DORIAN
TWO
Should have been here.
"You're going to split that board if you keep hammering like it owes you money."
The house they were repairing belonged to the Kellys—an older couple who'd raised three generations of pack children in these walls.
When Ronan's wolves had swept through the territory like a wildfire, they'd targeted homes with symbolic value, places that represented stability and continuity.
Mrs. Kelly had been visiting her sister in town that night. Her husband hadn't been so fortunate.
Dorian's jaw clenched as he remembered finding Thomas Kelly's body among the wreckage, torn apart by claws and teeth in his own living room. Another pack member he'd failed to protect. Another name added to the list of people who'd died while their Alpha was playing contractor in some human town.
"Dorian." Marty's voice carried the weight of years and shared grief. "You couldn't have known."
"I should have sensed it coming." The hammer struck again, driving the nail flush with the wood. "Eighteen years of this dance with Ronan, and I walked into his trap like some green Alpha who doesn't know anything."
The Holt-Vex feud had been poisoning these mountains since before Dorian was born, but it had exploded into open warfare the night his parents died.
He'd been seventeen when Ronan's father had led a coordinated assault on Holt lands.
The attack had been swift and brutal—designed to eliminate his bloodline and claim territory that had belonged to his family for generations.
Dorian touched the scar along his jaw unconsciously, feeling the ridge of tissue that served as a permanent reminder of that night.
He'd fought beside his father until the end, had watched the light fade from his mother's eyes as she bled out on their kitchen floor.
Six-month-old Lila had survived only because their grandmother Evelyn had hidden her in the root cellar, muffling her cries while chaos raged overhead.
That night had ended his childhood and begun his reign as Alpha. Eighteen years later, he was still fighting the same war, still losing people to the same enemy.
"The attack pattern was different this time," Marty said, settling the boards against the porch railing. "More surgical. They knew exactly which houses to hit for maximum psychological impact."
Dorian's wolf prowled restlessly beneath his skin, feeding off his frustration and guilt.
The beast wanted blood, wanted to hunt down every wolf that had participated in the attack and tear them apart with teeth and claws.
But Ronan was too smart to leave evidence, too careful to give Dorian justification for the kind of retaliation his wolf craved.
When questioned, Ronan had expressed shock and concern over the "rogue attacks" on Holt territory.
He'd offered assistance in hunting down the perpetrators, had even suggested joint patrols to prevent future incidents.
The performance had been flawless, delivered with just the right amount of sympathy and outrage.
Dorian had wanted to rip his throat out on the spot. But Dorian needed hard proof before he could do that.
"He's escalating while playing mind games," Dorian said, reaching for another board. "Testing me, testing our defenses, seeing how we respond to pressure."
"And how have we responded?"
The question carried layers of meaning that both men understood.
Since the attack, Dorian had implemented strict curfews for pack members under twenty-five.
Border patrols had tripled. No one traveled alone after dark, and families with young children had been relocated to the more defensible houses near the pack center.
The measures were necessary, but they were also exactly what Ronan had wanted—a community living in fear, an Alpha consumed by paranoia, a pack that felt more like a prison than a home.
"Lila still won't shift," Dorian said quietly, the admission scraping against his throat like broken glass.
Marty's expression softened. "She's seventeen, Dorian. She survived a targeted attack that killed three pack members and left her with scars she'll carry forever. Give her time."
Time.
As if time could heal the damage Dorian saw in his sister's eyes every day—the way she flinched at sudden movements, the dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights, the brittle smile she wore like armor whenever anyone asked how she was healing.
Before the attack, Lila had been vibrant and fearless, quick to laugh and quicker to argue when she disagreed with his decisions.
She'd challenged him the way only family could, had reminded him that being Alpha didn't mean being right about everything.
Now she moved through their home like a ghost, present but not really there, going through the motions of recovery while something essential remained broken inside her.
The sound of footsteps on gravel interrupted his brooding thoughts.
Dorian's head snapped up, his wolf immediately alert as he scanned for threats.
The instinct had become so automatic he barely noticed it anymore—the constant assessment of every sound, every scent, every change in the environment that might signal danger.
But it was only his grandmother approaching, her silver hair gleaming in the afternoon light and her posture as regal as ever despite her seventy-two years.
Evelyn Holt had been the backbone of their family since that terrible night eighteen years ago, had stepped into the role of mother and mentor when Dorian was too young and too broken to handle everything alone.
"Grandmother." Dorian set down his hammer, automatically straightening his shoulders. Even now, decades into his leadership, he felt the urge to stand taller in her presence.
"Boys." Evelyn's sharp blue eyes—so similar to his own—swept over their work with approval. "The Kellys will be pleased to see their home restored. Thomas would have appreciated the craftsmanship."
The mention of the dead pack member sent another spike of guilt through Dorian's chest, but Evelyn's expression suggested she hadn't come here to discuss the attack or its aftermath.
"I have news," she continued, and something in her tone made Dorian's wolf prick its ears forward with interest. "Good news, for once."
Good news.
The phrase felt foreign in their current reality, where every day brought fresh concerns about security and every night carried the possibility of another attack. Dorian couldn't remember the last time anyone had approached him with genuinely positive information.
"What kind of good news?" he asked, though wariness colored his voice. In his experience, unexpected developments usually meant new problems to solve, new variables to control.
Evelyn's smile held secrets and satisfaction in equal measure. "I contacted Gerri Wilder about finding a specialist for Lila. Someone with experience in childhood trauma recovery who could help where our local resources have... fallen short."
Dorian's jaw tightened. The pack's previous attempts at finding Lila professional help had been disasters—well-meaning therapists who couldn't understand the complexities of shifter psychology, or local healers whose methods felt too invasive for someone already struggling with trust and boundaries.
"And?" He kept his voice carefully neutral, though his wolf was already bristling at the idea of another stranger poking at his sister.
"Gerri found someone. A woman named Harper Lane—she's a licensed child trauma counselor with extensive experience treating victims of violence. Gerri spoke with her today, and she's agreed to come here tomorrow to work with Lila."
The name hit him like a physical blow, though Dorian couldn't understand why.
Harper.
His wolf surged to sudden, inexplicable attention, as if the simple sound of her name had awakened something that had been sleeping for years. The reaction was so unexpected, so completely out of proportion to the situation, that Dorian found himself momentarily speechless.
"A stranger," he said finally, forcing his voice back to its usual controlled tone. "Coming into our territory while we're still dealing with security threats."
"A healer," Evelyn corrected, her eyes glinting with something that might've been amusement. "Someone who specializes in helping children recover from exactly the kind of trauma Lila experienced."
Dorian's rational mind cataloged all the reasons this was a terrible idea.
Unknown human entering their isolated community.
Security protocols that would need to be adjusted.
The risk of exposure if this Harper Lane couldn't be trusted to keep their secrets.
His wolf, however, was practically vibrating with an anticipation that made no sense.
"I don't like unknown variables," he said, picking up his hammer again and gripping it hard. "Especially not now, when—"
"When your sister is suffering and our pack is walking on eggshells?
" Evelyn's voice carried the kind of sharp authority that had kept their family together through decades of loss and conflict.
"When she won't shift, won't talk about the attack, and flinches every time someone approaches her too quickly? "
Each word landed like a blow, stripping away the careful control Dorian maintained around his sister's condition.
He'd told himself that Lila was healing at her own pace, that pushing too hard would only cause more damage.
But the truth was that she was getting worse, not better, and his attempts to protect her were only reinforcing her isolation.
"This Harper Lane," he said carefully. "What do we know about her background? Her ability to maintain confidentiality about shifter communities?"