She found Marty at a long table, frowning at a linen square as if it were a complex puzzle. He had Dorian's build but with a rangier ease, and his warm brown eyes lit up when he saw her. "Thank goodness. Please tell me you know how to do this. Dorian's grandmother will have my hide if I present her with what looks like a pigeon."
Harper laughed, setting down her burden. "Here. It's in the twist." She took the napkin, her fingers making quick, practiced folds. In moments, a neat, elegant swan sat on the wood.
Marty whistled low. "A woman of many talents. I'm Marty. Officially, the Beta. Unofficially, the guy who stops Dorian from working himself into an early grave. A job you seem to be taking over rather effectively."
"Harper," she said, though he clearly knew. "And I think it's a job that requires a team."
His grin was immediate and genuine. "I like you already. He's been… different lately. Since you arrived." He leaned in conspiratorially. "He told me, you know. About the mate bond. Tried to play it cool, but the man looked like he'd been hit by a truck. A beautiful, life-altering truck."
The confirmation that Dorian had trusted his best friend with their truth sent another wave of that warm belonging through her. "It was… a mutual shock. But we are exploring our connection and I'm excited to see where it goes."
"Good." Marty clapped her on the shoulder, a friendly, solid touch. "Now, save me from myself and fold about a hundred more of those, will you? I'll go heave something heavy. That's more my style."
For the next few hours, Harper was swept into the current of the pack. A young mother handed her a baby to hold while she climbed a ladder to hang a garland. An older couple, their hands gnarled from a lifetime of work, told her stories about Dorian as a gangly, serious teenager rebuilding the estate's porch. Children darted around her legs, their energy boundless and joyful. Every person she met greeted her with open curiosity and a kindness that felt utterly unforced. They thanked her for helping Lila. They thanked her for the dance. They treated her not as an outsider, but as someone who was already part of the tapestry.
This,Harper thought, her throat tight as she watched a group of teenagers, Lila among them, painting a massive banner with vibrant splashes of color.This is what I never had. What I never let myself want.
The desire crystallized inside her, hard and bright and undeniable. She didn't just want Dorian. She wantedthis. The noisy, messy, loving chaos of this pack. The mountain air. The sense of purpose that was about building joy, not just managing pain. She wanted to stay.
Permanently.
She stole a glance across the hall. Dorian was now moving heavy wooden benches with two other men, the muscles in his back and shoulders straining beneath his henley. He looked over at that exact moment, as if pulled by the force of her stare. His eyes locked on hers, and even across the distance, she saw the blaze of possessive pride in them. He saw her here, folded into the heart of his world, and it filled him with a visible, potent satisfaction. A slow, devastating smile touched his lips, meant only for her.
Hours later, as the golden afternoon light slanted through the high windows, he finally made his way to her. She was decidedly worse for wear—a smear of blue paint on her hands, another on her jeans, her sweater dusted with glitter from the banners.
He reached out, his thumb gentle as he rubbed at the paint on her face. "You've got a little… everything on you."
"It's called dedication to a good cause."
"The cause looks great on you." His voice dropped, a low rumble that vibrated in her bones. "You look right at home here, Harper."
The words were a key turning in a lock deep inside her. She didn't say the truth burning in her soul, not yet. She would saveit, wrap it up as a gift for him after the dance. She let her smile say everything else. "I feel right at home here."
His gaze heated, drifting from her eyes to her mouth. The air between them crackled, dense with unspoken promise. The noise of the hall faded to a distant hum.
"Let's head back to the estate," he said, the command in his voice softened by a husky edge. "Get cleaned up."
The look in his eyes suggested the cleaning might be a very hands-on, lengthy, and thoroughly distracting process. Harper's pulse leapt, a frantic drum against her ribs. "Yes," she agreed, her own voice breathless. "Let's head back."
Lila bounded over then, her face alight, Sophie and Courtney in her wake. "I'm going to stay at Sophie's tonight, okay? We’re going to finish the centerpieces."
Harper held her breath, waiting for the automatic refusal, the conditions, the worry from Dorian.
Dorian looked at his sister, and at the eager, open faces of her friends. He saw not a vulnerability, but a young woman reclaiming her life. He gave a single, slow nod. "Alright. Just be careful. Check in later."
It was a monumental, simple thing. Trust. Harper's heart swelled with a pride so fierce it nearly brought tears to her eyes. He was learning to let go, to have faith in the strength of what they were all building together.
Lila beamed, throwing her arms around him in a quick, tight hug before skipping off with her friends. Dorian watched her go, then turned back to Harper. His expression was pure, predatory focus. He took her hand, his grip firm and sure, and led her out of the lively hall into the cool, twilight stillness.
The promise in his silent walk was explicit: the evening was just beginning.
SIXTEEN
DORIAN
The drive back to the estate passed in comfortable silence, but Dorian's mind churned with revelations that felt seismic. Today had proven everything Harper had argued for—his pack hadn't just worked together, they'd thrived together. The laughter echoing through the town hall, the eager hands reaching for paintbrushes and hammers, the children darting around with unbridled joy—it was the sound of healing. Of choosing life over mere survival.
For eighteen years, he'd led through vigilance and control, believing that strength and leadership meant bearing every burden alone. But watching his pack transform the hall into something magnificent, seeing Lila's face light up as she painted banners with her friends, witnessing Harper fold seamlessly into his world—it crystallized a truth he'd been too afraid to acknowledge.
