There is something out there, nosing around my camp. I draw the worn quilt up to my nose and cower. It’s dark and cold, and I have to pee, but there is no way I’m venturing outside to my makeshift latrine. In the mad rush out of Sunset Pride territory, I forgot a few things. Bras. Deodorant. And the fact that there would be no water and sewage hookup in the wilds of the foothills.

It’s been five weeks, and I don’t smell so great—in two ways. There’s my own stank, and the discovery that Arly and Drona weren’t exaggerating when they said that pregnancy turns you human. My wolf...