Page 46 of Psycho Pack

But then he shifts closer and hesitantly wraps his strong arms around me, enveloping me in his warmth and familiar rainy scent. I snuggle against his chest, resting my forehead inthe crook of his scarred neck, and he carefully squeezes me a little tighter like he might snap me in half if he's too rough.

Actually, he probably could.

"Better?" Plague asks, his clinical expression slipping to reveal genuine concern.

I nod, but my teeth are still chattering. The alphas exchange glances, some silent communication passing between them.

"Fuck it," Whiskey declares. He drops down beside me, radiating heat like a furnace. "C'mere, wildcat."

Before I can respond, he tugs me partially into his lap so he's sharing me with Wraith. I should protest—the old me would have fought tooth and nail against such familiarity—but his warmth is too tempting. I let myself sink back against his broad chest as Wraith lets out a low growl.

"Don't," Whiskey warns him.

More growling.

"Room for one more?" Plague asks with uncharacteristic hesitation.

"Get over here, Doc." Whiskey grabs his wrist, pulling him down with us. "You're shit at staying warm anyway."

"I regulate my body temperature just fine," Plague mutters, but he settles in on my other side.

Thane joins us without a word, his solid presence bracketing me from behind. Even Valek crawls over, still muttering like a lunatic as he curls up at my feet like some deranged cat and wraps himself around my lower body.

Maybe more like a snake than a cat.

I really should kick him in the fucking head, but I restrain myself.

For now.

Then I feel the absence of a familiar warmth and look up to find Wraith has retreated into the shadows again. His blue eyes gleam in the darkness as he watches us, shoulders hunched.Clearly sinking right back into the pit of self-loathing that always threatens to swallow him up at any point.

"Wraith," I call softly. "Please?"

He shakes his head and signs to me.

Not needed. Safer without.

"Bullshit," Whiskey says before I can respond. "Get your ass over here, bro. You're making me nervous hovering like that."

"He's right," Plague adds. "Body heat is most effective in close proximity."

Wraith's eyes dart between us, uncertainty written in every line of his massive frame. I hold out my hand to him.

"I want you here," I say simply. "With us. With me."

For a long moment, he doesn't move. Then, slowly, he inches closer. When he sinks back down beside us, I immediately reach for him, pulling him into our pile.

He goes rigid at first, but I guide his head to rest in my lap. My fingers card through his damp hair, working out tangles with gentle strokes. Gradually, the tension bleeds from his muscles as he wraps his huge arms around my upper body.

"There," I murmur. "That's better."

"Speaking of better," Whiskey says, his chest rumbling against my back as he speaks. "Doc, you gonna do something about my nose or what?"

"Your nose is the least of your problems," Plague retorts, but his hands are already moving, prodding the swollen bridge with clinical precision.

"Ow! Fuck!" Whiskey yelps. "You're doing that on purpose!"

"Standard medical procedure," Plague says dryly. "You should be used to it by now."

---