Page 47 of Marked

“Hours,” he said, and was he standing closer? “Multiple parts needed. Special order.”

“Hours?” My voice definitely didn’t squeak. “But I have shampoo in my hair! I’ll look like a deranged porcupine!”

“My. Place.”

And that’s how, ten minutes later, I ended up wrapped in Derek Stone’s jacket—which was basically a tent on me—being herded toward his ridiculous tactical Jeep. Because apparently, my options were either embrace the porcupine lifestyle or accept the hospitality of Cedar Grove’s most intimidating family.

“This isn’t kidnapping, right?” I asked as he opened the passenger door. “Because I feel like I should point out that I’m very high-maintenance and would make a terrible hostage.”

His laugh was unexpected and rich, sending shivers down my spine that had nothing to do with being wet and mostly naked.

“No kidnapping,” he promised, then added with a gleam in his eye, “Today.”

Great. Perfect. Wonderful.

Just another normal morning in Cedar Grove.

The drive was… interesting. And by interesting, I mean terrifying in a way that somehow still managed to be hot. Derek drove like he was in a high-speed chase, one hand on the wheel, the other… well, the other kept finding reasons to adjust his jacket around me. Very thoughtful. Totally not possessive at all.

“So,” I ventured after the third time he growled at another driver for getting too close, “do you always do lawn maintenance in tactical gear, or am I just special?”

His only response was to grip the steering wheel tighter. I watched in fascination as the leather actually creaked under his hands.

“Right. Stupid question. Obviously, lawn mowing is a high-risk operation in Cedar Grove. Probably got guerrilla gardeners hiding in the bushes. Radical landscapers plotting—holy mother of—”

The words died in my throat as we turned down a private drive and Stone Manor came into view. Holy. Shit. Manor was the understatement of the century—this was a straight-up castle masquerading as a modern mansion. The structure rose fromthe misty forest like something out of a fantasy novel, with four massive wings sprawling out from what had to be the biggest “great room” I’d ever seen. The whole thing looked like some architect had taken a medieval fortress, a luxury resort, and a Bond villain’s lair, threw them in a blender, and somehow created something breathtaking.

Walls of windows caught the morning light like diamonds between chunks of rough-cut stone that had to be older than the United States. Modern additions blended seamlessly with ancient masonry, creating this weird time-traveling effect that shouldn’t have worked but absolutely did. And because apparently four wings weren’t enough, there was a tower rising from one side—because of course there was. The grounds around it were this perfect mix of carefully maintained gardens and wild forest, like nature itself couldn’t decide whether to be intimidated or impressed.

But as I stared at the manor, something twisted in my gut—a weird sense of déjà vu that made my scar burn. The morning sunlight suddenly seemed to shift, and for a heart-stopping moment, I saw silver moonlight instead, heard screaming, smelled smoke and blood. My hand drifted unconsciously to my hip, to that strange triangular scar that was now pulsing with warmth. Something about the layout made my head spin, like I’d seen it before, but from a different angle. Underground maybe? But that was crazy. Wasn’t it?

“You live here?” I managed weakly, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling of forgotten memories clawing at the edges of my mind. “What, was the castle from Beauty and the Beast already taken?”

Derek’s hand suddenly gripped the steering wheel tighter, and I could have sworn his eyes flickered to where my fingers still pressed against my hip. But that was impossible. Nobodyknew about that scar except my mom, and she’d taken that secret to her grave.

Right?

We pulled up to what I assumed was the garage, though it looked more like an aircraft hangar. A sleek black Mercedes that screamed ‘Marcus’ sat next to what had to be Caleb’s sports car.

“The others are home.” I definitely wasn’t panicking. Much.

Derek suddenly tensed, nostrils flaring like he’d caught a scent. His eyes—still doing that weird glowing thing—darkened. “Inside. Quick.”

“O-kay?” But he was already out of the Jeep, moving to my door with that predatory grace that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.

Before I could process what was happening, he had me out of the car and… was he carrying me?

“I can walk!” I squeaked, clutching his jacket closer as he strode toward a side entrance.

“Slippery,” was all he said, like that explained everything about why I was being princess-carried into the Stone lair while wearing nothing but his jacket and my dignity—which was hanging by a thread at this point.

We entered through what looked like a mud room, though it was nicer than my entire apartment back in Seattle. Derek still hadn’t put me down, and I was trying very hard not to notice how easily he held me, like I weighed nothing at all.

“Derek?” a familiar voice called from somewhere in the house. Caleb. “Is that you? Why do I smell—”

He appeared in the doorway and stopped dead, eyes widening as they took in the scene. Me, practically naked except for his brother’s jacket. Derek, still carrying me and… was that a growl?

“Well.” Caleb’s mouth twitched. “This is not how I expected my morning to go.”

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