Chapter 13 Camille
THIRTEEN
CAMILLE
The bedroom door closed behind Camille with a soft click that seemed to echo through her entire body.
She pressed her back against the carved wood, her chest tight as adrenaline continued to surge through her veins like liquid fire.
Her hands shook as she smoothed down her yellow sundress, the cheerful fabric now feeling absurdly out of place after what she’d just witnessed.
The attack had come from nowhere—two massive lions exploding from the undergrowth with predatory intent. But it wasn’t the violence itself that had her trembling now. It was the way Leander had transformed.
She’d seen shifters in documentaries, read about them in articles, but nothing had prepared her for the raw reality of watching the man she was falling for shed his human skin like it was nothing more than an inconvenient costume.
One moment he’d been beside her in his white polo and khakis, and the next he was something entirely different—golden fur rippling over muscles that had expanded beyond human limitations, massive paws that could crush bone, and jaws that could tear flesh from bone.
Majestic. Terrifying. Absolutely primal.
The transformation had been seamless, beautiful in its deadly efficiency, and watching him fight for her with that kind of savage intensity had awakened something deep in her that she didn’t know how to name.
He’d moved like violence personified, every strike calculated, and the possessive fury in his roars had resonated through her bones.
“God, it was intense,” she whispered to the empty room, pressing her palms against her flushed cheeks.
The bedroom was spacious and elegant, decorated in warm creams and deep blues that reminded her of the bay view beyond the windows.
Leander’s mother had clearly prepared it for them to share, and the intimacy of that assumption sent another wave of uncertainty through her already overwhelmed system.
Five days. She’d known this man for five days, and already she was living in his penthouse, sleeping in his bed, and now standing in his childhood home while her mind tried to process the reality of what loving him would actually mean.
Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?
This terrifying, exhilarating freefall that made her want to both run toward him and away from him in equal measure.
She was falling in love with an Alpha lion shifter who commanded a pride, who carried violence in his bones like a birthright, who could transform into a predator capable of killing without hesitation.
The logical part of her mind—the part trained by years of careful social calculation—whispered that this was too much, too fast, too dangerous.
Normal people didn’t fall into supernatural worlds and ancient mate bonds.
Normal people didn’t watch their boyfriends shift into an apex predator and then shift back into human form like nothing unusual happened.
But then again, she’d never been particularly normal, had she?
She’d spent her entire life pretending to be someone else’s version of perfect, suffocating under expectations that didn’t reflect who she actually was.
Maybe it was fitting that the first time she’d felt truly alive, truly seen, truly wanted, it came with complications that defied everything she thought she knew about the world.
But why did those lions attack me specifically today?
The question had been circling through her mind since the moment Leander had shifted back to his human form, naked and bleeding and magnificent in his protective fury.
Were they lions who simply didn’t want a human on pride territory?
Did they see her as a threat to Leander’s legacy, an outsider who didn’t belong in their world of ancient hierarchies and primal bonds?
The doubt crept in like poison, familiar and insidious.
Maybe she really didn’t belong here. Maybe the pride members who’d been so welcoming earlier had been performing politeness while secretly questioning their Alpha’s choice in mate.
Maybe loving Leander meant stepping into a world where she would always be an outsider, always be vulnerable, always be the weak link that endangered everyone around her.
She moved toward the window, drawn by the fading light that painted the bay in shades of pink and orange.
The view was breathtaking, peaceful in a way that made the afternoon’s violence feel like a fever dream.
But she could still hear the sound of claws on flesh, still see the way Leander’s eyes had gone completely feral when those rogues had threatened her.
He would have killed for me today. Without hesitation, without question.
The realization should have frightened her.
Instead, it sent heat pooling low in her belly, a primitive response that she didn’t entirely understand but couldn’t deny.
No one had ever fought for her before—not her parents, not Carter, not anyone.
But Leander had transformed into something lethal and beautiful and utterly devoted to her protection, and some deep part of her had responded to that display of possessive dominance with a hunger that defied rational thought.
“I could leave,” she said aloud, testing the words against the quiet air. “I could pack my suitcase right now, take a cab back to the city, walk away from all of this before it gets any more complicated. Most people would without hesitation.”
But even as she spoke, her soul rebelled against the idea. Walking away from Leander would be like walking away from sunlight, from the first real happiness she’d ever tasted, from the possibility of a love that saw her for exactly who she was beneath all the polished perfection.
She sank onto the edge of the four-poster bed, burying her face in her hands as the weight of the decision pressed down on her shoulders.
Five days ago, her biggest concern had been whether to accept a dinner invitation from a man her parents had chosen.
Now she was contemplating a future that involved pride politics, mate bonds, and the very real possibility that loving Leander meant accepting violence as part of their daily reality.
I’m not most people, she reminded herself, lifting her head to stare at her reflection in the antique mirror across the room. And I’m tired of running from everything that scares me, tired of choosing a life that is comfortable and expected of me.
Minutes later, Camille found Leander in the library, a room that spoke of generations of knowledge and quiet contemplation.
Floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that caught the golden afternoon light streaming through tall windows.
The scent of old books and polished wood wrapped around her like a familiar embrace, reminding her of the libraries she’d haunted during college—the only places where she’d felt truly at home.
Leander sat in a wingback chair near the fireplace, his broad shoulders curved forward in a posture that spoke of exhaustion rather than his usual commanding presence.
He’d changed into a simple gray henley that made his green eyes appear almost stormy in the fading light.
In his hands rested a thick photo album, its burgundy leather cover worn smooth by countless viewings.
He looks so alone, she thought, her heart clenching at the vulnerable picture he made. Like he’s carrying the weight of the world and doesn’t know how to set it down.
She approached quietly, her bare feet silent on the Persian rug. He glanced up as she neared, surprise flickering across his features—the wary shock of someone expecting abandonment.
“I thought you’d want me to arrange transportation back to the city,” he said, his voice carefully neutral despite the tension that radiated from every line of his body.
Instead of answering, she knelt beside his chair, the soft fabric of her yellow sundress pooling around her legs. “May I look with you?”
For a moment, he simply stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Then, slowly, he turned the album back to its beginning, his movements deliberate and almost reverent.
The first photograph stole her breath. A young boy with golden hair and bright green eyes sat between two beautiful people on a stretch of pristine beach.
The man was unmistakably Leander’s father—the same strong jaw, the same confident bearing—while the woman radiated the kind of warmth that made Camille’s chest ache with longing.
All three were laughing at something beyond the camera’s frame, their joy so genuine it seemed to leap from the page.
This is what love and happiness looks like, she realized with a sharp pang of recognition. Real love. Unconditional and fierce and absolutely unguarded.
“Is that your father?” she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.
“Yes.” His voice carried the weight of a dozen years of grief. “He was my best friend. The man who taught me everything I know about leading, about putting the people you love before everything else—work, ambition, even your own safety.”
He turned the page, revealing more snapshots of a childhood that looked like something from a dream.
Birthday parties where the cake was slightly lopsided, but the smiles were radiant.
Fishing trips where father and son stood proudly beside their modest catch.
Quiet moments of a man reading bedtime stories to a boy who hung on every word.
“He taught me that family was the only thing that truly mattered,” Leander continued, his fingers tracing the edge of a photograph. “That jobs and friends might come and go, but family—blood and chosen—that’s what you lean on when the world tries to break you.”