“Drake.” Damian’s voice was smooth but underneath lay the familiar edge of barely controlled aggression. “You need to stop interfering with my relationship with Camille.”
“Leave her alone,” Leander said, his tone brooking no argument. “If you call her again, there will be problems.”
“You’re getting in the way of something that doesn’t concern you.”
The casual dismissal ignited rage in Leander’s chest, his lion surging forward with territorial fury. “That’s where you’re wrong. It does concern me very much. Because Camille is my fated mate.”
“That’s impossible,” Damian said, his voice tight with something that might have been panic.
“It’s not a negotiation,” Leander replied firmly. “Stay away from her.”
The line suddenly went dead, leaving them in a quiet that felt charged with new tension.
Camille stared at him, her blue eyes wide with confusion and something that might have been fear. “What did you mean by fated mate?”
He’d been trying to find the perfect moment to reveal that information, and had planned to ease her into the concept gradually. Instead, his protective instincts had overridden careful strategy, leaving him scrambling to explain something that defied simple explanation.
“In the shifter world,” he began carefully, setting her phone down and moving closer, “a fated mate is the one person destined for a shifter. It’s not something that can be controlled, but there is choice involved.” He watched her face, gauging her reaction. “There’s a bond between mates that, if chosen and completed, grows stronger and deeper with time.”
She looked overwhelmed, color draining from her face as she processed the implications. His chest tightened with the fear that he’d pushed too hard, too fast.
“We don’t need to discuss all that right now,” he said quickly, his voice gentling. “Let’s just enjoy dinner.”
As they ate, she remained quiet, her usual bright conversation replaced by thoughtful silence that made him want to retreat into familiar territory.
“I could really use your input on the Lexington project, if you’re willing,” he said, watching her carefully.
The change was immediate and gratifying. She straightened, her eyes lighting up with the passion he’d glimpsed in her blog writing.
“I would love to help with such a big project,” she said, animation returning to her voice.
Relief flooded through him at seeing her relaxed and happy again. “I need a new set of eyes on some blueprints I can’t quite map out right. Your perspective could be exactly what we need.”
“I would love to give you my ideas,” she said, genuine excitement replacing the earlier uncertainty.
As they finished dinner, the comfortable dynamic restored, he found himself reluctant to let the evening end.
“Would you like to sit by the fire for awhile?” he asked. “Just unwind from these stressful few days?”
“I would like that,” she replied, her smile warm and unguarded.
As they settled into the deep leather couch, flames casting dancing shadows across their faces, Leander realized the most dangerous part of the evening wasn’t the mate bond or Damian’s threats. It was how right this already felt—how perfectly she fit into his space, how natural it seemed to care for her, how desperately he wanted this to be the beginning of something real rather than just a temporary arrangement born of circumstance.
NINE
CAMILLE
Camille curled into the corner of the deep leather couch, her wine glass cradled between both hands like a shield against the enormity of everything that had shifted in her world over the past three days. The firelight painted golden highlights across her blonde hair and cast dancing shadows that softened the refined edges she usually wore like armor. She couldn’t quite believe she was actually living in Leander’s penthouse now, surrounded by his scent and the quiet luxury that spoke of a man who valued quality over ostentation.
Three days. She had known this man for three days, yet sitting here beside him felt like the most natural thing in the world. Her soul seemed to recognize his in a way that defied logic, as if some deeper part of her had been waiting for him long before their paths crossed. The intellectual admiration she’d harbored for his work had transformed into something far more dangerous—an attraction that went beyond professional respect into territory she’d sworn never to explore again.
The memory of his voice on the phone echoed through her mind:Camille is my fated mate.When she’d asked him what that meant, his careful explanation that it was the one person destined for a shifter had hit her like lightning. The dots hadconnected with startling clarity. She was that person for him. She, who had never believed in fate or soulmates or anything that couldn’t be measured and controlled, was apparently destined for this powerful, complicated man who treated her like she mattered more than anything else in his perfectly ordered world.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged with unspoken questions that demanded answers. Finally, she found her voice.
“How long have you known?” she asked quietly, her blue eyes finding his across the space that separated them on the couch. “That I was your... fated mate?”
Leander’s green gaze held hers steadily, and she watched something vulnerable flicker across his features before he answered. “Since the moment we shook hands that first day you started working for me.”
