"Of course. Thank you for dinner. I know this situation isn't easy for any of you."
"Goodnight, Harper."
Her name felt like a prayer on his lips as he escaped the dining room, his entire body vibrating with suppressed need. He didn't go check on Lila—that had been nothing but an excuse to flee before he lost what remained of his sanity.
Instead, he climbed the stairs to his private chambers, stripping off his clothes with hands that shook from restraint. The massive bathroom attached to his suite beckoned likesalvation, and he stepped into the oversized shower he'd built during another sleepless renovation project.
Cold water hit his overheated skin like a shock, but it did nothing to cool the fire that burned in his veins. Nothing to quiet his wolf's increasingly desperate demands.
She's here. She's ours. Why are we running from what we want most?
Dorian braced his hands against the stone tiles and let the frigid water pound against his shoulders, hoping it would wash away the scent of jasmine and summer rain that seemed to have soaked into his very bones. Hoping it would give him the strength to face another day of having his mate so close and yet completely untouchable.
But even as the cold numbed his skin, the mate bond continued to burn like a brand against his heart, reminding him with every beat that his perfectly ordered world had been forever changed.
FIVE
HARPER
Morning light crept through the curtains of Harper's guest room, painting golden stripes across the hardwood floor that Dorian had clearly refinished himself. The attention to detail in every corner of this estate spoke of a man who poured his restless energy into creation, into building something lasting and beautiful from raw materials.
Harper had barely slept.
Every time she'd closed her eyes, Dorian's face materialized behind her lids—those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her, and the way his jaw had tightened when she'd pulled her hand away from his touch. The sensation of that handshake still burned along her palm like a brand.
What is wrong with me?
She'd never reacted to a man like this. Not even Matt, who she'd dated for three years and thought she might marry. Matt had been predictable, the kind of presence that felt comfortable rather than earth-shattering. But Dorian made her feel like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, simultaneously terrified of falling and desperate to jump.
The rational part of her brain—the part that had survived an abusive stepfather and built a successful career helpingtraumatized children—knew she was here for one reason only. Lila needed help, and Harper was damn good at her job. She wasn't here to develop some ridiculous crush on her client's brother, no matter how devastatingly attractive he was or how his scent of pine and cedar seemed to linger in her lungs.
Harper swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cool wood. Through the window, she could see the mountains like ancient guardians around the valley, their peaks dusted with snow that caught the morning light. It was breathtaking and wild, so different from her orderly life in Portland where everything was scheduled and controlled and ordinary.
She stood up and dressed carefully in dark jeans and a soft green sweater, choosing clothes that would make her appear approachable rather than intimidating. First impressions mattered enormously with traumatized teenagers, and from everything Dorian had shared last night, Lila was already primed to resist any attempts at help.
One session. That's what Lila told him she'd give me.
Harper had heard those exact words countless times from reluctant clients and their families. The idea that healing could be accomplished in a single hour-long session, that trauma could be neatly packaged and resolved with minimal discomfort. She understood the impulse—vulnerability was terrifying, especially for someone who'd already been hurt. Opening old wounds to examine them felt like inviting more pain rather than healing.
Hell, Harper knew that resistance intimately. She'd spent years deflecting her own therapists' gentle probes about her childhood, intellectually understanding what needed to be done while emotionally running from it at full speed. It was easier to focus on other people's pain, to pour herself into helping children process what she'd never fully processed herself.
That's why her relationship with her mother remained strained and distant. Too many years of watching Harper endure her stepfather's abuse, too many times her mother had chosen to look the other way rather than protect her own daughter. Harper had forgiven her intellectually, understood the complex dynamics of abuse that kept victims trapped. But emotionally? The wound remained raw and unhealed.
That's why she was thirty-three and single, building walls so high that even well-meaning men like Matt couldn't scale them. She'd never felt truly safe enough with any man to let those defenses drop, never experienced the kind of bone-deep trust that would allow her to be completely vulnerable without fear of that vulnerability being used against her.
A sharp knock on her door interrupted the spiral of her thoughts.
Harper's pulse quickened, and she knew without looking that it would be Dorian. Taking a steadying breath, she opened the door and immediately regretted it.
He stood in the doorway holding a tray laden with what looked like enough food for three people, and Harper's traitorous body responded to his presence like a flower turning toward the sun. He'd clearly just showered—his dark hair was still damp and pushed back carelessly, and he smelled like soap and that intoxicating combination of pine and cedar that seemed to be his natural scent.
"I figured we could eat breakfast together," he said, his voice rougher than it had been last night. "And I could give you some background on Lila before you meet with her."
The thoughtfulness of the gesture hit her unexpectedly hard. When had someone ever brought her breakfast? When had anyone anticipated her needs without being asked?
"That's very thoughtful. Please, come in."
She stepped aside to let him enter, hyperaware of how his broad shoulders filled his dark henley, and how his presence seemed to shrink the spacious room. He moved with that same restrained power she'd noticed yesterday, like he was constantly holding himself in check.
