Osias
SIXTEEN
Celina’s side of the bed was cold, the sheets rumpled but abandoned.
His hand pressed against the mattress where her warmth should have been, finding nothing but cool cotton and the faint lingering scent of lavender and rain.
Through the completed bond, he could feel her—not distressed, thankfully, but radiating waves of fierce determination and laser-sharp focus.
She was nearby, close enough that their connection hummed with steady reassurance.
What was she doing awake at this hour?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor as he slowly stood up and headed for the walk-in closet.
The space soon welcomed him with organized rows of clothing—his darker, more austere wardrobe now sharing space with Celina’s vibrant collection of dresses, blouses, and impossibly high heels.
He grabbed a pair of well-worn jeans from a hanger, then selected a black t-shirt from the dresser, clothing that would accommodate his bandaged wounds without too much restriction.
But getting dressed proved more challenging than anticipated.
The jeans slid on easily enough. However, pulling the t-shirt over his head required careful maneuvering around the gauze wrapped across his torso and shoulder.
Each movement reminded him exactly why Celina had insisted he stay in bed for the next forty-eight hours, but curiosity about her mysterious early morning activities overrode any reasonable desire to follow doctor’s orders.
Minutes later, he left their bedroom and moved through the quiet hallway, his bare feet silent against the hardwood floors.
The mansion felt like it always had during the early morning hours, but as he reached the top of the grand staircase, voices drifted up from the main floor.
His enhanced hearing immediately picked out Celina’s clear tone cutting through the morning stillness and relief flooded through him at the sound of her familiar voice.
She was still home, still safe within the walls of their shared sanctuary. But the sound of multiple voices made his Alpha instincts sharpen with attention.
Who was in his living room at seven in the morning?
He descended the staircase with careful steps, one hand trailing along the banister for balance as his ribs protested the downward movement.
The voices grew clearer as he approached the main floor—not just Celina’s familiar cadence, but Juno’s steady baritone, Daya’s animated inflection, Pell’s measured responses, and others he didn’t immediately place.
When Osias finally rounded the corner into the living room, he stopped dead in his tracks, his breath catching as he took in the scene before him.
The spacious room had been transformed into what looked like a war room, complete with two distinct camps of people arranged on opposite sides of the space, each group focused on their own specific mission.
But it wasn’t the logistics that caused his chest to tighten with emotion.
It was watching Celina move between the groups with absolute confidence, wearing jeans and a fitted t-shirt with her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail.
She held a tablet in one hand and a coffee mug in the other as she delivered instructions with natural authority.
This was his mate.
Not performing for cameras, but simply being herself—brilliant, decisive, and completely in control of a situation that would have overwhelmed most people.
On the left side of the living room, Daya sat cross-legged in one of the leather armchairs, her signature red curls wild with early morning energy, typing furiously on a laptop while occasionally looking up to nod at whatever Celina was saying.
Beside her, a man Osias recognized as Cole Reed, the indie director whose work both he and Celina had admired for years, was scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad with the focused intensity of someone solving a complex puzzle.
Two other people he didn’t immediately recognize—a woman with short blonde hair and a younger man with an eager expression that screamed film school graduate—were huddled over their own devices, occasionally looking up to ask questions or offer suggestions.
The Bates Films contingent, he soon realized.
On the right side of the room, Juno stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes scanning the assembled group with alert awareness.
Beside him, Seth Martinez and Thomas Brennan—two of the pride’s most reliable enforcers—were studying what looked like surveillance photos spread across the coffee table.
And Pell, impeccable even at dawn in a perfectly pressed shirt and tie, was seated in the chair near the fireplace taking notes in what Osias recognized as one of his leather-bound notebooks reserved for the most important business.
“The key,” Celina was saying as she moved between the two groups, “is timing. If we can get the narrative out before the speculation gains any real traction, we control the story instead of responding to it.”
She turned toward the Bates Films group, her green eyes bright with focused energy. “Cole, how quickly can we put together a behind-the-scenes video that makes it look like we were filming a paranormal action sequence yesterday?”
Cole looked up from his legal pad, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.
“If we use the alley location and some of the crowd footage that’s probably already circulating on social media, I can have something rough cut together by this afternoon.
Nothing fancy, but enough to sell the story that it was all planned. ”
“Perfect.” Celina made a note on her tablet. “Monica, can you coordinate with the local news outlets? I want them to have the story before the rumor mill gets completely out of control.”
The blonde woman nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve already reached out to my contacts at Channel 7 and Page Six. They’re interested in an exclusive about your new paranormal project, especially if it involves practical effects instead of CGI.”
“Brilliant.” Celina turned toward the pride side of the room, her expression shifting into something more serious. “Juno, what do we know about the rogues?”
His Beta straightened, his dark eyes meeting Celina’s with respect. “Seth and Thomas tracked the scent trail to a warehouse district in East LA. The rogues are definitely being coordinated by someone, but we haven’t identified who yet.”
“How long do you need?” Celina asked, her voice carrying an edge of steel that made Osias’s lion rumble with approval.
“Give us six hours,” Seth replied, his face grim with determination. “If there’s evidence to find, we’ll find it.”
“Do it.” Celina’s tone brooked no argument. “But I want regular check-ins. No heroics and no unnecessary risks. Information only right now.”
Thomas nodded as he gathered the surveillance photos from the coffee table. “Understood.”
Osias felt something shift in his chest as he watched his mate coordinate both sides of the operation with effortless competence. She wasn’t just managing a crisis—she was leading. Taking responsibility not just for herself or their relationship, but for the entire pride’s security and secrecy.
She was acting like an Alpha’s mate should, but more than that, she was acting like a leader in her own right.
“Pell,” Celina continued, turning toward the older lion shifter with respectful attention that spoke to her understanding of pride hierarchy.
“Can you handle Osias’s schedule for the next few days?
I know he’s supposed to have meetings with the international distribution team, and there’s that conference call with the London office. ”
Pell looked up from his notebook, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Already handled. I’ve rescheduled everything non-essential and delegated the rest to department heads. Fellan Entertainment will run smoothly without him for as long as necessary.”
“Thank you.” Celina’s smile was warm with genuine gratitude. “I know he hates missing work, but he needs to recover properly.”
“Speaking of which,” Osias said, finally announcing his presence, “shouldn’t I have some say in my own schedule?”
Every head in the room turned toward him, and he watched Celina’s expression shift from surprise to fondness to something that looked suspiciously like exasperation.
“You should be in bed resting,” she said, crossing the room toward him with quick steps.
“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.
Though the way she immediately moved to his uninjured side and slipped her arm around his waist suggested his physical condition was more obvious than he’d hoped.
“You are absolutely not fine.” Her green eyes swept over his face with the kind of thorough assessment that missed nothing. “You look like you haven’t slept, your shoulder is obviously bothering you, and I can feel your pain through our bond even when you’re trying to hide it.”
Through their bond, he sensed her concern mixing with frustration and something deeper—a fierce protectiveness that mirrored his own instincts.
“What are you doing exactly?” he asked, gesturing toward the organized chaos of his living room.
Her smile was small but radiant with satisfaction. “I’m protecting our pride, like I promised I would.”
The simple words hit him with unexpected force. Our pride. Not his responsibility that she was helping with, but their shared commitment, their mutual obligation.
“Juno, Seth, and Thomas are going to investigate who those rogue lions were and who sent them,” she continued, her voice carrying calm confidence. “Pell is going to handle all your responsibilities at Fellan Entertainment while you recover properly.”