As the pile of samples yet to be tested grew smaller and smaller, Viggo’s hopes of actually finding a good match diminished. Most werewolves found several compatible matches in the first ten samples given to them – Life Mate took care to submit samples with high genetic compatibility – but he’d tested almost a hundred without a single hit.
It was with that dejected pessimism that he opened the second to last bag, already moving to place it in the discard pile when he realized that the scent meeting his nose was not at all offensive. He paused, bag held loosely in one hand, and breathed in.
The scent was…pleasant. There were notes of sandalwood and fresh cotton, obviously from a soap or cologne, but under that, there was a unique note ofsomethingthat he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Without thinking, he reached into the bag and withdrew a bunched-up t-shirt. It was old and faded, featuring a washed-out image of a roaring lion, the cotton worn soft and silky-smooth from repeated use.
He lifted the t-shirt to his nose, closing his eyes and luxuriating in the marvelous scent. His balls pulled tight, tugging on his groin, his cock hardening and straining against the front of his suit.
Viggo inhaled the intoxicating smell, his cockthrobbing.
Moving his hand down to squeeze his bulge, he rubbed the shirt against his face and grinned into the fabric. He couldn’t believe he’d finally found a match.
Wrestling control of himself and his wolf, the latter prowling in the back of his mind and pushing him tohunt, he moved the t-shirt down to his lap and unconsciously pushed it into his crotch.
He reached for his phone and sent a message to his liaison at Life Mate, squeezing his cock through his suit as he texted, giving him the number on the bag and asking to move forward with the candidate as quickly as possible.
The t-shirt clutched tight in his fist was a tantalizing tease, but Viggo wanted the real thing.
There was still an in-person meeting that needed to happen – both to confirm the match and to sort out the contractual details – but Viggo didn’t let that get him down. There was nothing ambiguous about what his nose was telling him.
Feeling buoyed, he opened and dismissed the last sample, placing all of the rejected bags back into the package and folding it up to be returned to Life Mate. The t-shirt, on the other hand, he pressed up against his nose so that he could inhale its scent again. He felt greedy and reckless – the experience like nothing he’d expected.
He needed to share this with Bjorn. Even feral, his husband was sure to be just as enamored with the smell as he was.
Groping himself and leaning back into the couch, working the length of his swollen member through his suit, Viggo closed his eyes and tried to picture the human that was about to be his.
They would be submissive, as everyone who signed up for Life Mate had to be, and probably significantly shorter and smaller than both him and Bjorn. While some humans matched his and Bjorn’s heights of six-foot-six and six-foot-nine respectively, they were few and far between, and Viggo doubted that his human would be one of them.
Something about the scent just screamedsmall– though the rational part of him knew that you couldn’t tell a thing like that through scent alone. He held the shirt up, gauging its size, grinning when he realized that it couldn’t be bigger than a medium.
He was also sure his human was male. The scent was earthy, less pungent than the musk you’d find on a werewolf, but undeniably masculine. It was a perfect contrast to his and Bjorn’s heady scents.
Thinking about the combination – about how he and Bjorn would drench the human in their unique signatures and make him smell liketheirs– almost had Viggo shooting his load into his briefs.
He stopped groping himself, breathing through his mouth and holding the t-shirt away from his nose, needing to calm down.
He sat there, his pulse thundering in his ears as he pictured what it would be like to share a human with Bjorn.
Viggo’s cock throbbed, heavy and full, his balls pulling tight at the rush of fantasies and ideas running through his mind.
He was just about to lift the t-shirt back to his nose when the sound of Bjorn coming in through the front door stopped him.
“In the living room,” Viggo called out, his voice unexpectedly gruff. There was a pause, Bjorn not responding, followed by the sounds of Bjorn’s heavy footsteps as he walked down the hall.
Viggo could tell from his walk that he was not happy to have been summoned home.
When Bjorn rounded the corner and came to a stop in the doorway, Viggo’s already heated arousal kicked up a notch.
Bjorn lookedgood. He loomed in the doorway, tall and imposing, his handsome features set in an annoyed scowl. His shirt was drenched in sweat, his biceps bulging, and Viggo wondered what he’d been up to that had him looking so tired.
He knew better than to ask. All Bjorn would say was that he was protecting the territory, and if Viggo pressed, Bjorn would look like a kicked puppy because Viggo didn’t think he could do his job.
Bjorn’s wolf took his role as second much more seriously than Bjorn’s human half.
“What?” Bjorn asked, annoyed but trying to hide it. He pushed his blond hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms. When Viggo didn’t respond, he shuffled his feet. “What?”
Two whole words, Viggo thought with a repressed snort. Bjorn’s wolf was feeling positively verbose. In the first two months after Bjorn went feral and his wolf took over, Viggo hadn’t gotten a single word out of him. He wasn’t sure if the simple sentences he’d been getting lately were an improvement, or just a sign that Bjorn’s wolf was settling in for the long haul.
