Page 14 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

“Michael,” he returned with his most camera-ready smile, the one that showed too many teeth to be entirely friendly. “Still dressing like you’re auditioning for ‘Pretentious European Villain,’ I see. The suit’s a bit much for a family dinner, isn’t it?”

Michael’s smile remained fixed, though his scent spiked with irritation—a sharp, acidic note that Jace’s enhanced senses detected easily. “Some of us prefer to make an effort in all settings, not just when the cameras are rolling.”

“And some of us are secure enough not to need costume design for a Wednesday night,” Jace countered smoothly, releasing Michael’s hand a fraction of a second before it would have become awkward.

Should break his fingers, his panther suggested helpfully. Show dominance now. Establish hierarchy.

Sheena appeared at his side, looping her arm through his with sisterly precision. “If you two are done with your GQ stand-off, there are drinks in the living room that won’t consume themselves.”

The tension dissipated as they moved toward the formal living room, where crystal decanters awaited on silver trays.

Jace accepted another scotch, using the moment to reset.

His reaction to Michael seemed disproportionate tonight, his panther unusually reactive.

Normally, he handled such territorial posturing with the easy confidence of someone who regularly faced down studio executives and directors with god complexes.

Different now, his panther explained. Have mate to protect. Must establish dominance.

The Huntingtons and Carmichaels arranged themselves around the elegant space with the choreographed precision of longtime rivals maintaining a ceasefire.

Jace positioned himself strategically—close enough to his father to present a united front, far enough from Michael to avoid another verbal sparring match.

“Your latest film broke records in Asia,” Richard commented, his tone suggesting he was discussing weather rather than Jace’s global success. “The supernatural elements seem to resonate particularly well there.”

“Eastern cultures have a deeper appreciation for the mystical,” Jace replied, sipping his scotch. “They don’t feel the need to explain everything with science.”

“Or perhaps they simply enjoy watching things explode in multiple languages,” Michael suggested with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Though I’ve heard your next project is more… cerebral? A bold choice for someone whose audience expects car chases and shirtless fight scenes.”

Jace’s retort died on his lips as a new scent cut through the room—winter jasmine and mountain snow, pure and intoxicating.

The crystal tumbler nearly slipped from his fingers as his head turned instinctively toward the source, his panther surging forward with such force that he had to grip the glass tighter to keep from dropping it.

MATE, his beast roared, clawing at his insides. OURS. HERE. NOW.

Eli entered from a side door, and Jace’s world narrowed to a single point of focus.

Gone was the shirtless, flustered young man from the bathroom.

In his place stood an ethereal vision that made Jace’s mouth go dry.

Dressed in formal black slacks and a crisp white shirt that emphasized his slender elegance, Eli moved with quiet grace that belied his nervousness.

The formal attire transformed him—highlighting the perfect column of his throat, the lithe strength of his build, the otherworldly quality of his coloring.

Under the soft lighting of the living room, his platinum hair gleamed like white gold, and those extraordinary lavender-blue eyes seemed to capture and reflect light in a way that wasn’t entirely human.

He was beautiful in a way that transcended conventional attractiveness—something rare and precious that made Jace’s panther want to snarl at anyone else who dared to look.

Perfect, his panther purred. Beautiful. OURS. No one else should see. No one else should want.

“Holy shit,” Sheena whispered beside him, too low for human ears. “You might want to dial back the predatory staring before you scare him off. Your eyes are starting to shift.”

Jace blinked rapidly, forcing his panther back under control. He hadn’t lost his grip on his shift in public since he was a teenager learning control. The fact that merely seeing Eli in formal wear nearly triggered it was both alarming and exhilarating.

Control, he ordered his beast. Not here. Not now. We can’t claim him yet.

His panther snarled in frustration but retreated slightly, allowing his eyes to return to their normal blue. The beast wasn’t happy about the delay, but it understood the need for stealth in a room full of potential rivals.

Eli approached with a tray of canapés, those extraordinary eyes carefully downcast in a show of deference that made Jace’s panther want to growl. His mate shouldn’t lower his gaze to anyone, least of all these interlopers on Carmichael territory.

Should be proud, his panther insisted. Strong. Beautiful. No need to submit to others. Only to US.

“Hors d’oeuvres, sir?” Eli offered to Richard first, his voice professionally neutral.

“Thank you,” Richard replied, his gaze lingering a moment too long on Eli’s unusual coloring. “You have excellent staff, George.”

Jace’s fingers tightened around his glass as he watched Richard’s eyes track Eli’s movements.

The older alpha’s interest seemed merely curious rather than predatory, but his panther didn’t care about the distinction.

Any attention directed at their mate was unwelcome, a potential challenge to their claim.

“We’re fortunate,” George agreed, watching the exchange with careful neutrality that didn’t fool Jace for a second. His father was observing everything with those calculating alpha eyes that had intimidated supernatural beings across three states.

Eli moved around the circle, offering the tray to each guest in turn. When he reached Michael, Jace’s panther nearly broke through his control. The Huntington heir’s eyes widened slightly as he took in Eli’s appearance, a flash of unmistakable interest crossing his features.

NO, his panther snarled, rage boiling through his veins. Not his to want. Not his to have. OURS.

Jace’s vision briefly tunneled, amber bleeding into blue as his shift threatened to manifest. The crystal tumbler creaked in protest as his grip tightened, his claws trying to emerge.

It took every ounce of his considerable willpower to force his panther back, to maintain his human appearance despite the primal fury coursing through him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Michael said, his tone shifting to something smoother, more intimate as he selected a canapé. “I’m Michael Huntington.”

“Eli Harper, sir,” came the polite response. “Enjoy your appetizer.”

Michael’s gaze lingered on Eli’s face with unmistakable interest, his nostrils flaring subtly as he caught Eli’s scent. “You have remarkable eyes, Eli Harper. Almost supernatural in their coloring.”

A low growl built in Jace’s chest before he could stop it, audible only to the shifters in the room. Several heads turned his way, including his father’s, whose sharp glance commanded control. Jace forced the sound down, though his panther continued to snarl beneath the surface.

Mine, the beast insisted. MINE. Kill him if he touches. Rip out his throat if he tries to claim.

The violent imagery shocked even Jace, who was accustomed to his panther’s possessive nature. The beast had never reacted this strongly before, had never threatened lethal violence over mere interest. This was beyond territorial—this was primal, absolute, nonnegotiable.

Jace tracked Eli’s movements as he made his way around the room, offering appetizers with quiet efficiency.

His panther’s focus narrowed, heightening his senses until he could hear the soft rhythm of Eli’s breathing, the subtle rustle of fabric as he moved, the whisper of his footsteps across the hardwood floor.

Each step closer sent his panther into a state of heightened anticipation, like a predator preparing to pounce.

As Eli approached, that winter-pure scent grew stronger, enveloping Jace in its intoxicating embrace.

His nostrils flared, drinking in the subtle notes beneath the surface—hints of nervousness, a touch of excitement, and something uniquely Eli that called to his most primal instincts.

His panther pushed against his control, demanding closer contact, demanding he stake his claim before the other alpha could.

Touch him, his beast urged. Mark him. Let others smell us on him. Show them he’s OURS.

When Eli finally stood before him, time seemed to slow. Those extraordinary eyes lifted to meet his, lavender-blue depths reflecting the warm light of the room. Recognition flashed between them—a silent acknowledgment of their earlier encounter that sent heat coursing through Jace’s veins.

“Appetizer, Mr. Carmichael?” Eli asked, his voice softer than it had been with the others.

Jace reached for a canapé, deliberately angling his hand to ensure their fingers would touch.

“Thank you,” he murmured, allowing his fingertips to brush against Eli’s with deliberate intent.

The contact, brief as it was, sent electricity racing up his arm.

His panther purred with satisfaction at even this minimal touch with their mate.

A hint of color touched Eli’s cheeks, the faintest pink staining that alabaster skin. The sight of it—evidence of his effect on his mate—made Jace’s panther preen with satisfaction.

Responds to us, it growled happily. Knows we’re different. Feels the connection even if he doesn’t understand.

Michael’s voice cut through their moment like a dull knife through expensive steak.

“Eli,” he called with the entitled gesture of someone accustomed to immediate service. “Could you tell the server I need another whiskey?”

Jace’s muscles tensed as Eli nodded politely and moved away. His panther tracked every movement, bristling when Michael’s gaze followed Eli across the room, lingering in a way that made Jace’s fingers tighten around his glass until the crystal protested with a faint creak.

I could break his fingers and make it look like an accident, Jace thought darkly. His panther agreed enthusiastically with this plan, adding several violent embellishments involving Michael’s throat and spine.

“Dinner is served,” Madi announced, her perfect timing defusing the building tension before Jace could commit assault in their formal living room.

As they moved toward the dining room, Jace positioned himself to keep both Eli and Michael in his line of sight. His panther had never been so alert, so territorial during a simple diplomatic dinner. But then, he’d never had something so precious to protect before.

Won’t let him near our mate, his panther vowed. Won’t let him touch what’s ours.

Hollywood had taught him how to smile while plotting someone’s downfall. It was time to put those skills to good use.