14. Osias
FOURTEEN
OSIAS
Consciousness returned to Osias like dawn breaking over his pride lands—gradual, then blazing.
The first sensation wasn’t sight or sound but the profound rightness of weight against his chest. Celina’s dark hair spilled across his shoulder, her breathing deep and even, and her body curved into his like she’d been designed specifically to fit there.
Mine.
Not just the woman he loved, but his bonded mate.
The knowledge settled in his bones with a satisfaction so complete it bordered on unbelievable.
She’d chosen him. Not just for a night or a week, but forever.
The mate mark on her hip had sealed what his heart had known from the moment she’d walked into his office—she belonged with him, and he belonged with her.
Through their newly completed bond, he could feel the contentment radiating from her sleeping form. No anxiety, no performance, no careful management of how she appeared to the world. Just utter peace. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced.
His lion stretched lazily beneath his skin, utterly satisfied. For fifteen years, he’d carried the weight of an entire pride, built an empire, managed crises, and solved problems that weren’t his to solve. But this morning, holding his mate, he felt something he’d forgotten existed.
Balance.
The challenges hadn’t disappeared overnight.
Rennick still hovered at the edges of Celina’s life like a predator reluctant to abandon his territory.
The press continued their campaign painting him as dangerous and volatile—a narrative that gained momentum after his confrontation with Braxton on set.
His stepbrother’s “accident” with Celina still burned in his memory.
But for once, Osias felt equipped to handle whatever came next. Not because the problems were smaller, but because he wasn’t facing them alone anymore.
She chose all of it, he reminded himself, wonder threading through the thought.
His pride, his responsibilities, the complicated dance of running both an entertainment empire and a lion shifter community in the heart of Hollywood. She’d seen it all and decided she wanted to write her story alongside his.
Celina stirred against him, her hand sliding across his chest as she woke. The bond hummed between them, carrying her drowsy satisfaction and the faint echo of dreams he couldn’t quite grasp.
“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.
“Good morning, beautiful.”
The endearment sent a visible shiver through her, and through their connection, he felt the answering warmth in her chest. She tilted her face up to his, her green eyes bright with a happiness that made his breath catch.
“I can feel you,” she said, wonder coloring her voice. “Your contentment, your satisfaction…”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Can you blame me? The most incredible woman in the world decided I was worth keeping.”
“Yes, forever,” she said softly, then stretched up to kiss him.
The kiss was unhurried, a good morning between bonded mates rather than the deep claiming of the night before. But it still sent heat racing through his veins, and made his hands tighten possessively on her waist.
When she pulled back, reality intruded with the efficiency of a cold shower.
“We have the press event today,” he said, reluctance heavy in his voice.
She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and he had to fight every instinct not to pull her back down and forget the outside world existed. The morning light painted her skin gold, highlighting the elegant line of her neck and the graceful slope of her shoulders.
She was breathtaking, and she was his.
“The Best Picture Q&A session,” she confirmed, already shifting into professional mode. “Are you ready to face the firing squad?”
“Yes, as long as you’re beside me.”
She smiled, but he caught the flicker of concern through their bond. The press had been brutal lately, painting their relationship as everything from a publicity stunt to a dangerous obsession. His defense of her on set had only fed the narrative that he was volatile, possessive, and controlling.
Let them think what they want, his lion growled. She knows the truth.
“I want you to win,” he said suddenly.
She paused in her movement toward the edge of the bed. “Win what?”
“Best Picture. Your film, A Walk Toward Forever. I don’t care about Sunny Monday. I want you to have that Oscar.”
The emotion that flooded through their bond was so intense it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Joy, gratitude, and love so fierce it made his chest ache.
“Osias...”
“You worked hard for this. You built something authentic while the rest of Hollywood churned out manufactured garbage. You deserve recognition for that.”
She was quiet for a moment, then moved across the bed to straddle his hips. The sheet fell away entirely, and his mouth went dry.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “For seeing me. For seeing what Bates Films means.”
He reached up, cupping her face in his hands. “I see all of you. The actress, the producer, the woman who loves fiercely and cares deeply, and I choose you. Every single day.”
The kiss she gave him then was different from the gentle good morning they’d shared. This was gratitude and promise and desire all wrapped together, and he almost decided to abandon the day’s responsibilities entirely.
She finally pulled away. “We really do need to get ready,” she said, though she made no move to climb off him.
“Five more minutes,” he murmured, pulling her closer.
“The Q&A starts at ten,” she said, her voice gentle but firm.
“Four more minutes.”
She laughed, the sound filling his chest with warmth. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m an Alpha lion shifter who’s madly in love with my mate.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” But she was smiling as she finally climbed off him and headed toward their shared walk-in closet.
He followed, shameless in his nakedness, and found her already pulling clothes from hangers.
Her belongings had gradually taken over most of the space—designer dresses, casual jeans, the vintage band t-shirts she wore when they were cuddling and watching movies late at night.
His own clothes had been relegated to a smaller section, but he didn’t mind.
Seeing her things mixed with his felt impossibly right, like his house was finally becoming a home.
“After the Q&A, we meet with your realtor,” he reminded her, pulling on his boxer briefs.
She paused, a silk blouse half-buttoned over her black lace bra. “Yes, I remember. About putting my mansion on the market.”
“Having second thoughts?”
“No.” The certainty in her voice was absolute.
“That place never felt like home anyway. Too big, too cold, too much like a museum.” She finished buttoning the blouse, then reached for a pencil skirt.
“This just makes it official now. I’m finally choosing my own life instead of living the one everyone else designed for me. ”
He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck as he helped her with the zipper. “How does it feel?”
“Terrifying. Liberating. Absolutely right.” She leaned back against him for a moment. “I’m glad I have you to help me navigate all of this.”
The trust in her voice and the way she’d learned to accept support without surrendering control, made pride swell in his chest. She was becoming the woman she’d always been underneath the performance—fierce, independent, unafraid to claim what she wanted.
He finished dressing quickly, pulling on dress pants, a white shirt, and his suit jacket. Professional armor for facing the press wolves who would undoubtedly try to bait him into another “dangerous” outburst.
“Ready?” he asked, offering her his hand.
“Ready.”
They walked to the garage together and climbed into the Ferrari.
“Whatever they throw at us today,” she said, “we handle it together.”
Through the bond, Osias felt her determination, her love, and her unshakeable certainty that they were stronger together than apart.
The press could paint him as dangerous, Rennick could scheme, and Braxton could play whatever game he was playing.
None of it mattered. He had his mate, and she had chosen him fully. Everything else was just noise.
Thirty minutes later, the valet’s practiced efficiency couldn’t mask the chaos waiting beyond the studio’s gleaming glass facade.
Camera flashes erupted like strobe lightning as Osias guided the Ferrari into position, and through the bond, he felt Celina’s resolve crystallize into something unshakeable.
She was ready for this.
The paparazzi descended the moment they stepped from the car, a writhing mass of telephoto lenses and shouted questions that would have sent his lion into protective overdrive just weeks ago. But Celina’s steady presence beside him, her fingers intertwined with his, kept the predator leashed.
“Osias! Is it true you threatened Braxton Fellan on set?”
“Celina! Are you using this relationship to boost your fame?”
The questions came rapid-fire, designed to provoke rather than inform. Osias felt his jaw tighten, the familiar surge of protective fury building in his chest, when Celina stepped slightly forward.
“My relationship with Osias has nothing to do with publicity,” she said firmly. “We’re both passionate about authentic storytelling, and we support each other’s work completely. Anyone suggesting otherwise clearly doesn’t understand what partnership looks like.”
Pride flooded through their bond so intensely it nearly staggered him.
His mate defending them, defending him, with the poise of a woman who’d spent thirty years navigating media wolves.
“What about the incident on set? Sources say Osias was violent—“
“Sources are wrong,” Celina cut in smoothly. “Osias prevented me from being seriously injured. I’m grateful he was there.”
The reporter’s expression shifted, uncertainty replacing aggression. Around them, other paparazzi seemed to recalibrate their approach as they realized their usual tactics weren’t working.