Page 28 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

The recognition was instant, visceral, absolute. His panther didn’t care about composition or lighting or aesthetic perfection—it recognized its mate with primal certainty that bypassed all conscious thought. This wasn’t inspiration or muse or artistic subject—this was theirs.

OURS, his beast roared, the sound reverberating through his skull with such force that Adrian had to grip a nearby tree for support. FIND. CLAIM. MATE. NOW.

Adrian felt his canines lengthen, his vision sharpening as colors intensified beyond human perception.

The bark crumbled beneath suddenly elongated nails, fine dust sifting to the forest floor as he fought for control.

The effort of maintaining his human form was excruciating—every instinct demanded he strip off his clothes, dive into that water, and claim what was his.

Control, he ordered himself, even as his panther raged against the restraint. Can’t shift here. Can’t scare him.

The swimmer surfaced again, shaking water from that remarkable platinum hair in an arc of glittering droplets.

The sight was so breathtaking that Adrian’s artistic eye captured it like a perfect film still—water jeweling the air around that exquisite face, the gentle curve of throat exposed as the young man tilted his head back, the way sunlight caught and transformed each droplet into a tiny prism.

His panther went wild with need, clawing at his insides with such force that Adrian tasted blood where his elongated canines had pierced his own lip.

The beast didn’t care about artistic composition or aesthetic beauty—it wanted to claim, to mark, to possess.

To drag their mate from the water and pin him to the shore, to sink teeth into that exposed throat and mark him as theirs forever.

MINE, it snarled, the word echoing through Adrian’s consciousness with primitive intensity. MINE. MINE. MINE.

Then, as if sensing he was being watched, the young man turned. Even at this distance, Adrian could see his eyes—an extraordinary pale blue touched with lavender, widening in shock as they locked with his own.

For one eternal moment, they simply stared at each other—predator and prey, artist and muse, alpha and mate. Then the young man’s pale skin flushed pink, the color spreading down his neck to his chest as he ducked lower in the water.

Beautiful, his panther purred, fascinated by that spreading blush. Perfect. OURS.

“You have GOT to be kidding me,” the swimmer called, his voice carrying clearly across the water. “Seriously? The ONE time I decide to skinny-dip… Is this some kind of cosmic joke?”

The unexpected reaction—indignation rather than fear—delighted Adrian’s panther. Their mate had spirit, had fire beneath that ethereal beauty. The beast purred with approval, already imagining how that fire would translate to passion once properly claimed.

Strong mate, it approved. Worthy mate. Perfect for us.

“Sorry to intrude on your private moment,” Adrian called back, forcing his features back to human normalcy through sheer will, though his voice emerged rougher than intended. “My car broke down. I was hoping to find some help.”

“You’re Adrian Carmichael. Of course you are. Because apparently the universe thinks I haven’t been embarrassed enough today. Or this week. Or possibly this lifetime.”

The recognition sparked a primitive satisfaction in Adrian’s panther. Their mate knew them, had noticed them before this moment. The beast preened beneath his skin, pleased by this evidence of prior awareness.

Already saw us, it purred. Already wanted us. Meant to be OURS.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Adrian replied, charmed by the acerbic response. “You know who I am, but I don’t know your name.”

“Eli Harper,” the swimmer replied, his posture radiating both embarrassment and defiance.

“I work for your family. And I’d really, really appreciate if you could turn around while I get out.

Like, actually turn around, not the fake Hollywood version where you pretend to look away but actually keep watching for your next ‘artistic nude study’ or whatever. ”

“Eli Harper,” Adrian repeated, the name feeling right on his tongue, like a spell he’d been waiting his whole life to cast. His panther rolled the name through their consciousness, claiming it, marking it as special, as theirs.

Eli, his beast purred. Our Eli. Our mate.

“You wound me with your assumptions. I’m a consummate professional.”

“You’re a consummate something,” Eli muttered, just loud enough for Adrian’s enhanced hearing to catch. Louder, he added, “My clothes are on that rock over there. If you could just hand them to me and actually turn around…”

The sass delighted Adrian’s panther even further. Their mate wasn’t intimidated by them, wasn’t cowed by their status or fame. The beast recognized this as perfect compatibility—a mate who would challenge them, who would match their fire with his own.

Perfect, it growled with satisfaction. Strong. Brave. OURS.

“Happy to help,” Adrian replied, moving toward the indicated spot. His panther urged him forward, desperate to get closer to their mate, to breathe in that intoxicating scent without the water diluting it.

He gathered the clothes—simple jeans, a t-shirt, underwear—his fingers lingering on the fabric.

The scent was intoxicating—winter jasmine and mountain snow, something pure and wild that made his panther rumble with pleasure.

His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, memorizing the unique fragrance that was Eli Harper.

Mark them, his panther urged. Leave our scent on his clothes.

Adrian subtly rubbed his wrist against the fabric, leaving traces of his scent behind. His beast purred with satisfaction at this small claiming, this subtle marking that would wrap their mate in their essence even if he didn’t realize it.

Adrian approached the water’s edge, clothes in hand. “Here you go,” he said, extending them toward Eli.

As Eli reached for them, his arm stretching out of the water, Adrian’s fingers “accidentally” loosened. The clothes tumbled from his grasp, landing half in the water with a soft splash.

Yes, his panther approved of the maneuver. Now he needs our help. Our clothes. Our scent.

“Oops,” Adrian said, not bothering to sound convincing. “How clumsy of me.”

Eli’s eyes narrowed, lavender sparking in those pale-blue depths. “That wasn’t an accident.”

“Wasn’t it?” Adrian’s lips curved into a smile that had graced a dozen magazine covers. “My mistake.”

“Right,” Eli drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just like your last film’s ‘accidental’ artistic nudity that somehow earned you three festival awards. Very convincing, Carmichael.”

Adrian laughed, genuinely delighted by the unexpected bite. His panther purred at their mate’s spirit, at the evidence of his intelligence and perception. This wasn’t some starstruck fan or intimidated employee—this was someone who saw through his performance to the calculated intent beneath.

Smart mate, his beast approved. Sees through us. Perfect.

“You’ve seen my films?” Adrian asked, intrigued by this revelation.

“I have internet access and working eyeballs,” Eli retorted, though a deeper flush suggested there was more to it than casual appreciation. “Now I have nothing to wear, thanks to your ‘artistic vision.’”

The thought of Eli emerging from the water completely naked sent a wave of heat through Adrian’s body. His panther practically salivated at the prospect, urging him to make it happen, to feast his eyes on every inch of their mate’s perfect form.

Want to see, it growled. Want to touch. Want to taste.

But the artist in Adrian recognized that such a move would be too aggressive, too soon. Their mate was already skittish, already defensive. Better to be subtle, to seduce rather than overwhelm.

“I could offer you my shirt,” Adrian suggested, already unbuttoning his designer dress shirt with deliberate slowness. His panther practically purred at the thought of their mate wrapped in their clothing, marked with their scent. “It’s better than nothing.”

Yes, his beast approved enthusiastically. Mark him with our scent. Let everyone know he’s OURS.

“That’s… not necessary,” Eli protested, though his eyes tracked the movement of Adrian’s fingers with obvious interest, his flush deepening as more skin was revealed.

Adrian’s enhanced senses caught the subtle quickening of Eli’s pulse, the slight dilation of his pupils, the sweet-sharp spike in his scent that signaled arousal. His panther preened at these physical signs of attraction, these unconscious responses that Eli couldn’t control.

He wants us, it purred with satisfaction. His body knows what his mind doesn’t yet understand.

“I insist,” Adrian replied, removing his shirt to reveal the toned physique that had earned him both critical acclaim and a dedicated fan following. He held out the garment, letting it dangle temptingly from his fingertips. “Consider it compensation for my clumsiness.”

His panther practically vibrated with anticipation at the thought of Eli wearing his shirt, surrounded by his scent, marked in that small but significant way. It was a primitive form of claiming—ensuring their mate carried their scent, warning off potential rivals.

“Fine,” Eli said, his voice slightly higher than before. “But turn around this time. For real. Like, face the trees, count to twenty, and contemplate the ethical implications of ogling the staff.”

“So specific,” Adrian observed, amused. “Has someone been watching you swim before?”

His panther suddenly went rigid at the thought, a possessive growl building in his chest. The idea of someone else seeing their mate naked, vulnerable, exposed—it made his beast bare its teeth with territorial rage.

Who? it demanded. Who dared look at what’s OURS?

“Just turn around!” Eli spluttered, his composure cracking adorably.