He moves to my other side. His touch becomes brisker and more efficient. I’ve got goosebumps up and down my arms, and they seem to bother him. He uses his other hand to rub my clean skin, as if to warm me, but I’m burning up. My skin is prickling from anticipation, not the chill.

“Everyone.”

“How so?” He lowers himself to his knees to wipe my legs.

“Dermot. Devon. Quill. My father. Moon Lake. North Border. Salt Mountain.”

“Not Last Pack?”

“They don’t know shit but how to sniff ass.”

My lips curve. Poor Last Pack. Always lowest rung on the shifter ladder. And yet here we are. In...