Marked (Marked by Alphas #1)

Chapter 14

T he Stone manor’s family dining room was a far cry from the formal one I’d glimpsed earlier. Connected to the living room through wide archways, it managed to be both elegant and cozy—probably thanks to Maria’s touch. The round oak table could seat eight comfortably, its rich wood gleaming in the warm light from the iron chandelier above. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the garden where Miguel had been working earlier, now painted in sunset colors. A massive stone fireplace shared with the living room added to the intimate atmosphere, and comfortable leather chairs invited long, lingering meals rather than formal state dinners.

I found myself wedged between Marcus and Caleb, with Derek across from me, which felt both thrilling and dangerous—like sitting between two live wires while being watched by a third. Shadow had claimed his spot under the table, his massive head resting on my lap with expert precision. Storm and Scout flanked me like protective shadows, their eyes fixed on my hands with laser focus despite having already eaten their own dinner.

“No begging,” Maria scolded the dogs as she bustled in with yet another steaming dish.

The dogs didn’t budge an inch. Shadow just turned those soulful eyes up at me, and I swear he practiced that look in a mirror.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jorge warned, setting down what had to be the most beautiful paella I’d ever seen. “They’re worse than children when it comes to table manners.”

The spread was incredible—gambas al ajillo—garlic shrimp that had apparently required therapy—patatas bravas glistening with spicy sauce, platters of jamón and manchego, and that gorgeous paella studded with seafood and saffron-golden rice. It was a far cry from the quiet dinners of my childhood, where Mom would silently serve rice and whatever stir-fry she’d managed between anxiety attacks and planning our next move.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Caleb murmured, his thigh pressing warmly against mine. “Try the shrimp before Jorge starts listing their credentials.”

“These shrimp,” Jorge announced proudly, “were caught fresh this morning and prepared according to—”

“According to my abuela’s recipe,” Maria cut in, making Miguel snicker into his wineglass.

“You used store-bought garlic powder!” Jorge gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I saw the container!” he insisted. “In your kitchen!”

“That was one time !” Maria gasped, clutching her chest. “I was sick that week! And you dare bring this up again—”

“The truth must be told,” Jorge declared. “The great Valencia paella competition winner—”

“Good Lord in heaven!” Maria exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “Jorge Stone, I swear—”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. The sound surprised me. It felt rusty but real. When was the last time I’d actually enjoyed a family dinner? Mom and I had loved each other fiercely, but meals were usually quick, quiet affairs punctuated by her checking the windows and me pretending not to notice.

“Here,” Marcus said softly, reaching across me to serve paella onto my plate. The motion brought him close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, smell that addictive wild scent that all three brothers seemed to share. “Maria and Jorge’s paella is legendary.”

“Based on my abuela’s recipe,” Maria announced proudly, making Jorge throw his hands up in exasperation.

“We collaborated !” Jorge protested. “I added the perfect balance of—”

“Perfect balance? Ha! If I hadn’t stopped you with the saffron—”

“The saffron needs to sing, woman! Not whisper!”

Miguel’s phone chimed, and his face lit up in a way that made it obvious who the message was from.

“Anna says hi,” he reported, thumbs flying over the screen. “And that we better save her some patatas bravas or there’ll be consequences.”

“Tell her I already set aside a portion,” Maria said proudly. “That girl, she knows good food. Unlike some people who think store-bought pimentón is acceptable—”

“It was imported! From La Vera !” Jorge insisted. “The finest smoked paprika in Spain!”

“Imported? Ha! I saw the supermarket label!” Maria gasped. “In your kitchen! This morning!”

“The shipment was delayed,” Jorge declared dramatically. “What was I supposed to do? Let the chorizo suffer…”

I felt something warm and solid press against my right side as Caleb leaned in. “Watch this,” he whispered, his breath tickling my ear. Then, louder, he said, “Hey, Jorge, didn’t I see some pre-minced garlic in the pantry?”

The look of absolute horror on Jorge’s face sent me into another fit of giggles. Even Marcus cracked a smile, though his hand had somehow found its way to my knee under the table, thumb tracing small circles that were very distracting.

A warm nose nudged my hand, and I automatically slipped Shadow a small piece of chicken from the chicken salad before I could stop myself.

“Kai!” Maria’s scandalized gasp made me jump. “You’re spoiling them! They’ll never leave you alone now.”

“Too late,” Derek rumbled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Shadow’s already claimed him.”

The paella was heavenly, but it was hard to focus on the food with three pairs of eyes watching my every move like I was performing a private show. Marcus’ hand hadn’t left my knee, his thumb tracing lazy circles that were not helping my concentration. Every time I lifted my fork, I could feel Derek’s gaze tracking the movement, his own food barely touched.

“Try the shrimp,” Caleb murmured, leaning close enough that his breath tickled my ear. He speared one with his fork and offered it to me, his eyes dancing with mischief.

I blamed the wine for the way my cheeks heated as I accepted it. The shrimp was perfect, and I couldn’t quite hold back a small sound of appreciation. All three brothers shifted in their seats.

Shadow chose that moment to whine softly, his massive head heavy on my lap. Those soulful eyes looked up at me pleadingly.

“Don’t you dare,” Maria warned, but I was already sneaking him another piece of chicken under the table. “Dios mío! You’re worse than the brothers!”

Miguel’s phone chimed again, and his face lit up in that now-familiar way. “Anna’s still mad about this afternoon,” he announced, his expression darkening slightly. “Says you scared her half to death yelling about the pillows, Marcus.”

I winced, guilt flooding through me. “I knew it. Those are family heirlooms. I’m so sorry about the whole… pillow incident. The dogs just caught me off guard and—”

“The pillows are fine,” Marcus cut in smoothly, though his hand tightened slightly on my knee. “It was my fault for overreacting.”

Maria muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “foolish wolves and their pillows” under her breath.

“Still,” Miguel frowned at his phone, “you didn’t have to make her cry. She’s been working here for three years and never—”

“Miguel.” Derek’s voice held a warning note, though his ears had turned slightly pink. “We’ll make it right with Anna.”

“We’ll give her tomorrow off. With pay,” Marcus added, clearly trying to smooth things over. “And a bonus for emotional distress.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed. “You know that Prada bag she’s been saving up for? The one she keeps showing me on her phone?”

“The burgundy one?” Caleb perked up, catching on quick.

“Mm-hmm. The one that costs three months of her salary.”

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Miguel—”

“I’m just saying”—Miguel shrugged, the picture of innocence—“it would make a really nice apology gift. Especially since she cried. For an hour. In her car. Before driving home.”

Derek actually winced. “Fine. Send us the link.”

“And flowers,” Caleb added quickly. “From that place in Bellingham she likes.”

“Done,” Marcus agreed, looking like he’d rather face a firing squad than continue this conversation. “Have it all delivered to her house tomorrow.”

I sank lower in my chair, mortification warring with the wine’s pleasant buzz. “I really am sorry about the pillows. I didn’t mean to cause trouble between—”

“You didn’t cause anything,” Caleb assured me, his shoulder pressing warmly against mine. “The pillows are replaceable. Anna’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

Miguel’s expression had softened into smugness as he typed on his phone. “I’ll send you the link. And her address. And the flower shop details. And maybe links to a few matching accessories…”

“Don’t push it,” Derek growled, but there was no heat in it.

“Tell her I’m sorry too!” I called after Miguel’s retreating back, then muttered into my wineglass, “though I still maintain those dogs are secretly tactical assault units.”

“More wine?” Caleb offered, clearly eager to change the subject.

“I probably shouldn’t,” I said. The wine was making everything soft and golden, including my judgment. “I’m already feeling… floaty.”

“Floaty is good,” he murmured, filling my glass anyway.

A warm nose pressed against my leg, and I looked down to find Shadow giving me his most dignified begging face—somehow managing to look both regal and pathetically hungry at the same time.

"Don't even think about it," Maria warned, but my hand was already sneaking another piece of chicken under the table. "Ay Dios mío! You’re spoiling the dogs!"

“I can’t help it,” I protested. “They’re giving me the eyes. The sad, tactical assault unit eyes.”

Derek’s laugh was unexpected and rich, making something warm flutter in my stomach that had nothing to do with the wine. “Tactical assault unit eyes?”

“Look at them!” I gestured at Storm. “That’s military-grade emotional manipulation right there.”

“Just wait until Scout breaks out his special move.” Caleb grinned, his warm thigh pressed against mine.

“Special move?”

As if on cue, Scout rolled onto his back, paws in the air, looking utterly ridiculous for something his size.

“Oh no,” I breathed. “That’s not fair. That’s like bringing nuclear weapons to a pillow fight.”

Marcus’ hand squeezed my knee as he tried to hide his smile. “Speaking of pillows—those weren’t actually family heirlooms. Just regular silk pillows.”

“Oh, thank God.” I slumped in relief, then frowned. “Wait, then why did you yell at Anna?”

The brothers exchanged one of those loaded looks that made me feel like I was missing something important. Derek suddenly became very interested in his wineglass, while Caleb bit his lip to suppress what looked suspiciously like a grin.

“The pillows were… recently acquired,” Marcus said carefully. “For a specific purpose.”

“For catching people running naked from tactical assault dogs?” I suggested.

Caleb actually choked on his wine. Derek’s ears turned pink again, and Marcus’ hand tightened on my knee.

“We are NOT speaking of pillows!” Maria declared loudly. “Jorge! Dessert!”

The dessert looked like heaven on a plate. “ Tarta de Santiago ,” he announced proudly. “Maria’s mother’s recipe. Though I added—” He caught Maria’s glare and quickly amended, “—absolutely nothing because it’s perfect exactly as her mother made it.”

The dessert looked amazing, but I was suddenly very aware of how close the brothers were, how the wine had made everything warm and soft, how Marcus’ thumb was still tracing circles on my knee.

“You must try it with the crema,” Maria insisted, adding a generous dollop to my plate. “My madre (mother) always said dessert without cream is like a kiss without—”

“Maria!” Jorge cut in, horrified. “Not at the table!”

I ducked my head to hide my smile, taking a bite of the tarta. It was incredible—rich and nutty and perfectly sweet. A small sound of appreciation escaped before I could stop it, making all three brothers shift in their seats.

“I should probably get going soon,” I said reluctantly, noting how the sky outside had turned dusky purple. “Before it gets dark.”

“Absolutely not!” Maria declared, waving her hands. “You must stay here tonight. It’s too far to drive, especially after all that wine. And Jorge has already started marinating the lamb for tomorrow’s lunch—Greek style, mi amor (my love). Very traditional, with rosemary and lemon. You’ll stay, sí?”

“I couldn’t possibly—”

“The herbs were picked fresh from the garden,” Jorge added, looking wounded.

“But—”

“And the tzatziki,” Maria continued, already planning tomorrow’s menu, her accent thickening with excitement. “Jorge’s tzatziki is better than any Greek place. Though not as good as my—”

“Dios mío!” Jorge cut in. “You dare compare your supermarket yogurt to my hand-strained—”

The thought of going back to the cottage, with its empty rooms and strange shadows, made something in my chest tighten. Here, it was warm and bright and full of bickering and dogs trying their best puppy-dog eyes every time I glanced their way.

“You’ll stay in the guest suite,” Marcus said. “It’s already prepared.”

I nodded before I could think better of it. “Well, if Jorge went to all that trouble with the lamb…”

“Perfect!” Maria beamed, already setting down a plate of tiny custard tarts. “These are just a little something to hold you over until bedtime. Very light, mi amor. You’re much too skinny—we need to put some meat on those bones, sí?”

Derek caught my eye across the table and grinned, clearly used to Maria’s definition of “light snacks.” His smile did dangerous things to my insides, or maybe that was just the wine. Either way, I was fighting a losing battle against the combined forces of Stone family hospitality and my own reluctance to leave this warm bubble of… whatever this was.

After dinner, I was led through the manor’s sprawling wings, my steps slightly unsteady from the wine. Marcus’ hand stayed at the small of my back, ostensibly to keep me from stumbling, while Caleb and Derek flanked us like elegant shadows.

“This is the formal library,” Marcus said, pushing open massive oak doors that looked older than Cedar Grove itself. The room took my breath away—two stories of leather-bound books stretched toward a coffered ceiling, with a spiral staircase curling up to the second level. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the misty forest, and a massive stone fireplace dominated one wall.

“Most of these have been in our family since the 1600s,” Caleb explained, running his fingers along the spines of nearby books. “Our ancestors brought them from England when they first settled here.”

“The year 1667,” I murmured, drawn to an ancient map framed on the wall. It showed Cedar Grove as nothing but wilderness, with a small mark indicating what must have been the original Stone lodge. “That’s… incredibly well preserved for something so old.”

The brothers exchanged one of their looks.

“Our family has always been… particular about preserving our heritage,” Marcus said carefully. “The original William Stone was quite adamant about documenting everything.”

We moved into what appeared to be a formal portrait gallery, and I stopped dead in my tracks. There, in an ornate golden frame, was a man who could have been Marcus’ twin—same aristocratic features, same commanding presence, same intense eyes that seemed to follow you around the room.

“William Stone,” Derek said quietly, watching my reaction. “The first Stone to settle here.”

“The resemblance is…” I glanced between the portrait and Marcus, the wine making me bolder than usual. “It’s uncanny. Your genes must be incredibly strong.” My eyes wandered over the other portraits—generations of devastatingly attractive men and striking women, all bearing those distinctive Stone features. “Did your entire family tree just… win the genetic lottery?”

Caleb’s laugh was warm against my ear. “You should see the paintings in the east wing. Apparently, our great-great-aunt Victoria had half the gold rush prospectors fighting for her hand.”

“I can imagine,” I murmured, still captivated by William Stone’s portrait. “He must have had women throwing themselves at him left and right.” The wine had my tongue looser than usual. “Actually, all of them must have. How did any of them ever get any governing done with everyone swooning over them?”

Marcus’ hand tightened slightly on my waist. “The Stones have always been… selective about their partners.”

“Which explains why three gorgeous, wealthy men are still single in the middle of nowhere instead of being fought over in New York or LA?” The words were out before my wine-addled brain could stop them. I felt my face heat up. “I mean… not that I’ve been wondering about your relationship status or anything. That would be weird. I’m just… observing. Historically. For science.”

Derek’s low chuckle sent shivers down my spine. “For science?”

“Shut up. I’m drunk. Show me more rooms.”

The great hall was even more impressive than the library. Two stories of windows soared upward, and a massive stone fireplace dominated one end. Ancient tapestries hung between the windows, and overhead, iron chandeliers cast warm light over everything.

“This is where the original lodge stood,” Marcus explained, his voice low and intimate near my ear. “Some of these foundation stones date back to 1667.”

“It feels…” I struggled to find the right word, distracted by his proximity. “Important. Like important things happen here.”

“They do,” Derek said quietly. “Family traditions. Ceremonies. Decisions that affect the whole…” He paused. “…community.”

We passed through a formal reception room that looked like something out of a period drama, all gilt mirrors and crystal chandeliers. Then into what Marcus called the ceremonial chamber, though what ceremonies they performed here, he wouldn’t say. The room had a strange energy to it—ancient and powerful, with more wolf motifs carved into the dark wood paneling.

“Your family really likes wolves,” I observed, tracing one of the carvings with my finger. Derek caught my hand, his touch sending electricity up my arm.

“Careful,” he murmured. “Some of these are quite sharp.”

His thumb brushed over my pulse point, and I blamed the wine for the way my heart started racing. Marcus was still pressed against my other side, and Caleb had moved to stand in front of me, effectively boxing me in against the carved wall. The air felt thick with… something. Possibility maybe. Or danger. Or both.

“I should…” My voice came out embarrassingly breathy. “We should probably…”

“Probably what?” Caleb’s voice was teasing, but his eyes were intense as they locked with mine. He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him, could smell that wild, addictive scent that all three brothers shared.

Marcus’ fingers traced up my spine, making me shiver. “You were saying?”

“I don’t…” I swallowed hard. “I don’t remember.”

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, breaking whatever spell had fallen over us. I stepped away quickly, my face burning. “Right! Tour. We were touring. Historically. Let’s… let’s do that.”

The brothers exchanged another one of those looks that seemed to hold entire conversations, but they kept their distance as we continued through the manor. Though I noticed they always managed to stay close enough to catch me if I stumbled, which I blamed entirely on the uneven historical flooring and not at all on the way they kept looking at me.

“You’re swaying,” Marcus observed eventually, his arm sliding more securely around my waist. “Perhaps we should continue the tour tomorrow. When you’re less… floaty.”

“I’m not that drunk,” I protested, even as I leaned into his warmth. “Just… contemplating historical significance. Very seriously.”

Caleb’s laugh was warm. “Come on, lightweight. Let’s get you to bed before you start trying to solve centuries-old family mysteries.”

As they led me toward the guest wing, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just scratched the surface of something much deeper than local history. The way the brothers moved around me, protective and possessive all at once. The looks they kept exchanging. The strange familiarity of rooms I’d never seen before.

But maybe that was just the wine talking. After all, what mysteries could an old family like the Stones possibly have?

Besides the obvious one of how they all managed to look like they’d walked straight off a luxury magazine spread. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, I was just going to focus on walking straight and not thinking about how good Marcus’ hand felt on my back. Or how Derek’s eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. Or how Caleb’s smile made my stomach flip.

Definitely the wine’s fault. All of it.

Right?

The guest suite was larger than my entire cottage. Decorated in soothing shades of cream and gold, it managed to be both opulent and cozy. A four-poster bed dominated one wall, piled high with what looked like a small fortune in pillows and the kind of sheets that probably had a thread count higher than my bank balance.

Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the moonlit gardens, while a seating area near the fireplace featured the kind of overstuffed chairs you could sink into and never want to leave. The whole room felt warm and inviting, like it had been prepared specifically for me—which was ridiculous, of course. I was just a random guest who’d had too much wine.

“Here you are,” Maria bustled in with an armful of clothes. “These are Miguel’s old pajamas. Too small for him now, but they will fit you perfectly, mi amor. The bathroom has everything you need—fresh towels, new toothbrush, and all those expensive products. The brothers, they only buy the best quality.”

I followed her gesture toward what I assumed was the en suite bathroom and nearly gasped. The “bathroom” was bigger than my bedroom at the cottage. Gleaming marble surfaces, a shower big enough for a small party, and a deep soaking tub that looked like it could double as a small pool. The counter held an array of high-end toiletries that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

“If you need anything, my room is down the hall,” Maria continued, fussing with the already-perfect bed linens. “The brothers are close too—Marcus in the east wing, Derek in the west, and Caleb in the south. You will sleep well here, carino. The bed is very comfortable, and you are very safe.”

Something about the way she said ‘safe’ made me pause, but before I could question it, she was shooing me toward the shower. “Go on now, a hot shower will help after all that wine. Sleep well, pequeno.”

The shower was heavenly, with multiple jets and the kind of water pressure that made me never want to leave. Miguel’s old pajamas fit surprisingly well—soft flannel pants and a worn t-shirt that smelled faintly of lavender. I was just about to climb into that ridiculously inviting bed when I heard scratching at the door.

Opening it revealed three pairs of pleading eyes. Shadow, Storm, and Scout sat there looking up at me with expressions that somehow managed to be both regal and pathetic at the same time.

“Really?” I asked them. “This morning I was running naked through the house to get away from you, and now you want a sleepover?”

Shadow’s tail thumped against the floor. Scout actually whined.

“Fine.” I sighed, stepping aside. “But no hogging the bed.”

They filed in with far too much dignity for dogs who’d just been begging at the door. Within moments, they’d arranged themselves around the bed—Shadow claiming the spot nearest my pillow, Storm at the foot, and Scout sprawled across as much space as possible in between.

“Make yourselves at home,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help smiling as I climbed in. The bed was just as comfortable as it looked, and despite my earlier five-hour nap, I drifted off almost immediately. There was something oddly comforting about having three massive wolf-dogs as roommates. Like having my own personal security detail.

The last thing I remembered thinking before sleep claimed me was how strange it was that I felt safer here, in this huge unfamiliar house, than I had anywhere since Mom died. But maybe that was just the wine. Or the thread count. Or the three furry bodyguards already snoring softly around me.

Or maybe…

But sleep pulled me under before I could finish that thought, wrapped in warmth and comfort and the oddest sense of belonging.