Eivind gave him a stiff "yeah" but refused to take his hand, leaving Stellan to simply stand there awkwardly before shrugging his shoulders and shoving his offered palm deep into the front pocket of his jeans. Stellan didn't want to assume anything too negative about the other wolf, though his attitude was less than enjoyable. Sure, the man hated Lofgren. That was believable. Stellan himself wasn't the biggest fan, but to bear such hatred for a member of his pack without even knowing his name seemed extreme. It was possible there was more going on beneath the surface Stellan wasn't privy to: the fresh hole in Eivind's leg, his hunger, adjusting to life with his sweet but ultimately defenseless young mate, all of it potentially added up to a very tightly wound wolf, and Stellan reminded himself to remain cognizant of that, though the top corner of his lip twitched ever so slightly at Eivind's not-so-subtle rejection.<br/><br/>Stellan's eyes focused in on Eivind's stiff, but ultimately exhausted form, examining that leg again. Were something to happen, he'd be smart to take out the injured limb first.<br/><br/>Sig was calling to him, directing him to the kitchen. Stellan didn't mind having an excuse to remove himself from the living room area, quickly nodding to Blue. "'Scuse me."<br/><br/>The small wolf looked good in the kitchen. Truthfully, Stellan was coming to think Sig looked good<i>anywhere</i>, and he sidled up behind the accented wolf quite comfortably, grabbing his small waist with his large hands and pulling him close. He tried to nibble at Sig but instead was instructed to cut up meat and potatoes, not that he minded. Stellan much preferred making himself useful as opposed to standing around awkwardly, watching.<br/><br/>Sig's instructions to not tell Lofgren where he had been were taken with a slow nod. "All right. I'm sure I can come up with some convincing cover." Not that he would really need to. Stellan would most likely still smell very much of Sig by the time he came home. Having minimal contact with Blue and none with Eivind, their scents wouldn't stick to him after just an evening.<br/><br/>The food was set up in the living room where Eivind and Blue still sat, the latter wrapped around his ill-tempered mate. He briefly wondered how such a seemingly nice boy could tolerate a man who practically breathed aggression, but once again reminded himself not to make assumptions. Maybe Eivind wasn't like that with Blue.<br/><br/>"Sig, this smells awesome," Blue complimented, waving away Sig's offer for beer. "Eivind isn't supposed to drink alcohol with his antibiotics. Anything else is fine." Eivind was into his food more quickly than anyone else, but Blue didn't mind. The wolf needed to eat, and the meat would do his body (and mood, hopefully) some good.<br/><br/>Even Blue was surprised at how well Eivind took the news of his truck being tampered with, but they had gotten the truck all the way back to pack territory without issues. He imagined when he received the opportunity, Eivind might look the engine over to check Stellan's work, but for now he was focused on other things. Blue took big bites of his food, enjoying the juicy, flavorful tenderloin and the seasoned onions and potatoes.<br/><br/>Sig seemed on intent on getting the two bigger wolves to like one another, or perhaps just tolerate each other. Stellan kept his lips occupied with Sig's meal, feeling warmth grow in his belly from the delicious food. It had been a very long time since he had enjoyed home-cooked anything, and even when he did it was only because William Tate's wife, Yvette, would stop by with leftovers whenever she heard Stellan was back and working in the garage.<br/><br/>Eivind's questioning was intrusive, but not unexpected. Stellan swallowed down a particularly tender chunk of meat before answering, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "You got a better memory than me, then," Stellan began, looking up into Eivind's hard face. "My nose remembers better than my eyes, usually. I don't recall seeing you, but something about you does seem kinda familiar. As far as Lofgren is concerned, let's just say I'm not really a good wolf. Not one for pack life. I prefer going off on my own instead of being tied down to any one area or group. I go back to Lofgren every few months out of familial obligation, but I don't really enjoy it. He isn't the most accommodating to wolves who don't like following orders."<br/><br/>Another bite. Stellan's brows knit together as he continued to stare. Eivind had seen him before... where had he seen Eivind? When? Stellan hadn't been around in nearly six months. Must have been even longer than that as Stellan couldn't even recall the last time he had run with any of his pack mates. Alden, Colten, that sniveling runt Garlan. Stellan preferred to run with the old dog, Jamsen, if given the opportunity, but it had been a while since Jamsen had wanted to try to keep up with a younger wolf.<br/><br/>Eivind's pack was far enough away from Lofgren's, a good and clear separation of territory, but close enough that if he left now Stellan would be able to arrive back on his home turf within a few hours. What pack was so close? The only one that came to mind was--fuck, what was his name? Sieger? That was it. Sieger. Been ten years since Sieger took control of the pack, Stellan should have remembered better, especially with the unusual circumstances with Sieger taking over from the true alpha, the one that ran away. What a clusterfuck that had been. He recalled being about nineteen or twenty, hearing whispers of the chaos happening just a pack down, of the dead alpha and his absentee son...<br/><br/>A pack with two alphas?<br/><br/>"Are you... are you Ivar's boy?" Stellan asked suddenly, his nostrils flaring with interest.