HARPER
THREE
One step at a time, she reminded herself, the same advice she gave anxious clients. Focus on what you can control.
The rumble of an engine pulled her attention to the street, where a sleek red convertible rounded the corner with confident precision.
There, in the driver's seat, was Gerri Wilder—her white hair perfectly styled despite the open car, designer sunglasses, and a smile bright enough to power the city grid.
"Ready for an adventure, dear?" she called out as she pulled up alongside the curb.
Harper stepped forward and hefted her suitcase toward the convertible's compact backseat, already questioning the wisdom of road-tripping in a car designed more for style than practicality with a woman she just met yesterday. "Ready as I'll ever be."
The leather seat was buttery soft as Harper settled into the passenger seat and buckled her seatbelt, giving one last glimpse at the community center where Harper had transformed many lives in the past five years.
Then Gerri pulled away from the curb with the kind of smooth acceleration that suggested serious horsepower under the hood, and Harper found herself gripping the seat.
This might be the most impulsive thing I've ever done.
Actually, it definitely was. Harper's life ran on schedules, predictability, and careful risk assessment. Spontaneous decisions belonged to other people—the kind who didn't spend their childhoods learning to read emotional weather patterns and navigate around explosive tempers.
But something about this felt right in a way she couldn't explain.
Not just the opportunity to help an innocent girl, but the chance to step outside her carefully constructed routine.
To breathe different air, see different scenery, maybe remember what it felt like to want something beyond the next client appointment.
The first hour passed in comfortable silence, Portland's urban sprawl giving way to rolling hills dotted with farms and vineyards.
Gerri seemed content to let Harper process, occasionally humming along to jazz standards on the radio.
The convertible's top remained down, and Harper found herself relaxing into the rhythm of wind and engine noise.
But as the second hour approached, curiosity finally won over politeness.
"Can I ask you something?" Harper turned in her seat to study Gerri's profile. "Why did you call our community center? There are more established organizations, bigger names in trauma counseling."
Gerri's smile held secrets. "Lila has been treated by many different experts, local and otherwise. Traditional therapy, grief counseling, even some alternative approaches. But she needs someone who understands troubled youth from the inside out."
"And Bella told you I fit that description?"
"Bella told me about your work, your instincts with difficult cases, your ability to reach kids everyone else has given up on." Gerri glanced over, her eyes shifting from blue to gold in the light. "The moment she described you, I knew you were perfect for this situation."
Harper still felt like she was missing crucial pieces of the puzzle. "But surely there are counselors closer to Washington—"
"Sometimes the universe has its own agenda, dear."
The non-answer felt deliberate, but Harper decided to let it go. Maybe this was just serendipity—an opportunity arriving precisely when she needed a change of scenery.
"Well, tell me about the town," Harper said instead. "And the people I'll be around."
Gerri's expression grew more serious. "It's a very close-knit wolf pack that's endured significant trauma over the decades. This recent attack three months ago was just the latest in a long-running territorial dispute between the Holt pack and their neighboring rival."
Harper's stomach dropped. "A turf war? I'm walking into an active conflict zone?"
"The immediate danger has passed, but yes—these people have lived with violence and instability for generations.
They're proud, protective, and not particularly trusting of outsiders.
" Gerri navigated a winding mountain curve with practiced ease.
"The pack is essentially one large, complicated family dealing with collective trauma and individual wounds. "
Just great.
Harper had worked with families in crisis before, but never an entire community bound by supernatural politics she barely comprehended. "And their leadership structure?"
"Wolf packs are led by the Alpha—think CEO, military commander, and protective father figure rolled into one very intense package.
" Gerri's smile turned almost mischievous.
"In this case, that's Lila's older brother, Dorian.
He's been holding the pack together for a very long time, along with their grandmother Evelyn. "
Harper processed this information with growing unease. An Alpha brother who was also Lila's guardian? The family dynamics alone would be complicated enough without adding pack leadership and territorial conflicts to the mix.
"How long has he been Alpha?" Harper asked.
"Since he was seventeen. Dorian inherited the position when his parents were killed in the previous major attack."
Harper's professional mind immediately cataloged the implications—teenage trauma, sudden responsibility, parentification, survivor's guilt. No wonder Lila was struggling if her primary support system was someone carrying that level of unprocessed grief and hypervigilance.
"So I'm dealing with two trauma survivors, not just one."
"Among others, yes." Gerri's voice carried genuine sympathy. "This pack has been through hell, Harper. They need someone who understands that healing isn't just about individual therapy—it's about rebuilding trust and safety."
The weight of expectation settled on Harper's shoulders like a lead blanket.
She'd agreed to help one troubled teenager, not facilitate emotional recovery for an entire supernatural community.
But the professional challenge sparked something in her chest—the same drive that had kept her working with difficult cases when other counselors moved on to easier clients.
These people need help. Real help.
The landscape changed as they climbed higher into the Cascade Mountains, dense forests replacing farmland, and the air growing crisp enough that Gerri finally raised the convertible's top.
Snow-capped peaks emerged through gaps in the trees, and Harper found herself leaning forward despite her anxiety.
"It's beautiful up here."
"Wait until you see the town itself," Gerri said. "Hidden valleys have their own kind of magic."
They rounded a final curve, and Harper's breath caught.
The valley spread below them like something from a fairy tale—a small town nestled between towering pines and granite cliffs, smoke rising from chimneys, and a silver river threading through the center.
It looked peaceful, idyllic, completely at odds with the violence and trauma Gerri had described.
But Harper's trained eye noticed the subtle signs of a community on edge—too few people on the streets, windows that seemed to watch their approach, the kind of careful stillness that suggested everyone was listening for trouble.
What have I gotten myself into?
Minutes later, the convertible rolled to a stop before an estate that seemed to emerge from the mountainside itself.
Harper's breath caught again as she took in the sprawling structure—stone and timber that had clearly weathered centuries yet bore the careful touches of modern renovation.
Wide windows gleamed in the late morning light, and a wraparound porch invited visitors with its rustic charm and a wooden swing that swayed gently in the mountain breeze.
"This is the Holt estate," Gerri announced cheerfully, already stepping out of the convertible with the kind of practiced grace that suggested she'd done this dance many times before. "Dorian has graciously offered to let you stay with them while you counsel his sister."
This is where I'll be staying?
The thought hit her with a mixture of awe and sudden, sharp anxiety. She'd expected a hotel, maybe a small guest house. Not the Alpha's personal residence. Harper's stomach performed an impressive gymnastics routine, complete with several flips and a dismount that left her feeling slightly queasy.
No pressure at all.
She climbed out of the passenger seat on unsteady legs, the mountain air hitting her with its crisp bite and the scent of pine so thick she could taste it. The estate loomed before her—beautiful and welcoming, but also massive and imposing in a way that made her feel impossibly small.
What did I agree to?
Gerri must have sensed her growing panic because she appeared at Harper's elbow with that knowing smile. "Just relax and be yourself, dear. Everything will go just fine."
Harper wasn't so sure about that. The estate seemed to watch their approach with dozens of windows like eyes, and the front porch—breathtaking as it was with its carved railings and that charming swing—felt both intimidating and comforting in equal measure.
Wooden steps led up to double doors that looked like they could withstand a siege, and Harper found herself wondering if that was by design.
Gerri reached for the doorbell, and Harper braced herself to meet Lila—maybe a withdrawn teenager who'd eye Harper with the same wariness most of her clients showed at first meetings.
She'd handled countless introductions with traumatized kids and knew how to project calm competence while respecting their boundaries.
Then the door swung open, and Harper's carefully prepared mental script evaporated like morning mist.