With the weight of a dying star, Michael collapsed into my arms.

I had trouble breathing for a time. Not because he was heavy, but because everything in me—my wolf, my heart, my instincts—shouted that this should not be happening. Michael remained upright. Michael did not fall apart.

However, he was present.

Burning.

Under my palms, his skin burned as if he had swallowed flames that were trying to get out.

I caught my breath. I cautiously adjusted my grip and set him down on ...