Page 50 of Marked

“Cream? Sugar?” Caleb asked, voice strangled.

“Black, like my soul.”

That startled a laugh out of all of them. Even Jorge snorted as he set down more food—enough to feed a small army.

“What?” I defended. The shirt slipped farther, and three sets of eyes tracked the movement. “Some of us need industrial-strength caffeine to deal with…” I gestured vaguely at everything, accidentally causing more shirt slippage. “…this.”

“This?” Marcus’ voice was dangerously low as he watched another water droplet trail down my collarbone.

“You know, this. The whole…” I waved my hand at them, then quickly grabbed the hem of the shirt as it rode up. “Whatever this is. With the growling and the staring an—” I stopped, realizing I was babbling. “Just… this.”

Caleb slid a steaming mug across the counter to me, his fingers lingering as they brushed against mine. The coffee smelled amazing, rich and dark, probably some fancy imported blend because heaven forbid the Stones have anything ordinary in their house.

“Thanks,” I muttered. The shirt slipped again, and Marcus made a sound I’d never heard a human make before.

“Please eat,” Marcus said smoothly, his tone gentle but leaving no room for argument.

“Right. Eat. Got it.”

The pancakes were amazing. Like, life-changing amazing. I might have moaned a little at the first bite.

The sound of splintering wood made me look up. Derek was gripping the table edge, which now had… claw marks?

“Everything okay there, Wolverine?”

Caleb choked on his coffee. Marcus’ lips twitched. Derek just stared at me with those impossible eyes.

“Fine,” he ground out.

“So,” I said, trying to distract myself from how Marcus kept “accidentally” brushing my bare leg under the table as I pulled the collar of my shirt back up. “Do you guys often kidnap half-naked people for breakfast, or am I special?”

Three sets of darkened eyes snapped to me.

“Special,” Derek growled, and holy hell, his voice shouldn’t do things like that to me.

“Very special,” Caleb added, leaning close to pour more coffee and sniffing my hair again.

“Unique,” Marcus finished, his hand now resting on my thigh under the table.

Right. Cool. Totally normal breakfast conversation.

I reached for more bacon, the shirt slipping farther off my shoulder. The sound of another fork bending made me lookup. Marcus was staring at my exposed collarbone like it had personally offended him.

“You know,” I said conversationally, “at this rate you’ll need new silverware by lunch.”

“Lunch.” Jorge perked up from where he was pretending not to watch us. “You should stay for lunch as well. I’ll make that moussaka you enjoyed at Athena’s—”

“How do you know what food I like?”

“Caleb suggested I try making Greek dishes. He was quite enthusiastic about how much you enjoyed Athena’s cooking.”

I turned to Caleb, who suddenly found his coffee fascinating. “And how exactly did my food preferences become a topic of conversation?”

“I… might have mentioned your reaction to the food at Athena’s.”

“Uh-huh.” I narrowed my eyes. “And did you also happen to mention my coffee order? My shoe size? My blood type?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marcus cut in smoothly. Then, under his breath, he added, “The blood type was in your medical records.”

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