Page 79 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

Dad’s expression shifted from “mildly concerned groundskeeper” to “predator on high alert” in the span of a heartbeat. “Stay close,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that register that meant his panther was right under the surface.

We started backing toward the path, Ray’s team forming a protective perimeter around us. The silence stretched, broken only by our careful footsteps and my heart, which had apparently decided to audition for Riverdance using my rib cage as the stage.

“I thought there were treaties,” I whispered to Dad, my mouth suddenly desert dry. “Don’t shifters have rules about this sort of thing? Diplomatic channels? Strongly worded emails before they resort to pissing on trees?”

Dad didn’t answer, which was never a good sign. In my experience, when Dad stops talking, it means things have officially graduated from “concerning” to “oh crap.”

The underbrush ahead of us exploded outward as a massive panther burst onto the path.

My brain immediately launched into full-scale panic mode; this thing was wrong.

Its fur was matted and dull, hanging in patches as if it had been clawing at itself.

But it was the eyes that made my blood freeze—vacant yellow pools with blown-out pupils, no hint of the human intelligence that should be there. Just raw, mindless hunger.

“What the f—” My curse was cut off as two more panthers emerged from the sides, blocking our escape.

My brain short-circuited, unable to process what I was seeing.

These weren’t Carmichael panthers. The Carmichaels moved with controlled power and purpose.

These things twitched and jerked, heads weaving as if they were hearing sounds only they could detect.

One actually started attacking a tree, claws raking furiously at the bark before remembering we existed.

“Something’s wrong with them,” I whispered, backing up a step.

Dad’s body tensed beside me, his nostrils flaring as he caught their scent. “Eli,” he said, voice dropping to an urgent hush, “when I say run, you RUN. Don’t look back.”

Then everything went to hell.

“Eli, RUN!” Dad’s shout cut through my shock as he began to shift, bones cracking and clothing tearing as black fur rippled across his skin.

I’d seen Dad shift hundreds of times—casual demonstrations and practice sessions in the backyard. This was different. This was violent, desperate, his body contorting with brutal efficiency.

Ray’s security team exploded into action, their shifts synchronized like they’d practiced this exact scenario.

Mike was the first to fully transform, his massive form barreling into one of the attackers.

The same Mike who’d taught me to play poker and always kept a spare king up his sleeve was now a snarling mass of muscle and claws.

Sarah followed, her form distinctive with those unusual silver markings on her haunches. Sarah, who brought me cookies when I was sick, who’d helped me practice parallel parking when I was sixteen, was now launching herself at a feral panther with lethal intent.

I stumbled backward, brain struggling to reconcile Sarah-who-baked-cookies with Sarah-who-was-now-fighting-for-her-life.

The sound was nothing I’d ever heard—not the playful growls I’d grown up with, but something primal and nightmarish.

Fur flew as claws tore through flesh, blood spattering the undergrowth in crimson arcs that seemed too bright, too real to be happening.

“This isn’t happening,” I mumbled, though the metallic scent of blood filling the air made a pretty compelling counterargument. “This is insane.”

Sarah went down first, a larger attacker catching her across the shoulder.

Blood sprayed as its claws raked through her silver-marked fur, the impact sending her smaller form crashing into a tree trunk.

She collapsed to the ground, momentarily stunned, her body limp but still breathing.

The attacking panther didn’t even follow up—it just turned, confused, looking for its next target as if it couldn’t remember what it was doing.

Mike roared with fury, launching himself at Sarah’s attacker in a tackle that sent both creatures crashing through the underbrush. They rolled, a blur of fur and fangs, blood marking their path through the ferns.

I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

This wasn’t the movies. There was no dramatic music, no slow motion, just violence so swift and brutal my brain couldn’t process it.

People I knew—people I cared about—were being torn apart in front of me, and all I could do was stand there being the useless human I was.

Dad’s panther form darted past me, intercepting an attacker that had broken through the defensive line. His black coat was already slick with blood—whether his or theirs, I couldn’t tell. He fought desperately, but he was outnumbered, outweighed.

Dad’s panther spun around, his golden eyes locking with mine with an intensity I’d never seen before.

He let out a guttural growl that needed no translation—the message in those eyes, in the desperate way he positioned himself between me and danger, couldn’t have been clearer if he’d shouted it. RUN. NOW.

This time I ran, terror finally kicking my body into gear. I stumbled backward, nearly face-planting over a root before turning to sprint toward the clearing. The sounds of battle pursued me—wet tearing noises, screams that cut off mid-sound, the heavy impact of bodies slamming into trees.

My lungs burned, heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat as I pushed myself harder than I ever had before. Just reach the truck. Start it. Get help. Simple steps to focus on instead of the knowledge that my father was fighting behind me.

I burst through the tree line into the clearing, the vehicles just ahead, their metal surfaces gleaming in the afternoon sun, promises of safety. I was halfway there when movement at the corner of my vision made me skid to a halt.

More panthers emerged from the forest, forming a loose circle. These moved with that same jerky motion. One was actually attacking its own tail, spinning in circles before noticing me. Another kept shaking its head as if it was trying to clear it, eyes unfocused and glazed.

“No, no, no, no,” I whispered, backing away as my escape route vanished. “This isn’t fair.”

One of them—larger than the others, with scars crisscrossing its dirty fur—staggered forward. It moved with twitchy, unpredictable lurches, muscles rippling beneath its matted pelt, yellow eyes vacant except for a primal hunger that made this somehow worse than if they’d been mindless beasts.

“Stay back,” I warned, as if words meant anything to a creature with jaws that could crush my skull like an egg. “I’m friends with the Carmichaels. They will literally murder you for this.”

I looked around frantically for something, anything to use as a weapon. My hand closed around a fallen branch—too light to do real damage, but better than nothing. I brandished it like the world’s most pathetic baseball bat.

“I swear to God, if I die out here just because Dad wanted to check some stupid property markers, I am going to haunt him for eternity,” I muttered, voice thin with terror. “And I’m taking all of you furry nightmares with me.”

The lead panther charged with a speed that defied its sickly appearance.

I swung the branch with all my strength, catching it across the muzzle more through luck than skill.

The impact sent jarring pain up my arms, the branch snapping in half.

The panther barely slowed, shaking its head once before continuing its charge.

I dove sideways, pure instinct taking over where conscious thought failed.

The panther shot past me, skidding in the dirt as it tried to correct its course.

I scrambled to my feet, clutching the broken half of the branch like it could somehow save me, knowing I wouldn’t be fast enough to avoid the next attack.

Something slammed into me from behind with the force of a freight train, knocking me face-first into the ground.

The impact drove the air from my lungs, white spots dancing across my vision as my head struck something hard.

Weight settled on my back—crushing, immobilizing—and hot breath hit the nape of my neck.

“Get off!” I wheezed, lungs struggling against the crushing pressure on my ribs. Panic surged through me in a white-hot wave, a primal fear that obliterated any attempt at rational thought. I was going to die here, torn apart by these feral panthers.

I turned my head sideways, cheek pressed into the dirt, just in time to see Dad burst through the tree line.

His panther form was a blur of black fury as he slammed into two attackers at once, driving them back.

Even through my terror, I could see he was injured—blood matted the fur along his left flank, his movements less fluid than they should have been.

Three more panthers converged on him, surrounding him in a tightening circle.

He fought like a demon, claws and teeth flashing as he spun to keep them all in view, but he was outnumbered and wounded.

As I watched, one of them lunged from behind, catching him across the back.

Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as claws slashed through his flesh.

“DAD!” The word tore from my throat like a living thing, raw and desperate and completely inadequate for the horror unfolding in front of me.

Dad’s panther form was being ripped apart.

Actually torn to pieces. Blood—so much blood—sprayed across the forest floor as claws the size of kitchen knives opened gashes that went bone-deep.

His beautiful black coat was matted crimson, chunks of fur floating in the air like snow.

One of the ferals had its jaws locked around his throat, and I could hear the wet, grinding sound of teeth trying to crush his windpipe.