Page 58 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

Istared at my reflection in Sheena’s ridiculously ornate vanity mirror—seriously, who needs that much gold leaf on a mirror?

—trying to figure out when exactly my life had gone completely off the rails.

Probably around the time Jace Carmichael cornered me in the mansion’s east wing hallway, his voice dropping to that impossibly deep register that made my knees forget how to function properly.

“Hold still,” Sheena commanded, attacking my hair with yet another styling product. “I’m trying to make you look like you just rolled out of bed after a night of fantastic sex, not like you stuck your finger in an electrical socket.”

“Is there a difference?” I muttered, wincing as she tugged at another platinum strand.

My scalp was starting to feel like a crime scene.

“And I’m pretty sure you’ve used enough product to violate several environmental protection laws.

Future archaeologists will find my fossilized head and classify it as a new type of mineral deposit. ”

“Beauty is suffering,” she replied without a hint of sympathy, which was rich coming from someone who probably had professional stylists on speed dial. “Besides, you should be thanking me. When my brother sees you tonight, he’s going to swallow his tongue.”

Paul was sprawled across Sheena’s massive bed, scrolling through his phone with the casual indifference of someone who wasn’t currently being tortured by beauty products.

“More likely he’ll drag Eli into the nearest closet and—”

“Finish that sentence,” Sheena warned, brandishing her styling brush like a medieval weapon, “and I’ll tell Mom who really broke her favorite Ming dynasty vase last Christmas.”

Paul clutched his chest in mock horror, though I caught the flash of genuine panic in his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” She smirked, returning her attention to my poor, abused hair. “There. Perfect.”

I had to admit, she’d done an impressive job.

My platinum-blond hair, usually a hopeless mess that defied the laws of physics, now looked artfully disheveled in that way that screams “I spent two hours and a small fortune to look like I just had mind-blowing sex.” Which was both impressive and deeply disturbing on multiple levels.

“Now for the outfit,” Sheena declared, turning toward her walk-in closet. “And don’t even think about suggesting those sad excuses for clothes you brought.”

“My clothes are perfectly fine,” I protested weakly, though we both knew it was a losing battle.

Arguing with Sheena about fashion was like trying to convince a hurricane to change direction through the power of positive thinking.

“Not everyone needs to look like they just stepped off a runway to go to dinner.”

“This isn’t just dinner,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the fashion vortex. “This is a date with Jace Carmichael. My brother. The A-list action star. The man whose face is literally plastered across billboards in Times Square right now.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands because apparently I needed a detailed reminder of how completely out of my league this whole situation was.

“That’s exactly what I needed to calm my nerves—a comprehensive review of how I’m about to make a fool of myself in front of Hollywood royalty. ”

Paul scoffed, finally looking up from his phone with that lazy grin that made him look like trouble incarnate. “Please. The way he’s been staring at you all week? Like you’re a five-course meal and he’s been starving for years? If anything, I’d be worried for my brother’s dignity.”

Heat crawled up my neck at his words because, okay, it was true that Jace had been…

intense since his arrival. Every time I entered a room, those blue eyes would lock on me with a focus that made my skin feel too tight for my body.

And then there was the hallway incident that had led to this whole mess…

“Earth to Eli,” Paul said, and I realized I’d been staring off into space. “You’re doing that thing again where you zone out and turn the color of a tomato. Thinking about my brother?”

“No,” I lied, the blush deepening traitorously because my face had apparently decided to become a neon sign advertising my every embarrassing thought. “Just wondering how I got roped into this makeover from hell.”

“Liar.” Sheena grinned, emerging from the closet with an armful of clothes that looked suspiciously expensive and intimidating. “But it’s cute. The whole blushing virgin act.”

“I’m not—” I spluttered, then caught myself before I could dig that particular hole any deeper. “You know what? I’m not discussing my sexual history with you. Or lack thereof. Or… anything in that general vicinity that might get me murdered by your overprotective family.”

“So there is a lack.” Paul perked up with the enthusiasm of someone who’d just discovered buried treasure, his grin turning absolutely wicked. “Interesting.”

“I hate both of you,” I muttered, accepting the stack of clothes Sheena thrust at me. “With the burning passion of a thousand suns going supernova simultaneously.”

“No, you don’t.” Sheena patted my cheek with the condescending affection usually reserved for small children and confused pets. “You love us. Now try these on. The charcoal pants should fit perfectly—they’re from my ‘androgynous chic’ phase last year.”

I retreated to her bathroom, which was basically a spa that happened to have a toilet, and stared in horror at what she’d given me.

The pants weren’t just tight—they were a denim-based circulation hazard that would probably require emergency medical intervention to remove.

They clung to my thighs with disturbing precision.

“What the actual hell,” I said to my reflection, twisting to see the back view and immediately regretting that decision. “Sheena’s done it again.”

Somehow these pants had transformed my admittedly average backside into something that belonged in a fitness magazine. The button-down wasn’t much better, clinging to my shoulders and making my eyes look more lavender than blue, which should probably be illegal in several states.

“If I bend over in these pants, they’ll split and my dignity will make a run for it,” I informed my reflection, which offered no solutions to my predicament but did look appropriately horrified.

“Holy shit,” Sheena breathed when I emerged from the bathroom, and she actually circled me with obvious approval. “You look edible. Literally good enough to eat.”

“Is that the goal?” I asked, tugging self-consciously at the shirt because feeling like a snack wasn’t exactly on my life goals list. “Making me look like the dessert course?”

“If the shoe fits.” She shrugged, adjusting the collar to expose a bit more collarbone in a way that made me feel oddly vulnerable. “Or in this case, if the pants make your ass look like it deserves its own social media account.”

“They’re too tight,” I complained, trying to pull the fabric away from my thighs in a futile attempt to restore circulation to my lower extremities. “I can’t sit down in these things without risking permanent injury.”

“They’re perfect,” she corrected with the authority of someone who’d never met a fashion emergency she couldn’t fix. “And you won’t be doing much sitting if my brother has his way.”

“Sheena!” I yelped, heat flooding my face because apparently my brain had decided to take that comment and run with it in directions that definitely weren’t appropriate for family conversation.

“What?” she asked with exaggerated innocence that wouldn’t have fooled a newborn kitten. “I just meant you’ll probably go dancing or something.”

"Sure you did," Paul snorted at Sheena's innocent act.

His eyes widened slightly as he took in the complete transformation—hair, clothes, the whole package—and I caught something that might have been approval before he covered it with his usual smart-ass grin.

"Damn, Harper. You clean up nice. If I didn't know Jace would literally murder me and use my body for fertilizer in the vineyard, I'd hit on you myself. "

“Gross.” I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t help the pleased flush that warmed my cheeks because compliments from the Carmichael family were apparently crack to my self-esteem. “And disturbing. On multiple levels that we’re not going to explore.”

“Ignore him,” Sheena said, circling me with the critical eye of someone evaluating a prized sculpture. “You look perfect. The shirt brings out the lavender in your eyes exactly like I thought it would.”

“I still don’t understand why we’re going to so much trouble.

” I sighed, giving up on making the pants any less painted-on because clearly that was a battle I was destined to lose.

“It’s just dinner in Ravenswood. The fanciest restaurant in town is the steakhouse, and their idea of ambiance is putting a candle on the table instead of the plastic flower arrangement. ”

Another one of those looks passed between the siblings—the kind that made me feel like I was missing something obvious.

“What?” I demanded, because I was getting really tired of being the only person not in on whatever secret they were keeping. “What am I missing this time?”

“Nothing.” Sheena smiled with the kind of innocence that usually preceded someone getting pranked in spectacular fashion. “Just enjoying the view.”

“You’re both being weird,” I accused, which was saying something considering the Carmichael family’s baseline level of weird was already pretty high. “Weirder than usual, which is honestly an impressive achievement.”

“Speaking of weird…” Paul stretched, his massive frame making Sheena’s king-sized bed look like a twin. “Have you met Uncle Raymond yet? He arrived this morning with wife number… what are we up to now?”

“Three. Or four. I’ve lost count.” Sheena made a gesture in front of her chest that was probably not appropriate for mixed company.