I’m not really doing this. It’s just a dream. A dream where I’m behaving very, very stupidly.

But it wasn’t a dream, as much as he wanted to fool himself that it was. Dreams could always be identified even when you were deep in the thick of them. The edges were always hazy. Faces were indistinct. Realities melded in and out. Colors and sensations were all wrong.

No, it wasn’t a dream, because Blake could see and feel everything perfectly. The cold night air made it feel as if he was having a heart attack, robbing him of his breath and freezing his bones. He finally cleaned the wounds on the back of his neck, using just plain water dribbled from his fingertips. As the blood flaked away, he was relieved to discover the bite marks had already formed scabs that were no longer even tender. Despite that, they were really aching now as the wind rasped against them, digging at the edges of his skin. His fingertips were so numb he couldn’t feel them, and he was pretty damn sure that he smelled snow in the distance, approaching steadily.

Orange street light puddled across the sidewalks and streets at strategic intervals, as bright as anything. The shadows were stark, overcast black. Everyone was inside this late at night, nestled in cozy warmth.

And here he was, bumbling around outside through a damn nice neighborhood where he didn’t belong. He shouldn’t have been here. He was a dirty vandal, a thief, and a smoker. The kinds of people who lived here were the sort who could afford to be vegetarians or vegans, who probably had a nightly glass of expensive red wine and wouldn’t dream of touching a cig. They didn’t get their hands dirty. If they saw him lurking around through their perfect luxury cars, they would call the police on their brand-new cell phones—always the latest model—and then dip into a bottle of sleeping pills, content that they were good Samaritans.

God, he hated being here.

But this was where Josh was.

It hadn’t been that hard to find out the location of the omega’s home. He had Josh’s number, which was evidently his landline because it had the Portsmouth area code. Shapeshifters tended to forego cell phones in many cases anyway. Something about the shifting ruined electronics, especially the delicate inner mechanisms of already temperamental phones.

A number was all it took these days.

He debated for three days before finally losing the battle with himself. More than 72 hours and he couldn’t forget the omega.

He’d spray-painted all along one side of a Walmart, one of the rare ones that wasn’t open all night.

He’d keyed up a car or five, slashed some tires.

He’d smoked so much that he cut his monthly stash by half. He’d even smoked some pot, generously provided by Fox to make up for pointing Josh towards him. God, he hated pot. It smelled disgusting and made him feel weird, not at all relaxed. But he’d done it anyway.

He’d walked into a gas station and walked out again two minutes later with his pockets stuffed full of candy bars.

He had done all of that and more, desperately searching for things to distract himself from thoughts of that weirdo omega. However, it hadn’t been enough. He went to his favorite dive, asked around, and was quickly hooked up with a nosy mole shifter who had apparently spoken with a fake Italian accent so long that it became real. The mole-man made note of the number, contacted someone else, and now he knew way more than he should have about Joshua Silver. Including his address.

So he was here in this classy neighborhood, counting the numbers on signs and working his way steadily deeper past extraordinary houses. Their worth went steadily higher the further he went, until he was looking at what might as well have been a mansion. A white Mustang was parked out front, engine silent with equine slumber.

There were no lights on in the house but he didn’t let that bother him. He’d dropped into many places uninvited before, and he could handle one omega. Never mind that this one seemed a little more capable than others.

Creeping up to the front door, he tried the knob. Locked, of course. He would have expected no less. Nice neighborhood or not, there could be any number of people who wanted to break in to do their unsavory deeds. Like him.

He went around to the side of the house, footsteps barely audible on dry grass. The backdoor was also locked but the window right next to it wasn’t. He lifted it up, popped out the screen with a bit of pressure in the right spots, and climbed inside. For a moment, he hesitated and considered putting the screen back out of courtesy and then decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He wasn’t here to be polite. He was here to get his way.

He was standing between a dining room and a living room, both of which were full of classic furniture that looked in pristine condition despite being more than 20 years old. Clearly, Josh’s folks took pride in their stuff. And he knew all about the tragedy surrounding them now, more than just what little Josh mentioned at their first meeting. The circumstances were certainly sad but, as far as he was concerned, the omega had very little to worry about. It was years ago, and now he got to live this very cushy lifestyle.

Parents are overrated anyway, he thought. He set off through the living room, navigating the expanse of strategic furniture placement. The clutter of armchairs, sectional couch, and decorative tables might have been gaudy in a different arrangement but he supposed it looked nice enough for what it was even though it lacked personality. This might as well have been a display in a furniture store, or one of those model homes in which photographs were taken for magazines. It didn’t look as if anyone actually lived here.

And it smelled that way, too. Josh lived here, yet his scent was faint in many areas and completely absent in others. What was up with that? Not good enough for him?

Maybe too good for him? he wondered.

He reached the hallway down at one end of the living room, near the grand foyer, and followed it. The wolf-scent was much stronger here. Josh obviously spent a lot of time in his bedroom. Whether that was sexy or sad, he didn’t know.

He paused in front of a doorway which smelled most strongly of wolf and pushed it open. A small glimmer of light, so faint it hadn’t been visible from the other side, reached his eyes and momentarily blinded him with the contrast. He squinted, eyes adjusting rapidly. He saw a child’s bedroom, which puzzled the hell out of him. The bed was a racing car, sulking midnight blue with lightning bolt flashes of yellow. The walls were covered in posters of boy bands—and one death metal group—who had been popular almost a decade ago. There were bookshelves, but these were mostly covered in figurines and glistening fake-gold rewards, with the occasional framed paper document.

It was a nightlight of a dragon on the other side of the bed providing the weak light. Like everything else in this house, it resembled a time traveler from the past who hadn’t managed to get very far; the dragon’s flame flickered weakly, dulled with age.

The light was barely enough to illuminate a figure reclining on the car bed, thin enough to be almost indistinguishable from the dark of the blankets on which he lay. Arms folded beneath his head in lieu of a pillow, he looked up at the ceiling in deep reflection. Chest slowly rising and falling, the only sign he was awake was his glistening eyes.

“I knew you were coming,” he said.

Blake paused, uncertain whether or not this surprised him. “Did you?”

“You think you’re the only one who knows how to ask questions and get answers?” Josh sighed softly. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment before opening again. He didn’t look at Blake, not even when he shut the bedroom door behind himself. “That’s kind of how I figured out how to find you in the first place.”

“I guess so,” Blake said. He looked around. The youthfulness of the room unnerved him, as if he was intruding on an actual child. There were memories here, just like everywhere else, and he damn sure didn’t belong here with them. “You ever think about redecorating?”

Josh gave no answer.

Well, shit. This isn’t at all what I came here for.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he ventured.

“Would it have mattered if I was or if I wasn’t?” Josh asked. “You were going to wake me up anyway to get what you wanted. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you admit that you felt something last time. Or else you wouldn’t have come back.”

He prepared for this line of questioning, rehearsing the various ways this conversation could go. “Omega, I’m not interested in you. I’m into your body. Nothing else. Anything else you might want, it’s meaningless to me.”

Josh finally moved, propping himself up on his elbows and turning his head to look at him. Even in the dark, his eyes were still so pale. They were cold now though, like chips of ice instead of warm amber alcohol. “I don’t believe that. There are lots of others you could go after. I bet you wouldn’t even have to pay. Instead, you came all the way over here. You walked to me. That means something to you.”

He didn’t want to face the reality of those questions, to figure out the answers. He didn’t know if he liked what he discovered. So, in an effort to keep from having to do so, he climbed up onto that stupid kid bed and put his dick in Josh’s mouth.

The omega looked up at him with the shaft protruding from between his lips. His pale eyes narrowed, and Blake felt that gaze strike him like an arrow to the chest. Then, Josh closed his eyes and started to suck. There was no grace in it, no artful skill or eagerness. It was simple, dutiful sucking.

If he didn’t want to do this, he could just bite it.

Even lost as Blake was in pleasure, it was a dull sort of enjoyment he couldn’t really sink into. His thoughts meandered like things lost, and he was too conflicted to even be capable of making a sound. It was the strangest, quietest blowjob he ever had.

Maybe he would have been able to enjoy it more if he wasn’t so busy trying to figure out if it was wrong. Josh wanted it and so did he, which made it right, but the omega was clearly smitten with him as a result of whatever the well had shown him—if Blake even believed in that—and so wasn’t this just using him? Knowing he wouldn’t resist? Taking advantage of the situation?

The moment after he came, he went limp. It didn’t even feel like a real orgasm, and if it weren’t for the soft sound Josh made as seed flooded into his mouth, Blake might have wondered if he faked it well enough to convince even himself.

Josh went to lay back down once more. His eyes were icy, his face dispassionate. Sudden irritation surged through Blake, making his blood boil in his veins. Goddamn this omega. Things would be so much simpler without him. And really, what a fucking stupid story he told! Nothing could tell a shapeshifter who their mate was meant to be. A mate was a mate. You either had one or you didn’t. You wanted one, or you didn’t. It wasn’t that fucking hard. It wasn’t enough to warrant a trip to the Magical Well. Josh could have asked a Magic 8-Ball and gotten a better answer.

“Fuck you,” he snarled suddenly. Josh jumped a little and looked at him but he was still so dispassionate, still so unbothered by everything. Blake grabbed his shoulders with both hands and flipped him over, pushing his face against the mattress while mounting him.

While trying to mount him. He still wasn’t hard. His limp cock was an overcooked noodle, absolutely useless. It was the sort of thing you threw in the trash or hid away from watchful eyes because you were so ashamed of it. An alpha who couldn’t get a boner. How fucking worthless was he tonight?

“Fuck you!” he snarled again and withdrew. Josh rolled over and watched him as he dressed again.

“Can’t get it up, huh? You know, they make pills for that for humans.”

Blake saw red.

Josh looked back at him through the glaze of red, eyes empty, face blank. “Go ahead,” he said. “Go right ahead and do that. You know, I wanted to see you differently, and I still do, but if you hit me, then you’re just as bad as everyone thinks you are. I got hurt for you, so I guess you might as well prove me wrong for doing that by being the next to hurt me.”

What... Blake hesitated, struggling to think through the fog of anger. Did he just say he thinks I’m abusive? Fuck. I’m a punk, not a shithead.

He pulled in a deep breath. Some of the red in his vision faded away, and he was able to watch as Josh relaxed just the slightest. Though the difference in his posture was minuscule, its meaning was clear. He really had expected to be struck.

He really thought Blake would...

God, what kind of monster was he turning into? A bit of bad luck and a couple fights and he was a jackass. He didn’t hit people who didn’t deserve to be hit.

Straightening up, he took a step away from the bed. “I have to go.”

Josh just looked at him. “If that’s what you think is best.”

It’s that sadness again. That same damn sadness on his face that I saw in him the first time. What the hell is wrong with him? What the hell is wrong with me?

Blake opened his mouth to say something, anything, but a jumble of words lodged in his throat and he had no way of knowing in which order they would come out. He closed his mouth again, turned, and walked away.

He was halfway out the front door when a thought occurred to him. Turning back, he crossed the living room again and reached through to pick up the screen. A bit of wiggling and grunting and he had it back in place as if nothing had happened. He locked the window this time, then let himself out through the front.