Page 36 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth—that same devastating half smile that had launched a thousand fan accounts and at least three of my more embarrassing dreams. His eyes held mine for a moment longer than necessary, a clear challenge in their depths that made my stomach drop like I was on a roller coaster that suddenly plunged off the tracks.

I hurried away before I could do something mortifying like drop the entire tray in his lap or, worse, lean down and offer my neck like some kind of…

I didn’t even know what. A really confused werewolf movie extra?

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure everyone at the table could hear it, like I had a bass speaker installed in my chest. Though at this rate, death by embarrassment seemed increasingly possible.

I approached Adrian next, trying to recalibrate my professional demeanor after whatever the hell just happened with Jace. My dignity was hanging by a thread, and that thread was fraying fast.

“Appetizer, Mr. Carmichael?” I repeated, proud that my voice only wavered slightly. Go me. Professional award incoming. Maybe they’d engrave “Maintained Vertical Position Despite Complete Internal Meltdown” on the plaque.

“Mr. Carmichael is my uncle,” Adrian replied, his lips curving into that devastating smile I’d seen on movie posters and magazine covers—the one that made critics write things like “hypnotic charisma” and “magnetic presence.” In person, it was about ten times more effective, like being hit with a charm taser.

“I think we’re well past formalities, don’t you? Considering our… encounter earlier.”

Oh God. He was really going to do this here. My cheeks burned so hot I could have broiled the appetizers on them. I lowered my voice to a whisper that could have cut steel. “I’d rather not discuss our ‘encounter’ in front of your entire family and the Harringtons, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, eyes dancing with mischief like this was all tremendously entertaining to him. Probably was. Nothing like watching the staff kid spontaneously combust to liven up a dinner party. “Though I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”

His fingers brushed mine as he selected an appetizer, lingering just long enough to be deliberate, tracing a small circle on my wrist. My mind went fuzzy around the edges, imagination spinning in directions it had no business going while I was supposed to be working.

“Careful, Mr. Carmichael,” I murmured, barely audible. “These are delicate.”

His smile deepened, and—holy crap, was I hallucinating from stress?—his eyes flashed gold for a split second. Like, actual gold. Maybe I needed more sleep. Or therapy. Or both, administered simultaneously.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, and wow, okay, we were definitely not talking about appetizers anymore. My face went from “slightly flushed” to “surface of the sun” in approximately 0.2 seconds.

I retreated so fast I nearly tripped over my own feet. What was happening? My body was acting like it had been possessed by some horny entity.

The rest of the first course was a blur of smiling politely while screaming internally.

Every time I entered the room, both Jace and Adrian would track me like I was the last cookie on the plate.

They kept finding excuses to touch me—fingers “accidentally” brushing, shoulders touching as I leaned to serve.

It was like they were playing some game where the rules were written in a language I couldn’t read, and somehow, I’d been nominated as both the ball and the referee.

By the main course, I was a nervous wreck disguised as a competent server—the service industry equivalent of those videos where dogs wear human clothes.

Victoria Harrington continued her obvious pursuit of Jace, touching his arm during conversation, laughing too brightly at his comments, flipping her hair so often she risked repetitive strain injury.

I shouldn’t have cared—it wasn’t like I had any claim on him—but each touch sent an uncomfortable twinge through my chest, like heartburn but more possessive.

“Your staff is exceptionally well trained, Madi,” Elise Harrington commented as I refilled water glasses. “Especially that young man with the unusual coloring. Where did you find him?”

I kept my expression carefully neutral, though being discussed like I wasn’t standing right there made my skin crawl. Like I was a particularly interesting piece of furniture. “Yes, the pale boy-shaped lamp is quite remarkable. It can even pour water without spilling!”

“Eli is Tricia and Thomas Harper’s son,” Madi explained with warm pride that made some of my irritation fade. “They’ve been with our family for decades. Eli’s been helping with service since he was sixteen.”

“He has quite striking features,” Franklin said, his gaze sliding over me with clinical interest that made me feel like a specimen in a lab. “Not often you see that combination of coloring.”

“He was adopted,” George said, his tone casual, though something in it made Franklin’s gaze drop away from me. “But he’s very much part of the family.”

Hearing George call me “part of the family” sent a weird warm feeling through my chest. The Carmichaels had always been nice to me, but having the pack alpha declare it to outsiders like that?

That was new. I kept my face professionally blank, but inside I was kind of freaking out. In a good way. Maybe.

As I circled back to the kitchen for the next course, Paul caught my arm.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. “You seem tense. Like, more than your usual tense, which is saying something.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, adjusting my tray. “Just a long day.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Jace and Adrian are acting weird. Did something happen?”

“What? No. Nothing. Why would anything happen?” The words tumbled out too quickly, too defensively, my voice reaching a pitch that probably shattered glassware in the next county.

Paul raised an eyebrow. “Right. That was totally convincing. You know your left eye twitches when you lie, right?”

“Shouldn’t you be playing video games or dunking a basketball or something?” I deflected, earning a snort of laughter.

“Just be careful,” he said, suddenly serious. “When alphas get like this… it can get complicated.”

“Like what?” I asked, genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

But Paul just shook his head and returned to the dining room, leaving me with more questions than answers. Great. Cryptic warnings were exactly what I needed to calm my nerves. Very helpful, Paul.

By dessert, the tension had become almost unbearable. I entered with the dessert cart, struggling to keep my hands steady as both Jace and Adrian immediately locked on me like I was the last donut at a police convention. Great. Round two of “Let’s Make Eli Question His Sanity” was about to begin.

I served Jace first this time, steeling myself for whatever new form of torture he’d devised.

His entire demeanor screamed “I could buy and sell your entire existence” with a side order of “but I might keep you as a pet instead.” Just approaching him made my breathing go shallow, like someone had cranked up the altitude while I wasn’t looking.

“Dessert, Mr. Carmichael?” I asked, presenting the selection while trying to ignore how my body was suddenly auditioning for America’s Next Top Submissive without consulting my brain first. My head lowered slightly, neck exposed—what the hell?

I hadn’t given my body permission to do the weird neck thing again. This was getting ridiculous.

“Thank you, Eli,” he replied, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my bones like I’d swallowed a subwoofer. “Though I find myself craving something sweeter than what’s on offer.”

His gaze dropped to my lips as he spoke, the implication so blatant it might as well have been skywritten above the table.

Heat flooded my face as my knees decided to stage a mutiny against the concept of standing upright.

I had to grip the cart to stay vertical, which was just perfect.

Nothing says “professional service” like clinging to furniture to avoid collapsing at a guest’s feet.

My body temperature spiked so dramatically I was surprised the ice cream didn’t immediately transform into soup. I could practically hear the fire alarms debating whether to activate.

“The chef recommends the crème br?lée,” I managed, proud that my voice remained steady despite my internal systems going haywire. “Though some might find it too… intense.”

A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, satisfaction flashing in his eyes at my response. “I’ve always appreciated intensity.”

The words hit me like a physical caress, and I had to lock my knees to keep from swaying toward him like a flower tracking the sun. This was beyond embarrassing. I was a grown man with student loans, not a fainting heroine in a bodice-ripper novel.

I moved on to Adrian before spontaneous combustion became a real possibility, only to find him watching our exchange with the amused interest of someone who’d just discovered a particularly entertaining reality show.

Where Jace radiated “bow before me,” Adrian gave off more of a “let’s break rules together” vibe that was somehow equally dangerous.

“Enjoying your evening, Mr. Carmichael?” I asked, summoning what little composure I had left, which wasn’t much. My dignity had left the building around the time Jace’s fingers brushed mine during the appetizer course.

“Parts of it are quite… satisfying,” he replied, letting his gaze wander from my eyes to my lips with deliberate slowness. “Though I find myself hungry for more than what’s on the menu.”

The double entendre was so blatant it deserved its own zip code. I should have been rolling my eyes, but instead, I was fighting the urge to ask for clarification, preferably with visual aids. What was happening to me?