7. Celina #2
“The reason I knew you were in trouble is because I felt your pain.” He paused, searching her face as if gauging her readiness for whatever came next. “You see, I’m a lion shifter, and you are my fated mate. Which means I can feel your emotions through our mate bond.”
His words hit her like a physical force, and for a moment, her mind simply refused to process them.
Lion shifter. Fated mate. Mate bond.
The concepts should have sounded like the ramblings of someone who’d spent too much time reading fantasy novels, but when he said the word mate, something deep inside her recognized it with a certainty that made her entire body flood with warmth.
“There’s a world of shifters beneath Hollywood,” he continued, his voice steady despite the earth-shattering nature of what he was revealing. “Throughout the world, actually. And I’m the Alpha of the Fellan lion pride here in Beverly Hills.”
Her mind raced, trying to process information that suddenly made too much sense for comfort. The lion motifs throughout his house. The way entire rooms seemed to orient around him without conscious thought. The predatory stillness that made her feel both safe and slightly breathless.
This explains everything, she realized with startling clarity.
All those times in Hollywood when she sensed there were layers beneath the surface she couldn’t quite grasp.
All those powerful people who seemed to operate by rules she didn’t understand.
But more than that, the mate bond explained the electricity that crackled between them, and the way her body had responded to his proximity with something primal and absolute.
Without conscious thought, she reached for his hand. The moment their skin connected, that familiar jolt of electricity raced up her arm, but this time she understood what it was. This time, instead of being unsettled by the sensation, she embraced it.
“When did you know?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“The moment you walked into my office this morning.” His thumb traced across her knuckles, and she shivered at the contact. “But I didn’t want to overwhelm you. I wanted to earn your trust first, let you set the pace.”
The consideration in his words made her throat tight with emotion. Here was a man who could have used supernatural advantage to claim her, who could have leveraged their bond to manipulate her decisions, and instead he had chosen patience. Respect. Partnership over possession.
“Is that why you invested in Bates Films?” she asked, needing to understand his motivations completely. “Because of some mate bond?”
“No.” His response was immediate and firm. “I invested in Bates Films because it aligns with everything I’ve been searching for in Hollywood. I’ve been looking for authenticity in a world built on illusion, something honest in an industry that profits from performance. Your company embodies that.”
The conviction in his voice convinced her more than any flowery declaration could have.
This wasn’t about supernatural obligation or mystical connection—this was about shared values, compatible dreams, mutual respect for the kind of storytelling that mattered.
He grew quiet then, and she could see something else he wanted to share flickering behind his eyes.
“What is it?”
“Well, I started Fellan Entertainment fifteen years ago after my father died.” His words came out slowly, as if he rarely shared this particular truth.
“I was twenty years old, suddenly responsible for an entire pride, drowning in grief and crushing responsibility. I needed to channel all of that into something meaningful, something that would honor my late mother, Eva. So I started the company in my garage, and it just... grew.”
The parallel hit her like a tidal wave. They had both lost parents unexpectedly. Both had channeled their grief into creating something authentic and meaningful. Both had built companies devoted to telling the kinds of stories that mattered and that honored the people they had loved and lost.
“We’re connected in more ways than just this mate bond,” she whispered.
“I know, Celina.” He cupped her face with his hand, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone with devastating gentleness. “I never knew you were my mate until today, but it all makes sense now. You’re perfect for me.”
The words should have sounded like a line, like something crafted to manipulate or seduce. Instead, they sounded like a revelation, like a man finally understanding something that had been missing from his life without him even realizing it.
Before she could second-guess herself—before the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Rennick could remind her of all the reasons this was impractical and dangerous—she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers.
The kiss started tentative, questioning, an invitation rather than a demand.
But the moment their mouths met, something ignited between them.
Something that had everything to do with thirty years of emotional starvation finally finding sustenance.
His lips were warm and firm and tasted faintly of bourbon, and when she deepened the kiss, he responded with a hunger that matched her own.
This wasn’t the polished, choreographed intimacy of her movie roles. This was messy and desperate and real, fueled by years of performing love instead of feeling it, years of being managed instead of being chosen, years of being recognized instead of being known.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, his eyes had shifted to that molten gold she was beginning to recognize as his lion. The sight should have frightened her, but instead it thrilled her—proof that she affected him as powerfully as he affected her.
She smiled, feeling more like herself than she had in decades.