Viggo gritted his teeth, feeling guilty for how he’d scared Sebastian. It wasn’t his fault that Bjorn had talked a bunch of bullshit and given him the wrong idea. He hovered in the doorway, Sebastian watching him warily.
“I’m not angry with you,” he finally said. When Sebastian just looked at him, skeptical, he sighed. “You scared me. If something like that came out, even if it wasn’t true, it would be bad for Bjorn.”
“I understand.” Sebastian surreptitiously wiped his cheeks, taking a calming breath. “I just told you what he told me.”
“I know.” Viggo took a step back, hand on the door. He’d never felt more awkward. “I’ll see you later.”
He closed the door before Sebastian had a chance to reply, jogging back down to the stairs and pausing by the front door just long enough to put on his sneakers before running out of the house. He sprinted into the trees, cutting through the underbrush with practiced ease, loosening his tie and pulling it off his neck as he ran and letting it fall to the ground.
Everything was too intense. His wolf simmered under the surface of his skin, agitated and wanting to howl his frustration, while his human half couldn’t stop worrying over the very slight possibility that Sebastian was right and that Bjorn might have had some kind of encounter that Viggo wasn’t aware of.
It galled.
Speeding up, ducking through leaves and branches, Viggo let his legs carry him where they would. Right now, what he needed was to burn off the manic energy coursing through him.
A scent carried on the breeze brought Viggo to a crashing halt. Bjorn was close by, his sweat-soaked clothes standing out like a beacon. Viggo changed direction, heading towards his mate.
The sun, hanging low in the sky, was now directly ahead of him, and Viggo had to squint his eyes to see anything through the golden glow. He was built to hunt at night, his eyes at their best under the gentle light of the full moon.
Viggo found Bjorn climbing down from a tree near the very edge of the western border of their territory, so close to the highway that if he strained his ears he could hear the cars passing in the distance, looking disheveled and windswept, a huge grin lighting up his face when he saw Viggo coming towards him.
“There you are,” Viggo said, coming to a stop. His cotton dress shirt was damp with sweat, the thin fabric clinging to his back, and it itched something fierce where it was tucked into the fitted waistband of his pants.
“Yes,” Bjorn agreed, tilting his head and giving him a weird look. “Need help?”
Viggo grimaced and shook his head. “No, I just needed a run. Smelled you.”
Bjorn nodded, accepting the explanation without question.
“I talked to Sebastian.” Viggo walked over to the tree Bjorn had just climbed, pulling himself up onto the lowest branch and taking a seat. He looked down at Bjorn. “He said the two of you had fun.”
Bjorn grinned, nodding. “I showed him our territory.”
Viggo leaned against the thick trunk, lifting his leg and placing it on the branch next to him while he let the other dangle. He kept his next words nonchalant. “He said you showed him where you got shot.”
Bjorn tensed, a guilty expression taking over his features. He looked at the ground. “Didn’t mean to scare him.”
Viggo swallowed, dread pooling in his stomach. Bjorn was supposed to scoff and say that Sebastian had misunderstood.
“Show me,” Viggo demanded, unable to keep the agitated command out of his voice. Bjorn jumped, surprised at the sudden shift in tone, and though he looked confused, he pulled off his polo shirt and stripped off his hideous shorts, leaving him standing in just an overstuffed jockstrap, knee-high socks and shoes. He turned, baring his side to Viggo so that he could see from his vantage point up on the branch.
Sure enough, just like Sebastian had said, there was a scattering of raised bumps on Bjorn’s skin, concentrated on his hip and radiating out. Jumping down, Bjorn taking a step back in surprise before stilling, Viggo crouched down and ran his fingers over the bumps.
Bjorn’s skin felt the same as it always did, which was to say pleasantly warm and smooth, but when Viggo pinched one of the bumps and squeezed it between his fingers, he could feel something moving around under Bjorn’s skin. It was hard and solid, like a little rock, and unlike anything Viggo had encountered.
How long had that been there?
Channeling his wolf, Viggo let his hands shift into claws and sliced into one of the bumps, squeezing out the hard little object inside.
Bjorn flinched at the sudden violence, but he didn’t move or make a sound, and when Viggo wiped the blood off with the sleeve of his shirt, the little wound was already closing up.
“What?” Bjorn asked, looking down at him with a confused frown.
“I’m not sure,” Viggo said, letting the foreign object that had been under Bjorn’s skin roll into the palm of his hand. A dollop of spit to wash away the blood, and Viggo was looking down at a dark green rock with tiny flecks of silver, no larger than a piece of gravel.
It was a piece of moonrock. Viggo stared at the tiny fragment, incredulous.
Pinching the offensive little stone between his fingers and lifting it up to examine it closely, Viggo could already feel the small fragment pulling at his wolf, bringing it to the surface and making it hard to shift his claw-tipped hands back to human.
