It was so fast.

In hindsight, it was like a car accident. The moment slowed down, able to be seen from other angles, almost. The memory seemed like a crystal, throwing little versions of itself into every moment of his day. Had it happened at all? It had seemed far more real than any dream he’d ever had, but when he opened his eyes he was completely fine.

He could remember the night before and the nightmare of retail customers that made him regret ever agreeing to cover his friend Stephanie’s shift. He could remember the moment he’d decided to go into the woods, too. It wasn’t really woods, per se, but in the city Central Park was the closest thing he’d get to actual woods.

He’d headed past the Metropolitan Museum and made his way towards the North Meadow. It was dark, the scent of rain heavy in the October air. The leaves had only just begun to change color, and only a smattering had fallen to the ground. At ten o’clock, the park was mostly empty. Even the dog owners and walkers did not choose to venture out with the threat of impending rain, and so for the most part Dallas was alone. He pulled his peacoat close to his lean body when a gust of wind rattled the drying foliage and sent a tumult of fragile leaves to the ground. He’d been distracted by the sound of the leaves scattering to the dirt when it had happened.

He’d only glanced away for the smallest moment, really. Yet when his dark brown eyes flicked back to the path ahead, it was too late already. The biggest dog he’d ever seen was sailing through the air towards him, its jaws a gaping maw filled with teeth as long as his fingers. The world seemed to stop then, all his memories of caution around dogs coming back to him in the frozen, horrid moment before the attack. ‘A dog that is growling is only defending itself, or angry. A dog that makes no sound intends to kill,’ his mother had once cautioned him.

The scream that crawled up to his throat only escaped as a huff of air forced from his lungs as the immense beast landed squarely on his chest. He felt the heavy paws pinning him to the ground, he could feel the claws digging into his shoulder and chest with bruising force. He had heard a crack when he’d hit the cement behind him—a bone. His ribs? His skull? He couldn’t tell. Then the teeth. The teeth! He wished he’d fainted, or perhaps been knocked out by the fall. It would have been a mercy compared to the feeling of the animal's jaws squeezing his shoulder. A popping sound rang in his ears as the fabric of his coat gave way. It wasn’t just pressure—he could feel the fangs of the canine ripping into him, digging deep into his flesh.

Dallas tried to scream again, but to no avail—it only came out as a grunt. He scrambled, striking the dog on its head, trying desperately to scratch at it or kick it. He tried to shout, but as soon as he managed a sound the dog began to shake him violently, as if he were a toy. Its strength was amazing, and as it thrashed his body much like a doll in the hands of an exuberant toddler.

He wasn’t sure when the shaking stopped, but he felt the teeth retract from his flesh and re-grip just shy of the first bite. He didn’t shake as vigorously this time, instead trying to tear and rip with short jerks. Another pop and a grinding noise that made Dallas' hair stand on end.

Oh god, this is how I die, isn’t it? he thought, struggling futilely against the beast that was currently trying to rip his shoulder to pieces. He could taste blood in his mouth, and feel his heart hammering in his chest. With the last of his strength he gripped the dog’s ear and pulled hard, trying to dislodge it. His other hand scrambled at its face in an attempt to find something vital, though he realized his arm wasn’t working right. He was badly wounded—and just lucky at the moment that he couldn’t feel it.

He kicked at the dog again, and this time it snarled furiously, the roar a terrifying sound that echoed through the park and found the tiny, primitive part of his brain. The sound scared that part of his brain, and somewhere something primordial was screaming for help—that this predator would eat him. As the dog re-gripped on his arm and shook with violence again, Dallas managed to find his voice and scream.

It must have been the scream that did it, because suddenly he could hear voices calling to him. The attacking dog ceased for a moment, its teeth still knit in the muscle of his arm. It freed its jaws from him, and Dallas could only watch with a vague sense of horror as blood, drool, and scraps of skin or perhaps coat dangled from the huge teeth. It was over, though. The beast would leave—it had turned its head towards the sound of people’s voices calling out.

The euphoric sensation of knowing he would be rescued—that he would not die out here—drowned out the rest of his thoughts, and a smile began to creep over his lips. He gasped for breath, unable to breathe well, though he could not yet understand why. He tried to wave an arm, but found it would not respond to his need, which would be worrying later.

The huge canine turned its face to its victim and stared at him. Dallas felt as if he would throw up at the gaze that stared into his eyes. The animal’s eyes were a yellow-gold, almost red. There was more than just animalistic intelligence there, and beside that preternatural intelligence was something else—Rage.

Just like that, enormous jaws reached out with sudden agility, encircling his head. The pressure was immense, and rivulets of blood began to pour down Dallas' face. He wanted to scream and tried—but all that escaped him was a quiet gurgle. He could feel the blood stinging his eyes and smell the putrid tang of the canine’s breath.

It began to drag him.

With surprising agility and speed, its massive paws straddling his body, it began to drag him into the bushes. Panic gripped him then, and he tried to flail—to do anything that might deter the animal, that might give his rescuers just one more chance to save him! Anything! His attempts ended in a pause from the beast and another shake, though much gentler. Terror gripped the man, encircling his throat as surely as the canine’s jaws would at any moment.

It was then that the world darkened around him, and he succumbed to the finality and assurance that death would at the very least end his pain. The last thing he remembered was the pain of being dragged over something that crashed sharply into his hip, and the immense pain that followed was enough to drown him in the blissful relief and darkness of unconsciousness.

Yet he had awoken!

The sun had just crested over the horizon, in pale shades of pink, gray, and blue. Gold shot through the cloud cover, gilding several clouds. Dallas stared up at the sky, confused as to where he was, and why he wasn’t waking up in the comforts of his goose down blankets, his cat taking up half the pillow.

The image of the monstrous dog flashed across his mind.

Dallas was sitting up almost before he was fully conscious, adrenaline spiking his heart beat into a thunderous rhythm. He turned his head this way and that, scanning the trees and shrubs for any sign of the monstrous animal. After several long moments of uneventful near silence, he could relax—at least a little. He was definitely alone, save for the birds singing cheerily above him.

He remembered the immense pain, and looked down at himself, fully expecting to find exposed bone and flesh. Instead, his damp clothes only showed the rips and tears that had left his clothes in shambles. It had clearly rained last night, because he and the grass around him were completely soaked. The earthy scent of dirt and grass felt almost comforting as he slipped his jacket off to take stock of injuries he was sure would be gruesome.

Nothing.

There was nothing wrong with him! The warm, tawny skin of his arms and chest gave no hint of so much as a bruise, let alone the horrific, mortal wounds he felt the dog inflict as it rent flesh from his prone body the night before. The only evidence left behind was the mostly clean tatters of his clothes. Blood still clung to some of it, but nowhere near as much as he was so sure was lost. The shuddering, panting breath that escaped him steamed in the air in front of him, distracting him momentarily. He wasn’t cold, though he obviously should be. Perhaps he was sick—had it been some sort of fever dream? Had it been some sort of strange prank? Dallas got to his feet stiffly and brushed the leaf litter from his clothes. He looked around, unsure of where the path was in his disoriented state. He rubbed his eyes once more, desperate to clear the muddle in his mind. It was only then that he heard the loud laughter of someone to his right. He could hear two women laughing and joking, though he couldn’t hear what they said.

He must not be too far from the road. He stumbled through the trees and brush, trying to find his way out. He kept going in the same direction, careful for fear of meeting the wild dog again. Nervously, he combed his fingers through his hair. If the beast came back, he’d be defenseless.

The sun was higher in the sky when he reached the fence line, and he found himself wondering just how many hours passed since he’d woken. He thought the woman sounded much closer—but he saw no one when he reached the fence lining Fifth Avenue. His hands, stiff from clenching them the whole walk, now gripped the fence as if it were a lifeline. Just the night before he’d wanted so very badly to escape to the last bastion of nature in Manhattan—now he only wanted to get away from it.

Judging by the buildings across the street from him, he knew there was not an entrance to the park near enough for his fraying patience to walk. Instead, he turned his gaze up to the top of the fence. He wasn’t particularly athletic on the best of days, but he was in decent shape and desperate to return to the concrete sanctuary of the city. A glance up and down the street to make sure no one was around, and he was up the fence.

A rustle of branches behind him sent adrenaline coursing through his body, and with a terrified little yelp, he leapt from the fence and landed with a stumble. He spun around, heart in his throat and expecting the worst, only to find his climb had simply knocked over a branch leaning on the fence. Dallas' face flushed with embarrassment as he stared at the still trembling branch, before turning away to head towards his apartment.

The walk home didn’t last long, however. His ripped and tattered clothes (not his haunted expression, he told himself) attracted the attention of several well-meaning good samaritans. By the fourth car, he eventually assented to climbing in with the soccer mom who seemed too concerned and too used to being listened to.

She didn’t ask what happened, and he was thankful for her silence. She only asked if he needed to stop at the hospital or police department. When he hesitated, she added a third option—food. He’d nodded and they’d gone through a McDonald's for a feast of the cheapest burgers. His wallet was missing, but she had been kind enough to pay. She’d also been kind to his pride and gave her information so he could pay her back for it.

Dallas had never been so hungry in his life; despite the eight burgers he’d just wolfed down with so little ceremony he’d caught a piece of wrapper in his mouth at least once. It had been embarrassing, but the woman had pretended not to notice, and he’d been very grateful for that too. When she dropped him off at the apartment complex he indicated, he thanked her profusely. She had only given him a smile and told him he needed to pass the kindness on, as someone had to her. Dallas had agreed before he retreated to the tiny set of stairs that lead to his ground-floor apartment.

The studio was shabby despite his best attempt at charm. He’d always loved jewel tones and his apartment’s decor clearly reflected his affinity. His couch was a deep emerald green pull-out, and his bar stool chairs a rich purple and gold filigree. He’d hung beautiful paintings that had caught his eye—one of a girl in Central Park walking a miniature poodle, the colors vibrant and bright. He’d hung the beaded curtains popular in the seventies as makeshift walls, and miniature versions acted as accents to sky-blue curtains. He’d even hung a set in the kitchen, above the bar top that separated the kitchen and living area. Area rugs with various patterns of colorful mandalas separated living spaces and kept feet from becoming too cold on the faux hardwood floor.

Despite the ‘girly’ remarks of his peers on his apartment, he loved the brightness the veritable rainbow brought along. He found it even more comforting after the night he just had. The bright, cheerful colors eased the tension that had been sitting squarely between his shoulder blades since he’d woken up this morning. For once, he locked his door and chained it shut, leaning heavily against the Buddha tapestry attached to the door. He took in a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to steady himself against the trembling that had erupted throughout his whole body.

Without much thought, he began to strip himself of the ruined clothes. He searched the pockets to make sure he hadn’t left anything of importance in them and then deposited them in the trash, placing his keys and badge on the catch-all shelves on the wall to his left. From there, he headed straight for the shower, pausing only to grab his phone he had forgotten the day before. There were several text messages and a slew of other notifications, but he swiped them from the screen, instead sending a single text;

To: Mamabear (Andrea)

Hey it’s me. Can you warm up a towel and bring it up?

I’m in the shower.

Need a warm towel.

Almost immediately, the phone dinged cheerily with an answer Dallas didn’t care to read. Instead, he unfastened the chain on his door and retreated to the bathroom. He flicked the radio on to a station playing top 40 pop and paused. He closed and locked the bathroom door, just in case, before entering the shower.

When he emerged, he found a white towel hanging on the door, hot from a fresh round in the dryer. He pulled it into the bathroom, locking the door once more. He dried himself thoroughly and hugged the warm towel close. He could feel himself sweating, but he couldn’t seem to get warm enough. Maybe he was getting sick. Maybe that thing had been carrying rabies. It hadn’t been foaming at the mouth, so he disregarded that idea. He was about to leave the bathroom when he felt his stomach roll and only just made it to the toilet before he retched.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent ‘worshiping the porcelain goddess,’ as his friends would say, but by the time he was done, he felt cold and weak. Standing, he looked at himself in the now clear mirror and inspected himself with a slight frown. He looked mostly like his mother, his Taiwanese virtually disguising the Filipino on his father's side. He had a strong, angular jaw, and high cheekbones, though he had his father’s straight nose and pronounced chin. Despite this, if asked what his favorite feature about his face was, he’d pick his naturally sculpted looking eyebrows his female coworkers teased him so terribly for. He was pretty if not necessarily ruggedly handsome, though the dark five o’clock shadow he was currently sporting did add to the ruggedness of his face.

He didn’t look sick, but he certainly felt rather ill. Perhaps he’d caught something from sitting out all night in the rain. His mother’s scolding voice came back to him just then; memories of how often she’d scolded him as a child for lingering in the rain still hewn into his mind from childhood. The thought of his mother’s wrath upon realizing he’d been so careless as to stay outside all night in the damp seemed to jar him from his revelry, and he shook his head. He’d just keep it as his little secret the next time she called, he decided. She didn’t need to know every aspect of his life; he was an adult after all. Besides, she’d only tell him he needed to marry some woman soon, so she could take care of him.

Dallas sulked from the bathroom to his room, surprised that his close friend, Andrea, had not lingered to say hello. Andrea had a gaggle of children, some hers and some daycare charges. She was a pillar of the community, and the one who had reached out to him when he’d first arrived at the apartment complex. Without her, he would have been an outsider to the primarily white residents of the complex. Now, he felt like family—they were all connected on Facebook, they each had the other's phone numbers. Despite Dallas' strong protests, he had become part of the community as well. He’d been apprehensive; shy even. Andrea had been the one to extricate him from the shell of his apartment.

He dressed in a charcoal shirt and black sweatpants before shuffling his feet into a pair of slippers. He thought of climbing into bed but decided he wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so he instead gathered up his comforter and returned to the couch.

He settled in, thankful it was his day off. As he got comfortable, changing the channel to find something remotely interesting, his orange cat jumped up to crawl by his side and lie down along his ribs. Dallas gave a sigh, comforted by the presence of his cat. He stroked behind his ears a moment, gently playing along the soft silky fur of the mixed breed’s ruff. Thor, for his part, purred mightily and closed his eyes in contentment, seemingly unaware of his master's woes, as he kneaded the blanket with pleasure. It didn’t take Dallas long to doze off.

The caterwaul of an upset Thor woke him violently, and he sat up quickly. The sun was going down outside his window, leaving him to wonder how long he’d slept. The knock he’d heard in his dream sounded again, and Thor hissed, staring at the door with a long, drawn out growl. Dallas considered not opening the door—but the knock came again, the thunderous boom echoing thrice through his home.

With his heart in his throat, Dallas stood and went to the door to see who, or what, was on the other side.

* * *

The sun had come up, at some point.

Of course, the wolf had long since gone to sleep before dawn. Even as a wolf, he was not particularly nocturnal. Roman let himself wake up slowly, his first waking breath already telling him he was in Central Park. He could smell the grass and the engines used to power the lawn mowers that had passed by this exact spot just a day or two prior. He could smell blood too, though that did not concern him very much. He often woke in Central Park, blood of some unlucky furry creature on his face and hands.

In fact, he almost lulled himself back to sleep. He probably would have drifted back off if he hadn’t bothered to spit whatever was in his mouth out. It caught on a tooth, and when he pulled, it gave the distinct rip of fabric. His blue-green eyes opened then, and he stared down at the fabric between his calloused fingers.

Fabric.

His heart began to race as he tried to force the wolf to divulge memories it did not want to. He could feel the wolf’s spirit dig it’s paws into the turf, as if to say he would not do any such thing, and he would hold onto the secrets just to spite the other half of himself. Roman growled and rubbed his face in frustration. His temper raged and threatened to hand control over to his wolf half, but Roman knew that would solve nothing. Instead, he chose to take another path; ignore the wolf completely.

For several long moments, Roman sat and took in breath after breath, trying to center himself. He could feel the wolf at the ready for a fight, but he would not give in to the temptation. He needed to remain calm. He thought of his home and all the ways it touched his senses. He thought of towering evergreens swathed in cool mist, the way the pine-needle covered earth below his feet would spring or sink as his weight moved across it. He thought of the peeping chickadees and the gulls that circled the bay, the taste of the Puget Sound’s salty air, and the scent of rain.

When he opened his eyes again, the world was no longer red-tinged, and he was able to think much more clearly. Clothes where the first priority, though the wolf had brought him very close to one of the few hidden clothing caches. He found the fake rock and looked around to make sure no one was looking toward him. With the wolf’s strength, he easily lifted the huge rock, and set it aside to reveal the stash of extra clothes bagged under. He’d have to replace them later, but for now he extracted the black long sleeve, sweats, socks, and shoes. Once he was dressed, he carefully replaced the boulder and made his way back to where he’d fallen asleep.

He looked along the leaf litter, finding the place where he’d struggled in the throes of change. From there it was easy to track where he’d come from. Finding the plate sized paw marks, he was careful to step on them as he went, hoping to obscure the obvious prints as he went. He found blood droplets first. It must have dripped from his maw as he’d come this way as a wolf. He picked up the leaf and scraped it into the mud, obscuring the evidence.

Fenris help him, but he did not need this!

Thoughts of the deity gave him only a small pause as he continued to trace his way back to the scene of the crime. The more blood he found, the colder his stomach became. He knew the wolf had eaten, and part of him was afraid it had been human meat. He sent up a silent prayer to the wolf god, and continued on, obscuring what he could.

It didn’t take him long to find the small clearing under the tree where the wolf had dragged its victim. Roman circled the now empty clearing with an increasingly lighter heart. It was empty—whoever had been the victim of the beast had walked away.

As a precaution, he continued to clean up the area. There had been a good amount of blood—had he nicked an artery? His head tilted as he stared at the blood on the ground, his lips drawn into a frown. What had happened here? It didn’t make sense to him, and the wolf seemed more agitated than before.

That was when he noticed the boulder off to his right. There was a smear of blood under a ledge where the rain hadn’t cleaned it of his wolf’s nefarious acts the night before. He stood up to examine the boulder and the wooded area behind it. He could see a clear path leading to the boulder where the wolf had dragged something large. It had climbed the boulder, and then leapt into the clearing—with the prey in its jaws. With the person in its jaws.

A cold dread filled his belly again, and for a moment Roman was stuck in the reverie that was the kill. He could see it from the wolf’s eyes almost, now that he’d seen the trail. As if his wolf half could only contain the secret so long as evidence was not present. The moment Roman figured it out, the wolf had simply stopped caring if he knew. He could feel the beast’s bored disinterest.

The static of a radio nearby interrupted him, jerking him back to reality. He listened with the wolf’s ears, hearing the chatter of the police issue radio, and the soft murmur of authoritative voices. The police were here, investigating. Roman’s heart leapt into his throat at the sound of the men growing nearer. He had to move fast and keep his cool. Already the wolf was poised to leap from its bonds.

Roman turned and headed back to the clearing, tracking the footprints that led away from the scene of the attack. He headed for the fence line, suspecting the victim—a man, by the scent of him—had simply jumped the fence. He stopped at the fence line, eyeing the road beyond. Almost certainly, the man had gotten in a car. Perhaps he’d called a friend to come and get him. If that was the case, how was Roman supposed to find him? Just wait for the moon? Effective, and easy on him—but the devastation would be newsworthy.

The wolf pulled Roman’s attention away as he was about to jump the fence. Something was here—something his human half had missed. He let the wolf lead, if only for the moment. It didn’t take long to spot the thing the man had missed and the wolf had noticed. A leather wallet lay in the dirt, blood still smeared on the inside—though not the victim’s. Roman bent to examine it, eyeing the puncture mark. Apparently, the wolf had bitten into the wallet, and a stray coin had cut his gums in the process.

Served him right, as far as Roman was considered.

Nonplussed, the wolf lapsed into quietness, leaving his hearing and nose just as dull as any man’s. He rifled through the wallet until he found what he was looking for—a driver's license. Dallas Summers, five foot eight, and a hundred and eighty pounds. Black hair. Brown eyes. An address, and an organ donor symbol. He could almost feel the wolf lick his chops and rolled his eyes. It was an awfully dramatic response, and he doubted the wolf would really eat the man anyway.

Now all he needed to do was to get to the address, which wouldn’t be hard. He had time on his side. He decided to walk the fence line to the closest exit. As luck would have it, the exit was near his car. He pulled the emergency key out from under the wheel well and unlocked the door, climbing inside and switching on his phone. He sent several text messages explaining the situation, and then typed in Dallas Summers’ address.

“Dallas Summers? I’m Roman, and you’re going to need my help,” he practiced as he drove, thoughtful of his tone. He certainly wouldn’t give his last name, if at all possible. He had a handful of aliases on hand anyway, and a fake ID in the car he could use. He cruised through traffic, all the while trying to fathom how to explain to the victim—the man—that he would not be a man for much longer. At least, he wouldn’t only be a man much longer.

The apartments his GPS led him to were plain things, and he frowned up at them with a sense of annoyance. This wasn’t a place you lived in if you had a lot of money, and the neighborhood wasn’t the kind you lived in if you had any money.

He casually climbed the steps to the first stoop and knocked. His nose already told him a myriad of things—the man had indeed come home. He kept a clean house, and he did not have much traffic. There was a female scent, but it was too fleeting to be a mate. There wasn’t a family scent—or even a scent of much going on. If his nose gave him a first impression as he knocked again, it was that this man was boring. Inwardly, Roman wondered why someone so boring had survived the mauling.

The door finally swung open after the third round of window-rattling knocks, and a pale-faced Asian man stared up at him. He was taller than Roman expected—anyone under six foot was under Roman’s nose, so they all seemed small to him—and sweat glistened on his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was equally as red.

“Dallas Summers?” The man before him gave a nod. “You’re going to need my help.”

The change had already begun.