Page 98 of Marked

“Kai, darling,” Mrs. Rivera called out, her accent a mix of old money and something wild. “We simply must have your opinion on these books about pack dynamics—I mean, family dynamics. You seem so… knowledgeable about complex relationships.”

By half past nine, the morning rush was in full swing. Mrs. Chen—no relation, though she kept insisting we must be distant cousins—and her book club occupied the window seats. Today they were discussingMoon Called, and their animated debate about werewolf mythology kept veering into strange questions about my personal life.

“But surely, Kai,” Mrs. Chen pressed, “you must have noticed how protective the Stone brothers are of their… territory?” She exchanged meaningful looks with her friends that went right over my head.

Dr. Sarah Mitchell from the next town over browsed the medical reference section, though I noticed she spent more time watching me reshelve books than actually reading anything. “Fascinating bone structure,” she murmured as I passed. “Do you know anything about your father’s lineage?”

A group of college-age guys had claimed the poetry corner, all wearing leather jackets despite the warm weather. They kept sniffing the air when I walked by, which was weird but probably just their attempt to smell the coffee.

“Hey,” one called out, “you smell—I mean, seem really familiar. Do you ever run in the woods at night?”

“Only if something’s chasing me,” I joked, missing their sharp intake of breath.

The sophisticated woman examining our rare books collection hadn’t moved from the supernatural section all morning. Her perfectly manicured nails traced the spine of an ancient tome about wolf legends.

“Such interesting marks on your neck,” she observed smoothly when I offered assistance. “Almost like… a claiming bite waiting to happen.” At my blank look, she added, “The book. I meant the book has interesting marks.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jane marveled during our quick coffee break. “We used to be lucky to see ten customers before lunch. Now look at this place. It’s like they can smell… the coffee from miles away.”

I glanced around at the bustling store. Two men in ill-fitting expensive suits who’d introduced themselves as representatives from Knox Publishing House were deep in whispered conversation, shooting furtive glances my way. Everything about them screamed “not actually publishers”—from their too-muscular builds straining against designer fabric to their complete lack of interest in any actual books. They moved like bouncers trying to play businessmen and doing a terrible job at it.

Across the room, an elegant woman from the Blackwood Literary Society presented a stark contrast. Her Chanel suit probably cost more than my yearly salary, but she wore it like a second skin. Every platinum-blond hair was perfectly styled, her eyes sharp and calculating behind designer frames as she pretended to read while tracking my every move. Her manicured fingers turned pages with precise grace, though I noticed she hadn’t actually read a single word in the last hour. There was something unnervingly perfect about her, like a porcelain doll with hidden razors.

I wasn’t sure which was worse—the obvious threat of the Knox “representatives” or the elegant danger the womanradiated. At least the Knox guys were bad at hiding what they were. Everything about them screamed predator, from their too-wide shoulders to their clumsy attempts at stealth. But the woman from the Literary Society? She was the kind of predator that smiled while she went for the throat.

“Must be your new coffee blend,” I suggested, straightening my suit jacket—another perfectly fitted hand-me-down from Caleb’s teenage years that somehow made me look like I’d stepped out of a luxury magazine.

Jane snorted. “Sure, honey. That’s exactly why Mrs. Henderson drives forty minutes each way just to buy one paperback at a time. Nothing to do with the fact that you’re practically catnip to every… person who walks through that door.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right. Because I’m such an irresistible force of nature.”

The entire store seemed to pause for a moment, as if sharing some private joke I wasn’t privy to.

The bell above the door chimed, and the entire store went still. Not the normal kind of quiet when someone important walks in, but the kind of silence that falls in nature documentaries right before something gets eaten.

I twisted on my ladder to look, because apparently, my self-preservation instincts were on permanent vacation. A man stood in the doorway, sunlight catching on his golden-blond hair. He moved with a fighter’s grace in designer casual wear, raw power contained beneath a veneer of aristocratic polish.

The Knox representatives shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their attempts at appearing professional crumbling under his presence. Mrs. Rivera’s book club collectively buried their faces in their books. Even the leather-jacketed college guys seemed to shrink into their corner, though I caught them whispering excitedly among themselves. The elegantwoman from the Blackwood Literary Society stiffened almost imperceptibly, her eyes narrowing as she watched him over the edge of her book.

Jane materialized from nowhere, moving faster than I’d ever seen her move without caffeine involvement. “Mr. Blackwood,” she said, her usual warm tone carrying an edge I’d never heard before. “Welcome to Stone & Page.”

Blackwood? Like the Blackwood Literary Society? I filed that away under ‘Cedar Grove Mysteries: Volume 437’ and returned to my shelving. Though I could feel his eyes on me, like a physical weight against my skin.

“James is fine.” His voice carried through the store, cultured tones barely masking something wilder underneath. “I hear you’ve acquired quite the… unexpected addition recently.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know he was talking about me. In Cedar Grove, everything somehow ended up being about me lately. I’d blame my paranoia, but even paranoids have stalkers sometimes.

For the next twenty minutes, I played the world’s most obvious game of “pretend not to notice the hot guy stalking me through the stacks.” He’d move from section to section, pretending to browse while actually watching me work. I’d move to a different area, and somehow, he’d end up there too, all controlled power and barely concealed intensity. Something about the way he moved reminded me of a caged predator—too much strength contained in too small a space.

Finally, after I’d run out of places to shelve, dust, or reorganize, I found myself cornered in the Poetry section. He stood between me and escape, a smile playing on his lips that was equal parts aristocrat and predator. Up close, I could see the contradiction in him—expensive clothes but fighter’s calluses on his hands, refined features but a warrior’s stance.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked, aiming for professional and probably landing somewhere between sassy and suicidal.

His smile widened, showing perfect white teeth. “Kai Chen.” He said my name like he was testing its weight. “You’ve become quite… interesting.”

“Become?” I raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, but I’m pretty sure I was born fascinating. It’s a curse, really.”

A laugh escaped him—genuine amusement mixed with something darker. “Oh, you are nothing like what they claimed,” he said, stepping closer. “Last time was so… different.”

---