Page 68 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

I slunk away, mortification complete. In the staff bathroom, I unzipped the garment bag and pulled out Sheena’s idea of “appropriate staff attire”—tailored black slacks that might as well have been painted on, a crisp white shirt with a mandarin collar that sat frustratingly low, and a burgundy waistcoat that nipped in at exactly the right places.

The Carmichael crest was embroidered in subtle gold thread over the heart.

“Of course she’d make it impossible to hide hickeys,” I muttered, stripping off my clothes and reluctantly putting on the uniform. “Probably planned this whole thing.”

Once dressed, I stared at my reflection.

The evidence of last night’s activities was even more visible now—a constellation of purple and red spanning from just below my ear to the edge of my collarbone.

I touched one gently, memory flashing to Adrian’s mouth at that exact spot, and my stomach did a flip.

“Get it together, Harper,” I muttered to my reflection. “It’s just a family reunion. With the family that employs you. And three impossibly hot men who spent last night marking you. No big deal. Happens to everyone.”

I spent the next hour in strategic evasion, using the increasingly crowded mansion and gardens to my advantage.

The Carmichael family seemed to multiply by the minute—cousins, aunts, uncles, and family friends poured in from every corner of the country, each greeted with the perfect balance of genuine warmth and subtle wealth assessment that characterized old money supernatural families.

The problem with my brilliant evasion strategy? It was impossible to avoid three men who seemed to have developed supernatural tracking abilities where I was concerned.

I was refilling champagne glasses on the main terrace when I felt it—that prickling awareness that meant I was being watched.

A quick glance revealed Jace leaning against the French doors, his blue eyes following my every movement with predatory focus.

When I bent to pour champagne for Mrs. Whitmore, his gaze dropped to my ass in a way that made heat crawl up my neck.

“Lovely service, dear,” Mrs. Whitmore commented, completely oblivious to the sexual tension crackling across the terrace.

“Thank you,” I managed, my voice only slightly strangled as Jace’s lips curved in a knowing smile.

Ten minutes later, I was arranging canapés in the conservatory when Adrian materialized beside me, ostensibly helping but actually just finding excuses to brush against me. His fingers grazed mine as he reached for a tray, his shoulder bumping mine as he leaned in to adjust a garnish.

“You look flushed,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” I squeaked, then cleared my throat and tried again. “Perfectly fine. Just busy.”

“Mmm.” His hand settled on my lower back, thumb stroking in small circles that sent shivers racing down my spine. “Let me know if you need… assistance.”

The way he said ‘assistance’ made it clear he wasn’t talking about catering duties.

By the time I escaped to arrange fresh flowers on a table near the garden entrance, I was wound tighter than a spring. That’s when that sixth sense hit me again. I looked up to find Cole watching me from across the terrace, his gray eyes locked on mine with laser-beam intensity.

Unlike his cousins, Cole hadn’t approached me yet, but damn if he wasn’t making his presence felt from a distance.

When our eyes met, he didn’t smile or wave or do anything normal people do when caught staring.

He just kept watching, something hot and hungry in his expression that made my insides flip in ways that were probably visible from space.

I forced myself to look away, suddenly fascinated by the precise arrangement of hydrangeas. When I finally grew a pair and glanced back, he was gone, but I could still feel the ghost of his gaze on my skin. Great. Now I was having phantom stalker experiences. This day just kept getting better.

“Eli.” My mother’s voice yanked me back to reality with the force of a cold shower. “The Huntingtons are here. George wants our best service for them—apparently there’s some business deal in the works.”

My stomach dropped faster than my GPA during freshman year. “All of them?”

“Yes, all of them,” she said, giving me a pointed look that meant she’d already figured out exactly why I was dreading this particular family’s arrival. “And I need you to be professional, regardless of personal feelings.”

“I’m always professional,” I protested with the indignation of someone who definitely hadn’t spent the morning having flashbacks of being kissed senseless by three different men.

“Mm-hmm. That’s why you’re wearing a necklace of hickeys with your uniform.”

“Mom!” I hissed, my face going thermonuclear as I instinctively reached up to cover my neck.

“Just saying.” She adjusted my collar slightly, her expression softening in that way that meant she was about to give me actual advice instead of just torturing me. “The east drawing room needs fresh drinks. And for God’s sake, try not to look like you’re planning an escape route.”

I made my way back inside, tray balanced carefully as I zigzagged through the increasingly packed hallways.

The Carmichael mansion was massive, but with sixty-some guests moving between inside and outside, even its spacious rooms felt crowded.

I kept my head down, focusing on not dropping anything while simultaneously trying to spot potential hiding places in case I needed to make a strategic retreat.

The Huntingtons stood near the fireplace, the picture of old-money elegance.

Richard Huntington was conversing with George Carmichael with the false camaraderie of business rivals trying to one-up each other through polite conversation.

And beside him, looking fresh out of a Ralph Lauren catalog designed by Satan himself, was Michael.

He spotted me immediately, his eyes lighting up in a way that made my skin want to crawl off my body and hide under the nearest rug.

Unlike the electric awareness I felt with the Carmichael cousins, Michael’s attention felt…

wrong. Predatory in a way that set off every alarm bell in my lizard brain.

Where the cousins made me feel desired, Michael made me feel hunted.

“Ah, the elusive Eli,” he said, intercepting me before I could execute my escape plan with the efficiency of someone who’d clearly been waiting for this opportunity. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“Just busy,” I said, offering the tray with my best professional smile—the one that said ‘Please take a drink and then spontaneously combust.’ “Champagne?”

He took a glass, his fingers deliberately brushing mine in a way that made me want to dunk my entire arm in a vat of hand sanitizer. “You look different today. More… marked.”

His eyes lingered on my neck, where the evidence of last night’s activities was on full display despite my desperate attempts to hide it. His expression darkened, something ugly flashing in his eyes that made my stomach twist with nausea.

“Been busy indeed,” he said, voice hardening with an edge that made me want to back away slowly. “I didn’t realize the Carmichaels allowed their staff such… liberties.”

“I should check on the other guests,” I said, stepping back and immediately regretting it when his expression shifted into something that looked suspiciously predatory.

His hand shot out, gripping my arm just above the elbow. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop me. “We never finished our conversation from last time. About that private showing at my gallery.”

“I’m really not interested,” I said, trying to extract my arm without making a scene that would embarrass George in front of his business associate. Professional. I needed to stay professional, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to run.

“Everyone’s interested, with the right… incentive.” His thumb stroked my arm in a way that made my skin crawl. “I could make it worth your while.”

“I need to get back to work,” I said firmly, pulling away with more force.

His grip tightened fractionally. “Don’t be so hasty. I’m offering you an opportunity most people would kill for.”

I was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his opportunity—preferably somewhere anatomically impossible and extremely painful—when a familiar voice came from behind me.

“Everything alright here?” Jace asked, his tone casual while his eyes locked on Michael’s hand still gripping my arm with laser focus.

Michael released me immediately, his expression shifting to something more guarded. “Just catching up.”

Jace stepped closer until I could feel the heat radiating from him. His hand settled on my lower back, a touch that was both protective and possessive. “Eli, I believe Duncan was looking for you in the kitchen.”

“Right. Yes. Kitchen. Duncan.” My eloquence had apparently taken a vacation along with my dignity. “Excuse me.”

I escaped, feeling both Michael’s glare and Jace’s protective gaze on my back as I retreated. My arm still felt cold where Michael had gripped it, a stark contrast to the warmth spreading from Jace’s brief touch.

The rest of the morning blurred into a series of trays, smiles, and strategic maneuvering to avoid both Michael and the increasingly heated looks from the Carmichael cousins.

By the time lunch was announced, I was a bundle of frayed nerves wrapped in a veneer of professional composure that was getting thinner by the minute.

The formal dining room had been transformed into a showcase of Carmichael wealth, with the massive table extended to accommodate nearly fifty guests.

The rest would be seated in the adjacent conservatory, creating a service nightmare that had Duncan muttering Gaelic curses that would make a sailor blush.