An unfamiliar room. Unfamiliar mattress beneath his back, much too soft for his tastes. The sheets smelled of something sweet and musky, which was almost too familiar. It was like some childhood memory that had faded from his mind but lingered in his heart.

Dylan opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It looked almost exactly like his own except this ceiling fan had been dusted recently and had probably cost three times the ones that were installed in his apartment.

Where?

And then he remembered. However, even if he hadn’t remembered right then, the ache below his waist would have done it. He hurt in ways that he hadn’t in years, but it was a good ache. It was a nice sort of soreness, as if he’d worked out a part of himself that didn’t see much action. Then again, wasn’t that exactly what he’d done?

He sat up a little gingerly, wincing as the pain spiked and then settled again. He thought he could recall going to bed as a wolf, and that Ryan had cuddled him, but he was human now and Ryan was nowhere to be found.

I haven’t actually been in his bedroom in this house.

It looked much the same as he would have expected it to. Ryan’s staunch respect for the force of nature that was water had crossed over into some of the other decorations in his house, especially the bathrooms and kitchen. His bedroom was less intentionally-themed, but there was still a sense of water about it. The bedsheets were blue, as were the curtains. The carpet was teal, covered in delicate swirls like schools of fish. His bookshelf held more than a few ships in bottles, of varying shapes and sizes. One was only a dainty little kayak, while the entire top of the bookshelf was taken up by a glorious schooner with billowing masts.

He can’t have made those himself.

Interest drove him out of bed, though the cold almost immediately pushed him back beneath the covers. The furnace was going for all it was worth, sending warm billows of air up through the vents in a steady stream that stirred the curtains around, but even the best heating system would have trouble with a house of such magnitude.

Dylan turned back to the bed, intending to grab one of the sheets to wrap around himself, when he noticed a robe laying over the foot of the bed. A torn half-sheet of notebook paper had been taped on top of it.

The note said simply, “For you.”

Dylan picked up the robe and inspected it with a little smile. He could feel the shadows of what was yet to come from this day pressing at the back of his mind, but he tried to ignore it. One thing at a time. That was how he was going to get through this. One thing at a time, and the current thing was to inspect the robe Ryan had left for him.

It was made of very soft material and was pale blue in coloration, with large cartoon fish leaping across the front. On the back was one word: dickhead.

He laughed and put it on, then tied up the front to keep out the chill when he walked. Then, he went over to the shelf and looked at the model ships.

Even the smallest one looked to have been made with painstaking care, built from the ground up. The big schooner was a masterpiece. He couldn’t begin to decipher how long it must have taken, or the sort of concentration that must have gone into its construction.

Footsteps came from behind him and he turned to see Ryan. The other wolf must have gone for a swim and showered afterwards, because he smelled faintly of river water and more strongly of sweet soap. His blonde hair was damp, plastered against his forehead, but sticking up in the back.

“You like my boats?”

Dylan nodded. “Where’d you get them?”

Ryan shrugged. “Every year down in Chesapeake, there’s this huge flea market where vendors come from all over the state. This old sailor sells Marine Corps memorabilia and fishing shit. Basically, anything remotely related to those two things. He makes models. Every so often, he has a new one. I usually buy it.”

“You never told me about that.”

“It’s kind of something I do by myself.”

“Why?”

Ryan shrugged again, then rubbed the back of his neck. For some reason he looked embarrassed, and his cheeks were very faintly pink. “Just is. I know I don’t seem like a flea market kind of guy. And I know if I got you down there where all they sell is old things, you’d never leave until you’d fixed all of it.”

Dylan laughed a little. “Maybe. What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon. You want lunch?”

An unpleasant bolt of surprise tore through him, nearly knocking him over. “What the hell, Ryan? You said you’d wake me in a few hours!”

“Relax,” Ryan growled.

There was that voice. Ryan’s alpha voice. Ryan always tried to be so easy-going, but there were times when he just had to bring out his commanding tone to get things back in order. Dylan knew he tried not to resort to that tactic, so he usually respected it  whenever it happened.

So, he tried to relax even though it was almost impossible now. Everything was coming back to him, flooding in, threatening to drown him, to overtake him and drag him down to a place from which he could never return.

“For your information, I tried to wake you. But all you did was turn back into a human and keep right on snoring. So I called Arden, and I called the police.”

“You did? Why?”

Ryan snorted. “Because I knew you’d be pissed at me if I let you sleep without at least being able to let you know what was going on! You want to run yourself ragged, then you’re going to have to find a way to get me gone first because I’m not allowing it.”

Annoying as that attitude was, Dylan loved him even more for it. The idea that they were meant to be mates...

He couldn’t even comprehend it, not when that joy was so locked within a whirlwind of terror.

“Arden’s busy trying to raise the money. Said she’s been to several newspapers, giving interviews, requesting donations. Was on her way to the bank last I spoke to her.” Ryan raised her eyebrows. “You two still have joint accounts?”

“No,” Dylan said. “Well, yes. We have our names on each other’s accounts still but they’re not really joint. I don’t take from her, and I think she probably monitors her account just as much as I monitor mine. So far, so good. I just don’t want something horrendous to happen and have a situation where one of us can’t get the money we need. It can happen.”

Ryan sighed, but nodded his agreement and then left it at that. “Fine. Anyway, she told me to tell you that a reporter said you’d best start making some appearances too if you don’t want the news to label you as a suspect.”

Nothing could have been more shocking. Dylan practically reared backwards. “What?” he demanded. “What the fuck?” He caught himself against the wall with one hand, not that this did him much good. He felt suddenly weak, his outrage and indignation too much for his body to bear.

Ryan looked as if he would ordinarily be furious, but was trying to downplay it. “It’s really fucked up, I know. It’s a real fucked up world. But I’m just passing on the message. Don’t kill the messenger, now.”

Dylan clenched his fists, struggling to keep his calm even though he was seething on the inside. Blind, helpless rage fizzed at the edges of his vision, threatening to take over him. He was on the verge of losing himself, fists curling tighter and tighter. Just when he thought the world couldn’t get more unfair, it somehow still managed to surprise him with something just a little worse than before.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the warm pressure of two hands wrapping around his. Some of the red rage faded away, and he looked down to find that Ryan was holding his hands, gently massaging them to get his fists to relax. It wasn’t working, but the attempt was sweet enough he felt at least somewhat capable of getting ahold of himself, though it left him even more weary than before.

Ryan kept holding his hands, rubbing their fingers together.

“What about the police?” Dylan managed to ask. His voice cracked in half during the middle of the sentence, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “You said you called them?”

Ryan nodded. His eyes were very serious. “They said they’ve alerted the police in the county where Baneberry is. Can’t remember the name. They wouldn’t tell me much else until I told them I was your lawyer, then they spilled.”

“You said you’re my lawyer? Isn’t that illegal?”

“Not really. Nothing I know about says it is.” Ryan shrugged a little. “None of their business anyway. You don’t even need a lawyer, but if you do, we’ll get you one who specializes so you don’t have to listen to me suggest couples’ counseling for the members of the jury.”

This was clearly meant to be a joke, but Dylan really couldn’t find anything funny about it, and he wasn’t up to trying. “What about Baneberry?”

“They’re on the lookout for suspicious activity. Whole town is basically on lockdown. Cops from other counties are in the area, too. The surrounding area is basically an ant hill of cops. If Hunter even gets anywhere within Tennessee, they’ll grab him.”

Unless this all turns out to be a ruse.

There had been something odd about that ransom letter, something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Sometimes he got stuck on things like this, where a minor detail would bug him until he could figure out exactly what it was. He didn’t need something else to stress him out, but it was too late. It was already in his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to unthink it.

“And there’s an AMBER Alert out now. The whole fucking country is looking for your son, Dylan.”

This news should have left him feeling gratified, but instead, all he could feel was sad that this had to happen.

His shoulders slumped. “Okay. Fine. Thank you...for letting me sleep. And for making the calls for me. And for this neat robe.”

Ryan let out a startled laugh, then beamed. His green eyes lit up with amusement, like a summer garden. “You like it? It was going to be your Christmas present but I forgot I had it. So I was going to give it to you for your birthday. Figured this was as good a time as any to bring it out.”

“I’ll have to get you a matching one.”

Ryan flashed a gleam of white teeth. Then he nodded towards the bedroom door. “Going to be making some brunch pretty soon. British-breakfast style. Take a shower and it’ll be ready. Then...”

“Then?”

Ryan shook his head. “We’ll talk after you eat. I want you thinking clearly.”

Whether that meant he should expect something good or bad out of their talk, Dylan didn’t know. He did know that he felt as hungry as a wolf and he was in desperate need of a hot shower. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t I be out there?”

Ryan leaned in, and Dylan thought he might be about to be on the receiving end of a kiss, but the alpha pulled back just before their lips could make contact. “Like I said,” he murmured. “I’m not going to let you kill yourself going out there like this. Fuck what anyone else thinks. We will find your son. But god forbid he comes home to a wreck.”

Once again, Dylan had to admit that Ryan was right. As frantic as he was, he would be no good to anyone if he went crazy from the stress. Even though the clock was ticking to get to Hunter, his own clock was ticking and would wind down much sooner than that. And when Hunter came home to that...

And he will come home. I will get my baby back.

“Okay,” he said. “Fine. I’m going to borrow some of your clothes, though.”

He really didn’t want to put his old clothes back on. It wasn’t because they smelled of fear, and fear sweat, and body odor in general. He was just afraid of picking up on a trace of frost, or snow, or water as cold as frozen stones, or spicy pine needles. He could deal with those memories later. One thing at a time. He looked at the robe, looked at the boats. Shower was next.

“Go ahead,” Ryan said. “Take a belt, too. I’d hate for you to just walk right out of my pants while we’re out on the street. Just make sure to wash ‘em and return ‘em someday. Except the underwear. You can keep that.”

Dylan gave him as genuine of a smile as he could manage. Ryan smiled back, though his was also strained, before turning and walking out of the bedroom. His footsteps receded down the hallway, then echoed faintly through the walls as he descended the stairs. Then, silence.

Dylan went over to the large chest of drawers in the corner near the closet, and pulled out the drawers in search of clothes. He took a shirt and a pair of jeans at random. Then, feeling very much like a pervert, he dug into Ryan’s underwear drawer and took a pair of those, too.

In the master bath, which was connected to Ryan’s bedroom, he stripped and started the shower, turning the water to as hot of a temperature as he could stand before climbing in.

The spray stung where it struck his skin, urging him to move faster through scrubbing his body with soap. He washed his hair with only water, since it was so short and he’d found that any amount of shampoos or conditioner made it feel oily. His swift movements and the hot water served to wake him up, making him feel somehow more alive. He could feel the aches of sex, and the nagging pains of sleeping on the wrong type of mattress slowly flowing down into the drain with the water.

He hopped out as soon as the last of the soap was rinsed away, entering a world of swirling steam that wreathed around him. Inhaling water vapors with every breath, he dried himself as well as he could in such a humid environment. He found an unopened toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, and a miniature box of toothpaste—the sort that a dentist would hand out to someone who had grown a little too old for a prize from the toy bucket.

Body washed, teeth brushed, he dressed, and combed his fingers through his wet hair until it lay smooth enough so that it wouldn’t dry into an embarrassing frizz. That done, he went out to the kitchen to see exactly what it meant to have a British breakfast.

Ryan stood at the stove, muscles in his back rippling beneath the shirt he wore as he stirred a pot of something. “Get some coffee,” he said. “It’s better than instant.”

Dylan obediently fetched a cup and refilled Ryan’s, then accepted the laden plate that was handed to him. A British breakfast apparently had every possible breakfast food on the face of the planet, and a few that weren’t. It looked like he was the most indecisive person on earth. Bacon, eggs, brown sugar ham, baked beans, tomatoes on slices of buttered toast. There was no end to it.

“I don’t really think...”

Ryan cut him off. “You can and you will. All of it. We aren’t leaving here until you’ve eaten everything.”

As quickly as he could, he wolfed down the food. All of it was unquestionably good, though he had to debate the merit of ruining a perfectly good slice of toast by putting soggy tomatoes on it. When there was nothing left on his plate but smears of grease, he held it out for Ryan to see. “Can I be excused, Mom?”

Ryan glared at him. “Call me Mom again, and I’ll bite you.”

“No way. You had your chance to bite me, and you didn’t take it.” Dylan shoved the plate aside and leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. “You said we had something to talk about. Well, I’m here. Let’s talk.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. He lowered his voice until it was only a deep rumble, hardly belonging to a human at all. “I say we let Arden handle the adoring public. Let her raise the money. Fuck anyone who might wonder where you are. They’ll be crying their regret for weeks when you and I come back with your son.”

The words had a feeling of action to them, but for the life of him, Dylan couldn’t figure out why. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“We’re going to Baneberry. We’re going to get your son.”

“What? How? You’re not making any sense.”

“Think, Dylan.” Ryan grabbed his shoulders, lowering his voice even further. Everything he said came out as a growl. “What are we wolves for if it isn’t this? We protect our own, and I’ll be damned if I sit idly by while a member of my pack is in danger.”

“But...” He was so confused. On the one hand, everything Ryan said spoke to the animal inside him, to the father who would do anything to reverse this nightmare. However, the logical part of him was finding all sorts of ways that they could screw this up. “We’ll get in their way. We’ll make things worse. The cops are already in Baneberry.”

“I don’t know what it is,” Ryan said. “But I don’t think it’s going to be just that simple. Whoever’s behind this knows by now that the country is out for them. They aren’t going to go to the place where they said they’ll be. Way too damn easy to get caught. But that’s where we’ll start searching.”

“Won’t that be interfering with the investigation?”

“No. We’ll be doing our own investigation.”

Dylan hesitated, but logic was nothing in the face of paternal instincts. He had wanted to get out there and get busy. If he did this, he’d be real damn busy.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“I say we go to Baneberry. That might not be where this person ends up, but there must be a reason they chose the place. We’ll start there.”

“Can we leave right now?”

“I’ll get my keys. While I do that, call Arden. Tell her what we’re planning so she knows you didn’t just disappear off the face of the world.”

“Right.”

Ryan headed off to get his keys and Dylan dialed Arden’s number. It rang five times and then went straight to voicemail.

Damn. He’d been expecting to have a conversation, not to give a summary.

“Um...this is really important, Arden. Call me back as soon as you can.”

He debated adding, “It’s about Hunter,” but figured that might be cruel since he had no news to give, good or bad.

Just as he returned the phone to his pocket, Ryan reappeared with his keys. “Let’s go,” he said. “You want to stop by your place and get some real clothes first?”

It would be nice to wear clothes that fit, clothes that didn’t billow around him like a cloud whenever he walked, but he was already sold on this mission and he didn’t want to delay any longer. “No. Let’s go. Now.”