1
VIGGO
There was no one home.
Viggo stared up at the house, taking in the dark windows and oppressive silence with a sinking feeling in his gut.
He’d hoped that Bjorn would be waiting for him.
Cupping his hands around his mouth, he turned toward the woods lining the driveway.
“Bjorn, it’s time to come home!”
He waited, listening for his husband’s reply. When none came, he ground his teeth and let his wolf rise to the surface. Leaning back, he pointed his face at the sky and let out a thundering howl.
Bjorn might be feral, but he wouldn’t ignore a call from his alpha.
In the distance a flock of birds crashed into the sky, their bodies bathed in the light of the setting sun, swooping up before descending back into the trees.
Right on time, Bjorn howled back. The sound was faint, coming from clear across the other side of the nature preserve they’d claimed as their territory, but the message was clear.
He was coming home.
Viggo walked up the rest of the long driveway, absentmindedly locking the car behind him and wondering for the billionth time how it had come to this. He kept flashing back to different points in his and Bjorn’s relationship, trying to pinpoint the moment it had all started to go wrong.
He came to a halt when he saw the massive package from Life Mate sitting on the welcome mat, mumbling a quiet, “Fuck.”
His liaison at Life Mate must be getting frustrated with his lack of progress, because the package was at least three times the size of the one he’d received the week before.
Viggo hoped that this time he’d find a sample that didn’t make him want to throw up.
In all his interactions with humans, he’d never noticed howwrongmost of them smelled.
Making his way into the house, Viggo kicked off his shoes and pushed them to the side of the door. There they joined an ungainly pile of hiking boots, dress shoes and sneakers that had built up over the last six months.
Without Bjorn nagging him to be tidy, and with the cleaning service suspended until Bjorn was back to his old self, the house was turning into a horrible mess.
Viggo kept hoping Bjorn would come home one day, take one look at it and snap out of being feral just so that he could yell at him to not be such a fucking slob.
Viggo missed that version of his husband – the irritable, broody hard-ass – instead of the feral, cuddly animal he’d turned into.
Turning away from the door, Viggo carried the package from Life Mate down the hall and into the living room. He brought it over to the coffee table, setting it down in front of the oversized leather couch before turning around and making his way over to the liquor cabinet.
He needed a good, stiff drink if he was going to get through this.
Glancing over his shoulder, the package sitting there like it was taunting him, Viggo almost longed for the old days when werewolves and humans had been at war. In those times if Viggo had needed a human he would have gone out andhuntedone.
The thought made Viggo’s balls pull tight and his mouth water, his wolf rising to the surface and pushing him to ignore the stupid package and follow his instincts instead.
His headache faded, pushed away by the anticipation of a hunt.
It would be soeasy. All he’d have to do was go into the city, maybe to one of the college campuses, and follow his nose until it led him to a human who smelled right.
Viggo pushed the impulse down with a huff of self-reproach. Times had changed. The peace between humans and werewolves had lasted for nearly a century, and hunting humans was a surefire way to get the council of alphas on his ass.
But still, waiting around for Life Mate to send him scent samples from human volunteers – most of whom were only doing it for the cash – wasexcruciating.
Unbuttoning the top buttons on his shirt, stretching his neck as he reached for his favorite bottle of Scotch, Viggo wondered how he had let it come to this – how he’d missed Bjorn’s deterioration so completely.
