Page 7 of Pack to the Wall

Chrissy froze, unable to look away. Something primal and inexplicable pulled at her, a magnetic force that made her skin tingle and her breath catch. The sensation was both thrilling and terrifying—like standing at the edge of a tall cliff, which she literally was doing on this helipad right now, knowing she should step back but wanting desperately to fly.

"Ah," Gerri said beside her, satisfaction coloring her voice. "I see you've noticed your host."

Heat rushed to Chrissy's cheeks. She tried to look away but couldn't break free from his intense gaze. Those electric blue eyes seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed walls, past the makeup-free face and simple sundress, and into the real her that had been buried under a year of celebrity polish.

"He's watching me like I'm..." Chrissy's thought trailed off as she struggled to name the expression on his face. Not the predatory appraisal she'd grown accustomed to in the music industry, but something deeper and more reverent—like she was a long-lost masterpiece he'd only heard about in legends and was finally seeing with his own eyes.

Gerri touched her elbow gently. "That's Zev Landon," she explained. "Alpha of the Isle Luna pack and owner of this paradise."

Alpha. The word sent a flicker of warning through Chrissy's system. During their flight, Gerri had explained that Isle Luna was home to wolf shifters—not that she'd needed much convincing to believe in the supernatural after working with some shifters in the industry. What Gerri hadn't mentioned was how her "safe haven" would be ruled by an alpha who looked like he'd stepped straight out of her most secret fantasies.

"He's..." Chrissy whispered.

"Quite something, isn't he?" Gerri finished for her, eyes twinkling.

Chrissy's spine suddenly straightened. Was he another powerful man who thought the world revolved around him? She'd just escaped Marty's controlling grip—she wasn't about to trade one gilded cage for another, no matter how attractive the jailer.

"Chrissy Rivera," Gerri announced as they approached the waiting trio, "this is Zev Landon, the owner of Isle Luna."

Zev moved forward with a fluid grace that belied his size. When he spoke, his voice rumbled deep and rich, sending an involuntary shiver through her body.

"Miss Rivera. Welcome to Isle Luna." His gaze never wavered from hers. "I trust your journey was comfortable?"

"As comfortable as running away from your life can be," Chrissy replied, surprised by her own frankness.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Then you've come to the right place. No one finds Isle Luna unless we want them to."

The way he said "we" carried weight, reminding her that he wasn't just a resort owner but leader of an entire pack. Power radiated from him without effort, making the air between them practically vibrate.

Zev gestured to the couple beside him. "My operations director, Ewan Chavez, and his wife Olivia, our wellness director."

Olivia stepped forward, her yellow sundress catching the breeze. Her warm smile reached all the way to kind green eyes. "We're so glad you're here, Chrissy. Any friend of Gerri's is a friend of ours."

"Thank you," Chrissy managed, grateful for the woman's genuine warmth that reminded her of Maggie. "This place is... incredible."

"Just wait until you see the rest of it," Ewan added with an easy grin that softened his imposing frame.

But her attention kept straying back to Zev, who hadn't taken his eyes off her for a second. His gaze felt like a physical touch, both thrilling and unnerving.

"I promise you absolute privacy here," Zev said, his commanding tone making it clear this wasn't just a courtesy but a decree. "No press, no schedules, and no obligations."

"Sounds too good to be true," Chrissy said, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice. Men with money and power always wanted something in return.

Zev's eyes darkened slightly, as if he sensed her distrust. "On Isle Luna, Miss Rivera, we prioritize freedom above all else."

Freedom. The very thing she'd been desperate for when she called Gerri last night.

Zev gestured toward two electric golf carts waiting nearby. "We'll take these to the main lodge. It's not far, but the jungle paths can be challenging to navigate on foot."

Walking beside him, Chrissy noticed the powerful confidence in his stride—measured and deliberate. Like a man who knew exactly who he was and what he controlled. She'd spent a year surrounded by men who postured and preened, desperate to appear more important than they were. Zev seemed to possess the opposite quality—his authority so innate he didn't need to broadcast it.

The silence between them stretched a beat too long, thickening the tropical air. Chrissy cleared her throat.

"So, is this the part where you tell me you don't own a TV and have never heard my music?" she quipped, flashing him a smile. "Because I'm totally fine with that. Sometimes I wishIhad never heard my latest single—they made me record it six different ways before choosing the worst version."

Zev's expression remained serious, but something flickered in those electric blue eyes—a hint of amusement that softened his intensity for just a moment. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, but close enough to make Chrissy's heart flutter unexpectedly.

"I've heard your music, Miss Rivera," he replied, his deep voice sending a strange thrill down her spine.

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