Page 6 of Pack to the Wall

She's mine.

The certainty of it buckled his knees. The world tilted sideways as every instinct he possessed realigned to a new center of gravity—her.

"Whoa, easy there, boss." Ewan's strong hand gripped his bicep, steadying him with military precision. "Deep breaths."

Olivia made a small, delighted sound beside them. "Oh my god, it's actually happening. Right now."

Zev couldn't form words. His entire being focused on the woman standing beside Gerri, trying to look composed despite her obvious disorientation. She was taking in the endless blue sea, the lush island vegetation, and finally—him. Their eyes met across the helipad, and the connection that sparked between them was almost visible in its intensity.

"Well," Gerri's self-satisfied voice floated through his consciousness, her eyes turning that telltale golden color that signaled her matchmaking powers were in full effect. "I believe my work here is already half done."

THREE

CHRISSY

Chrissy stepped onto the helipad after her whirlwind trip, her white sundress billowing in the warm breeze. It was the first outfit she'd chosen for herself in what felt like forever—no stylist, no Leslie barking edicts about her image, and no "let's make you less you" lectures. Just cotton against her skin and the freedom to finally breathe.

The tropical heat caressed her face, instantly relaxing muscles she hadn't realized were so tense. After last night's nightmare at the charity gala—Marty's iron grip on her arm and his snarled threat about ruining her if she ran—this place seemed like a fever dream from a completely different universe.

"Oh my God," she whispered, taking in the panoramic view. Crystal-clear turquoise water stretched to the horizon, framed by pristine white sand beaches and lush jungle vegetation. The air smelled of salt and exotic flowers instead of hairspray and the artificial scents of a crowded event.

Gerri moved back closer to her side, her diminutive frame somehow radiating assurance. "No cameras. No schedules. Just plenty of time to breathe," she said, her voice pitched low enough for only Chrissy's ears.

Breathing. What a concept. Chrissy couldn't remember the last time she'd done that properly.

Last night had been pure impulse. Around 11 PM, she'd faked illness to Marty as they got out of the limo at the VIP after party. She'd rarely lied to him. But last night she'd felt exceptionally desperate. He'd let her leave, fearing she might puke and cause a scene that would inevitably end up in the tabloids. Once she got home, she'd paced her empty Huntington Beach mansion while anxiety clawed at her throat for thirty minutes. Finally, at nearly midnight, she'd called the number on that business card that Gerri had slipped her earlier in the VIP lounge at the gala.

Gerri had picked up on the first ring and proposed an offer to take Chrissy to a very special place with no schedules and no cameras. Maybe it was her exhaustion or maybe it was her anger at Marty, but for some reason Chrissy accepted Gerri's offer.

But one thing didn't quite add up for Chrissy. After she'd hung up with Gerri and looked closer at the business card, she saw a title under Gerri's name.Founder and Owner ofParanormal Dating Agency. What exactly did Gerri do for a living? Chrissy knew shifters existed—some of her music industry colleagues were supernatural, though they kept it under wraps from the general public. But a dating agency for them? And what did that have to do with Gerri being able to help Chrissy disappear for a while?

"I can't believe I just...left," Chrissy murmured, guilt and exhilaration battling for dominance. She hadn't even told her dad or Maggie where she was going, afraid Marty would harass them for information. "Marty's going to lose his mind."

"Let him," Gerri whispered softly. "You're entitled to a vacation."

"He doesn't think I'm entitled to use the bathroom without permission," Chrissy muttered so only Gerri could hear. "I didn't even pack anything. I just...ran away."

"Sometimes running away is the bravest thing you can do." Gerri's eyes twinkled. "And don't worry about clothes. The resort has everything you'll need for your stay."

Resort. Right. Chrissy had been so focused on escaping that she hadn't bothered asking where they were ultimately going. The black limo at 5 AM, the private jet to Belize, the helicopter—it had all happened in an exhausted blur this morning.

"Where exactly are we?" she whispered, finally taking in the elegant structures nestled tastefully among the palm trees.

"Isle Luna," Gerri answered so that only Chrissy could hear. "The most exclusive private island resort in the Caribbean. And the most discreet." She emphasized the last word meaningfully. "No one will find you here unless you want to be found."

The thought made her shoulders drop another inch. No paparazzi. No fans asking for selfies when she looked like death warmed over. No Leslie criticizing her for eating carbs.

Chrissy inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with fresh air that didn't taste of desperation and exhaustion. Something that she hadn't felt in almost a year unfurled in her chest—a sense of possibility. One impulsive phone call, and here she was, standing on a slice of paradise.

"Thank you," Chrissy whispered, tears threatening to spill. "I didn't realize how much I needed?—"

The words died in her throat as she finally looked forward, across the helipad. A welcoming committee stood several yards away—a woman in a yellow sundress, a broad-shouldered man in a navy polo, and...

Her heart stuttered, then accelerated to a gallop.

Him.

He stood tall and commanding in a white linen shirt that showcased broad shoulders and muscular arms. His stance was unmistakably that of someone in charge—feet planted firmly, chin raised, and eyes intense. Even from this distance, thoseeyes burned into her, electric blue against tanned skin. His thick, wavy brown hair caught the sunlight, and the stubble along his jaw gave him a rugged edge that made her mouth go dry.

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