Marked (Marked by Alphas #1)

Chapter 5

T he café turned out to be a charming brick building with The Daily Grind written in gold leaf on the windows. Very Pinterest-worthy, very expensive-looking, and very much not the kind of place that welcomed people in coffee-stained t-shirts.

“I’m underdressed,” I whispered, tugging at my ruined shirt.

“You’re with me,” Marcus replied, like that explained everything. Maybe it did, because the moment we walked in, the whole place snapped to attention.

“Mr. Stone!” The barista practically vaulted over the counter. “Your usual table?”

Wait. Stone? My brain tried to connect the dots, but Marcus’ hand was still on my lower back, and apparently that short-circuited my ability to think straight. Pun absolutely intended.

The café was all exposed brick and gleaming wood, with leather armchairs arranged around intimate tables. Marcus guided me to a corner booth that somehow managed to be both cozy and throne-like. The leather was butter-soft, probably made from cows that had daily spa treatments.

I tried to focus on the elegant décor, but my eyes kept drifting to the open kitchen area where a wood-fired pizza oven dominated the scene. The aroma of fresh dough and melting mozzarella wafted over, making my mouth water. A chef was tossing dough in the air with practiced flourishes, the thin crust spinning like a translucent disk before landing perfectly on his fingertips. Another was sliding a pizza into the blazing oven with one of those long wooden paddles, and the smell of basil and roasting garlic was practically torture.

“The usual, Mr. Stone?” A waiter materialized at our table, managing to make his uniform look like haute couture. “And for your… guest?”

Marcus’ smile had an edge. “The full menu for my friend, John. And start us with the house coffee.”

“The full menu?” I raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore how ‘my friend’ made my stomach flip. “I said coffee and maybe a sandwich. Maybe being the operative word.”

“Very good, sir.” John disappeared, only to return moments later with what looked like a leather-bound novel but was apparently the menu.

“You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question. “And the pizza here is excellent.”

My stomach betrayed me again with an embarrassingly loud growl. “How did you—”

“You keep looking at the pizza station.” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and I flushed, caught in my not-so-subtle pizza watching. “The margherita is particularly good. They import the buffalo mozzarella from Italy.”

Of course they did. Because apparently this café didn’t believe in doing anything halfway.

The coffee arrived in delicate cups. I took a sip and barely suppressed a moan. “Oh my God.”

“Good?” There was something deeply satisfied in his expression.

“This isn’t coffee. This is liquid gold.” I took another sip. “What do they do, massage the beans individually?”

“Something like that.” He watched me over the rim of his cup, those ice-blue eyes warming with amusement. “Now, about lunch—”

“I can order for myself,” I protested, but he was already turning to John, who had materialized again like a very well-dressed ninja.

“We’ll start with the bruschetta,” Marcus said. “Then the margherita pizza, the prosciutto and fig sandwich, and…” He glanced at me. “The tiramisu is exceptional.”

“I couldn’t possibly—” My stomach growled again. Louder.

Marcus’ smile widened. “The tiramisu as well, John.”

“Very good, Mr. Stone.” John whisked away our menus before I could even open mine.

“I can’t let you—” I started.

“You can and you will.” His voice was gentle but firm. It should have annoyed me. Instead, it sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the café’s excellent air-conditioning.

The bruschetta arrived on a rustic wooden board, the colors vibrant enough to make a food photographer weep—ruby tomatoes, emerald basil, golden olive oil catching the light. I tried to eat daintily, I really did, but the first bite made my eyes roll back.

“Oh my God,” I mumbled around a mouthful of perfectly toasted bread and tomatoes. “How is this amazing? It’s literally just bread and tomatoes. This shouldn’t be allowed.”

Marcus watched me with that predatory focus, like I was putting on a private show just for him. His barely touched coffee sat forgotten. “The ingredients are locally sourced. The bread is baked fresh hourly.”

“Of course it is.” I reached for another piece, then hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, I’m hogging it all. You probably didn’t invite me to lunch just to watch me inhale everything like a vacuum cleaner with anxiety issues.”

“Please, continue.” He pushed the plate closer to me, his fingers brushing mine in a touch that seemed accidental but felt deliberate. “I find your enthusiasm… refreshing.”

The way he said ‘refreshing’ made it sound like something else entirely. My scar tingled, a warm pulse that spread through my whole body.

“So,” I said, desperately reaching for normal conversation, “do you often rescue coffee-stained strangers, or am I special?”

His smile had an edge that made my heart stutter. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re avoiding the question.” I pointed my fork at him accusingly. “That’s very CEO of you.”

“CEO?” One perfect eyebrow arched.

“Please. The suit? The way everyone here treats you like royalty? That commanding presence you’ve clearly perfected?” I waved my fork expansively. “You’re definitely some kind of corporate overlord.”

He actually chuckled at that, the sound rich and warm. “Corporate overlord. I’ll have to add that to my business cards.”

“See? You didn’t deny it.” The bruschetta was disappearing at an alarming rate, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “Though you’re surprisingly good at this whole lunch companion thing for an overlord.”

“Am I?” His eyes never left my face, tracking every expression like he was memorizing them.

“Disturbingly so.” I licked a drop of olive oil from my thumb, and his eyes darkened fractionally. “Though the staring is a bit intense. Fair warning, if you’re actually a serial killer, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

“Not a serial killer.” His lips curved. “Just appreciative.”

“Of what? My ability to inhale Italian appetizers?”

“Of you.” The simple honesty in his voice made me flush. “You’re… not what I expected.”

“Story of my life.” I reached for my water glass to hide my confusion. Why did his approval make something warm unfurl in my chest? “I’m basically a professional disappointment.”

“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried.” There was that tone again, the one that brooked no argument. The one that made me want to agree with anything he said.

Before I could process that disturbing thought, the pizza arrived. Steam rose from the perfectly blistered crust, the smell of fresh basil and melted mozzarella making my mouth water. The chef placed it on a raised stand between us with a flourish.

“I think I’m in love,” I announced, watching cheese stretch as Marcus served me a slice. When had I agreed to let him serve me? And why did it feel so natural?

“With the pizza?” His voice dropped lower, something possessive flickering in his eyes.

“Don’t judge our love. It’s pure.” I took a bite and couldn’t help the moan that escaped. Several heads turned our way. I should have been embarrassed, but honestly? The pizza deserved the sound effects. “Oh my God, what do they put in this? Illegal substances? Magic? The tears of Italian grandmothers?”

Marcus’ eyes had darkened to midnight, his knuckles white around his fork. “You’re very… expressive.”

“Only with food.” I took another bite, closing my eyes in bliss. “Though this barely counts as food. This is art. This is religion. This is—” I opened my eyes to find him staring at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. “You’re doing the serial killer stare again.”

“Not a serial killer,” he reminded me, voice rough. “Just… appreciative.”

“You keep saying that.” I fidgeted under his gaze, torn between wanting to squirm away and wanting to lean closer. “Though I guess if you were a serial killer, you wouldn’t advertise it. ‘Local Business Owner Murders Tourist Over Pizza’ would probably be bad for tourism.”

“You’re not a tourist.” Something flickered in his eyes. “You’re staying.”

It wasn’t a question. It should have been a question. “Temporarily,” I said, but the word felt wrong in my mouth. Like a lie, even though it was true. “Just until I sort out the cottage situation.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The cottage.”

“Yeah, you know, the reason I’m in town? The inheritance I’m planning to sell as soon as—” I stopped, distracted by the arrival of the prosciutto and fig sandwich. “Holy mother of—is that honey drizzled on top?”

“Local honey,” Marcus confirmed, smoothly changing the subject. “From the Stone apiaries.”

“Of course you have apiaries.” I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, the bees all wear tiny suits and have excellent work ethic?”

That startled another laugh out of him. “No suits, but they are rather industrious.”

“I knew it. Corporate bees.” I took a bite of the sandwich and promptly forgot how to form sentences. The sweet-salt combination of prosciutto and fig was divine, the honey adding another layer of complexity that made my taste buds sing. “Okay, the bees can keep their jobs. They’re clearly overachievers.”

Marcus watched me devour half the sandwich before speaking again. “You enjoy food.”

“I enjoy good food,” I corrected, licking honey from my fingers without thinking. His eyes tracked the movement, and my scar tingled in response. “Which this definitely is. Though I usually can’t afford places like this on my ‘recently graduated and drowning in student loans’ budget.”

“Then I’m honored to be your first.” The way he said it made it sound like he wasn’t just talking about the restaurant.

I choked on my water. “That’s… that’s not… I mean…”

“The tiramisu here is exceptional,” he continued smoothly, though his eyes danced with amusement at my flustered state. “You should try it.”

“I couldn’t possibly—” My protest died as John appeared with a slice of tiramisu that looked like it belonged in a museum. “Oh, wow.”

“Problem?” Marcus’ smile was downright wicked.

“Several, actually. Starting with how you seem to know exactly what I want before I do.” I picked up my fork, trying to ignore how that fact thrilled and terrified me in equal measure. “It’s unsettling.”

“Is it?” He leaned forward slightly, and the air between us grew thick with… something. Something that made my heart race and my scar burn. “You seem quite settled to me.”

He was right. That was the scary part. I felt more comfortable here, with this strange, commanding man I’d just met, than I had anywhere else in years. My body kept relaxing into his presence despite my brain’s protests.

“You’re staring again,” I said finally, licking tiramisu from my fork with perhaps more thoroughness than strictly necessary.

“You’re fascinating.” The simple honesty in his voice made me flush. Again. At this rate, I was going to need treatment for chronic blushing.

“I’m really not.” I set down my fork, suddenly aware of how many empty plates surrounded me. “I’m just a guy who stress eats and apparently has no shame about it.”

“You’re selling yourself short.” His hand moved across the table, fingers brushing mine. The touch sent electricity up my arm, and my scar pulsed in time with my heartbeat. “Though that shirt suggests you’re aware of the height issue.”

I snorted, grateful for the break in tension. “Did you just make a joke? I didn’t think you were capable.”

“I contain multitudes.” His fingers were still touching mine, and I couldn’t seem to make myself pull away. Didn’t want to pull away, which was… concerning.

“Multitudes of expensive suits, maybe.” I gestured at his coffee-stained clothing with my free hand. “I really am sorry about that.”

“I’m not.” The intensity in his gaze made my breath catch. “It led to this, didn’t it?”

This. What was this? And what was wrong with me? First Caleb, now Marcus. Two gorgeous men in one day, and my body was acting like it had been saving up all its hormones for this specific twenty-four-hour period.

I’d never been attracted to anyone before. Not really. I’d spent most of high school and college wondering if I was broken somehow. Went through a whole phase of researching asexuality, which felt close but not quite right. Like I was waiting for something. Someone.

And now here I was, having lunch with a man who looked like he belonged in a luxury fashion magazine, after agreeing to dinner with another man who belonged on the cover of Lumberjack Monthly . In a town full of wolf statues and mysterious Stone brothers and—

Stone brothers.

“You’re a Stone,” I blurted out, yanking my hand back like I’d been burned. Though, really, the burning was coming from my scar, which was practically singing now. “Like Caleb.”

“My brother.”

“Brother.” The word came out faint. “Of course. Because this town isn’t weird enough already. First the mountain man Stone who fixes my car, now the CEO Stone who feeds me illegal-substance pizza. What’s next? A third brother who models for action movie posters?”

Marcus’ lips twitched despite the predatory intensity in his gaze. “Derek prefers tactical gear, actually.”

“There’s a third— You know what? No. This is fine. This is totally normal.” I grabbed my water glass with slightly shaking hands. “Just having lunch with one gorgeous Stone brother after agreeing to dinner with another. While apparently there’s a third one lurking somewhere in tactical gear. Perfectly reasonable. Nothing suspicious about that at all.”

Marcus went very still. The kind of still that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “Dinner?”

“Um, yeah?” I swallowed hard, suddenly aware that the café had gone quiet. Even John had stopped mid-stride, carefully backing away from our table. “Caleb invited me. Tonight. Was that… not okay?”

“Did he.” It wasn’t a question. Marcus’ eyes had gone from ice blue to something darker, almost stormy. His knuckles were white around his coffee cup.

“I can cancel?” I offered, though I wasn’t sure why I was trying to appease him. It wasn’t like he had any claim on my time. “I mean, I probably should cancel. Two Stone brothers in one day is probably over my recommended daily allowance of tall, dark, and mysterious—”

“When did he ask you?” Marcus’ voice was deceptively soft, but there was something underneath it that made my scar burn.

“This morning? When he was fixing my car?” I shrank back in my chair, some instinct telling me I was witnessing something dangerous. “I mean, he fixed my car and I wanted to thank him, and he suggested dinner, and I thought it was just a normal thank-you dinner, but now I’m realizing nothing in this town is normal, especially not when it involves you Stones, and—”

A muscle ticked in Marcus’ jaw. “Did he.”

“You keep saying things that should be questions but aren’t.” I was babbling now, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “Also, you look like you’re planning a murder. Should I be planning an alibi for you? Because I have to tell you, I’m terrible at lying—”

Marcus seemed to catch himself, something shifting in his expression as he visibly reined in whatever dark emotion had gripped him. His shoulders relaxed fractionally, though his eyes still held that dangerous glint. When he spoke again, his voice was deliberately lighter, though no less intense.

“You think we’re gorgeous?” The question held a hint of genuine amusement now, though that predatory edge remained. Something that made me want to bare my throat and run away at the same time.

“I think you know exactly how gorgeous you all are, and I think I need to go before I say anything else incredibly stupid.” I started to stand, but his next words froze me in place.

“Kai.” Just my name, but it held the weight of a command. “Sit.”

I sat.

My body moved before my brain could process the action, and that was… terrifying? Thrilling? Both? The casual display of authority should have sent me running. Instead, it sent heat pooling in my stomach and made my scar pulse with something that felt disturbingly like recognition.

“There’s no rush,” he continued, voice gentling but still holding that core of steel. “Finish your coffee.”

I picked up my cup with hands that definitely weren’t trembling. “Right. Coffee. Because that’s what normal people do when they realize they’re caught in some kind of weird hot-brother situation. They just sit and finish their coffee.”

“Hot-brother situation?” Now he looked amused, though something darker lurked behind the humor.

“Don’t do that thing where you repeat what I say in that tone that makes it sound both ridiculous and somehow intimate. I’m having a crisis here.”

“What kind of crisis?” He was still watching me with that intensity that made me feel like prey, but also like something precious. It was a confusing combination.

“The kind where I’ve apparently developed some kind of Stone-brother-specific attraction disorder.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them. “Which isn’t a thing. It can’t be a thing. I don’t do attraction. I don’t do…” I waved my hand between us. “…whatever this is.”

“Don’t you?” He caught my gesturing hand in his, and the contact sent electricity shooting up my arm. “Your body suggests otherwise.”

“My body is a traitor.” I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip was gentle yet immovable. Like everything else about him. “And you’re changing the subject. Why are you all here? Why do you all keep appearing exactly when I—”

The pieces started clicking together in my head. The cottage maintenance. The convenient car help. This suspiciously perfect lunch. “Oh God. Are you stalking me? Is this a family hobby? Do all the Stones just pick random newcomers to adopt and feed?”

Marcus’ thumb was drawing circles on my palm, and it was very hard to maintain proper panic with him doing that. “You’re not random, Kai.”

The way he said my name made my scar burn. “What does that mean? And why do you keep looking at me like… like…”

“Like what?” His eyes had darkened to midnight, and I could feel the other diners deliberately not looking our way.

“Like you want to eat me.” The words came out breathy, and his fingers tightened on mine.

“Perhaps I do.” The simple honesty in his voice made me shiver. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“I… that’s not… you can’t just say things like that!” I finally managed to tug my hand free, immediately missing his warmth. “Normal people don’t say things like that!”

“I never claimed to be normal.” His smile showed teeth that seemed just a bit too sharp. “Neither did Caleb, I imagine.”

The reminder of my dinner plans made me groan. “Oh God. Caleb. How is this my life? Twenty-two years of being completely uninterested in anyone, and suddenly I’m in the middle of some kind of Stone brother sandwich.”

Marcus’ eyes flashed at that, something possessive and hungry crossing his face. “Interesting choice of words.”

“No! Not interesting! Nothing about this is interesting!” I stood up again, and this time he let me. “This is insane. I’m insane. This whole town is insane. I need to go.”

“Kai.” There was that tone again, the one that made my knees weak.

“Don’t.” I backed away from the table. “Don’t do the voice thing. I’m leaving. Thank you for lunch. It was wonderful and weird and I’m going to go have my existential crisis somewhere else now.”

He rose in one fluid motion, all controlled power and predatory grace. “Let me drive you.”

“Absolutely not. I can walk. Walking is good. Walking helps with crisis management.”

“It’s starting to rain.” He nodded toward the windows where, sure enough, fat drops were beginning to fall.

“It’s literally a five-minute walk to my car,” I pointed out, though my protest sounded weak even to my own ears. “I’m not going to melt.”

“Let me walk you, then.” His tone made it clear this wasn’t actually a request.

“I can walk by myself,” I said, but my feet weren’t moving toward the door. “I’ve been doing it successfully for twenty-two years.”

“Kai,” he said, one last time, soft but implacable. “Let me accompany you.”

I should say no. I should definitely say no. But my scar was tingling, and my heart was racing, and my body was already nodding before my brain could stop it.

“Fine,” I muttered. “But no more… intensity. I’ve hit my quota of meaningful looks and cryptic statements for the day.”

His smile was pure sin. “I make no promises.”

What had I gotten myself into?

The rain drummed steadily on the covered walkway as we left the café, the old-fashioned awning stretching between storefronts providing shelter. Water cascaded off the edge like a curtain, creating a strangely intimate bubble around us as we walked.

Marcus matched his stride to mine, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? Everything about this felt natural. Right. Like we’d walked this path together a hundred times before. His presence beside me was both overwhelming and comforting, and my scar hummed contentedly despite my brain screaming danger signals.

“You’re quiet,” he observed, close enough that his arm brushed mine occasionally. Each touch sent sparks through my body.

“Just processing my Stone brother situation,” I muttered. “Also trying to figure out why this feels so—”

My phone rang, cutting off whatever dangerous confession was about to slip out. Unknown local number. My heart jumped—the real estate agent?

“I should take this,” I said, stepping slightly away from Marcus. “You don’t have to wait—”

But Marcus just raised an eyebrow and didn’t budge. Right. Of course not.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Chen?” Linda’s voice was apologetic with an undercurrent of anxiety. “I’m so sorry to call so soon, but I’ve been reviewing your property documents and… well, there’s a complication.”

My stomach dropped. “What kind of complication?”

“There appears to be some sort of clause attached to the property. I’m not entirely qualified to interpret the legal language, but from what I can tell, there are… restrictions on selling.”

“Restrictions?” I caught Marcus watching me intently from the corner of my eye. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll need to speak with the lawyer who handled the inheritance. Mr. James Morrison. His office is actually just down on Pine Street. I have his number and—”

I scrambled to pull up my notes app, nearly dropping my phone in the process. Marcus steadied it with one hand, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

“Go ahead,” I said weakly, typing as Linda rattled off the contact information.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she added. “These old properties sometimes have unusual provisions…”

After I hung up, I slumped against the nearest storefront. “Well, that’s just perfect.”

“Problem?” Marcus’ voice was gentle, but something in his eyes…

“The cottage. Apparently, I can’t sell it. Something about clauses and restrictions and lawyers, oh my.” I ran a hand through my hair. “You wouldn’t happen to know a James Morrison, would you?”

Marcus’ lips curved into a small smile. “As a matter of fact, I do. One of the best property lawyers in the state.”

“Of course you do.” I let my head thunk back against the brick wall. “Is he at least legitimate? Not some small-town hack who’s going to tell me I need to sacrifice a goat under the full moon to break the property curse?”

That earned me a low chuckle. “He’s entirely legitimate. Harvard Law, thirty years of experience. He handles most of the Stone Industries legal work.”

“Great. Fantastic. Another Stone connection.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t suppose you know what kind of clause would prevent someone from selling their own property?”

“Several possibilities.” His voice was closer now. “Would you like me to accompany you to his office?”

I opened my eyes to find him watching me with that intense expression again. I should say no. This was exactly the kind of situation Mom always warned me about—accepting help from strangers, especially powerful ones who looked at me like… like that.

But I felt small and lost and overwhelmed, and Marcus… Marcus felt safe, even though he shouldn’t. Even though everything about him screamed danger.

“Please,” I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded. “If you don’t mind?”

Something softened in his expression. “Not at all.” He offered his arm, an oddly old-fashioned gesture that should have seemed ridiculous but somehow wasn’t. “Shall we?”

I took his arm, trying to ignore how right it felt. How my scar warmed at the contact. How my body relaxed into his strength like it had found its home.

I was so screwed.