Page 78 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

Isprawled in the passenger seat of Dad’s work truck, one arm dangling out the open window as we bounced along the service road that cut through the Carmichael estate.

The radio played some ancient country song that Dad hummed along to, completely off-key but utterly confident in his musical abilities.

“You’re butchering that song,” I informed him, adjusting the vent to blast more air-conditioning my way. August in Washington might not be Arizona-level hot, but the humidity made everything sticky and uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure Johnny Cash is rolling in his grave right now.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Dad replied cheerfully, taking a particularly rough bump fast enough to make me grab the dashboard. “Besides, your generation wouldn’t know good music if it slapped you in the face.”

“Says the man who once called David Bowie ‘that makeup guy with the funny hair.’”

Dad grinned, taking a turn onto an even rougher road that led toward the northeastern edge of the property. “I knew that would get you. Your mother says I need to stop baiting you, but it’s just too easy.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

After the chaos of the Carmichael family reunion—a week of serving canapés, dodging handsy distant relatives, and trying not to spontaneously combust every time Jace, Adrian, or Cole entered a room—it was nice to just hang out with Dad.

Even if it meant “helping” with his groundskeeping duties, which mostly involved holding things and pretending to listen to lectures about proper mulching techniques.

“So how much longer are we going to be out here?” I asked, checking my phone signal. One bar. Great. “I told Mom I’d help with dinner prep.”

“Just need to check the northeast boundary and meet up with Ray’s team,” Dad replied, referring to Ray Daniels, the head of Carmichael security and Dad’s poker buddy for the last decade. “Won’t take more than an hour or two.”

“Two hours? Dad, it’s hot as hell out.”

“It’s eighty-two,” he corrected, consulting the truck’s temperature display. “And most of it’s in the shade. Besides, you’ve been moping around the house for days. Fresh air will do you good.”

“I haven’t been moping,” I protested, though that wasn’t entirely true.

I’d been… processing. Processing the fact that three stupidly gorgeous cousins had taken turns making out with me during the family reunion, leaving marks that had only just faded and memories that definitely hadn’t.

“I’ve been recuperating from serving duty. ”

“Uh-huh.” Dad’s eyes stayed on the rough road, but I could see the corner of his mouth twitch. “That’s why you’ve been walking around with your head in the clouds since that date at Ravenswood Heights.”

I groaned, sliding down in my seat. “Does everyone know about that?”

“You came home with three sets of hickeys and a dazed expression. Not exactly subtle, son.”

“Please tell me you and Mom haven’t been discussing my love life.”

Dad chuckled. “Your mother has a betting pool going with the kitchen staff about which one you’ll end up with.”

“Dad!” My face burned hot enough to melt plastic. “That’s… that’s completely inappropriate workplace behavior.”

“Duncan’s got twenty on Adrian, by the way.”

I covered my face with my hands. “This is mortifying. They’re my bosses, technically. Sort of. This is all just a weird… phase. Or something.”

Dad’s humor faded slightly. “Eli, you know I trust your judgment. But those three come from a different world than ours. Carmichaels have different… expectations. Just be careful, okay?”

“I don’t think their expectations are that different,” I muttered, remembering exactly how clear they’d been about what they wanted from me. “Just more intense. And weirdly coordinated.”

We crested a small hill, and the forest opened into a clearing where three black SUVs were parked in a loose semicircle. Ray stood beside the lead vehicle, deep in conversation with two of his team members.

Dad pulled the truck alongside the SUVs and cut the engine. Ray looked up and waved, his perpetually serious expression softening into something close to a smile when he spotted me in the passenger seat.

“Thomas! Eli!” he called, striding over as we climbed out of the truck. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it before we finished the sweep.”

Ray Daniels had been head of Carmichael security for as long as I could remember.

A beta panther shifter with salt-and-pepper hair and the build of someone who still did all his own field work, he’d taught me how to fish and snuck me my first beer at seventeen.

He’d also threatened to tell Mom about said beer if I didn’t ace my calculus final, which was both effective and terrifying.

“Traffic was brutal,” I deadpanned, gesturing to the empty service road behind us. “Backed up for miles.”

Ray snorted, clapping me on the shoulder with enough force to make me stagger slightly. “Still a smart-ass, I see. Good to know some things never change.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint,” I replied, grinning despite myself. “So what’s so important that Dad dragged me away from air-conditioning and Wi-Fi?”

The humor faded from Ray’s expression. “We’ve had some… disturbances along the northeastern boundary. Probably nothing, but George wanted us to document everything.”

“Disturbances?” I echoed, suddenly paying closer attention. “What kind of disturbances?”

Ray and Dad exchanged one of those adult looks that never meant anything good.

“Signs of trespassers,” Dad finally said. “Footprints, broken branches, that sort of thing.”

“And?” I prompted, knowing there had to be more.

Ray sighed. “And scent markers. Non-Carmichael panthers, deliberately leaving territorial challenges.”

Well, that explained the extra security patrols I’d noticed around the estate lately.

“Whose territory borders ours here?” I asked, trying to remember the confusing explanations of shifter boundaries I’d half listened to over the years.

“Technically, it’s neutral ground for about half a mile,” Ray replied. “Then it’s state park land.”

“And that’s causing problems?” I asked, trying to understand why we were doing this boundary check with what seemed excessive security.

“There’ve been reports of unusual activity,” Dad said carefully. “George wants us to document everything and reinforce our markers.”

“Which is why we’re out here doing a detailed survey of the property line,” Ray added, gesturing to where his team was setting up what looked like surveying equipment. “Making sure our boundaries are clear and documented.”

I recognized most of Ray’s team—Mike and Ethan, who sometimes joined the estate poker nights; Sarah, who’d helped me practice driving when I was sixteen; and two newer guys whose names I couldn’t remember but who nodded in friendly recognition when they saw me.

“So I’m here…?” I let the question hang, already suspecting the answer.

“Your mother would skin me alive if I left you alone at the cottage with strange activity near our property,” Dad confirmed.

“And your concern for my safety is clearly your primary motivation, not fear of Mom’s wrath.”

“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” Dad replied with a grin. “Now come on, Ray’s going to show us what they found.”

We followed Ray toward the tree line, where the manicured grounds of the estate gave way to denser forest. The temperature dropped noticeably as we stepped into the shade, a relief from the summer heat.

“We found the first signs about a week ago,” Ray explained as we walked. “Just a few broken branches, nothing definitive. But yesterday, after most of the family reunion guests left, they got bolder.”

He led us to a massive oak tree near what I assumed was the property line. At first, I didn’t see anything unusual, but then Ray pointed to deep gouges in the bark, about seven feet up the trunk.

“Claw marks,” Dad said, his expression hardening. “Deliberate.”

“And that’s not all,” Ray continued, leading us a few yards farther. “They left a more… personal message too.”

The smell hit me before I saw the source—acrid and musky, wet fur and ammonia. A territorial marker, I realized, deliberately left where the Carmichael security team would find it.

“Charming,” I muttered, wrinkling my nose. “Nothing says ‘hello neighbor’ like pissing on trees.”

“It’s a challenge,” Ray said, his voice serious. “They’re testing our response, seeing how quickly we notice and how strongly we react.”

“Has George been informed?” Dad asked, examining the surrounding area with careful attention.

“First thing this morning,” Ray confirmed. “He’s doubled patrols along all boundaries, but especially here.”

“We should finish the survey and get back,” Dad decided. “I don’t like being out here this close to sunset.”

Ray nodded in agreement. “My team’s almost done. Twenty minutes, tops.”

We spread out to help complete the survey, though my “help” mostly consisted of holding equipment and marking coordinates on a tablet as Dad called them out. The work was tedious but went quickly with so many people involved.

I was marking our final position on the map when something cracked in the underbrush—too heavy for a squirrel, too deliberate for the wind. The back of my neck prickled with that universal “you’re about to become a horror movie statistic” sensation.

Dad froze mid-motion, his head tilting in that classic shifter listening pose. His nostrils flared slightly as he scented the air, and I’d seen enough shifter body language to know that particular nostril flare fell squarely in the “we might be screwed” category.

Ray’s security team went still around us, their casual chatter dying so abruptly it felt like someone had hit the mute button on the forest. Even the birds had stopped singing, which according to every nature documentary ever made is nature’s way of saying “run, you idiot.”

“Dad?” I whispered, suddenly very aware of how far we’d strayed from the vehicles. “Please tell me that’s just Paul trying to scare us.”