Page 85 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

“Leopard ears,” I realized, touching one gingerly. The fur was impossibly soft, silver-white with dark tips that twitched independently of my conscious control. “I have actual leopard ears. This day just keeps getting weirder.”

But the transformation wasn’t finished. Pressure built at the base of my spine, intense and demanding, like something vital had been trapped there my entire life and was finally breaking free.

The emergence of my tail was a rush of sensation so overwhelming I nearly fell to my knees—long, flexible, covered in the same silver-white fur as my ears, with perfect balance reflexes that felt more natural than walking upright.

“Seriously?” I demanded, using my new tail to steady myself as I leaped over a lunging feral with impossible grace. The appendage moved like it had always been part of me, providing balance and leverage I’d never possessed. “A tail? What’s next, whiskers?”

The two remaining ferals circled me warily now, perhaps sensing the change in my scent, my movements, my very nature. I felt more coordinated, more graceful, like my body had finally remembered how it was supposed to work.

“I’m like a supernatural cheerleader,” I said, dropping into a crouch that showed off my new tail’s balancing capabilities. “Except instead of pom-poms, I have murder claws and apparently a really expressive tail.”

One of them lunged, and I met it head-on this time instead of dodging. We collided with bone-jarring force, but I stayed upright while it crashed into the ground. My crystal claws raked across its throat in one fluid motion.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, staring at my bloodied hands.

The last feral backed away, some spark of intelligence flickering in its diseased eyes as it reassessed the threat I posed.

But then movement caught my attention—Jace was fighting like a legend, his midnight form a blur of lethal precision as he systematically dismantled multiple attackers.

Even outnumbered ten to one, he was winning, carving through ferals with the skill that had made him pack heir.

But more kept coming. Fresh waves of diseased panthers poured from the forest, cutting off his path to me with a writhing wall of corrupted flesh and snapping jaws.

I watched him destroy three ferals in seconds, then whip around to eliminate two more that tried to flank him, but the sheer numbers created an impenetrable barrier between us.

“Jace!” I shouted, starting toward him, but the remaining feral blocked my path, snarling with renewed aggression.

Jace’s roar shook the trees as he spotted my predicament. He launched himself at the wall of ferals separating us, tearing through them with devastating fury. Bodies flew as his claws opened throats and his jaws crushed spines, but for each one he destroyed, two more took its place.

“Move!” I snarled at my opponent, my voice carrying an edge I’d never heard before. My new ears flattened against my skull as rage surged through me. “Get away from him!”

The feral lunged, and I met it with everything I had—claws, teeth that felt sharper than they should be, and a fury that burned cold as winter moonlight. We went down in a tangle of limbs and violence.

I was winning—barely—when I caught a glimpse of Jace through the chaos.

He’d carved a bloody path halfway to me, his midnight form painted crimson as he fought with the legendary skill that made him future pack alpha.

But the ferals kept coming, an endless stream of corrupted flesh that reformed the barrier faster than he could break it down.

“NO!” The scream tore from my throat as I realized he couldn’t reach me in time, not through that wall of enemies.

The feral beneath me took advantage of my distraction, throwing me off and scrambling to its feet. Its claws raked across my ribs, opening new wounds that burned like fire. I rolled away, but it was already preparing to pounce again.

This time, I wouldn’t be fast enough.

Then a blur of copper-tinted fury slammed into my attacker with enough force to send it flying.

The newcomer landed gracefully between me and danger—sleek and lean where Jace was all raw power, with fur that caught sunlight like molten metal.

This panther moved like liquid art, every motion fluid and precise, turning violence into something that looked almost choreographed.

But it was the eyes that gave him away. Green-gold that shifted like autumn leaves, blazing with intelligence and protective rage as he bared fangs longer than my fingers. Those eyes held the same artistic intensity I’d seen in human form, the same way of seeing beauty in everything—even combat.

“Adrian,” I breathed, and his panther’s entire demeanor shifted like a switch had been flipped.

The protective stance melted into something far more primal as he turned toward me, those green-gold eyes drinking in every detail of my partial transformation with an intensity that made my skin burn.

His massive head tilted, studying the leopard ears, the silver-furred tail, the crystal claws with the focused appreciation of an artist who’d finally found his masterpiece.

Then he was moving, circling me with predatory grace that made my pulse race and my newly sensitive ears flatten submissively against my skull.

Each step was deliberate, calculated, designed to display his power while marking his territory.

His shoulder brushed against mine as he completed the circle—not an accident, but a claiming gesture that left his scent branded into my skin.

“Adrian, what are you—oh!” My words cut off as his rough tongue swept across the claw marks on my ribs with long, possessive strokes.

The sensation was electric, sending heat coursing through me that had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with the way his scent was wrapping around me like invisible chains.

He rumbled deep in his chest—a sound that was pure satisfaction mixed with barely restrained hunger. The vibration traveled through me where our bodies touched, his massive form pressed protectively against my side in a way that screamed mine to anything watching.

“You know,” I managed, trying to ignore how my body was responding to being claimed by a predator, “most people just ask if I’m okay. But I suppose marking your territory is more direct.”

Adrian’s response was to nuzzle against my neck, his tongue sweeping across my pulse point in long, claiming strokes.

He was scenting me thoroughly, deliberately, ensuring that anyone who came near would know exactly who I belonged to.

The gesture was so blatantly possessive it should have annoyed me.

Instead, it made something deep in my chest purr with satisfaction I couldn’t explain.

When he rubbed his cheek against mine, the rough texture of his fur combined with his intoxicating scent—cardamom and rain-washed forest and pure male dominance—made my knees weak.

“This is very presumptuous,” I told him, though my voice came out breathless and my body made no move to escape his claiming. “What if I don’t want to smell like Adrian Carmichael’s panther?”

His rumble turned possessive, territorial, and he deliberately scent-marked me again, ensuring his claim was unmistakable. The message was clear: too late, you’re mine now.

“Fine,” I muttered, my face heating. “But if anyone asks why I smell like expensive cologne and predator musk, I’m blaming head trauma.”

A snarl from the regrouping ferals reminded us we weren’t alone. Adrian immediately shifted position, keeping me pressed against his side while facing the threats. But even his fighting stance was different now—more fluid, more artistic, like he was performing for an audience of one.

When the first feral charged, Adrian met it with a display of combat that was pure poetry in motion. Each strike was calculated not just for lethality but for beauty, his copper-tinted form flowing like a deadly dance. He was showing off, I realized—demonstrating his skills for my benefit.

“You’re ridiculous,” I told him fondly, watching him eviscerate an attacker with movements so graceful they belonged in a ballet. “Even in a life-or-death battle, you have to make it look artistic.”

His rumble sounded distinctly smug as he dispatched another feral, positioning himself so I had the best view of his prowess. Classic Adrian—turning violence into performance art.

But then more massive forms burst into the clearing. George’s silver-streaked dominance was unmistakable—I’d seen the pack alpha’s panther form at family gatherings, though never in combat mode. The sheer size of him was breathtaking, easily dwarfing even Jace’s impressive bulk.

The second panther made my breath catch and my heart do something complicated in my chest. Steel-gray fur rippled over a frame built for both power and speed, with distinctive silver markings that traced elegant patterns across his shoulders and flanks like nature had painted him specifically to be devastating.

He moved with controlled violence wrapped in predatory grace, like watching a storm held perfectly in check.

Those piercing gray eyes found mine across the clearing, and recognition didn’t just slam through me—it detonated. This wasn’t just attraction or admiration. This was recognition on a cellular level, like every fiber of my being suddenly remembered something it had been waiting for my entire life.

“Cole,” I whispered, and the name felt like a prayer, a plea, a surrender all rolled into one.

His panther went completely still for a heartbeat, drinking in the sight of me half-shifted with Adrian’s scent all over me.

Something dark and possessive and absolutely feral flashed in those gray depths—not jealousy, but determination.

Adrian might have marked me first, but Cole was already calculating exactly how to make me his as well.