Page 52 of Marked

Before I could protest, she bustled off.

I caught the brothers exchanging loaded glances, some silent conversation passing between them that made Marcus’ jaw tighten and Derek’s eyes narrow. Caleb just grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. Great. More weird Stone brother dynamics I didn’t want to analyze.

Maria returned with a bundle of clothes that looked blessedly close to my size. Finally, salvation from this endless parade of indecent exposure. I clutched the bundle to my chest, genuinely grateful. “Thank you. Really. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

She patted my cheek with motherly affection. “Guest room upstairs, first door on right. Can’t miss it.” Her eyes narrowed with the determination only a Spanish mother could muster. “And you’ll stay for lunch and dinner,sí? Jorge will make his famouspaella—best this side of Valencia. Too skinny, you are. Need feeding up.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but she was already turning to the brothers. “Jorge will make extratapastoo. Thegambas al ajillo, maybe somepatatas bravas…” She clicked her tongue, muttering in rapid Spanish that had Caleb hiding a grin and Marcus nodding approvingly.

“Guest room upstairs, first door on right,” she repeated firmly, brooking no argument about the meals. “Can’t miss it.”

I blinked, a little stunned by the whirlwind that was Maria. One minute I’m borrowing a shower, the next I’m apparently staying for multiple meals with three guys who looked at me like I was the main course. And their Spanish great-aunt had just steamrolled over any protests with the practiced ease of someone used to getting her way. Was everyone in Cedar Grove this… intense?

Now came the tricky part: getting up from this absurdly deep couch without giving the brothers an impromptu show. They were still watching, their attention somehow even more intense than before. I could have sworn Derek actually leaned forward slightly.

I tried for dignity. Really, I did. Keeping the shirt pulled down with one hand while balancing the clothes with the other, I attempted to gracefully rise from the couch.

Caleb’s sudden intake of breath suggested I might not have been entirely successful. Marcus’ eyes had darkened to something dangerous, and Derek… was definitely not looking at my face.

“Right! Upstairs! Clothes!” My voice hit an octave I didn’t know I possessed. “Thanks again, Maria!”

I practically bolted for the stairs, feeling their heated gazes following every step. Behind me, I heard what sounded suspiciously like someone being smacked, followed by Caleb’s muffled “Ow!” and Maria’s stern “Behave!”

The Stone manor was a maze of elegant hallways and identical doors, each corridor somehow grander than the last. I wandered through what had to be the east wing, based on the tower I’d glimpsed outside, trying to remember Maria’s directions. First door on the right… but from where? The central great hall? The main staircase? Every time I thought I wasgetting my bearings, another hallway branched off, lined with more closed doors and priceless artwork.

I passed a formal library, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with ancient-looking volumes, and what looked like a sophisticated conference room behind glass doors. Finally, a promising door—this had to be the guest room Maria mentioned. Though why did my scar start tingling again as I reached for the handle?

I pushed it open and stepped inside. The space was massive, dominated by a four-poster bed draped in charcoal silk. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered stunning forest views, and everything screamed quiet luxury and absolute power. A leather-bound book sat on the nightstand, its spine embossed with what looked like ancient symbols.

“Fancy guest room,” I muttered, setting Maria’s clothes on a leather bench. At least I could change in privacy. I started peeling off Caleb’s oversized shirt, the borrowed underwear following, and was just reaching for the fresh clothes when I heard it.

A low ‘woof’ from an attached room I hadn’t noticed.

I turned slowly, praying I was wrong. I wasn’t.

Three pairs of intelligent eyes watched me from the shadows—amber, silver, and gold. The… things… were massive. Wolf-massive. The kind of massive that featured in documentaries about prehistoric predators. The largest had pitch-black fur and moved with regal grace. The silver-gray one beside it had the precise, controlled movements of a military operative. And the golden-brown one… was already wagging its tail like this was about to be the best game ever.

“Nice… doggies?” My voice cracked embarrassingly high. “Goodancient wolves definitely not stolen from Jurassic World?”

The black one—clearly the alpha of this little pack—tilted its head. The gray one’s muscles bunched like it was calculating trajectories. And the golden one…

“No, no, no!” I yelped as it bounded forward, tail wagging like a furry metronome of doom. “Stay! Sit! Play dead! SERIOUSLY, PLEASE PLAY DEAD!”

Childhood terror roared to life. The scar on my hip burned with phantom pain as memories of snapping teeth and terrified screams flooded back. I bolted around the room, knocking over what was probably an expensive vase. “This isn’t a game of tag! This isn’t even a game! This is psychological warfare!”

The golden one thought this was hilarious. The gray one circled left while the black one moved right. They were actually coordinating! What kind of tactically trained wolf-beasts were these?

“I’ve seen this movie!” I grabbed pillows like shields. “The velociraptors hunt in packs! Not that you’re velociraptors. You’re clearly dire wolves. Which is NOT BETTER!”

I dove across the bed, silk sheets flying in my wake. The golden one bounded after me, actually playing in the billowing fabric while its packmates maintained their flanking positions.

“I am NOT playing Red Riding Hood!” I scrambled onto a leather armchair, brandishing a pillow in each hand and a third clutched between my legs for crucial coverage. “Back! Back, I say! I have… expensive pillows and I’m not afraid to use them!”

I clutched my makeshift shields tighter—a heavy burgundy velvet between my legs that was getting intimate with parts of me I’d rather not think about, a silk-covered one pressed tight against my chest, and another held out like a warrior’s shield. The expensive fabrics absorbed my panicked sweat, and other reactions I was definitely not acknowledging, as I tried to maintain some dignity.

“I am a pillow ninja!” I declared, wielding my soft weapons. “Fear my decorative might!”

The black one actually seemed to smirk as I shuffled sideways, the pillow between my legs dragging against sensitive areas with each movement. The golden-brown one bounded around, treating my defensive maneuvers like a game, while the gray one maintained his tactical position with military precision.

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