Page 68 of Marked

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 beenthe 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 inNew 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.

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