6. Dorian
SIX
DORIAN
The morning sun filtered through the towering pines surrounding the estate, casting dappled shadows across the wraparound porch where Dorian sat on the swing he'd built three summers ago.
The dark henley stretched across his broad chest as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers interlaced so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
Every fiber of his being felt stretched to the breaking point.
Surrendering control had never been an option in Dorian's world.
Not when he'd been thrust into leadership at seventeen.
Not when he'd held his infant sister through her first fever while learning to manage a grieving pack.
Not when Ronan's pack had tested his borders year after year, looking for any sign of weakness.
Control meant survival. Control meant protection. Control meant everyone he loved stayed breathing.
But sitting here, listening to the muffled voices drifting from Lila's bedroom window above, Dorian felt that ironclad control slipping through his fingers.
Harper was up there with his sister, operating under her own methods, following her own instincts, completely outside his influence or direction.
This is impossible.
He'd allowed other therapists and healers into their home before, but always under his strict supervision.
He'd dictated the parameters of their sessions, outlined what topics they could explore, even positioned himself within earshot to intervene if necessary.
His way. His rules. His complete and utter control over every variable that might affect Lila's fragile emotional state.
But clearly, his approach had been a spectacular failure.
Lila had grown more withdrawn with each passing week, more brittle, more unreachable.
The bright girl who used to fill their home with laughter and arguments and teenage drama had retreated so far inside herself that some days Dorian wondered if she'd ever find her way back.
His wolf paced beneath his skin, agitated by the conflict between duty and instinct.
Trust our mate, it demanded with increasing urgency. Let our mate help.
The internal war was tearing him apart. Every rational thought screamed that he couldn't afford to relinquish control when so much hung in the balance.
The pack looked to him for strength and certainty.
Lila depended on his protection. The territory required constant vigilance against threats both known and hidden.
But his wolf recognized something Dorian's conscious mind struggled to accept—Harper was already changing the atmosphere of their home simply by existing within it. Her presence seemed to soften the sharp edges of tension that had lingered here for months.
The memory of breakfast in her room ambushed him with devastating clarity.
Sitting beside her on that small couch, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her soft curves, breathing in that intoxicating scent of jasmine and rain that seemed designed specifically to unravel his composure.
The way she'd listened to him when he spoke about his trauma, her green eyes focused entirely on him with an attention that felt both professional and deeply personal.
For those brief moments, surrounded by Harper's quiet competence and genuine compassion, Dorian had felt something he'd almost forgotten existed—hope. The constant weight of responsibility hadn't disappeared, but somehow it had felt more manageable, as if he didn't have to carry it entirely alone.
She's already filling this estate with her warmth, he realized with growing alarm. And it's undoing me slowly.
The mate bond pulsed stronger with each hour Harper remained under his roof, a living thing that seemed to grow more demanding by the minute.
His wolf wanted to claim her, mark her, make it impossible for her to leave when her work here was finished.
The primal need to possess and protect warred constantly with his deeply ingrained belief that emotional attachments created vulnerabilities he couldn't afford.
How was he supposed to maintain the careful distance necessary for effective leadership when every primal instinct screamed at him to pull her close and never let go?
The sound of footsteps snapped him from his spiraling thoughts.
Harper emerged from the estate, and Dorian's entire body went rigid with awareness.
She moved with that same calm grace he'd noticed yesterday, but there was something different in her expression—a cautious optimism that made his chest tighten with emotion.
She settled beside him on the swing, and it took every ounce of willpower Dorian possessed not to immediately wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her against his side.
The wooden seat creaked softly under their combined weight, and he found himself hyperaware of the scant inches separating their bodies, and of the way her scent seemed to envelop him like a drug.
Focus, he commanded himself desperately. Be professional. Don't think about how perfectly she fits beside you.
"While the first session was brief," Harper said, her voice carrying that same soothing quality that seemed to calm his wolf, "I think I might've reached Lila enough that she's agreed to meet with me again tomorrow."
Dorian's head snapped toward her, disbelief and relief warring in his expression. "She agreed to another session?"
The implications hit him like a blow. Lila had been adamant—one session, and that was it.
She'd made that declaration with the same stubborn determination that had defined her personality since childhood, the same fierce will that had helped her survive the attack but had also trapped her in its aftermath.
"She did," Harper confirmed, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "It wasn't easy, and I suspect tomorrow will bring its own challenges, but she's willing to try."
Something fundamental shifted in Dorian, a loosening of tension he'd been carrying for too long.
His mate—his brilliant mate—had accomplished in one brief session what months of other interventions had failed to achieve.
She'd somehow reached through Lila's defenses and planted the first seeds of trust.
His wolf practically purred with satisfaction. Our mate brings healing. Our mate belongs here.
"That's incredible news," he said, his voice roughened. The urge to touch her, to show his gratitude in the most primitive way possible, was overwhelming. "Maybe we should go to town and celebrate with lunch. And you could see more of the area."
And I can get some distance before I do something catastrophically stupid like kiss you senseless right here on this swing.
The thought of staying this close to Harper, breathing in her scent while his wolf demanded he claim what was his, was rapidly becoming torture.
Taking her to town would provide the illusion of control, the pretense that he could manage this situation like any other challenge that required his attention.
"That sounds wonderful," Harper replied, her green eyes brightening with genuine enthusiasm. "I'd love to see more of this beautiful place."
They stood simultaneously, and Dorian felt the loss of her proximity like a physical ache. He gestured toward the driveway where his truck sat waiting, the black paint gleaming in the morning sunlight.
The gravel crunched beneath Dorian's boots as he moved around to Harper's side of the truck, his hand settling possessively on the door handle before she could reach for it herself.
The emerald wool of her sweater brought out the green in her eyes, and the way her dark jeans hugged her curves made his mouth go desert-dry.
And when she slid into the passenger seat, something primitive and deeply satisfied stirred in his chest.
My mate. In my truck. Where she belongs.
His wolf howled with contentment at the sight, and when Dorian slid into the driver's seat, he had to grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary to keep from reaching across the console to touch her.
The scent of jasmine and rain soon filled the cab, wrapping around him and making coherent thought increasingly difficult.
Focus on driving, he commanded as the engine rumbled to life. Don't think about how right this feels.
The few miles to town passed in comfortable silence, though Dorian remained hyperaware of every small movement Harper made—the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, how she gazed out the window at the towering pines with genuine appreciation, the soft sound of her breathing in the confined space.
When they finally reached the diner, Dorian parked and forced himself to move at a measured pace around to Harper's door. He helped her down from the truck, his large hands spanning her waist briefly, and had to bite back a growl of satisfaction when she didn't pull away immediately.
Professional distance, he reminded himself sharply. She's Lila's counselor.
But his wolf snarled in disagreement, and the mate bond thrummed with increasing intensity.
Once inside the diner, curious gazes followed their progress to a corner booth. Dorian positioned himself strategically—back to the wall, clear view of the entrance. The familiar weight of hypervigilance settled across his shoulders like a mantle he could never fully shed.
"Sorry," he muttered when Harper's eyebrows rose at his obvious tension. "Just habit."
"It's understandable," she replied, her voice carrying that soothing quality. "But maybe you could try to relax a bit? We need to discuss something important."
Before Dorian could ask what, their waitress approached with the kind of enthusiastic smile reserved for the town's Alpha.
"Dorian! Good to see you out and about." The older woman's gaze shifted to Harper with undisguised curiosity. "And who's this pretty lady?"
"Lila's new counselor," Dorian said carefully, his tone neutral. "She'll be staying in town for a while to help with Lila's recovery."
"Oh, that's wonderful news! How is our sweet girl doing these days?"
The familiar knot of frustration and helplessness tightened in Dorian's chest. "She has her good days and bad days. Hopefully Harper can help turn that around."
They ordered quickly, and once the waitress departed, Dorian leaned forward slightly. "What did you want to discuss?"
Harper met his gaze directly, and he could see her choosing her words carefully. "Lila mentioned how protective you've become since the attack. Which is completely understandable—"
"But?" Dorian's voice carried a warning edge that made several pack members glance their way.
"But I think you might be holding her back from healing." Harper's tone remained calm, professional, but there was steel underneath. "She told me about her friends, how she used to enjoy spending time with them. I suggested she reach out, maybe arrange to hang out with them again."
"Absolutely not." The words came out sharper than Dorian intended, his alpha authority bleeding into his voice. "Lila isn't going anywhere without proper protection. I can't trust—"
"Don't you think you're being a little rigid about this?
" Harper interrupted, and the fact that she wasn't backing down sent conflicting signals through his system.
Admiration warred with frustration. "Lila needs friends, needs a support system beyond family.
Social connections are crucial for healing and moving forward. "
Dorian's jaw clenched. Everything in him rebelled against the idea of his sister—his wounded, vulnerable sister—being exposed to potential threats. The memory of finding her broken three months ago still haunted his nightmares.
"How about I chaperone them?" Harper continued, her voice gentling slightly. "That way there's adult supervision, but not you or Marty where she feels constantly monitored."
The suggestion hit Dorian like a slap. Bad enough that Harper wanted to put Lila at risk—now she wanted to put herself in potential danger too. His wolf surged forward with violent protectiveness, demanding he refuse outright.
But beneath the instinctive rejection, a small voice whispered that Harper might be right. Lila had been withdrawing further with each passing week, despite all his efforts to keep her safe. Maybe safety wasn't enough anymore.
Trust our mate, his wolf urged with clarity. She knows better than you.
"Fine," Dorian said finally, the word feeling like it was dragged from somewhere deep in his chest. "But you stay close enough that I can monitor the situation. And if anything seems off—anything at all—you call me immediately."
He pulled out his phone, then held out his hand for hers.
When Harper placed the device in his palm, their fingers brushed and that familiar electricity shot up his arm like lightning.
Harper's breath caught audibly, and Dorian watched color rise in her cheeks as he programmed his contact information.
Dorian - Call Immediately appeared in her favorites list, and he handed the phone back with more reluctance than the simple gesture warranted.
"Thank you," Harper said softly, her green eyes holding his. "For doing this. For letting Lila rebuild those friendships. It will help tremendously—not just with reconnecting to her old life, but with learning to trust you again."
Their food arrived, and they ate in charged silence. Dorian found himself stealing glances at Harper between bites, watching the way she moved with unconscious grace, and the way she seemed to bring warmth to even this mundane moment.
She's dismantling everything, he realized with a growing alarm. And I'm letting her.
His wolf practically radiated smugness. Good. We need our mate. Need her wisdom. Need her softness.
The internal war was exhausting. Every rational thought insisted he needed to maintain distance, keep control, protect everyone by staying emotionally detached. But Harper's presence made those defenses feel increasingly hollow.
When they finished eating, Dorian drove them back to the estate in contemplative quiet until they reached the gravel driveway.
"I have some pack security matters to handle this afternoon. Can you manage on your own until dinner?"
"Of course," Harper replied easily.
But Dorian wasn't being entirely truthful.
Yes, there were always security concerns that demanded his attention.
But mostly, he needed space to process what Harper was doing to his carefully ordered world—and to figure out how he was going to survive watching her take Lila and her friends out tomorrow without his direct supervision.
Maybe I'll just happen to be in town, he mused as Harper disappeared into the estate. Or maybe I'll have Marty do a casual patrol of the area.
His wolf snarled at the deception, but Dorian pushed the guilt aside. Some things were too important to leave entirely to trust.