Page 12 of Marked

Welcome home, precious one.

The Stone Manor rose from the misty forest like an echo of old-world power, its four wings spreading like compass points from the central great hall. Built from native stone and timber, the manor incorporated stones from the original 1667 lodge, seamlessly blending centuries of additions into a masterpiece that dominated yet complemented the surrounding wilderness. Soaring ceilings and massive windows flooded the space with natural light, while gleaming hardwood floors and rich wood paneling showcased the region’s natural wealth.

The formal dining room, housed in the central great hall, could have hosted fifty, but only three places were set at the massive Brazilian rosewood table. Crystal glasses caught the light from the custom chandelier, wine untouched beside plates of barely touched venison.

Jorge, their cousin and family chef who’d served as the manor’s culinary master for over fifteen years, Maria, their Spanish great-aunt whom the brothers affectionately called Tía, and her son Miguel had retreated to the north family wing of the manor. They all knew when to give the brothers space, tactfully withdrawing to their private suites as the tension rolled off the three alphas.

At their feet, three massive wolf-dogs lounged with deceptive casualness. Shadow, pitch-black with silver markings, sat regally beside Marcus’ chair, watching the room with calculating intelligence. Storm, Derek’s silver-gray sentinel, maintained his guard position, muscles tensed and ready even at rest. Scout, golden-brown and smallest of the three, sprawled near Caleb’s feet, though his playful demeanor didn’t fool anyone—these weren’t ordinary pets.

Their presence was a constant source of speculation in town—too large to be normal dogs, too well trained to be wolves, yet somehow both and neither. Like their masters, they commanded respect without effort.

Derek stabbed at his meat, still in his tactical gear from running the perimeter. The scent of their mate clung to him from his forest patrol—faint, teasing, maddening.

“He’s exactly as I remembered,” Caleb said softly, pushing food around his plate. His designer clothes were still dusty from playing roadside rescuer. “But grown-up. Perfect.”

Marcus set down his fork with careful precision, but his claws had already left marks in the custom Brazilian rosewood. “Report. Everything.”

“Frightened rabbit in that beat-up Honda,” Derek snorted. “Nearly caught his scent six times on the drive in. Like he was going in circles. That rust bucket shouldn’t even be road-worthy.”

“He was lost.” Caleb’s lips quirked. “Google Maps doesn’t work well out here. We made sure of that. Though watching him try to keep that ancient Civic running was…” His voice tightened. “He couldn’t even afford proper maintenance.”

The brothers shared a look of grim satisfaction tinged with protective anger. Every detail, every possibility, had been planned for years. The cottage’s strategic isolation. The town’s careful cultivation. The selective technology dead zones. Butseeing their mate struggle in a car that was one pothole away from collapse—that hadn’t been part of the plan.

“Speaking of technology…” Caleb pushed back from the table, crossing to the state-of-the-art monitoring station built into what looked like an antique writing desk. Three screens glowed to life. “He’s online now. Using our Wi-Fi—the only signal that reaches the cottage.”

Derek abandoned all pretense of eating, moving to loom over Caleb’s shoulder. “What’s he looking for?”

“Jobs. Apartments.” Caleb’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Seattle, LA, Vegas… anywhere without trees, basically. He’s—” He broke off, tension visible in his shoulders. “He’s good. The jobs he’s applying for? Perfect for his skills. The apartments are in safe areas. Smart escape plans.”

“He’s not leaving.” Derek’s growl echoed off the vaulted ceiling.

“Of course not.” Marcus remained at the table, the picture of control except for his glowing red eyes. “But we let him try. For now.”

The screens showed Kai’s browser history in real time, each new search another city, another possible escape route. The cottage’s security feeds ran alongside, showing their mate curled up with his laptop, small and vulnerable in his sleeping bag.

“Knox’s pack scented him,” Derek bit out. “Three of them were testing the borders this afternoon.”

Storm’s hackles rose at the mention of rival wolves, a low rumble building in his chest.

“They won’t dare cross our territory,” Marcus said, but his wineglass shattered in his grip. Red liquid dripped onto the imported marble floor, looking too much like blood.

“You should have seen him up close,” Caleb said, eyes glued to the screens but a small smile playing on his lips. Scout’s tail wagged in agreement, clearly sharing his master’s amusement.“He’s got this… spark now. Called me a ‘woodland deity’ and ‘lumberjack guardian angel’ right to my face. Then started rambling about horror movies and becoming the start of one—‘city boy moves to creepy cottage, loses phone signal, never heard from again.’“

Derek’s growl filled the room. Marcus’ chair scraped against marble.

“And the way he talks,” Caleb continued, either oblivious to or enjoying his brothers’ reactions. “All sass and snark. Started asking if there were ‘mandatory barn raising events’ and ‘secret handshakes.’ Even made jokes about negotiating Wi-Fi with the local bears.”

The antique desk cracked under Derek’s grip. “Enough.”

Marcus appeared behind them, his control slipping enough to show fangs. Shadow rose silently beside him, the massive black wolf-dog’s presence adding to his master’s intimidating aura. “You seem to have learned quite a lot about our mate in one brief encounter.”

“Jealous?” Caleb’s tone was light, but his eyes were careful when they met Marcus’ in the screen’s reflection. “I’m just saying… he’s not that frightened kid anymore. He’s perfect. The way he blushed when the truck hit that bump and I had to steady him. His skin’s so soft, and those eyes up close…” He trailed off, remembering the gold flecks that had caught the afternoon light.

Marcus yanked him back by the scruff of his neck, eyes blazing alpha-red. “Choose your next words carefully, little brother.”

“Just stating facts,” Caleb said, not quite managing to hide his grin despite Marcus’ grip. “Up close, in the cab of my truck… honey and rain andneed. Every time the truck jerked, he’d grab my arm, and the scent would spike with—”

He didn’t finish because Marcus had him pinned against the wall, forearm across his throat. “One more word about touchingour mate, little brother, and you’ll be running patrols for a month.”

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