death traps in bad weather, or the miles of dense forest pressing in from all sides. Even Bellingham felt too woodsy, too close to all this wilderness.

“Let’s see what civilization has to offer,” I muttered, opening multiple tabs. Job listings, apartment rentals, anything that screamed ‘concrete jungle’ rather than actual jungle. The glow of online job boards felt like a lifeline to the normal world.

Seattle. Los Angeles. San Francisco. Vegas. Places where the trees at least had the decency to stay in designated parks, where no one would look twice at a half-Asian guy with weird eyes, where buildings blocked out any view of the mountains. I started firing off applications like digital SOS signals, trying to ignore how the cottage seemed to grow quieter with each submission, like it was holding its breath.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I told the walls. “This is temporary. Just until I find something far, far away from any place that has grove or forest in its name.”

The apartment listings in major cities were depressing—everything either cost a kidney per month or looked like it had last been updated when Mom was my age. Still, I bookmarked a few possibilities. A shoebox studio in downtown Seattle. A questionable sublet in San Francisco’s Tenderloin. Even a possibly haunted room share in LA’s Koreatown.

A loud creak from upstairs made me jump.

“Just the house settling,” I whispered, pulling my sleeping bag tighter. “Totally normal old house noises that have nothing to do with weird memories or suspiciously helpful maintenance men or…”

I forced my attention back to the screen. Studio apartment, utilities included, only slightly murderous vibes seemed like a perfectly reasonable option compared to this place. Even if it meant living on ramen for the foreseeable future. Even if it meant starting over completely.

Even if something deep inside me whispered that leaving might not be as simple as packing up my Honda and hitting the road.

The cottage creaked again, this time from somewhere near the stairs. I pulled my sleeping bag up to my chin, the soft glow of my laptop screen suddenly seeming very inadequate against the pressing darkness.

“Just until I sell this place,” I promised myself, trying to ignore how the words felt hollow. “Just until I find something in a nice, normal city where the biggest wildlife threat is pigeons.”