One Pack Mind (Paranormal Dating Agency #106)

HARPER

ONE

Yet beneath the satisfaction lurked something else. A restlessness that whispered about empty Saturday evenings and quiet Sunday mornings when the adrenaline of helping others faded into the hollow echo of her own unaddressed loneliness.

"You know what you need?" Bella dropped into the chair across from her, unwrapping a granola bar with the efficiency of someone who'd perfected eating on the run.

Her dark hair had escaped its ponytail hours ago, creating a messy halo that somehow made her look more approachable rather than disheveled.

"A vacation. Somewhere with room service and absolutely zero children in crisis. "

"See, that's exactly the problem." Bella gestured with her granola bar, scattering crumbs across the desk. "Normal people have weekends. You have... this."

This.

As if her carefully constructed life was something to be pitied rather than admired.

Harper bit into her sandwich, buying time before responding.

She couldn't explain to Bella—couldn't explain to anyone—that the constant motion wasn't sacrifice.

It was survival. The moment she stopped moving, stopped helping, stopped being useful, the silence would rush in and bring with it all the questions she'd spent years avoiding.

Questions about why she'd built a life where everyone needed her, but no one truly knew her.

Questions about why she'd convinced herself that Matt's comfortable, predictable affection had been enough when even she'd known their relationship lacked the spark that made other women's eyes light up when they talked about their partners.

Questions about why, six months after he'd ended things with a gentle speech about "growing in different directions," she still felt more relieved than heartbroken.

"I'm not looking for vacations… or love, Bella." The words came out sharper than intended. Harper softened her tone, offering a wry smile. "Between my full-time job and volunteering here, when exactly would I have time to vacation or date?"

Bella's brown eyes narrowed with the expression she got when she was about to say something Harper wouldn't want to hear. "You collect wounded people like stray cats, you know that? But who's taking care of you?"

The question hit closer to home than Harper cared to admit. She deflected with practiced ease. "I take care of myself just fine."

"Really? When's the last time you did something that wasn't about work or this place?"

Harper opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. The honest answer was that she couldn't remember and admitting that would only prove Bella's point. Her life was perfectly calibrated to leave no room for the dangerous luxury of introspection or love.

"Well," Bella continued, her voice taking on a suspiciously casual tone, "I might have jumped the gun a little."

Alarm bells chimed in Harper's head. She knew that tone. It was the same one Bella used when she'd "accidentally" signed them both up for the overnight crisis hotline or "spontaneously" volunteered Harper for the emergency family mediation training. "What did you do?"

"There's this temporary assignment. In Washington." Bella spoke quickly, as if speed might soften the blow. "A shifter community up in the mountains. They have a teenage girl who's been through some serious trauma, and they specifically requested someone with your background."

Harper's sandwich turned to sawdust in her mouth. "You arranged a job for me? Without asking?"

"Not arranged, exactly. More like... mentioned your name to the right people." Bella's hands moved expressively as she spoke, bangles jingling with nervous energy. "The girl really needs help, Harper. The kind of help only someone like you can provide."

"Someone like me." Harper repeated the phrase, tasting its familiar weight. Always someone like her. Someone who could fix the broken pieces, smooth the rough edges, make the damaged whole again.

The frustration that had been simmering beneath her careful composure finally bubbled over. "I can't just drop everything and disappear to Washington because you think I need a change of scenery."

"Why not?" Bella leaned forward, her expression shifting from apologetic to earnestly concerned.

"What's really keeping you here, Harper?

This place will survive without you for a few weeks.

The kids will miss you, but they'll understand.

And your private practice has a waiting list of colleagues who'd love to cover your sessions. "

What's keeping me here?

The question echoed in Harper's mind with uncomfortable resonance.

The truth was too complicated to voice—that this carefully controlled life was her fortress against the chaos that had defined her childhood.

That helping others heal was easier than confronting the wounds she'd never properly addressed.

That staying busy meant never having to examine why she'd built a life where everyone needed her, but no one could get close enough to help her.

Before she could formulate a response that wouldn't reveal too much, the community center's front door opened, and a decisive click of heels against linoleum echoed through the cramped space.

A petite woman entered with the kind of presence that made the room suddenly feel smaller.

Her snow-white bob caught the afternoon light like spun silver, and her designer pantsuit—a bold shade of emerald—suggested someone who'd never met a rule she couldn't bend to her will.

Harper found herself straightening in her chair, though she couldn't quite explain why.

The woman's eyes swept the room with keen intelligence, taking in the scattered supplies, the motivational posters, and finally settling on Harper and Bella with satisfaction, as if she'd found exactly what she'd been looking for.

The air itself seemed to shift around her—charged with possibility and the faint scent of vanilla and ozone. Harper's pulse quickened for reasons she couldn't name, and beside her, Bella had gone uncharacteristically quiet.

The petite woman approached the check-in desk with the fluid confidence of someone who'd never encountered a situation she couldn't handle.

"Harper Lane?" The woman's voice carried warm authority. "I'm Gerri Wilder."

Bella nearly choked on her granola bar. "Harper, this is her! The woman who reached out about the Washington assignment."

Harper's stomach twisted with a mixture of anticipation and dread. She'd hoped for more time to process Bella's ambush, but apparently the universe had other plans. "Ms. Wilder, I appreciate you coming all this way, but I haven't actually agreed to—"

"Oh, don't worry about the formalities, dear." Gerri waved a manicured hand, her eyes sparkling with what looked suspiciously like mischief. "Please, call me Gerri. Ms. Wilder makes me sound ancient."

Bella grinned. "I should mention, Harper, that Gerri's main job is actually as a matchmaker. But this isn't about that—this is purely professional."

The woman's eyes shifted subtly, and for just a moment, Harper could have sworn they flashed gold before settling back to their original bright blue.

"Paranormal matchmaker, to be precise," Gerri corrected with a knowing smile that made Harper's pulse spike. "Though you're absolutely right, Bella. This particular situation is entirely about charity work."

Harper's professional instincts kicked in, though something about this entire encounter felt surreal. "Paranormal matchmaker?"

"I run the Paranormal Dating Agency. Hundred percent success rate pairing shifters with their destined partners.

" Gerri's tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.

"But I also do extensive volunteer work throughout various supernatural communities.

When Evelyn Holt—the matriarch of a pack in Washington—reached out about her granddaughter needing specialized trauma counseling, I contacted this community center. Bella immediately recommended you."

The weight of expectation settled on Harper's shoulders like a familiar coat.

Here it was again—someone in need, someone broken who required fixing, someone whose healing would become her responsibility.

The logical part of her mind cataloged all the reasons to refuse: her already overwhelming caseload, the complete lack of advance notice, and the unknown variables that made Harper uneasy.

But the deeper part of her—that part that had driven her into this profession in the first place—was already calculating logistics and wondering what specific trauma this girl had endured.

"I'm already stretched incredibly thin," Harper began, though even she could hear the defeat in her own voice. "My caseload is completely full, and I have commitments here that—"

"Harper." Bella's voice held gentle reproach. "When's the last time you used any of your vacation time? You've got weeks stored up."

Weeks of vacation time I've been saving for some mythical future when I'd want to go somewhere.

Harper felt the familiar tug of war between self-preservation and the inability to turn away from someone who needed help. Especially a child.

"What kind of trauma are we dealing with?" The question escaped before she could stop it, and she saw Bella's knowing smile from her peripheral vision.

Gerri's expression grew serious, though warmth remained in her eyes.

"The girl—Lila—was attacked several months ago.

Physical injuries have healed, but the emotional wounds run deep.

She's withdrawn, struggling with anxiety, and having difficulty reconnecting with her family and community.

The pack has tried local resources, but they need someone with your specific expertise in childhood trauma recovery. "