One True Alpha

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Vincent woke up in a place he didn't recognize. The air was strange and he could feel dried blood on the back of his head. Was this an eternal fog? Why was the moon so full?  What time period was this? Did he get sucked into a fantasy novel? Ugh. His head hurt so much. What was the last thing he could remember? Something, something, nope. Not really anything. He moved his hands along the ground, searching for his journal (or, more accurately, one of his journals). 

"Damnit! Not again!" he growled, continuing to search. "Did I lose it already? If only I knew what was causing these instant travel sessions-" he grumbled and stood up, only to trip over his feet and collide face-first with a tall eerie gate. It creaked open, inviting him in, and this was when he decided not to care about survival anymore. Yep. Right in this moment. Dying in a mysterious castle of sorts would be much better than at the hands of a pack of wolves. Not that there had been any wolves yet but he could hear them in the distance.

Vincent walked up the long path leading him through the garden and opened the door. "Hello?" he called. Stone walls and a hefty breeze. He really was in some type of novel. "Hello? Pardon the intrusion..." he said a bit louder, closing the door behind him. "I don't really have a place to go and it's gotten pretty late..." he looked down at his muddied clothing and sighed. "Or, at least, I think it has? The moon is pretty high in the sky so..." his mind wandered as he tried to piece together more of what happened before he woke up in that woods. What did he hit his head on? A rock? Was he still bleeding? He frowned and rubbed the back of his head. No. Actually. Maybe he shouldn't do that. His hands were dirty. He would just get dirt in the wound. 

"A human?" a voice inquired. Vincent looked around and squinted but he couldn't see a thing. He could hear faint footsteps and could see the dim light of a candle around the corner. "You should leave," he warned.  

"I don't have anywhere to be. I'm really sorry about this but could you at least let me stay the night? I'll be out of your hair in the mor-" Vincent's eyes lost focus. Ah. There it is. His head wound wouldn't let him power through it any longer. 

"You smell of blood," the voice spoke. Vincent felt himself falling forward but a cold chest caught him. Cold? Well, it was pretty drafty in this place. Of course it was cold. Nothing to be afraid of. Just a nice cold chest and a creepy castle thing. Yep. He was fine. This was safe. 

"I'm really sorry about this..." Vincent muttered, closing his eyes.