He woke up in a bed that definitely didn’t belong to him. For one, it was too firm. For another, it was just too clean-smelling, like laundry detergent.

What did I get myself into?

He couldn’t remember just yet, couldn’t quite recall exactly what had happened last night to make him feel so sore. His brains seemed to be pulsating in his head, echoing his heartbeat. His eyes were sticky clumps of pain, his eyelashes glued to his eyelids by the crusty remnants of sleep. The taste of something foul lingered in his mouth, and he tried to focus on that, since it was the least of his pains, trying to gather his scattered thoughts.

The more awake and aware he became, the more he seemed to hurt because his body was waking up as well. His throat ached and his wrists were sore, like he’d been sleeping awkwardly.

But that wasn’t it, was it? No, there was a different reason, a thought lingering behind the pain that would tell him everything about this situation he seemed to have gotten himself into. He’d been drinking, that much was clear. Drank too much, which wasn’t all that hard because he was a lightweight. Normally he stuck to soda cocktails or beer but last night he’d had…what…a margarita? Because it had been a special. On a menu board. At a gay rave bar.

Just like that, it all came flooding back to him.

Gasping, Irwin sat up. Too fast. The world tilted, his skull felt like it was about to crack, and his brains just might ooze out like a broken egg yolk. “Fuck,” he grunted, gripping his head to keep everything right where it belonged. Even with his eyes closed, he could tell that the world was spinning and spinning without any end in sight.

The lion attack. Being misled by Kip. Being rescued by a man who moved like he belonged in a martial arts film, one which was a bit generous with the special effects.

Holding his brains in with his hands, he had to wonder if he’d been drugged. How much of what he’d seen was real, and how much was just the result of a bad trip?

He had no idea how long it took, but eventually he felt confident enough in his own body to be able to let go of his head. The world tilted again, then painfully righted itself. Without opening his eyes, moving as little as possible, he tried to take stock of himself. It didn’t feel like he’d been hurt that badly, aside from the little aches and pains all centered around his head. He imagined if he’d been raped, he’d be hurt a whole hell of a lot worse. Even if he’d only had normal sex, he’d be able to tell that his virginity was gone. Right?

Which led him to the question of where exactly he was.

Irwin opened his eyes.

The light that flooded in, ramming like cruel fingers into his eye sockets, was more than he could bear in silence. A soft yelp burst from between his lips. Grabbing at his head again, he slammed his eyelids shut once more.

Fuck that. No way was he doing that again. No fucking way. Screw figuring out where he was. Anything would be preferable to that assault on his senses.

The voice that spoke to him was so utterly quiet he had to wonder if he’d heard it at all.

“Sorry,” someone else in the room whispered. Their voice was like the sighing of the wind. “All the lights are off. Curtains are drawn. You just have to adjust.”

Irwin wanted to ask this mysterious voice how a person adjusted to having their eyes torn out of their face with an ice cream scoop—since that was what it felt like—but his mouth wasn’t exactly a fan of the whole talking thing right now. His lips were gummed up with the same mysterious substance lining his eyelids, and his tongue was a fat blob of useless putty.

Thankfully, the owner of the voice seemed to understand this. “Just take your time, okay?”

Oh, no way was he going to argue with that.

When most of the pain from his last attempt had faded, Irwin tried again. By keeping his hands over his eyes, he discovered he could slowly spread his fingers to adjust the amount of light to a level that was bearable. Once again, there was no telling how long this process took except that it felt like an eternity.

Once he judged his eyes to be about as open as they were going to get, Irwin removed his hands and looked around the room he was in.

It was a hotel room. Not exactly five stars but nice enough, he supposed. The walls and floor were nondescript, as they were wont to be, and the same went for the covers on the large bed he was currently tucked into. A stubby hallway led past a tiny kitchen counter where a coffee pot crouched, polished and new and yet somehow seeming neglected. He assumed the bathroom door was just opposite the counter, because the only other thing he could see in that direction was the door.

Where had the voice come from?

Irwin shifted his focus back to the main part of the room, where he was. Now he noticed the typical dresser and oversized flat-screen TV, and pressed into the corner was an uncomfortable-looking armchair and a boring floor lamp.

Sitting in the armchair, looking somehow much too calm, was a man with very long dark hair that had been pulled back into some sort of half-assed manly ponytail. The effortless look somehow worked for him, helping to define the fine lines of his face. High, proud cheekbones, a pointed chin, elegant jawline. In essence, he had the face of a prince. A thin, well-kept anchor beard further helped to enunciate his features, and his upper lip sported a polite strip of moustache. These patches of hair were mainly dark, but also flecked with gray.

But it was his eyes that really held Irwin’s notice, because they were the shade of caramel and looked much too sweet in such a handsome face.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” the man said softly. He leaned forward a little, letting his hands rest on his knees. They were enormous hands, callused and weathered and sprinkled with black hairs. “Do you remember me?”

Dark hair. Black wolf. Eyes like spotlights.

Irwin blinked, pushing away some of the dread that came with the memories. He was here. All the bad stuff was over. “You’re Dogwood.”

He couldn’t smell too much because his nose was plugged up with dried snot, but he very much wanted to have that sense so he could figure something out. The wolf who defended him last night was very much an alpha, ferocious and dominant and powerful, but this man was more slender than any alpha he had ever seen. His shoulders were broad enough and he certainly wasn’t lacking in muscle, but his strength seemed willowy, whiplike, rather than an unstoppable brute force.

“Dagwood,” the man corrected gently. “And yes. That’s right. What else do you remember?”

Irwin hesitated, then shrugged. Shrugging made him feel like he was about to fall over and he resolved never to do it again. “Not much. You saved me. Did I…I passed out? And you brought me to a hotel room?”

“I did,” Dagwood confirmed.

Great.

He’d wandered out of the grips of a horny lion pride and into the grasp of a wolf with intentions probably even less pure.

“But,” Dagwood continued, “only after I took you to the hospital. You don’t remember?”

If he really pushed at his memories, he thought he could pick up on some vague impressions of a sharp, sterile scent, like alcohol or bleach. A whole lot of white. Voices that seemed to be speaking another language. But, that was all.

Irwin shook his head. “No.”

“They examined you. You were conscious, but you seemed pretty wasted, except your blood alcohol level wasn’t all that high.” Dagwood shrugged. This information was unimportant to him, and he was only passing it along for the sake of telling the whole tale. At least, that was the impression Irwin got. “No injuries otherwise, and they didn’t want to keep you since you hadn’t hurt your head or anything. So, I brought you here to keep an eye on you.”

“Why didn’t you take me home? My ID…”

“Too far of a drive. I wanted to get you somewhere where you could spend the night as soon as possible. So, you’re here in my hotel room. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

Dagwood nodded sympathetically. His gaze seemed gentler than it should have, as if they were more than just simply strangers. Irwin wasn’t sure if he should be wary of that intense bit of emotion or if he should shove it off to the side as just being regular concern for someone the alpha considered to be in need of protection. Alpha shifters were like that a lot, Irwin had noticed, and it was damn annoying. Some people were capable of taking care of themselves without an alpha tagging along every minute of every day.

“You’re probably going to feel shitty for a few more hours. Last night was rough for you. Do you want to talk about it?”

Since nothing had actually happened, Irwin just shook his head.

“All right. So, what’s your name?”

“Irwin.”

Dagwood repeated, “Irwin.” The sound of it on his tongue was a little unnerving, given too much deliberation and attention. “That’s a…nice name. A little old-fashioned.”

“If you think I’m old-fashioned, what the hell is Dogwood? Ancient?”

A slight smile spread across Dagwood’s lips. The grin seemed almost too charming to be real, adding yet another layer to his unreal beauty. “Dagwood. With an A. My parents thought it would be a strong name. Listen, do you want anything? Water?”

The thought of a drink actually raised his spirit a few notches. He felt it happen and couldn’t decide whether it was funny or pathetic. “Water,” he confirmed.

Dagwood nodded. “Stay there.”

Trust me, I’m not moving.

Dagwood stood up from the chair and moved off towards the kitchen with a level of grace that seemed downright unfair. He seemed not to move through the air but instead to flow with it, as if his life was simply part of a dance he knew well.

The water he brought back to Irwin was nothing special: lukewarm liquid in a plastic cup, a few ice cubes suspended and melting within. But the taste was something he would never forget, even though he had no words to describe the euphoria that came over him with every rapid swallow. Every part of him cried out for the water, his body struggling to get it all as fast as possible.

He drank eight more cups before finally feeling sated, his pace considerably slowed. Nursing the tenth cup, he looked at Dagwood out of the corner of his eye. The wolf looked back at him, his expression open and clear.

“Yes?” Dagwood prompted.

“Where did you learn to fight like that? And…what even was that, anyway?”

Dagwood laughed a little. “Karate. I’m a first-degree black belt. Took lessons when I was a kid and never stopped.”

Irwin shook his head. He couldn’t believe that he’d been right, that it was martial arts. No response seemed appropriate so he just settled for a bland, “Wow.”

That small declaration of admiration seemed like more than enough for Dagwood, however. He was practically beaming. “Of course, they don’t teach you how to incorporate shifting into it. That’s part of my own personal style.”

“Wow,” Irwin repeated. He shook his head and couldn’t seem to stop for a moment. The only way he could was by chasing his lips around with the rim of his cup, taking a tiny sip of water. It was at this point that he wondered exactly how much a person could take before they went crazy. Supposing that there was a limit, he felt dangerously close to it.

Silence fell between them, which he didn’t particularly like. On the other hand, Dagwood didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Hell, Dagwood didn’t seem like the kind of person who would be bothered by much, if anything.

Irwin looked over towards the nightstand beside the bed. The sight of the alarm clock was a heavy blow to his sense of the world. All in all, he expected the process of passing out and waking up here had been only a couple hours. Instead, the clock told him it was 8 a.m.

“You were out for a long while,” Dagwood said helpfully. “Is there anyplace you need to be? Anyone you need to let know where you are?”

“No.”

“No pack?”

Irwin snorted a little, letting that be his response. While he was technically part of a pack, he wasn’t inclined to think of himself as such. He didn’t go to meetings, didn’t really talk to anyone else in the pack. Yet, despite that, he’d probably jump in to help one of them at the drop of a hat and knew they would do the same for him. That was what it meant to be in a pack. You helped your companions. It was just the right thing to do.

“What about a job? Any boss to call?”

“I just got fired.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Irwin shrugged. “It’s okay.”

Dagwood leaned forward even a little more now, his interest palpable. “Is that why you were out drinking?”

He didn’t answer. That really wasn’t this stranger’s business. Besides, wasn’t it about time that he left this room? This awkward conversation with his rescuer was nice and all, but he just wanted to go home now.

“Are you hungry?” Dagwood asked.

“I think I should go,” Irwin blurted out. Dread started to fill his stomach, and he swung his legs around out of bed. Standing up was difficult, but he managed it, and holding onto the wall helped. “Listen, this has been…nice, but I want to go home. Okay? Bye.”

“Stop.”

If the other wolf had shouted, Irwin wouldn’t have listened. However, this wasn’t a shout but rather a quiet request with a bit of desperation edging it. As a result, Irwin stopped even though he didn’t feel good about that decision.

“I get that you’re nervous,” Dagwood said softly. “But if I wanted to do something to you, I would have done it already while you were out. I slept in this chair all night just so you could have the bed. I haven’t touched you except to move you here. You don’t need to be afraid, Irwin.”

There it was again, that inordinate amount of tenderness in Dagwood’s voice. Everything else he said had been acceptable, even logical, but it was the way in which his name was being spoken that didn’t sit right with him.

Irwin turned back to look at Dagwood’s earnest, shining eyes. He kept himself at the ready, prepared to leap away at a moment’s notice if things felt like they were going to go south. “Why,” he asked, “do you keep saying my name like that? It’s kind of weird, Dagwood.”

Dagwood looked honestly puzzled, then slightly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…I mean…”

Irwin watched with some fascination as this poised gentleman faltered and struggled for words for the first time since they had been speaking. He thought back on the sudden depth of emotion he had seen in Dagwood’s eyes before, there and then gone so fast it might have been nothing at all. What was going on here?

“Please sit down, Irwin. I’ll be honest with you. Then you can decide whether or not you want to leave.”

This had all taken a cryptic turn, and he didn’t like it very much. Dagwood was speaking as if they had more of a connection than they actually did, which seemed to him like he might be dealing with a creepy stalker. That made more sense, was unfortunately more logical than the idea that he was randomly saved by someone at exactly the right moment when he needed them. In fact, this whole thing might have just been a fabrication by Dagwood to get what he wanted.

Irwin braced to run away, his heart pounding so rapidly in his chest that it felt like a hummingbird. “You’re being weird. I think I need to leave.”

“Please hear me out.”

Dagwood still hadn’t moved. Irwin didn’t know whether to take this as a threat or not. Dagwood might be trying his hardest to convince him of something so they could have an important conversation, but he might also be luring Irwin into a false sense of security.

Knowing that he was nothing before this man, Irwin nevertheless bared his lupine fangs at the other man. “So get to talking.”

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Good for you. I’ve got no idea who you are, man.”

Dagwood nodded earnestly, as if what Irwin just said proved some sort of very important point. “I didn’t know who you were either. Not until I saw you last night at the bar. I thought that I recognized you but I didn’t know, so I followed you outside when you went with that lion. And it’s a damn good thing I did.”

No arguing with that. But still. “Why did you recognize me? Where did you see me before?” Clearly Dagwood didn’t live here in the city normally, since he’d taken Irwin to a hotel room rather than his home.

“It’s going to sound like bullshit.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t say it at all. I’m done here.” He turned to go, fully intending to leave.

A quick thump followed by heavy scraping sounds told him that the other wolf had quickly gotten up from his chair, though he made no real forward movement. “In a well!” Dagwood said, desperately. “I saw you in a well.”

Out of everything else the other man had said, this was the one that gave him pause and that was exactly because it did sound like bullshit. This otherwise well-spoken, dashing man had resorted to spitting nonsense when he could have used a thousand other reasons and had a better result. Either he was delusional or he meant exactly what he said.

Irwin turned back, raising one eyebrow even though his tired facial muscles protested it. “What?”

Dagwood sagged back into his chair, relief etched into the very lines of his face. He seemed suddenly older than before, as if he had aged ten years in the last couple of seconds. “A well,” he repeated. “I saw you in a well.”

Maybe this guy had gotten into something at Pufferfish. The whole thing was stupid and yet somehow funny. Irwin found himself smiling a little, and Dagwood smiled back, misunderstanding.

“Okay,” Irwin replied. “I was in the well. What was I doing? Drowning?”

“No, no. You weren’t in the well. I saw you in the well.” Dagwood’s smile turned embarrassed, and a soft blush rose up on his cheeks. “It’s a long story. It was ten years ago. I was traveling, and I came across this forest that wasn’t on the map.”

Definite drug trip. Guy was probably wandering around a playground.

“I decided to head through it since it didn’t seem that deep, but it was thicker than I thought. I got turned around, and then suddenly I was standing in front of a well, and I felt…compelled to look inside. And when I did, I saw…you.”

Irwin shook his head. “Nice try. But I think I’ve listened to enough. Don’t follow me, or I’ll call the cops.”

“You’re a red wolf.”

Irwin stopped with one foot halfway out the door. The doorknob felt suddenly cold beneath his fingers, and his heart started fluttering again. One more step would take him away from this madness but he couldn’t will himself any further. “What did you say?” His voice came out hushed.

“I said…” Dagwood pulled in a deep breath. “I said that you’re a red wolf. Your species and color. Most of us are gray wolves here in America, but you’re a red wolf. Real small. Not just an omega but smaller in general. You have red-brown fur on your legs and face. Grey on your back and tail. White underside. You look like a coyote but you’re too broad. How close am I?”

If this strange man had stopped his guess at simply red wolf, Irwin would have laughed in his face and continued walking out. He could feel that was what he would have done because he was clearly a wolf, and his hair was red so it was only natural that Dagwood might guess he was red. However, very few people knew that red wolf was its own species. Irwin knew because he’d spent much of his childhood being teased for his gangliness before finally discovering that’s just how he was. But to pin down his exact coloration beyond just saying “red”…

Irwin closed the door but didn’t lock it, then looked back at Dagwood’s earnest expression. “I’m listening.”

“But I didn’t just see your wolf. I saw you. Exactly the way you are.”

“Ten years ago, I was twelve.”

“I figured that out.” Dagwood shrugged. “But I saw you as you are today, and I saw it 10 years ago. I thought maybe that was what you looked like back then but it’s what you look like now. I can’t explain except to say that’s what happened. I can’t explain any of it except that I saw you in some sort of weird well in the middle of a forest that never should have been there at all, and I saw a future version of you.”

“How old were you 10 years ago?”

“29.”

Which meant the man standing before him today was nearly 40 years old. He didn’t look like it at first but now that Irwin was aware of this fact, he could see it. The gray in the hair, the laugh lines around the eyes and mouth all pointed towards a man who had aged gracefully but had aged all the same.

Irwin just shook his head. “I can’t believe that I believe this.”

Dagwood’s eyes lit up. “You believe me?”

For some reason, he did. This whole situation reminded him of some sort of hoax that occasionally got aired on television, such as fake UFO lights, but unlike those events no alternative explanation could be found for this. It might all just be good guessing and trickery but Irwin wasn’t the sort of guy who believed in coincidences.

“Yeah, sure. I just don’t know what you think the whole point is. Even if you saw me, who cares?”

“I care!” Dagwood insisted. “I saw you looking exactly like this 10 years ago, and last night I recognized you just in time to save you from being hurt! Doesn’t that mean something to you?”

An uneasy feeling formed in Irwin’s stomach, rolling over and over on itself. He was too goddamn tired to deal with this. “I don’t know. It’s been nice, being in this episode of the Twilight Zone with you, but I really am going now.”

“I drove your car here. It’s on the left side of the parking lot when you exit the front lobby. You need to get a new car.”

“I know.”

“Your engine is beyond repair at this point. It’d cost you more than another car to get it fixed.”

“Thanks,” Irwin replied, and then left.

Much to his relief—and also to his confusion—he wasn’t followed.