Page 75 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

“One of these things is not like the others,” Eli muttered, though a smile tugged at his lips despite his obvious attempt to remain unaffected.

Perfect setting, his panther approved as they reached the desk. Mate will look beautiful sprawled across it.

“We shouldn’t be in here,” Eli whispered, glancing nervously at the door. “What if someone—”

“No one interrupts a Carmichael at work,” Adrian assured him, lifting Eli effortlessly to seat him on the edge of the desk. “Family rule number one.”

“And what exactly is your ‘work’ here?” Eli challenged, though he made no move to slide off the desk.

Adrian’s panther surged forward, demanding he claim what was rightfully theirs. He fought it back—barely—wanting to savor this moment, to establish his own unique approach distinct from Jace’s brute claiming.

“Creating art,” Adrian murmured, stepping between Eli’s legs. “And you, Eliot Harper, are the most inspiring canvas I’ve seen in years.”

Taste. Mark. Claim.

Eli’s eyes widened, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of lavender-blue remained. “I’m not a canvas—”

“You absolutely are,” Adrian disagreed, fingers tracing the marks Jace had left with the critical assessment of a gallery curator. “Though currently displaying rather… pedestrian work. No composition. No vision. Just primitive claiming.”

Need our marks. Better marks. Artistic marks.

“Are you seriously critiquing your cousin’s hickeys right now?” Eli asked, his voice hitching as Adrian’s fingers traced the edge of his collar. “That’s weird even by Carmichael standards.”

“I’m assessing the medium before adding my contribution,” Adrian corrected, his eye already mapping precisely where each mark should go. “Every masterpiece begins with understanding what came before.”

“And I suppose you think you could do better?” Eli challenged, though his pulse visibly accelerated.

“I know I can,” Adrian replied with absolute confidence. “I see it already—where each mark should go, how they should complement each other, the perfect composition across this alabaster canvas.”

His fingers brushed Eli’s collar, eyes asking permission. “May I?”

Eli swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This is insane.”

“The best art usually is,” Adrian agreed, already unbuttoning Eli’s shirt. “Divine madness. Creative insanity. The only path to true innovation.”

Hurry, his panther demanded, pacing frantically. Less talking, more claiming.

Adrian ignored it, taking his time exposing Eli’s chest button by button, treating each new inch of revealed skin like a masterpiece being unveiled.

When the shirt finally hung open, he stepped back to admire the view—Eli perched on the massive desk, shirt open to reveal a lean torso marked with Jace’s haphazard claiming.

“Beautiful,” Adrian breathed, genuine artistic appreciation mixing with primal hunger. “But incomplete. A work awaiting its finishing touches.”

“You’ve officially lost your mind,” Eli informed him, though he made no move to close his shirt. “All of you.”

“Artists must be at least partially insane,” Adrian agreed cheerfully, stepping forward again.

Claim now, his panther roared, tired of the artistic preamble. Taste mate.

This time, Adrian complied, closing the final distance between them and claiming Eli’s mouth.

Where Jace had been all demanding dominance, Adrian kissed like he directed his award-winning films—experimental, intuitive, constantly searching for the perfect angle, the perfect pressure, the perfect response.

He tilted Eli’s head with gentle fingers, changing the angle to deepen the kiss. When Eli gasped in surprise, Adrian took immediate advantage, his tongue sweeping inside to taste winter mint and something sweet that was uniquely Eli.

Perfect. Tastes better than expected. Ours.

Eli responded with unexpected hunger, his hands clutching at Adrian’s shoulders, fingers digging in with surprising strength. Adrian’s panther purred at the evidence of their mate’s desire, at the way he yielded while still maintaining that spark of defiance.

“Just as I thought,” Adrian murmured against Eli’s lips, pulling back just enough to speak. “Perfect responsive canvas.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Eli demanded breathlessly, his fingers tangling in Adrian’s hair.

“Make me,” Adrian challenged with a wicked smile.

To his delight, Eli surged forward to reclaim his mouth with unexpected boldness. Adrian’s panther roared its approval at their mate’s initiative, at the way he matched Adrian’s exploration with his own.

Strong mate. Not just submissive. Has fire.

Adrian allowed Eli this moment of control before reasserting his own, his mouth leaving those soft lips to chart a course down the elegant line of Eli’s throat. He deliberately avoided Jace’s marks, hunting for virgin territory to claim as his own.

"Perfect canvas," he murmured against that perfect skin, nipping lightly at the junction of neck and shoulder before soothing the sting with his tongue. "Just waiting for the right artist's touch."

"Oh God—what are you doing to me?" Eli gasped as Adrian found a spot that made him arch like a drawn bow. "This is insane. All of you are insane."

"Creating perfection," Adrian corrected, sucking deliberately at that spot until he was certain it would bloom into the perfect shade of burgundy. He pulled back to admire his work—another flawless mark against pale skin, adding to the growing constellation across Eli's body.

Good start. More. Need more marks.

“You’re looking at me like I’m some kind of interactive art installation,” Eli said, his voice breathier than before, pupils blown wide with desire.

“Not just any installation,” Adrian corrected, his fingers tracing patterns across Eli’s chest, mapping exactly where each mark should go.

“More like the Sistine Chapel of my career. You should see what I see—the possibilities here. The perfect balance of shadow and light, the negative space just begging to be filled.”

Enough theory. More claiming, less lecture.

For once, Adrian agreed with his beast. His mouth returned to Eli’s skin, this time targeting his chest. He worked with a filmmaker’s precision, placing each kiss, each bite, each mark with deliberate intent, creating a visual rhythm that transformed Jace’s primitive claiming into part of a larger artistic vision.

“What exactly are you—Jesus Christ—doing?” Eli choked out as Adrian’s teeth grazed his nipple before soothing it with his tongue.

“Creating,” Adrian murmured against that delicious skin, leaving another mark just below Eli’s collarbone in exactly the spot he’d envisioned. “Great art requires both vision and technique.”

Through the pack bond, he projected UHD-quality images of his work—Eli sprawled across the desk like a Renaissance painting come to life, shirt open, chest now decorated with Adrian’s perfectly placed marks alongside Jace’s more primitive claiming.

The reactions hit him instantly—Jace’s possessive snarl, Cole’s growing impatience vibrating through their connection.

More artistic than yours, Adrian taunted, sending a close-up of the constellation he was creating across Eli’s chest. I always did have the superior eye.

He still smells more like me, Jace shot back, though with less heat than Adrian had expected.

Hurry up, came Cole’s razor-edged response. My turn next.

Patience, cousin, Adrian replied, deliberately drawing out his claiming just to irritate them both. Masterpieces can’t be rushed.

Not a virtue I possess when it comes to our mate, Cole returned darkly.

Adrian refocused on Eli, who was watching him with unnerving perception in those extraordinary eyes. “You’re having some kind of weird telepathic conversation with them, aren’t you?”

“How could you possibly—”

“Your eyes go unfocused,” Eli explained, his voice steadier than his hammering pulse suggested. “And you get this smug little smirk, like you’re winning an argument no one else can hear.”

Smart mate. Perfect for us.

“You’re dangerously observant,” Adrian murmured, genuinely impressed. His hands slid around Eli’s waist, pulling him to the very edge of the desk until their bodies aligned with cinematographic perfection. “What else have those clever eyes caught?”

“That you three are playing some bizarre game,” Eli replied, hands resting on Adrian’s shoulders with surprising confidence. “With me as the trophy.”

Adrian’s panther bristled at the characterization. Not a game. Not a trophy. Everything.

“Not a game,” Adrian corrected, his voice dropping to the register that had won him “Most Likely to Make Viewers Need Cold Showers” at the last indie awards. “And definitely not a trophy. Something infinitely more significant.”

Before Eli could question him further, Adrian reclaimed his mouth in another deep kiss, pouring everything he couldn’t yet explain into the contact. His hands wandered freely now, mapping every inch of exposed skin like a cartographer discovering a new continent.

When Eli made a breathy little sound as Adrian’s fingers skimmed his sides, he filed that away for future reference.

When a gentle bite to his lower lip made Eli’s fingers tighten in Adrian’s hair, he noted that reaction too.

Each response was precious data, each gasp a brushstroke in the masterpiece he was composing.

Perfect for us. Responds exactly right.

Through the pack bond, Adrian broadcast these discoveries with cinematic flair, a live feed that had his cousins growing increasingly restless.

He took particular pleasure in showing them how Eli responded to his creative approach—the way he arched when Adrian’s teeth found that sweet spot below his ear, the soft moan when Adrian’s fingers traced patterns on his lower back, the way he chased Adrian’s mouth when he pulled back too soon.

See what a little artistry accomplishes? he taunted. Style over brute force.

Didn’t hear him complaining about my approach, Jace shot back, his voice betraying his impatience to reclaim their mate himself.