Page 5 of Auditing the Alpha

The intensity in his eyes made my heart skip. Before I could respond, he opened the door and guided me inside with that now-familiar hand on my lower back.

The interior was warm and inviting, with rustic furniture, a massive fireplace, and long wooden tables that lookedhandcrafted. And it was full of people—at least a dozen men and women of varying ages, all with the same distinctive amber eyes and powerful builds as Klaus.

Conversation stopped when we entered, and every head turned toward us. I fought the urge to step behind Klaus as a dozen pairs of eyes focused on me with unnerving intensity.

“Family,” Klaus said, his deep voice carrying easily. “This is Jordan Chase.”

A moment of silence, then the room exploded with movement and noise. I was surrounded, hands clapping my shoulder, voices talking over each other, questions coming too fast to answer. They circled me like—well, like wolves, I thought hysterically—sniffing (yes, actually sniffing) at me, touching my arms, my back, my hair.

“City boy’s pretty,” said an older woman who had to be Klaus’s mother, judging by the identical amber eyes.

“Smells good,” added a teenage girl, leaning far too close to my neck.

“Emma,” Klaus warned, and she backed away with a grin.

“Can you cook?” asked one of the men I’d met earlier—Theo?

“Do you run?” asked another.

“Are you staying through the full moon?” asked a third.

At that last question, Klaus made a sound low in his throat that silenced the room. “Enough. You’re overwhelming him.”

Indeed, I was standing frozen in the center of the Wolff family whirlwind, briefcase clutched to my chest like a shield.

“I—nice to meet you all,” I managed.

Klaus’s hand found the small of my back again. “Dinner first. Questions later.”

Dinner was a production I wasn’t prepared for. The table groaned under the weight of food—three whole roasted chickens, a ham, countless side dishes, and bread that steamedwhen torn open. The Wolffs ate with startling enthusiasm, passing dishes family-style and piling their plates high.

Klaus, seated beside me, placed portions on my plate before serving himself. When I raised an eyebrow at the amount of food, he simply said, “You’re too thin.”

I watched in fascination as he devoured four chicken thighs, a stack of roasted potatoes, and enough green beans to feed a small family. Everyone ate with the same hearty appetite, yet their conversation never flagged—stories, jokes, and questions flying across the table.

I answered queries about Chicago, my job, and how I liked Pine Peak so far (diplomatically). I carefully deflected questions about my personal life and dating history, though the teenage girl—Emma—asked outright if I “preferred male or female partners.”

“Emma!” her mother scolded.

“What? Klaus wants to know,” she said with teenage bluntness.

Klaus choked slightly on his drink, and I felt heat rise in my face.

“I prefer partners who don’t ask invasive questions at dinner,” I replied, which earned appreciative laughs from around the table.

As the meal progressed, I noticed the Wolffs’ strange habits more acutely. They communicated with looks and subtle gestures. They touched constantly—shoulders bumping, hands on arms, casual physical contact that seemed unconscious. And they deferred to Klaus in subtle ways, pausing when he spoke, shifting when he moved.

After dinner, most of the family moved to the living room, but Klaus guided me toward the kitchen. “Help me with dessert?” he asked.

The kitchen was massive and surprisingly modern, with high-end appliances and granite countertops. Klaus moved to the refrigerator and pulled out an apple pie, setting it on the counter.

“Your family is… close,” I said, leaning against the island.

Klaus huffed a laugh. “That’s one word for it.” He reached for plates in a cabinet, his shirt riding up to reveal a strip of tanned skin and the dimples at the base of his spine.

Good god, even his back is sexy.

“They have a lot of questions about me,” I noted.