Harper's professional mind immediately cataloged the implications—teenage trauma, sudden responsibility, parentification, survivor's guilt. No wonder Lila was struggling ifher primary support system was someone carrying that level of unprocessed grief and hypervigilance.
"So I'm dealing with two trauma survivors, not just one."
"Among others, yes." Gerri's voice carried genuine sympathy. "This pack has been through hell, Harper. They need someone who understands that healing isn't just about individual therapy—it's about rebuilding trust and safety."
The weight of expectation settled on Harper's shoulders like a lead blanket. She'd agreed to help one troubled teenager, not facilitate emotional recovery for an entire supernatural community. But the professional challenge sparked something in her chest—the same drive that had kept her working with difficult cases when other counselors moved on to easier clients.
These people need help. Real help.
The landscape changed as they climbed higher into the Cascade Mountains, dense forests replacing farmland, and the air growing crisp enough that Gerri finally raised the convertible's top. Snow-capped peaks emerged through gaps in the trees, and Harper found herself leaning forward despite her anxiety.
"It's beautiful up here."
"Wait until you see the town itself," Gerri said. "Hidden valleys have their own kind of magic."
They rounded a final curve, and Harper's breath caught. The valley spread below them like something from a fairy tale—a small town nestled between towering pines and granite cliffs, smoke rising from chimneys, and a silver river threading through the center. It looked peaceful, idyllic, completely at odds with the violence and trauma Gerri had described.
But Harper's trained eye noticed the subtle signs of a community on edge—too few people on the streets, windows that seemed to watch their approach, the kind of careful stillness that suggested everyone was listening for trouble.
What have I gotten myself into?
Minutes later, the convertible rolled to a stop before an estate that seemed to emerge from the mountainside itself. Harper's breath caught again as she took in the sprawling structure—stone and timber that had clearly weathered centuries yet bore the careful touches of modern renovation. Wide windows gleamed in the late morning light, and a wraparound porch invited visitors with its rustic charm and a wooden swing that swayed gently in the mountain breeze.
"This is the Holt estate," Gerri announced cheerfully, already stepping out of the convertible with the kind of practiced grace that suggested she'd done this dance many times before. "Dorian has graciously offered to let you stay with them while you counsel his sister."
This is where I'll be staying?
The thought hit her with a mixture of awe and sudden, sharp anxiety. She'd expected a hotel, maybe a small guest house. Not the Alpha's personal residence. Harper's stomach performed an impressive gymnastics routine, complete with several flips and a dismount that left her feeling slightly queasy.
No pressure at all.
She climbed out of the passenger seat on unsteady legs, the mountain air hitting her with its crisp bite and the scent of pine so thick she could taste it. The estate loomed before her—beautiful and welcoming, but also massive and imposing in a way that made her feel impossibly small.
What did I agree to?
Gerri must have sensed her growing panic because she appeared at Harper's elbow with that knowing smile. "Just relax and be yourself, dear. Everything will go just fine."
Harper wasn't so sure about that. The estate seemed to watch their approach with dozens of windows like eyes, and the front porch—breathtaking as it was with its carved railings and thatcharming swing—felt both intimidating and comforting in equal measure. Wooden steps led up to double doors that looked like they could withstand a siege, and Harper found herself wondering if that was by design.
Gerri reached for the doorbell, and Harper braced herself to meet Lila—maybe a withdrawn teenager who'd eye Harper with the same wariness most of her clients showed at first meetings. She'd handled countless introductions with traumatized kids and knew how to project calm competence while respecting their boundaries.
Then the door swung open, and Harper's carefully prepared mental script evaporated like morning mist.
The man filling the doorway was nothing like what she'd expected and everything she hadn't known she'd been hoping for. Six and a half feet of solid muscle and controlled power, with dark hair that looked like he'd been running his hands through it and eyes the color of winter storms. His presence hit her like a physical force, making the air around them seem to crackle with electricity she couldn't explain.
God, how am I supposed to function around someone like him?
His gaze swept over her with a burning intensity that made her skin flush, taking in her practical jeans, her comfortable blouse, her hiking boots—nothing special, nothing designed to impress. But something in those ice-blue eyes darkened as they lingered on her face, and Harper felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with her clothing and everything to do with the way he seemed to see straight through her composure to something raw and vulnerable underneath.
The air between them seemed to thicken with heat and tension, and his scent—pine and cedar and something wild and masculine—filled her lungs and made her head spin. For a heartbeat, Harper forgot how to breathe, forgot everythingexcept the way this stranger was looking at her like she was salvation and damnation wrapped in one impossible package.
"Well, isn't this interesting," Gerri murmured beside her, and Harper could hear the smile in her voice even without looking.
The matchmaker stepped forward with the confidence of someone accustomed to navigating supernatural politics. "I'm Gerri Wilder, the woman your grandmother hired to help find a therapist for Lila. And this is Harper Lane, the therapist from Oregon to help your sister."
The man—Dorian, it had to be Dorian—remained silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on Harper with a piercing intensity that made her want to squirm. He didn't step forward to shake her hand and didn't offer the polite pleasantries she'd expected. Just stood there in the doorway like a mountain that had decided to take human form, radiating power and something else she couldn't quite name.
"Well, Dorian," Gerri said with pointed sweetness, "certainly you have better manners than that."
