DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya
THE CALL OF THE WILD
WANDERLUST
TWO
NORTHERN CLANS
EIGHT WEEKS AGO
Who are you? Why are you here?" Mikkel demanded, gesturing with the axe toward Berwald. A growl rumbled in his throat.
But it wasn't the Alpha who replied.
"Please," said his fearful Omega-mate. "My name is Tino Väinämöinen. This is my Alpha-mate, Berwald, and my pup—our pup," he corrected, casting a tender glance at Berwald, "Peter. We know what you did. We saw you drag out Jens' body, but we're not going to tell anyone. We have no love for Jens Oxenstierna, believe me. We don't want to hurt you. We're no threat. We just want to go with you," he pleaded. "We need to get Peter away from the clan. He's in danger," he said, hugging the bundled newborn protectively.
"Danger?" Mikkel's eyes narrowed. "What kind of danger?"
Tino shook his head. "Not now—there's no time to explain. As soon as Jens' body is discovered, they'll come after you. You must be far away by then."
"And why should I believe you? You could be luring us into a trap," Mikkel accused.
A strangled sound escaped Tino; half-while, half-sob. It pulled at Mikkel's heart, he hated to see an Omega in distress, but he had his own family to protect, and he had always been weary of strangers. If Tino's story was false—
"My mate is not a liar," said Berwald suddenly, his voice deep and angry and insulted on Tino's behalf. His sea-blue eyes snared Mikkel ruthlessly, shaming the North-Westerner. They said: What kind of Alpha are you, to act so uncharitably to a pleading Omega-father with a newborn?
Mikkel felt the reprimand in the pit of his stomach. He glanced uncertainly at Bjørn for advice, but his mate's face was cryptic, focused yet faraway, like the way he looked when he was recording his tales. Andrias, Emil and Kujâk stood behind him, watching their sire with big, curious eyes, wondering what he would do. Mikkel felt the pressure of those innocent eyes more than anything.
I must protect them, he knew, for he had put them in unpredictable danger, but I must teach them, too, and what kind of example am I setting if I turn away those in need of my help?
"If we stay here," Berwald said bluntly, staring—glaring—at Mikkel, "my Alpha-pup will be killed."
"Please," Tino begged, tears in his eyes, "take us with you."
NORTH SEA
The first thing that Mikkel did was shove an oar into Berwald's hand. "Row," he ordered, sitting down on the opposite bench.
The second thing he did, once the sail had captured a strong westerly wind, pulling the knaar into the open-sea, was to take a piece of charcoal and draw a definable line across the deck.
"This is my side, that's your side," he said, pointing at Berwald. "Stay on your side."
Berwald's brow knit in displeasure. "Your side is bigger," he noted.
"My family is bigger," Mikkel replied caddishly. "Also, it's my boat, so fuck you. You're lucky I let you board it."
Berwald glared stonily at Mikkel, but didn't argue. Instead, he swallowed whatever retort he had wanted to make and retreated to the stern, where Tino sat quietly with Peter.
Mikkel returned to the bow, where Bjørn was standing, looking out at the brightening horizon. The pups lay asleep at his feet, huddled close together for warmth beneath a pile of wool blankets and furs. Mikkel looked tenderly down at them—my wee pufflings he called them—suddenly feeling a guilty weight settle upon his heart. He was sorry for the circumstance that had forced them from their home and everything they knew, but not sorry that he had done it. I've chosen a life of exile for my family, he knew, and all to save his own mortal skin that had committed an amoral crime, but nor did he believe he had made a mistake.
"For better or worse," Bjørn had told him, "this is our fate, now, Mick. Perhaps it always was."
Mikkel had never put faith in the gods. He attended the ceremonies, he partook in the rituals, and he wore the costumes and symbols of divine power, but he didn't really believe in it like Bjørn did. He had never entrusted his life path to a higher-power and had never truthfully thanked a god for his good fortune. Now, lost at sea with a fatal stoning behind him and an uncertain future ahead, he wished that he did believe, that he could blame his misfortune on fate instead of bearing the weight of it himself.
He sighed in resignation and threaded a hand through his thick, braided locks.
"He's not challenging you, Mick," said Bjørn quietly. His perceptive violet eyes slid from Mikkel to Berwald and back. "There's no need to dominate someone who's already surrendered."
Mikkel slouched against the bow and got a face full of sea-spray. "I don't like him," he said bluntly.
Bjørn waited a minute, then said: "I do."
His Alpha-mate grimaced. "What? Why?" he demanded, feeling instantly jealous.
It was petty of him, he knew, but he hated when his Omega-mate sided against him, especially when another Alpha was involved. It didn't happen often, but when it did Mikkel felt unjustly betrayed by Bjørn, who was not only his Omega-mate, the love of his life, but also his oldest and dearest friend. He knew it was foolish to think that after twenty-five years together, Bjørn might tire of him and leave. He had seen it happen before; he had watched couples fall out of love with each other, but that would never be he and Bjørn.
It wasn't as if they had never disagreed before, never argued or fought. Twenty-five years was a long time to spend with one person, and they were, admittedly, quite different people at their cores, but they balanced each other. They needed each other. They valued the same things—they loved nothing more than each other and their pups—and they were always united when needed. (Bjørn had stood by Mikkel when he had made some questionable decisions in the past, and had consequentially shared his shame without a word of complaint.) They had grown up together, had learnt how to be adults together, sharing their glories and mistakes alike. Frankly, neither one of them knew how to be with anyone else. They might bicker about the small things. Mikkel knew that would never change. But they would always agree on the big things, the things that mattered. Mikkel might have been the pack-leader and Bjørn only his dedicated Omega-mate, but in truth they were partners and always had been. Always will be.Mikkel would never make an important decision without consulting Bjørn, whose council he trusted more than anyone else. He knew that he wouldn't be able to lead without Bjørn—not well, anyway. He wouldn't be able to function without Bjørn. If ever he lost Bjørn, if ever something or someone took the Omega away from him...
Mikkel thought of Jens Oxenstierna and felt fury churn within him.
I don't trust him, he thought, glaring back at Berwald. He's a blood-relative of the Alpha who tried to hurt my mate, with our pups in the next chamber. What if Mikkel had failed to stop Jens from raping Bjørn? What if one of their pups had seen it and tried to intervene? Would Jens have killed him? Would he have killed Bjørn when the deed was done? Would that pup-of-a-bitch have murdered his entire family to keep them quiet? Berwald Oxenstierna has that monster's blood in his veins. I can smell it. He clenched his teeth; felt the bite of his canines. Every time he got a whiff of Berwald's scent he thought of Jens and re-lived the incident that was still too fresh to be mere memory. His fists curled as rage boiled inside of him. He could still feel the knife's handle, the way it had pierced the Alpha's squishy flesh, and the hot, slippery blood that spilled out, coating his hands. He could still feel the jerking weight of Jens' body as he pulled it off of Bjørn; the thump it made hitting the floor.
Berwald is not a friend, no matter how much he submits to my lead. He'll never be anything but a rival.
So why—why didn't Bjørn hate him as much as Mikkel did? Why had Bjørn allowed him to board the boat? Why hadn't the violated Omega spit and screamed and begged Mikkel to chase the offending Alpha off?
Mikkel didn't realize he was growling until Bjørn rested his head on his shoulder, quieting him. Even after twenty-five years, he still didn't like to be far from Bjørn. (His volatile temper was shorter without Bjørn nearby.) He preferred to keep his Omega-mate close, regardless of who's company they were in. The weight of the Omega's body beside him relaxed him, as did his scent, which was earthy—pine-needles and purple heather. Bjørn's hair was as soft as lamb's wool against his stubbled jaw, and his beauty made the Alpha smile. His long eyelashes looked silver in the pale light of breaking dawn, and when he sighed softly, a peaceful sound, his lips parted ever so slightly.
Mikkel wrapped an arm possessively around his Omega-mate, still anxious about the other Alpha on-board; still jealous, because Bjørn had not given him an answer.
"Bee—?" he insisted. He wanted to know why Bjørn wasn't afraid of Berwald. He had to know; the mystery would drive him mad, otherwise. "Why?" he repeated stubbornly.
Bjørn's lips upturned at the corners, so subtly no one else would have noticed. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling his Alpha-mate's scent, and simply said:
"I like him because he reminds me of you."
Peter's howl woke Bjørn at sunrise. It was a high-pitched wailing shriek bigger than a body so small should be able to make, and it didn't stop. He carried on, crying into midday, his voice sounding loud in the echoing silence of the sea. Tino rocked him, bounced him, and paced back-and-forth on his and Berwald's side of the deck, but the tiny pup was inconsolable. "Hush, hush," the Omega-father pleaded, looking wan in the unforgiving daylight. He handed the pup to Berwald, but the Alpha had even less success soothing him, and Peter continued to scream. Bjørn observed silently as he ladled porridge for his family's midday meal. Since the swaying of the boat put most young pups to sleep—his three included—and since Peter refused the goat's milk Tino tried to feed him, it didn't take much investigating for him to deduce that the newborn was hungry.
"I'm really sorry," said Tino, catching Bjørn's eye.
"It's fine," Mikkel replied, interjecting himself. He pointed to his brood. "They screamed bloody-murder for the first six months of their lives."
Emil paused, a chunk of porridge-soaked rye in hand, and gave his sire an indignant look. Mikkel smiled and patted his head.
"How old is he?" Bjørn asked Tino.
"Six months."
"You can't wean a pup overnight," Bjørn said, revealing a degree of knowledge begot by experience. "You do know that, right?"
"Well, I—I do now," Tino admitted, glancing sheepishly at Berwald. "But I can't feed him. The Omega who's been feeding Peter was a captive brought back from a raid. One of Berwald's warriors got him pregnant and decided to keep he and the pup. He brought them back from the Isles. That's where Peter was born. He's adopted," he added, confirming Bjørn's suspicion.
Mikkel's nose, sensitive to blood, had already discerned as much. At first, he had worried that he was helping a couple of kidnappers escape their clan. "He's not their pup, Bee. He doesn't smell like them," he had said, implying Peter. Bjørn had been weary at first, too, but his doubts were soon slain by the couple's shameless affection for each other and the pup they called their own. "Peter is no worse off," he had decided, and shrugged in disinterest.
It wasn't his place to nose into anyone else's business, after all. Not anymore. Mikkel was no longer the pack-leader and Bjørn no longer the pack-leader's mate, obliged to council his fellow Omegas. And for that he was secretly grateful. He had always had limited patience for incompetence, and had never been fond of solving other people's problems for them. He was, admittedly, rather uncharitable to those who refused to first help themselves. So as long as Peter was healthy and unhurt, Bjørn vowed not to get involved with the North-Eastern family. Even when Tino—the quintessential first-time parent—fussed and fretted over the crying newborn, Bjørn stayed calm; he stayed quiet; he stayed at a distance, forcing himself not to correct Tino unless Peter really needed it, even when Tino's clumsiness prodded at his maternal nature.
He's Tino's pup, not mine, he thought, fighting the habit of correcting everyone else's mistakes.
"That's precisely what Omega-mates and fathers do," his own dam had told him once. "We correct, we teach, we nurture, and we support. We are the quiet shadows that make the lights of our mates and pups shine ever brighter. Mikkel is brave and strong and will be a capable Clan Leader someday, but he needs you, Bjørn. By the gods, he needs you by his side. And so do your pups. The future of a clan is born in the High Omega's womb, and it is by his hand that they learn to lead."
Bjørn had been groomed to lead since his birth, told that he would be pair-bonded to a pack-leader someday, and become the Omega-father of jarls, like his parents and grandparents before him. The Thomassen clan of the far-north was a strong one, and Bjørn's bloodline was renowned for producing warriors of the highest caliber; Alphas who never failed to dominate in trials for leadership. His great-great-grandfather had founded the clan, but by the time his sire had claimed it, their numbers had dwindled and the overwhelming size of the powerful Densen clan had forced them into a swift surrender. It had been, all things considered, a rather peaceful conquest, and the Thomassen Clan Leader (Bjørn's Alpha-father) had soon filled the post of the Densen Clan Leader's vacant second-in-command. Thus, the Thomassen clan was adopted into the Densen clan without (much) bloodshed and Bjørn was born knowing that he would, in all likelihood, someday be pair-bonded to the Densen Clan Leader's Alpha-pup, Mikkel. Not that Bjørn had ever minded. There were much worse fates than being pair-bonded to your best friend. And even twenty-five years later, Mikkel was still the one he loved most.
"I trust you, Mick," he said as the knaar had cast off into the chilly North Sea. "I'll follow wherever you lead."
Now, however, Bjørn felt the bite of regret. It wasn't the bile of a bad decision, nor bitterness for Mikkel, but the queasy insecurity of an uncertain future and regret for everything they had lost. If they had stayed—if they could have stayed—Mikkel would have been the next Densen Clan Leader, and then, gods' willing, Andrias after him. Bjørn and Mikkel's family already represented the unity of two old bloodlines; together, they would have been the beginning of a powerful new dynasty that would have echoed throughout history. But now, that would never be. And it irked him fiercely how quickly a single, horrible event had uprooted his family and changed the course of all of their fates. Now, Bjørn would never be remembered as the Omega-father of jarls, but as the Omega-mate of a murderer. His name, and Mikkel's name, and all three of their pups' names would be scratched from the record, leaving not a legacy of strength and leadership for their old-blooded family, but one of desertion and cowardice.
The future of a clan is born in the High Omega's womb, his dam had said, casting forth stones and bones to portend the future. As a shaman of the Old Religion, he had never been wrong.
Well, there's a first time for everything. You were wrong about me, Papa. My pups will never be jarls. But at least they're alive and safe.
He took a deep, cleansing breath. If there was one thing Bjørn had learnt young, it was how to internalize all of his emotions so that his face and body-language always maintained its serene composure. It was—much to Mikkel's dissatisfaction—a trait that Emil had inherited, too.
"I think your pup's hungry," said Kujâk offhandedly, licking his fingers. He offered his bowl to Tino. "He can share my porridge."
Tino looked like he might burst into tears, so Bjørn intervened:
"Peter can't eat porridge, Kujâk. He's too young for it. But you're not," he said tactfully. "Eat it up or you'll be hungry later, and supper isn't until sunset."
"You won't grow into a big, strong Alpha if you don't eat," Mikkel added in mock-reprimand.
For a moment, Tino watched the three pups tuck into their meals, Peter still whining unhappily in his arms. He looked sad. A bit pathetic, Bjørn thought—not as if Tino had given up, but like he was cornered and couldn't find a way out.
"I'm sorry," he repeated quietly. "I just... I don't know what to do. I'm doing everything I can, but nothing is right. Berwald and I wanted a pup for so long, but now I... I can't even take care of him right. I thought the goat's milk would be okay, but he won't take it, and I..." He pursed his lips, his forehead wrinkled in worry. Bjørn detected fatigue and frustration in Tino's feeble voice. It was nothing atypical for a new Omega-father he wanted to say, but Tino's cry was desperate. "I can't even feed my own pup," he said sadly.
Well, that's as good a plea as any, Bjørn supposed.
"Maybe I can feed him," he said, taking pity on the helpless Omega-father.
Tino blinked in astonishment. "You're pregnant?" he asked. Berwald, too, looked hopeful.
"No. But I was a fortnight ago," Bjørn admitted. "I carried a pup for twenty-five weeks, but I lost him. I had a fall. It was an accident," he said, his words stunted, refusing to look at Mikkel when he spoke. Mikkel, who had been heartbroken by the tragic news.
Tino's eyes were sympathetic. "I'm sorry—"
Bjørn shook his head, dismissing it. He didn't want to linger on the unhappy loss, so he redirected the focus to Peter. "My body was already producing milk. If I can trick it into doing so again, I might be able to feed him." As he spoke, he slipped his hand into his coat, beneath his layers, and felt the subtle convexity of his still swollen chest. He pressed with his fingers, massaging himself to stimulate the flow of milk like a pup's suckling would do.
"Will it really work?" Tino asked eagerly.
"It might take a while, but it's worth trying. Peter needs to eat," said Bjørn, matter-of-fact.
It was then that he caught Mikkel's leering eye, and added: "What?"
"Nothing." The Alpha shrugged and failed to feign disinterest.
"Oh gods, Mick, is this really turning you on?"
"Yes," Mikkel hung his head shamefully.
Bjørn rolled his eyes and pointed with his free hand to the opposite side of the boat. "Go sit over there."
An amused snort followed Mikkel's retreat, and only when Bjørn had looked between his hungry, quiet pups, dismissing them as culprits, did he realize it had come from Tino, who was now smiling.
Eventually, Bjørn extended his arms for Peter and then cradled the starving Alpha-pup while he fed. Tino felt a flood of relief, closely followed by envy as he watched the other Omega do what he could not, closely followed by guilt and then gratitude. At first, he worried that Bjørn's heart was still too raw from his recent loss to feed Peter—he looked raw as he adjusted the pup's weight, his eyes stony, yet sad; though he was hard to read—but he soon relaxed into the familiar embrace of an Omega-father and pup, cradling Peter with ease.
He knows what he's doing a lot better than I do, Tino thought, jealous once more. Then he looked at Mikkel and Bjørn's three energetic pups and decided that the other Omega had simply had more practice.
Once, he and Berwald had dreamt of having a whole house full of pups together, but time had crippled that dream, leaving Tino barren month after month for years since he and Berwald had been pair-bonded. Neither of them had wanted to acknowledge it—that Tino couldn't conceive—but both of them privately knew it was hopeless to hope for something that would never be. It had been a hard thing for Tino to accept, but eventually he did. What choice did he have? "I will give you a pup, my love. I swear I will," Berwald told him over-and-over again, until his words began to hurt more than they healed. But Tino shouldn't have doubted his faithful Alpha-mate, because he had kept his vow, and a month ago had presented Tino with the small, squirming bundle that was Peter. Now, Peter was their dream.
Tino reached down and affectionately stroked his pup's head, wanting to touch him despite his proximity to Bjørn, who didn't appear to care. (Bjørn kept his face turned away.)
I love you, he thought to Peter, hoping that the pup knew; hoping that he could sense it in Tino's touch. Even though I'm not the one feeding you; even though I didn't give birth to you; even though I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, I love you, Peter. You're my precious little miracle and I love you.
After a brief argument regarding Tino's well-being—"sleep while he's feeding, otherwise you'll be dead-on-your-feet and no use to anyone," Mikkel said knowingly—he left Peter in Bjørn's capable care and balefully retreated to Berwald's side. There, he collapsed like an exhausted toddler, too tired to lift even a finger for himself. He trusted Berwald to keep an eye on the North-Westerners, and let the Alpha manipulate him into a one-armed embrace, his head resting heavily upon Berwald's warm chest, and exhaled the blissful sigh of someone about to sleep for the first time in days.
"Bjørn's miscarriage," Berwald said, just as Tino was drifting off. He sounded troubled, his voice lowered for privacy.
Tino forced his eyes open, checking to make sure Bjørn was preoccupied with Peter before saying: "I know."
Berwald's jaw tightened. "A fortnight ago is when Jens' ship arrived. It's when he saw Bjørn for the first time; when he decided he wanted him, but he didn't want him pregnant," he guessed darkly. "Jens would never mate an Omega pregnant with another Alpha's pup. Bjørn's fall was no accident. It might have looked like an accident, but it wasn't. It was Jens—"
"I know," Tino repeated, a harsh whispered warning. "But for gods' sake, don't tell them that."
"They deserve to know," Berwald argued, looking across the deck at Mikkel and Bjørn.
Berwald detested secrets; they were no better than lies, he believed. He's too honest for his own good, Tino thought, trying—and failing—to find fault with his Alpha-mate's honourable nature. He loved Berwald's honesty—he trusted it implicitly—but the Alpha's blunt tongue was known to hurt (or insult) others without intention.
When Tino didn't reply, Berwald repeated: "They deserve to know the truth."
"The truth? That a rival clan-member murdered their unborn pup so that he could rape Bjørn—?" Tino shook his head. "No one deserves that knowledge. It's kinder to let them think it was an accident."
Berwald sighed in reluctant agreement, still looking across the deck. Even though he didn't like Mikkel and, as an Alpha, felt threatened by him, he seemed to understand that Mikkel's family were not exiles by choice, like he and Tino were. He seemed to understand that everything had been taken from them by the arrival of his clan to their homeland, and because of that—because of his cousin, Jens—they would never see their home again. He didn't like Mikkel, but at least Berwald seemed to understand the Alpha's position.
But just in case he didn't, Tino thought. Just in case Berwald felt honour-bound to tell the truth in future and inadvertently caused their hosts to relive unimaginable heartbreak, he squeezed the Alpha's big hand, and said rather sternly:
"Leave it be, dear. They've already suffered enough."
You okay?" Mikkel asked, crouching at Bjørn's side.
He rested his elbows on his knees and cocked his head, annoyed when his long, tangled hair flopped into his face. (He would ask Bjørn to brush and re-braid it later, when the Omega didn't look so depressed.)
Andrias and Emil had abandoned the hnefatafl board and were now playing a game of kubb across the deck, careful not to pitch the pieces overboard, and Kujâk was napping in a nest of fur beneath the sail, the sun dappling his rosy cheeks. (Rosy, or sunburnt—? he worried briefly.)
Bjørn was staring vacantly at the horizon, holding Peter snug against his chest as the pup fed.
To anyone else, he probably looked content, his fair face as concealed as ever, but Mikkel saw the grief in his eyes and heard the strain in his voice:
"It should be our pup, Mick."
The words pierced Mikkel's heart. "I know," he said gently.
Bjørn swallowed and instinctively hugged Peter closer. "I'm sorry—"
"No." Mikkel dropped to his knees and cupped the Omega's face in both hands, turning his head. He made Bjørn look at him. "It wasn't your fault."
Bjørn's pale eyes glassed over before he blinked the tears away. "I feel so fucking stupid," he admitted. "After everything that's happened to us, I'm crying over something I lost a fortnight ago, all because of..." He indicated Peter.
"Bee," Mikkel said seriously, lowering his hand to Bjørn's shoulder and squeezing. "You're allowed to feel sad about it. I'm sad," he confessed shamelessly. "I'm really fucking sad. And fucking angry with myself, because it's my fault. I wasn't there to protect you. Gods, I'm never fucking there—"
Bjørn placed a finger over Mikkel's lips to silence him. "If I can't take the blame for it, then you can't either," he said.
Mikkel deflated. "Deal," he agreed. "But I am sorry, for both of us—all of us," he added, knowing how excited his pups had been, too.
He sat down beside Bjørn, wrapped his arm around him, and tried not to remember how it had felt to hold his Omega-mate in their bed in the longhouse, a pup feeding at his chest, and two more curled like wolf-cubs against his side. Mikkel had been so pleased by Bjørn's fourth pregnancy that he had told everyone about it, despite Bjørn's advice that they wait. He had been so proud of himself and his family. And he had gotten their pups excited about the new addition, as well, too certain that nothing would go wrong for them; too certain that he could protect them from anything.
The day Bjørn miscarried, Mikkel had been with the other pack-leaders welcoming the Oxenstierna family to the clan. He had been aboard the North-Easterner's boat, talking with the Clan Leader; Bjørn had been on the pier with the other Omegas, greeting their guests as they disembarked. It had been loud and crowded and boisterous, but Mikkel would never forget the shriek that broke the din. It wasn't Bjørn, but another Omega who screamed as Bjørn fell off the pier onto the rocks. Bjørn hadn't made a sound. His face had revealed shock, then fear as he tumbled back, wrapping his arms around his middle before falling out of Mikkel's sight. The Alpha had re-lived that moment every night in his nightmares: the moment when Bjørn's terrified eyes met his, as if he already knew what fate awaited their unborn pup.
They wouldn't let him in to see Bjørn afterward. A stubborn Omega matron guarded the sickroom door and told Mikkel he had to wait while they tended to Bjørn. He had thought the waiting was the worst part, the horrible not knowing what was happening to his Omega-mate and pup, but it wasn't. The worst part was finally being allowed in and seeing the look on Bjørn's face. At first he looked entranced, like his mind was somewhere else, his eyes open but unseeing. Then, when they were finally left alone together, his gaze shifted slowly to Mikkel's and his violet eyes filled with tears. The worst part was seeing his Omega-mate break down and sob in despair, clutching the Alpha so tightly that his fingernails left crescents in Mikkel's skin, and knowing that their little pup was dead. He had never see Bjørn cry like that before. And it hurt him. It hurt him bad.
Mikkel rested his head on Bjørn's shoulder, now, and tried not to think of it. Gently, he rubbed the Omega's back, his body still bruised from the rocks.
I'm sorry, he thought, despite their deal not to place blame. I'm so, so sorry.
After a while, it was Bjørn who finally spoke:
"I want another pup, Mick."
"Me, too," he said without hesitance. "How long?"
How long until your body is healed enough to conceive again? How long until you go into Heat?
"I don't know. Another fortnight, I think."
Mikkel kissed Bjørn's neck. "Then in a fortnight I'll put a pup in your belly."
He felt Bjørn swallow. "Promise?" his Omega-mate asked.
"I promise."
"It won't be a replacement," Bjørn said, quiet but fierce.
"No," Mikkel agreed. And he smiled. "It'll be an Islander."
