10. Dorian #2
The climb proved more challenging than he'd anticipated.
Blood loss and adrenaline crash conspired to make his legs unsteady, and by the time they reached his private chambers, Dorian was grateful for Harper's unwavering support.
She pushed open his door—heavy oak that he'd crafted himself during the estate renovations—and led him into his sanctuary.
His wolf stirred with deep satisfaction. Mate in our den. Finally.
Harper's eyes widened as she took in his space—the massive four-poster bed he'd built from reclaimed timber, the stone fireplace that dominated one wall, and the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountain vista. Everything masculine and substantial, built to last generations.
"Bathroom?" she asked, all business despite the flush creeping up her neck.
He nodded toward the connecting door, hyperaware of how her gaze kept drifting to his naked torso before snapping back to his face. Even injured and bleeding, his mate's obvious attraction sent heat spiraling through him.
The bathroom was his pride—a massive space with a stone-lined shower big enough for four people and a soaking tub carved from a single piece of granite. Harper guided him to the marble vanity, her professional mask slipping as she truly looked at his wounds for the first time under proper lighting.
"Oh my god, Dorian." Her fingers hovered just above the deepest gash, not quite touching. "These need stitches."
"I heal fast," he said, grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it around his waist. Not from modesty—he'd never been shy about his body—but from respect for her.
She was already moving, opening cabinet doors with determined efficiency until she found his medical supplies. Years of leadership had taught him to keep a well-stocked kit, and Harper soon spread gauze, antiseptic, and bandages across the counter with practiced movements.
"Sit," she commanded, gesturing to the bench beside the vanity.
The authority in her voice made his wolf rumble with approval. His mate wasn't intimidated by him—she simply saw what needed doing and did it.
Harper wet a soft washcloth with warm water, her touch impossibly gentle as she began cleaning the blood from his shoulder. The wounds were already closing—shifter healing at work—but she worked with meticulous care, as if his comfort mattered more than efficiency.
"I'm totally fine," he said when she paused to examine a particularly deep scratch. "I can manage this myself. You should rest after what happened tonight."
"No." The word came out sharp and final. "I'm going to help you and make sure you're properly bandaged. That's more important."
Something profound shifted in his chest. When was the last time someone had prioritized his wellbeing? When had anyone insisted on caring for him instead of the other way around?
He studied her face as she worked—the small furrow between her brows as she concentrated, the way she bit her lower lip when navigating around particularly tender spots.
Her jasmine and rain scent wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and for once, Dorian allowed himself to simply receive care without guilt or impatience.
"Thank you," he said quietly, vulnerability roughening his voice. "No one has ever... I mean, I'm always the one taking care of everyone else."
Harper's hands stilled on his arm, her green eyes finding his. "Well, you deserve to be cared for too, not always the one carrying everyone."
The statement hit him unexpectedly hard. When had he ever considered what he deserved beyond duty and obligation?
"Harper." He caught her hand. "You deserve that too. Someone to take care of you."
She deflected with practiced ease, focusing on securing the gauze around his arm. "So who were those wolves anyway? And why were they attacking me?"
The memory of finding her trapped and terrified sent fresh rage coursing through him. "Ronan's Beta and Gamma. From the Vex pack that has been plaguing this territory for generations."
"So why target me?" She smoothed the medical tape with gentle precision. "Because I'm human?"
"No." The word came out sharp, loaded with possessive intensity that made her pulse jump visibly at her throat. "It's not because you're human. It's because..." He paused for a long moment, battling with himself to tell her the truth. "They're trying to cause more problems for me."
Liar. His wolf growled at the pathetic half-truth. She's our mate.
Harper's hands slowed their movements, studying his face with those perceptive green eyes that saw too much.
"So, I need you to not go into town alone anymore, alright? Can you trust me on this?"
The question hung between them, weighted with implications neither was ready to voice. She looked frightened still—not of him, but of the larger forces at play in this mountain town where ancient grudges ran deep as bedrock.
"I trust you," she said finally, her voice barely a whisper. "I won't go anywhere alone anymore."
Relief flooded him so completely his body shook. "Good."
Harper finished securing the last bandage and stepped back to survey her handiwork, something shifting in the air between them—the professional distance dissolving into something far more dangerous.
"You should rest now," he said, standing carefully. His shoulder protested the movement, but the wounds were clean and properly dressed thanks to her gentle care.
Instead of moving toward the door, Harper reached for his uninjured hand. Her fingers were warm, slightly trembling, and when she looked up at him, her eyes held a vulnerability that made his chest ache.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" The words rushed out like a confession. "I just feel a little unsettled still."
Every protective instinct he possessed roared to life. His mate needed comfort, safety, and the reassurance of his presence. Nothing in the world could have made him refuse her.
"Of course."