Chapter 18 Leander
EIGHTEEN
LEANDER
The mahogany conference table stretched before Leander like a battlefield, its polished surface reflecting the faces of twelve board members whose expressions ranged from skeptical to intrigued.
The morning light pouring through the windows should have felt triumphant—this was the moment he’d been building toward since Camille had walked into his life a week ago.
“Gentlemen,” Leander said, his voice holding the authority that had built Drake Holdings into Manhattan’s premier development firm. “What you’re looking at isn’t just architectural revision. It’s evolution.”
He gestured toward the large monitor displaying Camille’s marked-up blueprints for the Lexington project.
Her handwriting covered the margins in precise, elegant script, each note a small revolution in thinking.
Where his original design had emphasized steel and glass efficiency, her modifications breathed warmth into the structure—courtyards that invited natural light, communal spaces that fostered connection, and rooftop gardens that married luxury with sustainability.
“Miss St. James has identified seventeen areas where we can enhance both aesthetic appeal and functional efficiency,” Leander continued, his pride in her work evident.
“Her background in architecture, combined with her instinct for what people actually want to live and work in, has elevated this project beyond anything we’ve achieved before. ”
Board member Harrison Smith leaned forward, his silver eyebrows raised. “These modifications would add significant cost to construction.”
“And triple the property values,” Leander countered smoothly. “Her vision transforms a luxury building into a destination. People won’t just buy units—they’ll fight for the privilege.”
Travis caught his eye from across the table, offering a subtle nod of encouragement. The numbers spoke for themselves, but Leander knew this wasn’t just about profit margins. This was about securing Camille’s place in his world permanently, professionally as well as personally.
“The woman has an eye,” admitted Tanner Channing, studying the blueprints with obvious appreciation. “These design elements would photograph beautifully for marketing.”
A ripple of chuckles moved around the table. Leander seized the moment.
“Imagine what she could accomplish if brought in from the beginning of a project, not just for revision. Her mind works differently than ours—she sees spaces as living entities, not just profitable square footage. Drake Holdings could become the firm that doesn’t just build luxury—we create experiences. ”
The energy in the room shifted. He could see it in their faces—the dawning recognition that Camille represented more than just a talented addition to the team. She was a competitive advantage.
“You’re proposing then to make your fiancée a board member?” asked David Rothschild, his tone carefully neutral. “That’s... unprecedented.”
“I’m proposing to make a brilliant architect my equal business partner,” Leander corrected, his green eyes flashing with conviction. “The fact that she’s also the woman I intend to marry is secondary to her qualifications. Though I’ll admit the symmetry appeals to me.”
Another wave of knowing smiles. These men understood the value of keeping exceptional talent close.
Sterling cleared his throat. “We’d need to vote, of course—”
The words died as pain exploded across Leander’s chest. Not his pain—hers. The mate bond, which had been humming with Camille’s focused energy all morning, suddenly screamed with terror so acute it nearly drove him to his knees.
His hand shot to his chest instinctively. Around the table, concerned murmurs rose as his face went white.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
The rational part of his mind cataloged possibilities—an argument with her parents, perhaps some emotional confrontation over her belongings. But his lion knew better. This wasn’t disappointment or anger. This was fear. Pure, desperate fear.
And then her voice sliced through his consciousness like a blade through silk, clear and urgent through their telepathic link.
Help. Damian has me. He’s taking me somewhere.
The words hit him like a battering ram. His blood turned to ice, then immediately began to boil with a rage so primal it threatened to shatter his human facade entirely.
The boardroom, the presentation, the carefully constructed professional moment—all of it became background noise to the roar building in his chest.
That bastard had his mate.
Across the table, Travis’s steel-gray eyes locked onto his, reading the situation with the intuitive accuracy of someone who’d known Leander since childhood. Travis was already rising from his chair before Leander moved.
“Gentlemen,” Leander said, his voice controlled despite the volcanic fury building beneath his skin. His hands braced against the table to keep them steady. “I apologize, but I have to leave immediately. We’ll need to postpone the vote until I handle this emergency.”
Questions erupted around the table, but Leander was moving toward the door, his stride eating up the distance with predatory efficiency. Travis fell into step beside him without hesitation.
“I’m coming with you,” Travis said, his tone brooking no argument. “No way I’m letting you handle this alone.”
They reached the elevator, and Leander jabbed the button with enough force to crack the plastic. The moment the doors closed, his careful composure cracked.
“Damian has Camille,” he said, his voice a low growl that vibrated with barely contained violence. “She just reached out through the bond. He’s taken her somewhere.”
Travis’s jaw tightened. “How is that even possible? She was just going to collect her things.”
“Her parents.” The words tasted like poison. “They disapprove of everything—the engagement, the partnership, me. They think I’m dangerous.” His laugh was sharp. “But they have no idea how dangerous I can be when someone threatens what’s mine.”
The elevator doors opened, and they strode through the lobby like men on a mission. Leander’s mind raced through possibilities, discarding each in turn. Damian was too smart to take her somewhere obvious, but he was also too arrogant to resist making a statement.
“They don’t know the real you,” Travis said as they hit the sidewalk, already scanning for a cab. “But they’re about to find out that you are indeed dangerous. They just made the worst mistake of their lives.”
A yellow cab screeched to a halt at Leander’s imperious wave. They dove into the backseat, and Leander barked the address of Camille’s parents’ penthouse to the driver.
As Manhattan blurred past the windows, Leander’s lion paced restlessly, demanding immediate action.
The need to shift, to track, and to hunt was almost overwhelming.
But he forced himself to think strategically.
Damian wasn’t just some rogue—he was calculating, patient, and he had a very specific agenda.
The cab pulled up to the gleaming tower that housed the St. James penthouse. Leander was out before it fully stopped, Travis close behind. But the doorman’s apologetic shake of his head confirmed what Leander already suspected.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Drake, but you’re not allowed on the property.”
A dead end. Leander stood on the sidewalk, his hands clenched into fists, feeling the mate bond stretch like a taut wire in his chest. Where would Damian take her? Somewhere private, somewhere he could control the situation, somewhere he could—
The realization hit him like lightning.
“The Hamptons,” he said, turning to Travis with sudden certainty. “He’s taken her to the Hamptons.”
Travis’s eyes widened. “The pride lands? That’s bold, even for him.”
“It’s perfect for his purposes. He can challenge me directly there, on our own territory. Make it official.” Leander was already moving, flagging another cab. “And if he wants to settle this the old way, with violence and dominance, he’s picked the right place for it.”
“Helicopter,” Travis said grimly as they climbed into the second cab. “It’s the fastest way to get there.”
“Airport,” Leander told the driver, his voice carrying an authority that made the man nod without question.
As they raced through the city streets, Leander’s blood sang with anticipation and fury. Twelve years ago, he’d sworn he would never kill again unless he had no choice. Today, Damian Cross was about to discover that threatening Leander’s mate constituted exactly that kind of choice.
His lion roared its agreement, already tasting blood.
Forty-five minutes later, the helicopter’s rotors cut through the salt-tinged air as they descended toward the familiar expanse of pride lands, the estate’s sprawling grounds stretching toward the Atlantic like a territorial claim.
Leander’s hands gripped the seat, his knuckles white with restraint as the aircraft touched down with mechanical precision that felt agonizingly slow compared to the urgency clawing at his chest.
The moment his feet hit solid ground, Camille’s voice sliced through his consciousness again, clearer now that distance had shortened between them.
The Hamptons. Near the woods.
Relief and fury warred in his chest. She was here, on his territory, but the violation of it—Damian bringing his schemes to the one place that should have been sanctuary—ignited something primal and unforgiving in his lion.
Hold on, he projected back, pouring every ounce of his strength and determination through their bond. I’m coming for you.
The rational part of him that had built empires and negotiated million-dollar deals evaporated like morning mist. What remained was older, simpler, and infinitely more dangerous. His mate was in danger. Everything else ceased to matter.