Page 89 of Captivated By Alphas 1, Fated (The Blood Moon Chronicle #4)

“What kind of signs?” I demanded, my ears flattening against my head. “What else haven’t you told me?”

“The kind that kept you safe,” George said firmly from the doorway. “The kind that gave you a chance to grow up protected and loved.”

“But I’m not a child anymore,” I said, my voice stronger than I felt. “I have a right to know what I am, who I am, why everyone keeps talking in riddles around me like I’m some kind of supernatural puzzle.”

“You do,” Mom agreed, squeezing my hand. “And we’ll tell you everything. Tomorrow, when your father is stable and you’ve had time to process what happened tonight.”

“Promise?” I asked, hating how young and vulnerable I sounded.

“I promise,” she said firmly. “No more secrets after tonight. You deserve the truth about everything.”

I managed a few more bites of Duncan’s incredible food before my stomach decided it was done cooperating. The combination of shock, exhaustion, and whatever supernatural changes were happening inside me made everything feel like I was moving through molasses.

“I think I need that shower now,” I said, pushing away my half-finished plate. “And maybe some sleep before I collapse face-first into the mashed potatoes.”

Jace stood, his expression shifting to that focused intensity. He squeezed my shoulder briefly before heading for the door—probably to discuss patrol schedules and investigation priorities with George. Alpha heir duties didn’t pause for convenient timing.

I watched him go, then turned to find the other two cousins watching me with identical expressions of concern.

“Come on,” Adrian said gently. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

The walk upstairs felt like climbing Mount Everest. My legs kept threatening to give out, and my new ears swiveled toward every sound like furry satellite dishes picking up alien transmissions. Mom, Adrian, and Cole flanked me like a protective escort, ready to catch me if I toppled over.

When we reached the blue suite, Mom hovered in the doorway with that look that meant she was about to go full mother-hen mode.

“Do you need help, sweetheart?” she asked gently. “With the shower, I mean. Your ears and tail… you might need—”

“Mom, no,” I cut her off, heat flooding my cheeks. “I’m twenty-one, not five. I think I can figure out how to wash myself.”

“But you’ve never had to work around—”

“We’ll take care of him, Tricia,” Cole said quietly, his hand settling on my shoulder with gentle authority. “He won’t be alone.”

“Are you sure?” Mom’s eyes darted between me and the two cousins, worry creasing her features.

“We’re sure,” Adrian added, his voice carrying that confidence that made people trust him with priceless paintings. “He’s safe with us.”

Mom hesitated for another moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Call if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Once she left, I slumped against the doorframe like a deflated balloon. “I can’t even convince my own mother I’m capable of basic hygiene. This day just keeps getting better.”

In the bathroom, Cole was already running water in the massive soaking tub, testing the temperature with the same precision he probably used for tech specifications. Steam rose from the marble surface, carrying the scent of expensive bath oils.

“A bath might be easier than a shower,” he said without looking up. “Less chance of your ears getting overwhelmed by the water pressure.”

“Good thinking,” I said, then promptly got stuck trying to pull my torn shirt over my head. The fabric had dried stiff with blood, and every movement sent sharp pains through my shoulder. “Oh, come on. Even my clothes are conspiring against me now.”

“Here.” Adrian’s hands replaced mine, carefully working the fabric free without jarring my injuries. “The shoulder bite tore right through the seam. No wonder it’s stuck.”

When he finally got the shirt off, I caught sight of myself in the mirror and winced. I looked like I’d gone ten rounds with a blender—scratches and bruises painting abstract art across my pale skin, my platinum hair matted with dried blood and forest debris.

“I look like a zombie extra from a budget horror movie,” I observed. “Very attractive. Really selling the whole ‘mysterious supernatural creature’ vibe.”

“You look like someone who survived something terrible,” Cole corrected, shutting off the water. “And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

The bath was blissfully hot, and I sank into it with a groan of relief that was probably illegal in several states. My ears flattened against the steam, while my tail—Jesus, I still couldn’t get over having a tail—curled around the edge of the tub like it belonged there.

“This is so weird,” I muttered, watching my tail move independently. “It’s like having a furry mood ring attached to my spine.”

Adrian knelt beside the tub with a bottle of expensive-looking shampoo. “May I? Your hair needs attention, and the angle’s awkward with your shoulder.”

I nodded, too exhausted to protest. His fingers worked through my hair with surprising gentleness, carefully avoiding my sensitive ears while he worked out the tangles and debris. The sensation was incredible—warm water, skilled hands, the gradual return of feeling human again.

And then I started purring.

An honest-to-God rumble vibrated through my chest, completely beyond my conscious control. The sound filled the marble bathroom, echoing off the walls like I was some kind of oversized house cat.

“Well, that’s new,” I said weakly, my face burning with embarrassment. “Add ‘spontaneous purring’ to the list of things I need to figure out how to control.”

“It means you feel safe,” Adrian said softly, his hands never pausing in their gentle work. “Your leopard side trusts us.”

“My leopard side apparently has no sense of dignity,” I replied, though the purring continued despite my mortification. “This is humiliating.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cole said quietly from where he was organizing towels. “You have no idea how rare it is to hear a celestial snow leopard purr.”

“Celestial snow leopard,” I repeated. “I still can’t wrap my head around that. Yesterday I was Eli Harper, graphic design student and professional disappointment. Today I’m apparently supernatural with a tail and no volume control on my emotional reactions.”

“You’re still Eli Harper,” Adrian assured me, rinsing the last of the shampoo from my hair. “Just… more Eli than you’ve ever been allowed to be.”

By the time I was clean and wrapped in a bathrobe the size of a small country, Sheena had arrived with an armful of what looked like designer sleepwear.

“Special delivery!” she announced, dumping silk and lace onto the bed like a fashion fairy godmother. “Pajamas designed specifically for partial shifts. I’ve been working on this line for months.”

“Who exactly are you designing these for?” I asked, examining the delicate fabrics. “Is there a secret supernatural fashion week I don’t know about?”

“You’d be surprised how big the market is,” she said with a grin. “Young shifters going through awkward phases, adults who get stuck partially shifted during stress, people recovering from shifting injuries. Plus, some of the wolf packs up north have been asking for custom work.”

She spread out the options—silk shorts in various colors, matching tops that looked more like lingerie than sleepwear, and something that might generously be called a nightgown if you squinted really hard.

“These are gorgeous,” I admitted, running my fingers over the soft blue silk. “But do they come with more… fabric? Like, enough to actually cover things?”

“Shifters run hot,” she explained, already heading for the door. “Less fabric equals better temperature regulation. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

“Where are you going?” I called after her.

“To give you privacy,” she said with a wicked grin. “Adrian and Cole can help if you get stuck. The tail opening can be tricky the first time.”

And then she was gone, leaving me alone with a pile of barely there sleepwear and no idea how any of it was supposed to work.

I picked up the blue silk shorts and held them up to the light. They were beautiful, but they looked like they might fit a very small doll rather than an actual human being. Still, they had to be better than the bathrobe, which was starting to feel more like a tent than clothing.

In the bathroom, I dropped the robe and reached for the shorts. How hard could it be? They were just shorts with a tail hole. Except when I tried to put them on, everything went spectacularly wrong.

First, I got them on backwards, which meant the tail opening was in the front and created a situation that was both uncomfortable and anatomically impossible. When I tried to fix it, I somehow managed to get my tail stuck in what I thought was the leg opening but turned out to be the waistband.

“What the hell?” I muttered, hopping around on one foot while trying to untangle myself. “These things should come with an instruction manual.”

I finally got the shorts turned around the right way, but then I couldn’t figure out where the tail was supposed to go.

There were holes everywhere—leg openings, waist opening, and something in the back that might have been decorative or functional.

My tail lashed in frustration, which only made things worse.

“This is impossible,” I declared to my reflection, which looked like I was wearing a silk pretzel. “How do people with tails function? This is like trying to dress while solving a Rubik’s cube blindfolded during an earthquake.”

“The mechanics take practice.” Cole's calm voice came from the bedroom. “Most shifters struggle with tail-specific clothing initially.”

“Right, practice,” I muttered, attempting to thread my tail through what I hoped was the correct opening. “Too bad they don't offer 'Supernatural Clothing 101' at community college.”

I bent over to try a different approach and promptly lost my balance, stumbling sideways into the marble vanity with a crash that probably woke half the estate.