“I did,” Sebastian said, flustered and out of sorts. Fumbling for the ten-dollar bill he knew was somewhere in his pocket, he watched as Viggo climbed into his car and pulled out of the driveway, the tinted windows hiding him from view as he disappeared down the street.
16
BJORN
Bjorn stood ankle-deep in the water of the lake where he’d taken Sebastian, his jeans rolled up and his arms crossed over his chest as he looked out over the water and considered his next step.
His investigation into their attacker’s identity and motives had started out promising – he’d found both the attacker’s body and his car within hours of Viggo heading off to work – but those had told him very little, and now he didn’t know what to do.
The body had been easy. Since it had been winter when he buried it and his wolf hadn’t bothered digging a particularly deep hole, he’d just had to brush off a shallow top layer of dirt to expose it.
His wolf, rousing from its sleep just long enough to see the body for itself, had radiated satisfaction.
“You could have kept him alive,” Bjorn had muttered. “It would have been nice to question the fucker.”
Bjorn’s wolf had been remorseless. As far as it was concerned, killing the intruder had been the right and only choice.
When he’d searched the body, Bjorn hadn’t found much. The attacker had been dressed in a white camouflage parka, green hiking boots, and sturdy jeans, and the only thing in any of his pockets had been a prepaid cell phone.
The phone was severely damaged, but Bjorn had sent the serial number to his old colleagues at the police department to see what they could make of it.
All they’d come back with was that it had been purchased at a Walmart store. To find anything more, they’d need a warrant, and Bjorn wasn’t going to expose him and Viggo to that kind of scrutiny.
His investigation had to be off the books.
The attacker’s car had proved similarly useless. He’d found it parked a few miles away from the border of their territory, hidden away on the shoulder of an abandoned mining road that hadn’t been in use since the sixties, the keys still in the ignition and bottle of soda on the passenger side seat.
The beat-up Honda Civic was scratched to hell and back, sporting massive dents all along the body, and when Bjorn’s friends on the force had run the plates, they’d found that it was registered to a cranky old woman in Arizona who, when he called her, told him that she’d sold it to aneat young manfor six-hundred dollars cash.
Kicking his feet in the water, the setting sun getting in his eyes, Bjorn wrinkled his lip in dissatisfaction. He’d dusted for prints and found plenty, but when he’d had his buddies run them, they had come up blank.
Whoever their attacker was, he didn’t have a criminal record, and with no missing person reports matching his description being lodged around the time of his death, Bjorn was at a loss for how to proceed.
He hadnothing.
Furious at himself for failing so spectacularly when he knew that Viggo was counting on him, Bjorn marched out of the water and put on his socks and shoes. He sat down on the bank of the lake, glowering at the water.
The lake reminded Bjorn of Sebastian, hitting him with another pang of guilt. He kept flashing back to all the time he’d manhandled the poor boy – picking him up and treating him like a lap dog when it clearly made him uncomfortable – embarrassed and turned on in equal measure.
His wolf hadn’t appreciated the sensation of his rock-hard cock digging into Sebastian’s back, the boy held tight in his lap and unable to move as Bjorn nuzzled into his hair, but Bjorn certainly could.
If Sebastian were here with him now, Bjorn imagined laying him down in the grass and crawling on top of him, grinding down on his smaller form until they were both spilling into the space between them.
Bjorn wanted to sit the boy on his lap, impaling him on his cock while he crushed his head into his pecs and rutted into him, feeling his hands scrambling for purchase as he struggled to take every inch of his massive cock.
His imagination running away with him, Bjorn stretched out his legs and fished out his cock with self-recriminating exasperation. He jerked himself to completion in just a few seconds – his mind looped in a fervid daydream of Sebastian bouncing helplessly on his cock.
It was his third time masturbating in less than twelve hours, and he still didn’t feel satisfied.
He was a mess.
Tucking his cock back into his jeans, Bjorn pushed to his feet and stared out over the water. The fact was, he admitted reluctantly to himself, that if he wanted to get anywhere with his investigation, he was going to need help – either from the police or the council – and in order to get that, he needed Viggo’s permission.
Considering how unlikely Viggo was to agree to outside interference, Bjorn knew that it would be nearly impossible to figure out who had attacked them or why.
In other words, he’d failed straight out of the gate.
* * *
