DORIAN
FOUR
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
His entire world had shifted off its axis in the span of minutes.
The moment he'd opened the door and caught Harper's scent—jasmine and summer rain, clean and intoxicating—his wolf had surged forward with a recognition so fierce it nearly knocked him off balance.
Then he'd seen her face, those expressive green eyes studying him without fear, and something deep in his chest had cracked open like ice breaking in spring.
He'd known. Even before their hands touched, some primal part of him had recognized what she was to him.
Mate.
The word echoed through his mind with the finality of a death knell. He'd tried to avoid the handshake, tried to maintain distance, because confirming what his wolf already knew felt like stepping off a cliff into free fall. But Gerri's pointed reminder about manners had forced his hand—literally.
The moment their palms connected, the mate bond had slammed into place with brutal clarity.
Heat had flooded his system, recognition blazing through every nerve ending until he'd nearly hauled Harper against his chest right there on the front porch.
His wolf had roared with triumph and possession, finally finding the missing piece that would make them whole.
Mine. Claim her. Mark her. Keep her.
But he couldn't. Not now. Not when his pack's stability hung by threads and his sister's mental health consumed every waking moment. Not when everything he'd built threatened to crumble if he let himself get distracted by what his body wanted.
Pack first. Family first. Always.
"Well," Gerri said, stepping uninvited into his foyer with the confidence of someone who owned the place. "I certainly didn't expect the chemistry between you two to be quite that intense, but wow. That was one of the more impressive displays between fated mates I've witnessed in decades."
Dorian's head snapped toward the matchmaker, ice flooding his veins. "You knew."
It wasn't a question.
"You knew she was my fated mate, and you brought her here anyway? When you knew how wounded my sister and pack are?"
Gerri's expression didn't hold even a flicker of guilt. If anything, she looked pleased with herself, like a cat who'd successfully delivered a particularly impressive dead mouse to her favorite human.
"I brought the one person most qualified to heal not only your sister and pack, but you as well, dear."
"I never asked for any of this." The words came out rougher than intended, edged with the kind of barely controlled fury that made pack members step carefully around him. "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"
Gerri opened her mouth to respond, but footsteps in the corridor cut her off.
Dorian's entire body went taut as Harper reappeared, her color more normal but something guarded in her expression that hadn't been there before.
She'd pulled herself together with impressive speed, but he could still catch the faint tremor in her—confusion, attraction, and something that might've been fear.
Not of me, his wolf insisted. Of what she felt.
"Are you alright?" The question escaped before he could stop it, his voice gentler than before.
Harper's chin lifted slightly. "Yes, perfectly fine. Just got a bit overwhelmed from the drive and the mountain air, that's all."
It was a lie. They both knew it. But Dorian didn't press, even though every protective instinct urged him to find out what had shaken her and fix it immediately.
Gerri turned to Harper with a bright smile that didn't quite reach her knowing eyes.
"I really wish I could stay and chat more, but I have a client meeting back in the city that simply can't wait.
" She pulled a business card from her purse and pressed it into Harper's hand.
"If you need anything at all—and I do mean anything—just reach out. "
The look Gerri shot Dorian over Harper's head was loaded with enough meaning to power the entire mountain town. Then she was gone, leaving him alone with his fated mate in the sudden, charged silence of his foyer.
Get control of the situation. Be the responsible Alpha, not the man who wants to back her against the nearest wall and—
"I can help you with your suitcase," he said, cutting off that dangerous train of thought. "Show you to your guest room where you'll be staying. Then maybe, if you're feeling up to it, you could join Lila and me for dinner tonight? Ease into things gradually."
Harper nodded, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "That sounds perfect. I really am feeling tired from the trip and could use some time to decompress before meeting Lila."
Dorian moved to collect her suitcase from where Gerri had left it by the door, and the brief brush of her arm against his sent electricity crackling through his system all over again.
Control yourself.
He led her up the grand staircase he'd spent months restoring, the carved banister smooth under his palm from years of oil and careful maintenance.
She maintained deliberate distance behind him, but he was hyperaware of her every movement and the slight hitch in her breath as they ascended the stairs to the second level.
The guest room he'd chosen was far enough from his private chambers that his wolf wouldn't go completely insane, but close enough that he'd be able to reach her in seconds if she needed protection.
"This is beautiful," Harper said softly when he opened the door to reveal the room he'd personally restored over the past year.
Warm wood floors, a stone fireplace, windows that looked out over the valley, and furniture he'd built himself during the long winter nights when sleep eluded him.
He set her suitcase down beside the antique dresser, pride warming his chest at her obvious appreciation. "Dinner's at five. Just settle in until then."
"Thank you for your hospitality."
The formal words hit him wrong, too polite and distant for what had passed between them.
But he forced himself to nod and step back toward the door, even though every instinct told him to stay, to make sure she was comfortable, to somehow bridge the gap that professional boundaries had wedged between them.
Just leave. Before you do something completely foolish like pull her into your arms and find out if her mouth is as soft as it looks.
"See you in a few hours," he said, then fled before his control shattered entirely.
The afternoon had stretched into evening like a punishment, each hour dragging by while Dorian paced the length of his home office.
His wolf prowled restlessly, hyperaware of Harper's presence somewhere above him in the guest room.
The scent of jasmine and summer rain had seeped into the very walls of his estate, making concentration impossible.
She's here. Under your roof. Your fated mate is here.
He'd tried focusing on pack business—reviewing security patrol schedules, checking construction timelines, anything to distract himself from the knowledge that his fated mate was sleeping in a bed upstairs.
But every creak of the old house had his attention snapping upward, wondering if she was comfortable, if she needed anything, if she was thinking about what had happened between them on the front porch.
The mate bond hummed like a live wire, demanding he go to her, claim her, make sure she understood exactly what she was to him. But duty came first. It always had.
By the time five o'clock approached, Dorian's control hung by threads.
He needed to collect Lila for dinner, needed to facilitate this first meeting between his sister and the woman who might be able to heal her.
The woman who'd already turned his carefully ordered world upside down with a single touch.
He climbed the stairs to the second floor, his boots echoing against the hardwood he'd refinished himself during one of those sleepless nights when leadership weighed too heavily on his shoulders. Lila's door was closed, as it had been for weeks now, and he knocked gently before entering.
"Lila? Time for dinner."
His sister sat curled in the window seat he'd installed for her sixteenth birthday, knees drawn to her chest as she stared out at the darkening forest. She didn't turn when he spoke, didn't acknowledge his presence at all. The sight of her withdrawal hit him like a physical blow every single time.
"I'm not hungry."
The words came out flat, emotionless. So different from the vibrant girl who used to fill this house with laughter and music. Dorian's jaw tightened as he stepped further into the room, noting the untouched lunch tray on her desk, the textbooks that hadn't been opened in days.
"Your therapist is here, Lila. She's expecting to meet you tonight, and it would be rude not to—"
"I don't care." Lila's voice carried a sharp edge now. "I didn't ask for another therapist. I didn't ask for some stranger to come here and poke at me like I'm a broken toy that needs fixing."
Dorian's hands clenched into fists at his sides, frustration building like pressure behind a dam. He'd tried patience, tried gentleness, tried everything he could think of to reach her. But she kept pulling away, kept retreating deeper into herself, and he was running out of options.
"She's not just some stranger. She's here because she cares about helping people like you."
She's also my mate, and I need you to at least try.
"People like me." Lila finally turned from the window, her blue-gray eyes blazing with anger. "You mean broken people. Damaged goods."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Do I?" She stood abruptly, her small frame vibrating with suppressed emotion. "Because that's what everyone thinks now. Poor Lila, the Alpha's sister who got herself attacked because she was too weak. Poor Lila, who can't even leave her room without falling apart."