His pulse thundering in his ears, the world suddenly far away and hyper-real at the same time, Viggo couldn’t bring himself to move. Moonrock was rare, found only in the most northern parts of Scandinavia and Russia, and it was sacred to werewolves.
There was nothing else on the planet that could bring a werewolf’s wolf to the surface like a shard of the silver speckled rock.
Viggo’s old pack had used it to great effect back when his little cousin was a teenager and hadn’t been able to shift on the full moon. They’d called the council, who had sent an emissary bearing a fist-sized shard, dark green and polished to a mirrored sheen, the silver flecks catching the light and making the rock sparkle when she pulled it out of the gilded box it was carried in.
Holding the rock as the full moon rose had been enough to bring forth his cousin’s wolf, waking it up and giving it enough power to drive the change on the full moon. Without the intervention his cousin’s wolf could have died, leaving him functionally human.
If Bjorn had more of this under his skin – if each raised bump contained a shard of moonrock placed there on the night of the full moon six months ago – then it was no wonder his wolf was in control.
Viggo laughed, the sound turning into a sob halfway through, and he cursed himself for what an idiot he’d been. He buried his face in the crook of his elbow, disgusted with himself.
Someone had attacked them – had weaponized one of their kind’s most sacred tools – and Viggo hadn’t even noticed.
A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and Viggo flinched at the love and trust conveyed by the simple touch. He didn’t deserve it.
Lowering his arm, Viggo opened his eyes to find Bjorn crouched down next to him, stroking his arm and looking worried. His wolf surged at the sight, fueled by rage at seeing the mate he’d failed to protect trying to comfort him, and before he knew what he was doing, he had Bjorn on the ground, his claws digging out every piece of moonrock he could find.
Bjorn lay on his back, frozen in shock, submitting to the brutal surgery without a sound of protest. He flinched and grunted in pain when Viggo’s claws accidentally slipped too deep, his skin slick with blood, and the sound brought Viggo back into the moment and in control of himself.
He looked down at his hands, soaked in blood and digging out a shard of moonrock from Bjorn’s thigh. Squeezing the shard out, he continued searching and digging out pieces, one eye on Bjorn’s expression to make sure he wasn’t being too rough.
“Bad?” Bjorn asked, nodding at the little pile of bloody pieces of moonrock on the ground next to them.
Viggo opened his mouth to answer, but he choked up and just nodded instead.
Bjorn let out a thoughtful hum, lifting up on his elbows and touching the pile, rolling the stones around in the dirt before pulling away with a shudder. He lay back down, lifting his arms up and resting his head in his hands.
“Should have told you?” he asked, looking up at the darkening sky, sounding very much like he already knew the answer.
“It would have been nice,” Viggo said, the words gruff and raspy.
“Sorry,” Bjorn mumbled, turning his head away from Viggo. Viggo stroked his shoulder, sliding his hand and squeezing the side of Bjorn’s neck.
“I’m not angry,” he said, telling the truth and lying at the same time. He was angry, furious and raging, but not at Bjorn.
If Bjorn challenged him and tried to take over the role of alpha of their pack after this, Viggo wouldn’t blame him.
His failure was too grave to go without consequence.
Sliding his hand down Bjorn’s side, tracing over rapidly healing puncture wounds and warm skin messy with sticky blood, Viggo felt for more pieces of moonrock. When he didn’t find any, he widened his search, squeezing and feeling his way up and down the length of Bjorn’s body. Every inch of Bjorn’s body was inspected, from the soles of his feet to the skin of his taint, Viggo leaving no stone unturned in his desperate need to make Bjorn better.
Viggo didn’t find any more bumps or irregularities, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop looking.
And what if there were pieces buried too deep to feel? Viggo would have to take Bjorn to get an X-ray – and a CT scan and an MRI as well, just to be sure he got every fragment.
Bjorn made a familiar grunting noise, one he only made when he was sleeping, prompting Viggo to stop his search and instead look at his husband’s face. His hands shook where they rested on Bjorn’s side.
“Bjorn?” he asked, his voice pitched low. “Are you sleeping?”
Bjorn didn’t reply, his eyes closed and his breathing deep and even. Viggo sat back on his heels, studying his husband for a solid twenty minutes, just watching him breathe and sleep.
Viggo couldn’t remember a time since he was fourteen that he’d spent this much time touching and looking at Bjorn’s body without getting an erection. It was almost comical how unaroused he was. He could scarcely remember the sensation from a few hours ago, when he was driving home and imagining how much fun he was going to have stuffing Sebastian’s hole with all his new toys.
Taking a deep breath, the hollow pit in his stomach making it difficult to fill his lungs, Viggo considered the facts. Bjorn had been under the influence of moonrock for half a year, Viggo hadn’t noticed, and now that the stones were removed, Bjorn was sleeping.
Worst case scenario, the prolonged exposure to moonrock had permanently changed the balance between Bjorn’s two halves, making his wolf dominant. Best case scenario, Bjorn would wake up and be his old self again.
There was nothing to do but wait.
