Page 15 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

CARMICHAEL COUSINS

The Carmichael dining room was the kind of space that made interior designers weep with envy and historical preservationists fight over who got to write the monograph.

Jace took his seat at his father’s right hand, directly across from Michael Huntington—a seating arrangement that allowed him to maintain direct eye contact with his rival while casually flexing the family hierarchy.

His panther rumbled with satisfaction at the positioning. Perfect. Let the rival see our status. Let him know whose territory this is.

Paul and David flanked their father on the opposite side, their usual boisterous energy tamped down into something resembling civilization.

Even Sheena had transformed from fashion hurricane to poised socialite, though Jace caught the mischievous glint in her eye that suggested she was mentally critiquing everyone’s outfit choices.

The staff moved with practiced precision, filling crystal glasses with wine selected from the Carmichael vineyards. Jace kept his expression carefully neutral as Michael swirled his glass with a flourish that belonged in a parody of wine snobs.

Pretentious prick, his panther growled, hackles rising at the other alpha’s mere presence. Every movement Michael made grated on Jace’s nerves, his beast interpreting each gesture as a potential challenge.

“The 2018 reserve?” Michael asked, inhaling the bouquet with closed eyes. “Bold choice. Most would consider it too young.”

“Some things improve with age,” George replied smoothly. “Others reveal their true character early.”

Jace suppressed a smirk at his father’s double meaning.

The conversation flowed with diplomatic ease—boundary discussions couched as property development, territorial agreements disguised as conservation efforts.

All the while, Jace remained acutely aware of Eli moving around the periphery of the room, assisting the professional servers.

His panther tracked every movement, every subtle shift in Eli’s scent, every flash of those extraordinary eyes. He’d never been so distracted during a diplomatic dinner, his beast straining toward their mate with single-minded focus that made maintaining conversation increasingly difficult.

Watch mate, his panther demanded, pulling his attention away from the conversation whenever Eli moved within view. Need to protect. Need to claim. OURS.

"Your stunt coordinator deserves recognition," Richard commented, cutting into his perfectly seared venison. "Though I found the portrayal of the supernatural rather… creative."

Jace’s attention snapped back to the conversation. “Hollywood takes certain liberties,” he replied with a casual shrug. “The average viewer prefers their monsters safely fictional and preferably shirtless. Better box office numbers that way.”

“Indeed.” Richard nodded. “Though one wonders if such exposure risks drawing unwanted attention to our… community.”

“Actually, it provides perfect cover,” Jace countered, reaching for his wine.

“The more outlandish the fiction, the less likely anyone is to connect it to reality. When humans see real shifters, they dismiss it as overactive imagination or publicity stunts. It’s like hiding a diamond in a display case of cubic zirconia—the very obviousness becomes the camouflage. ”

Humans see what they want to see, his panther added silently. Too blind to recognize predators among them.

“A convenient shield,” Michael interjected. “Though some might argue it trivializes our heritage.”

“Says the man whose foundation just funded a modern dance interpretation of ancient pack rituals,” Jace replied with a razor-sharp smile that showed just a hint too many teeth. “How was the premiere? I heard the lead dancer wore nothing but body paint and antlers. Very traditional.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Art and entertainment serve different purposes, Jace. One seeks to illuminate truth; the other merely distracts from it.”

“And yet both pay for your custom suits,” Jace observed, sipping his wine. “Curious how that works.”

Paul snorted into his wineglass, earning a sharp look from their mother that did nothing to diminish his amusement. Even David’s lips twitched, though he hid it better behind his napkin.

Eli chose that moment to approach with a fresh basket of warm bread, his presence cutting through the tension like a cool breeze.

As he leaned between Jace and Sheena to place it on the table, his winter-pure scent enveloped Jace, momentarily drowning out everything else.

His panther surged forward with such force that he had to grip his knife handle to keep from reaching out and grabbing Eli’s wrist.

MATE, his beast roared, clawing at his insides. So close. Touch him. Scent him. CLAIM HIM.

The intensity of his reaction caught Jace off guard. His heart rate spiked, his pupils dilated, and his mouth watered with the primal need to taste his mate’s skin. The knife handle creaked slightly under his grip as his claws threatened to emerge.

Control, he ordered himself. Not here. Not now. Not with the fucking Huntingtons watching.

“Thank you, Eli,” Jace said, deliberately using his name again, staking that small claim. His voice emerged deeper than intended, roughened by his panther’s influence. “Everything looks exceptional tonight.”

Eli’s eyes flickered to his, a hint of that morning’s boldness returning. “We aim to please, Mr. Carmichael,” he replied, his voice pitched low enough that only Jace could catch the subtle emphasis on “please” that sent heat racing down his spine.

His panther purred at the response, preening at the evidence that their mate was affected by them. He wants us, it growled with satisfaction. Responds to us. Even with others watching.

“You certainly succeed,” Jace murmured, holding Eli’s gaze a moment longer than propriety allowed. “Exceptionally well.”

A blush crept up Eli’s neck, staining his cheeks with that delicious pink that made Jace’s panther rumble with satisfaction.

The sight of it—visible proof of his effect on his mate—sent a wave of possessive pleasure through him.

His enhanced senses picked up the subtle quickening of Eli’s pulse, the slight catch in his breathing, the sweet-sharp spike in his scent that signaled arousal.

Across the table, Michael watched their exchange with narrowed eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly as he too detected the change in Eli’s scent. The rival alpha’s interest sharpened, his body language shifting subtly as he reassessed the situation.

He can smell it, Jace’s panther snarled. Smells our mate’s response to us. Sees what’s OURS.

“You seem quite familiar with the staff,” Michael said, his gaze tracking Eli as he moved away. “Particularly that one.”

Jace took a deliberate sip of his wine, forcing his grip to remain gentle on the crystal stem while his panther raged beneath his skin.

Every muscle in his body tensed with the effort of not growling at the rival alpha.

“The Carmichaels have always valued loyalty. Eli’s been part of the household for years. ”

Not yours to question, his panther snarled silently. Not yours to notice. Not yours to want.

“Interesting,” Michael replied, cutting into his venison with precision that bordered on theatrical. “He has rather… unusual coloring. Those eyes are quite remarkable.”

The casual observation sent a wave of territorial rage through Jace so powerful he had to grip the edge of his chair to keep from lunging across the table.

His canines lengthened involuntarily, pressing against his lower lip as his shift threatened to manifest. The mere fact that Michael had noticed Eli’s unique features—features that belonged to Jace’s mate—felt like a violation of the most personal kind.

Kill him, his panther suggested helpfully. Tear out his throat for looking at what’s ours.

Paul’s posture stiffened slightly, his easy smile hardening at the edges. “Eli’s remarkable in a lot of ways,” he said, his tone casual, though his scent had sharpened with protective instinct. “Best racing game partner I’ve ever had. Unbeatable reflexes.”

“And a natural eye for composition,” David added smoothly, though Jace noted how his brother’s gaze had taken on the calculating quality he usually reserved for business negotiations. “He’s been helping with some of our corporate design work.”

Michael’s attention shifted between the brothers, clearly reassessing the dynamics at play. “A man of many talents, it seems.”

“You have no idea,” Sheena chimed in, her smile bright but her eyes watchful. “Though his most impressive talent might be putting up with all of us.”

Jace felt a surge of pride in his siblings’ subtle but unmistakable show of protection. His panther settled slightly, pleased that the family pack was closing ranks around their mate, even if they didn’t recognize him as such.

Pack protects mate, his beast acknowledged with grudging approval. Good pack. Strong pack.

“Loyalty,” Michael said, his tone making the word sound like a question. “Is that what you call it?”

“What exactly are you implying?” Jace asked, his smile not reaching his eyes. His voice emerged with a dangerous edge that made several heads turn, the sound carrying a hint of the growl he was suppressing.

Michael’s attention remained fixed on him, challenge glinting in his gaze. “Merely that your interest seems… personal. I wasn’t aware Hollywood’s golden boy had such domestic inclinations.”

The crystal stem of Jace’s wineglass protested under his grip, the fine material creaking as his supernatural strength responded to his fury.

His panther snarled beneath his skin, demanding he put this rival in his place—preferably face down on the polished hardwood with his throat exposed in submission.

Rip out his fucking throat, his panther suggested, its violent imagery shocking even Jace. Show dominance now. Make him fear us.