By the time the sun crept over the horizon, Dallas had long since fallen asleep. The wolf had found little to occupy itself within the cage the night prior, so it had contented itself with chewing the bars of the cage and grooming itself. Eventually, the wolf had simply curled up and fallen asleep. The change was much easier in one’s sleep; the body unconscious and limp. In sleep, there was no tension in the body—and so the change naturally slid over him.

The cold was what woke Dallas finally, and the moment he woke he found he’d wished he’d stayed asleep. He was shivering from the cold, and his stomach gave loud protesting growls of hunger. It took him a few seconds to come fully awake, and to realize he was in a strange cell he didn’t recognize. On top of it, he was naked!

Dallas looked around, settling on the bed in the corner. He grabbed the blanket folded nicely atop the spare mattress and wrapped it about himself before he scanned around the room. It looked to be a typical finished basement, outside of the metal bars of his current prison. How had he gotten here? Frantically he searched his memory for answers. The last thing he remembered was feeling ill the day before. He took stock of his body, but found he didn’t feel ill at all this morning. Still, it didn’t answer the question in his mind now—who had taken him?

Had someone kidnapped him? Had he done something? Vaguely, he remembered a coppery taste in his mouth. He recalled it was satisfying and hot—though the details of what it was or how he’d gotten it were a mystery at the moment. He strained his hearing, listening for any signs he was not alone. He heard nothing save for his own slowly increasing breathing and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was debating whether or not to call out for help when he heard the first sign of someone else in the home. The stairs outside the door began to creak as someone made their way down with a lazy pace. He could hear a soft clinking, and as the door opened, Dallas was unsure of what to do with himself. He decided to stand at the door and wait to meet the person who had abducted him and confront them.

Yet the person who walked through the door threw him off completely. She was small; with a bent back and graying eyes that matched her snow-white hair. She was dressed in pink rabbit slippers, a pair of pink sweats emblazoned with cows jumping over cartoon moons, and a thick, fluffy pink bathrobe. She carried a silver tray and cover and a plastic bag was slung over one arm. She closed the door and ambled up to the cage with a slow, aged gait. When she saw that Dallas was awake she seemed surprised and set the tray down on a nearby table. She fished out a pair of glasses with lenses as thick as Coke bottles from a pocket with knotted, shaking hands, and set them on the bridge of her upturned nose. She inspected him a moment and smiled toothily, holding out the plastic bag through the bars.

“Good morning, Dallas. I’m pretty sure these will fit you just fine. Don’t worry; there are warm socks in there too. I know it gets awful cold in here. Do you want me to turn up the temperature? I don’t mind—the thermostat isn’t supposed to be touched, but you know how that rule is. I’ve also got you some breakfast—could you lift the gate at the bottom of the door? What a dear, thank you, thank you…”

She slid the covered tray inside the trap gate at the bottom of the door when the bewildered man opened it. He was starving, and his mouth watered at the idea of food. He’d thought he’d rage against his captor, or perhaps throw whatever they might offer him at them. Of course, the little old woman was not what he’d expected. Dallas muttered a quiet thanks as he fished dark Under Armour sweats, an undershirt, tee-shirt, crimson and gray WSU hoodie, a pair of boxers, a pair of briefs, and the promised extra thick fuzzy socks in black. He discreetly dressed under the blanket as he contemplated what to say to the woman. Finally, he settled on his approach.

“So…you know my name. What do I call you?” he asked, just a little louder than he might otherwise.

“Oh, my stars! My name is Agnes Magnus. I know, I know, it sounds made up. I promise you, out of all my siblings I ended up with the best name. Can you imagine being named McManus Magnus? My brother has a cool monogram, but that’s all, you know. I know your name because Roman told us. I’m sorry about the cold, dear. When you were fuzzy the house temperature would have been a little uncomfortable, so we adjusted it. I was going to adjust it before you woke up…but apparently you’re an early riser, like me!”

She smiled kindly and tottered towards the thermostat on the wall, carefully turning the heat up. Dallas watched her while he slipped the layers of tops on. He’d already finished with his lower half and was about to start hopping to put his socks on when Agnes stopped him.

“Sit, sit! You’re going to need to eat too. I’ll just bet you could eat a whole herd of horses right now, my stars! Don’t worry—it’s all good food. I’ve been cooking since I was knee-high to a grasshopper.”

Obediently, Dallas sat and uncovered the tray. It was overflowing with breakfast staples; a tray full of sausages, bacon, ham, steak and fish sat to one side, a tall order of pancakes flanked by hashbrowns on another side. Two fried eggs sat atop two slices of whole wheat toast and an omelette that appeared to be more vegetable than egg completed the food. There was orange juice and milk, a small container of cheese, pepper, salt, onion, and garlic.

“Thank you, Agnes—This looks amazing…” He said, shock coloring his expression. He crossed his legs, pulled the tray closer, and began to eat from the meat tray. He’d been starving before—and now found himself beyond famished at the sight of the food in front of him. How had he become so hungry? Every bite tasted like a mix of heaven and torture all in one. He’d desperately wanted food, and yet he just couldn’t seem to get enough into his mouth. Only when he finished the steak and ham did he look up sheepishly, intent on his questions.

“I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am but…Where are we? Why am I in a cage? What do you mean by fuzzy? How did I get—”

Agnes cut him off with a stern way of her finger, “Ah, ah! Only a question or two at a time. You keep eating, mister. I don’t have a whole lot of answers for you, I’m sad to say, but I will tell you what I know. I won’t say where we are because I’m not sure if I’m allowed to. Now don’t give me that look, sonny. You’ll find out in time, and I’d guess you won’t have to wait very long. You are in the cage, from my understanding, because you didn’t have control at all last night. Roman had to subdue you, or so I’m told.”

Agnes paused, her lips pursing and her brows pulling up on her wrinkled forehead, “Sonny, I don’t know how to tell you this—but you’re a werewolf, now. You turned into a wolf last night.”

Again with the wolf story. Dallas carefully controlled his expression, his mind working frantically over the details as he ate. So Roman had kidnapped him, for whatever reason. Maybe he was actually, truly insane and Agnes was as well. She didn’t seem insane—she seemed…grandmotherly. Dallas shoved another bite of steak into his mouth and gave a grave nod.

Agnes seemed relieved, accepting his response with a nod in return. “Good, good—I need to get up stairs and do up the dishes, but if you need anything I can get it for you real quick. Do you need anything?”

“I need the door opened. I’d also like to speak to Roman,” he said.

A flicker of some other emotion disappeared across Agnes’s face almost before it appeared. Her lips pursed once more and she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her trembling hands looking suddenly far more frail than a moment before.

“I can’t...unlock the door, unfortunately. If it’s any consolation, dear, you won’t be in here long. It isn’t my place to open the door, but one of the pack will be down after breakfast…which I need to supervise,” she said as she began to turn away.

“Than can you send Roman to me, please?”

Agnes froze and wringed her hands a moment. She didn’t look at the man in the cage, unable to tell him more. She eventually hugged her robe around her and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. Roman can’t come to you right now. He would, if he could.”

Then, just as quickly as she’d come, Agnes was out the door and heading up the stairs, leaving him to finish his breakfast in peace. Where was Roman, then? Had he kidnapped Dallas and was now being punished? Had Dallas gotten him in trouble? Was this werewolf cult going to sacrifice him? Perhaps Roman was being rewarded with some weird cult ritual.

He had much to think about, and though typically it would have at least slowed his eating it had no effect on his appetite today. He was just so hungry! He couldn’t remember ever being able to eat this much before, let alone wanting to. He’d just finished the last of the plate when a new set of footsteps came down the stairs.

Dallas was just pushing the tray of empty dishes through the small door at the bottom of his temporary home when a man walked in. He was tall and middle aged, sun spots starting to color the golden skin across his face. His dark, short hair was close cropped and graying. He wore a deep charcoal dress suit, but like Dallas he sported the fuzzy black socks. His expression was shrewd as he stopped in the doorway to examine Dallas from afar.

Dallas said nothing, waiting until the man closed the door and neared him. He didn’t think himself helpless, but raging against his captors would do nothing at this point. He needed to remain calm—if he didn’t, he might miss some vital information. Besides, showing his temper would likely bring about a worse situation. If he wanted to escape, being underestimated would be to his advantage.

The man broke the silence at length, asking, “Did you immigrate, or were you born here?”

Dallas had been asked so many times before that he no longer felt annoyance at the curiosity. Instead, he chose to answer with a neutral tone. “I was born here. My mother immigrated from Taiwan and met my Filipino father in New York. What about you?”

The question must have thrown the man off because his lips gave a slight twitch as if he might smile. He gave a small nod, “On paper, I immigrated as a child from Varanasi, in Uttar Pradesh. In reality, I was here before it was an issue.”

“Is that in India?”

“Astute of you. Yes, I am a true Indian. From India,” the man mused.

Now that was strange—what did he mean? Dallas tried not to let the surprise show on his face. He simply gave a nod and watched the man with a polite expression. He would learn more from being silent than by pressing for answers, he decided. The man before him was not in a hurry.

“Well, Dallas, My name is Bhavian Stilwell. As you’re likely very confused about what’s going on, I’ve come to inform you what’s happened and see what can be done for you. I’ll need you to answer my questions—no matter how absurd they are, and to the best of your ability. I want you out of that cage as soon as possible as I'm sure you would also like to be out of the cage. These questions will help us figure out how much of a risk you pose, and we can go from there. I’ll stress this only one time: I will know if you lie,” the man said in calm, practical tones. He pulled a tape recorder from his jacket and clicked it on. “Are you ready to begin?”

Dallas nodded mutely, confused as to what the man meant. How could he be a threat? He was the one in the cage. Irritation tugged at his mind, but he remained quiet. It wouldn’t do him any good to be irritated or even to voice that irritation.

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

“No.”

“Do you remember meeting Roman?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say to you? How did you meet?”

The man leaned forward, as if this was the most important part. Dallas outlined the communication they’d had, and the fact that Roman had told him he was a werewolf. He said it impartially as if he might not care at all what a stranger had told him. When he came to an end, the man gave a nod.

“Do you have any history with the supernatural? Have you been drawn to spooky places? Seen ghosts? Believed you’ve had visions of deja vu? Has anyone in your family ever had dealings with the supernatural? Any interest in such?”

Dallas thought about it for a long moment, and finally shook his head slowly. He’d never had any dealings with the supernatural, in all seriousness. This was the first time he’d ever heard the word ‘werewolf’ as if it was anything more than a fantasy. He had never had an inclination to venture into haunted houses or had an affinity for Halloween.

“A great uncle of mine was a priest and conducted exorcisms, from what I understand. That’s all I can think of.”

“Yes. We know of Shao Zuefeng and his profession. Anything else?”

The fact they knew the name of his ancestor gave him a small, cold slip of dread. How did they know that? Had they been watching him? Goosebumps erupted along his skin, and he suddenly felt very exposed. The dire nature of his situation was just now dawning on him, and his heart began hammering in his chest. Would they kill him?

On cue, the man shook his head, holding up his hand and soothed, “Calm down, Dallas. We’re not going to hurt you. There’s no sense in keeping you in a cage all night just to kill you when you woke up. That isn’t practical. We have been trying to see where your particular brand of werewolfism comes from. You shouldn’t have changed last night. Bitten wolves change only on full moons, and the full moon is at least two weeks away,” he said with a practical and sterile bedside manner.

Strangely, this helped Dallas. Somehow, he could tell that Bhavin was telling him the truth. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself down, though his heart still hammered painfully in his chest. He was relieved that the man outside the cage did not press him further until he’d recovered enough to calmly reply, “No—No one else in my family has ever had an inclination towards the supernatural at any time.”

Bhavin nodded gravely and looked at his watch, before turning the tape recorder off and replying, “I see. I think that’s enough now. It’s nine thirty, and I would expect that Roman will be down here at two thirty. I can leave you with a book or the remote to the television, and lunch will be provided. I’m sorry you can’t come out yet. We don’t know what else you could be capable of.”

What had happened last night? He tried to sift through muddled memories. He caught bits of pieces—he remembered all the way to laying on the couch after Roman had left. He’d felt as if he’d never get comfortable again, and then the cat must have started purring in his ear, because it had been so loud that he’d felt a new headache coming on. The rest was a blur of sounds and colors.

“What happened last night?” Dallas finally asked, a sense of dread settling on his shoulders like a mantle. Something must have happened, because everyone here kept treating him as if he were dangerous.

Bhavin frowned at him, watching him with the same intense eyes he’d scrutinized him with the moment he’d walked in the door. He took a long, slow breath and released it after a heartbeat or two.

“I don’t know. I know only that you changed in your apartment. I have not been briefed on the rest, other than that the key to the cage is being held by our Pack Alpha until further notice. You are not supposed to be interacted with by any of the pack except for myself.”

“What about Mrs. Magnus? She came down earlier.”

“Oh, I'm sure she did. She doesn't much care for rules,” Bhavin snorted, an amused smile on his lips.

“What if I need to go to the bathroom?”

“Do you?”

“...Yes.” Dallas frowned, deciding it couldn’t hurt.

“Then you’d better use the corner for now. I can have a portable toilet brought down.”

Dallas gave a sneer and shook his head, unamused. He didn’t much care for that idea and had really only asked to see what the reaction might have been. He watched Bhavin with a frown. He couldn’t figure out what role he might play. As the middle-aged man picked up the tray, he did so carefully, his eyes never leaving Dallas, as if the younger man might explode.

“Interesting,” Bhavin said as he straightened, tray in hand.

“What?”

“You. You’re different. It was nice meeting you, Dallas. I hope to speak to you in the future, but at the moment I need to make a few phone calls.”

Before leaving, the man stopped at a small bookshelf near the door. He paused to peruse the shelf until he found the book he was looking for. Returning to the cage, he handed the book to Dallas through the bars. Dallas eyed the cover’s copy of an oil painting, with “The Brothers Grimm Fairiae Tayles.” Bhavin nodded and turned away without another word and headed back upstairs, leaving Dallas alone once more. Dallas flipped through the book, and upon reading the first story he realized that this was the original collection of stories, not the one that had been intended for children. He immediately began to seek out the ones about wolves.

He continued to read even when Agnes came in with another tray of food. He exchanged only the barest of pleasantries, and took the four sandwiches, chips, salad and chicken breast she handed to him, finishing them without a second thought. He read about wolves who ran with only one back leg, the other held aloft as if a tail. There were wolves who could only change under the moon, some others who did not change in body, but in mind and spirit much like the berserkers of old. There were stories of men becoming addicted to magical pelts that turned them into wolves. Dallas had become so engrossed in the stories that when the next time someone entered the basement, he did not hear them until the door closed behind them. The click drew Dallas' eyes from the book, up to the man at the door.

Roman stood in the doorway. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes showed a distinct lack of rest, and his hair was a mess of tangles. Mud splattered his arms and face, and as he looked Dallas over, he seemed tense and strained. He wore a sweatshirt with a Harley Davidson logo across the front and jeans he had no right to make look so good. He didn’t sport any socks—instead, he was barefoot. Dallas' emotions were conflicted upon sight of the man. He had kidnapped Dallas, of that Dallas was sure. Yet he was also the key to his release—and that mattered even more.

Dallas stood and came to the door, forgetting the book on the bed. He stared expectantly at the blonde, intent clear—he wanted the door open. The moment Roman began to cross towards the cell’s door, Dallas could tell something was wrong. Roman walked with a hitch in his gait, his spine rod-straight and steps only slightly ginger. His hands were clenched into fists, shoulders taut. What had happened to him? His face was white as a sheet. Dallas wondered if the same fate awaited him—or worse. He was quiet as Roman stopped in front of the cage door.

“Let’s talk a minute,” he said, his voice a little strained. “I know you don’t remember, and you’re going to need to. It’s not going to be pleasant—believe me. I’m going to help you remember what happened, all right?”

Dallas nodded slowly and sat cross-legged when Roman indicated. The man tried to sit on the ground, but upon lowering himself it clearly hurt. For a moment he eyed one of the chairs across the room, but sat all the same anyway, despite his clearly uncomfortable posture.

“Now, go ahead and close your eyes. Brace yourself. Think of your five senses, and go back to the last moment you remember. You should be able to see, hear, touch, taste, and smell the last moment you remember,” he said.

Dallas did as he was instructed, eyes closing as he centered himself. He’d never been good at meditating before, and this was close to that. Instead he said, “I have a lot of questions for you.”

Roman chuckled—of course Dallas had questions for him. “Go ahead and relax, we’ll get to your questions,” he paused for a long few minutes, and waited until Dallas had collected the images he’d need in his mind. “Ready?”

Dallas sighed deeply, wondering what might be so special about the image. He’d been sick just before—and the longer he sat here, the longer the vomit in the wastebasket was going to smell. The vomit would permeate his house—everything would smell like it. Somehow this upset him more than the kidnapping, and he took another deep breath. What had made that so stressful for him?

“Settle, your mind is trying to distract you. It isn’t important, whatever it’s giving you. Don’t believe it. Just relax. That’s better. Focus, you’re going to need it. Now reach deep—do you feel something? Someone? The way you might feel a hair brush your arm. Look for that sliver of connection.”

Dallas felt silly, but reached out with his mind, feeling blindly through the presence he might feel. He could feel where Roman sat—and he could feel another presence. This one felt familiar to him somehow. As if it were akin to a warm blanket, it felt appealing and responded to his presence with warmth. What was that presence? What was making him feel as if he were safe, almost?

“You found it?”

Dallas almost lost the presence as he remembered the man in front of him. He gave a grunt of agreement—oh yes, he’d found something. He paused for a long few moments and then nodded once more when he felt the presence begin to solidify for him.

The air seemed suddenly warmer; the pressure in the room increasing. For a moment Dallas was intending to open his eyes and look to Roman. What had caused that? Let alone the almost chemical burning smell that permeated his nose.

“Show him.”

Immediately, Dallas' memories took hold of him, transporting him back to the night before. He could see himself in the bathroom, where he’d begun to change. In horror, Dallas watched it all. He watched the way the bones broke, then knitted back to life. He felt the cavernous pit in his stomach. He felt his muzzle, teeth, and hands replaced by fang and claw. For a long moment, he’d only sat there—until the orange cat had bothered him—challenged him.

Dallas tried desperately to get away from what he suddenly knew what he was about to see. He fought himself, and yet the scene played out. The coppery tang of blood had come from Thor, or at least the first time had. The second was when Andrea had opened the door. The third was a man at Central Park, and the fourth had very nearly been Roman. He remembered in vivid detail, much like watching a movie as the wolf’s actions played out before him.

When it was over, Dallas found himself lying on his side, vomiting. He’d started weeping at some point, and perhaps he’d made himself sick doing so. He found himself trembling and heaving until he had little to vomit up—which was surprising, considering how much he’d eaten. How much the wolf had eaten.

A towel dropped itself onto Dallas' lap, and he took it, cleaning himself up as best he could. When he sat up again he covered his face, tears flowing still freely. “I—I killed them,” he sobbed, covering his face with the unused part of the towel. “Oh my god—I—”

“Yes, you did,” Roman said gently, a hand reaching out to touch his knee. Sudden fury ripped across the new wolf, and he snarled; grabbing Roman’s hand and twisting with lightning quick reflexes. Roman grunted as the bone snapped, and Dallas let him go with horror. He’d broken Roman’s wrist with less force behind it then if he’d opened a can of tomato soup.

“I—I’m sorry—” he started, then stopped speaking. He had no reason to be sorry—Roman was the one who had kidnapped him! He curled in on himself, hugging his knees and hugging the towel to his face. He cried until he could cry no more, his body trembling in revulsion and exhaustion.

Roman set his newly broken wrist in his lap and waited, his expression still carefully neutral. He watched Dallas, waiting until the new wolf finished sobbing. When it seemed that Dallas was finished, he offered a glass of water which the new wolf took with a soft sniffle.

“I’m sorry, Dallas. I had never…we never thought you’d change so quickly. I should have pressed you harder or just thrown you into the car and taken you here. I’m so sorry, this is my fault entirely, and you can hate me all you want but not now. If you want to live, we need to get to work. I know you’ll hate me, and I won’t blame you, but that needs to happen later. You need to meet the Pack Alpha, and you need to be inducted into the pack before nightfall.”

Dallas stared over the edge of the towel, seething with anger. If Roman had just controlled himself, he’d have never bitten him. If Roman had just never gone there, if he’d done anything different. His selfishness had cost Dallas too much.

“No, fuck you. I’m not a tool, and I'm not going to be ‘inducted’ or God only knows what you plan! Fuck yourself, and let me out!” He snarled, punching one of the bars. Roman flinched when the bar bent slightly towards him, and Dallas looked at his hand in surprise. He was fit, sure, but the bars of the cage were metal. How had he so easily bent it?

“Then you’ll die a messy death. The pack will force you to run and rip you into tiny shreds as you try. You’ll die, confused, hurt, alone, and scared in the middle of the woods. Is that what you want? By all means, fine, have it your way,” Roman said, finally losing his cool response. “Go ahead, I don’t care.”

Somehow, Dallas was sure he was lying—whatever happened to him had happened to him because of what Roman had done. Perhaps he’d been punished justly, though the new wolf had high doubts. The vivid picture that Roman had painted was a sobering one, however. He didn’t want to be torn apart.

“When this is over, I’m going to kill you. You’ll answer for what happened. If you hadn’t attacked me I'd be safe at home, and they’d still be alive,” he said flatly, rage settling in his chest. “Did you see her? She has four children, all under seven. Now they’ve only got a father who isn’t going to be able to provide them with everything. What happened to her was…it was horrible,” he said, a fresh wave of grief washing over him.

“I can pay for it later, unless you’d rather kill the only person who can or will help you right now. Then you can fend for yourself with my father. See how that works out,” Roman said bitterly.

For a moment, Dallas paused, frowning up at the man outside the cage. Dallas was briefly unsure if that might not be the best choice. After all—Dallas had killed—shouldn’t he die for it? He thought of his friend again and his pet. Angry tears welled in his eyes, and he shook his head. He wouldn’t voice the thought—not to Roman.

“I’ll let you out, but you need to come with me. My father will expect to see you—and he’s the one who will decide if you live or we die.” Roman got to his feet again with a pained expression. Whatever had happened to him since the last time Dallas had seen him, Roman was hurt. Yet the man hesitated for a moment at the door. “You’re not stupid, but I’m going to tell you anyway. If you run, they’ll kill you. You might escape the compound, but you’ll never escape the pack. We are fifty miles outside of any help. You’ll be lucky to find anyone that isn’t pack-related just outside that radius too. Don’t run. It won’t end well. I’m warning you,” he said—and with that, he opened the cell’s door.

Freedom hung on a string before him and for a moment Dallas thought of it, before he decided against it. He took a deep breath, nodded, and stepped out, standing with Roman. He could tell the senior wolf was injured, and Dallas’ eyes wandered, trying to find the place where he’d been hurt. Roman clearly didn’t appreciate it, because he turned his back and motioned for the new wolf to follow.

It was time to meet the Pack Alpha.