Micah opened the door to the room that smelled of lavender and potatoes, but nothing could mask the overwhelming scent that made his chest ache: warm vanilla and winter blossoms. Xenia. His mate.

The atmosphere had completely changed, softened. The girls had rearranged the space with blankets and cushions, forming a nest of makeshift beds. Most of them were already dozing or curled up in conversation. And in the center, Xenia lay atop the stripped mattress, one arm protectively draped across her belly. Even in sleep, tension clung to her. Her brow creased, her breathing shallow. She twitched now and again, caught in some restless dream.

Delilah, seated nearby with...