This is Insane

Sleep was out of the question.

I'd pushed the treatment table into the corner of the clinic where I kept recovering strays, though nothing about the wolf felt like a stray. 

He lay stretched across the bedding I'd hurriedly thrown together-blankets, towels, anything soft enough to keep him comfortable. Chicken Nugget curled nearby like a proud guard after almost being successful in breaking the glass into the OT.

The unnatural fixation gave me the uneasy sense that my dog wasn't protecting me from the wolf... he was watching over the wolf for me.

"Whose side are you on?" I muttered, stroking his fluffy head. His tail thumped lazily, answering nothing while I looked at the wolf who was administered another dose of sedative after much thought.

The clock ticked past two a.m. My hands still shook faintly from having to load his weight on the trolley again, though the stitches had held, the bandages tight.

It should've been relief that I hadn't lost him on the table. But instead, I felt restless, as though saving him had pulled me into something I wasn't supposed to touch. Common sense told me to call the forest authorities as soon as the sun broke out, which I had held off thinking it was more urgent at hand to have the wolf treated than notified of.

Every so often, the wolf stirred. His chest rose with uneven breaths, his paws twitching as if caught in dreams. I caught myself staring, ridiculous thoughts creeping into my brain of the majestic animal, the sharpness of his jaw beneath the fur, the power hidden in his shoulders, the sheer size I had yet to not come to comprehend.

I'd treated dozens of animals. Horses with broken legs. Cats torn from fights. Dogs hit by cars. Not once had I ever felt this tether, towards an animal that went against my instincts of safety, and much less that of my gullible dog's.

Was it curiosity or fascination for the creature I had never treated or examined during my education or medical practice before.

It was like standing too close to a storm, knowing lightning could strike at any second but not being able to step away.

Maybe the difference between the loved and domesticated patients I usually treat to this ebony black predator was giving me the rush of adrenaline I had yet to experience.

A sound escaped, soft but deep, almost like words half-buried in the rumble. 

"Did you just...?" I started, startled out of my thoughts. Talk? I thought.

His ears twitched before crimson eyes snapped open, catching the dim lamplight.

I froze.

They weren't the dull, glazed eyes of an injured animal I was used to. They were clear. Intelligent. Searching.

I swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "Hey there... you're safe now. You're going to be okay." My voice came out hushed, too much like a lover's whisper.

His gaze pinned me in place, as if he could see the very fear I was trying to bury. Carefully, I stood, edging closer. He didn't growl. Didn't bare his teeth. Just watched me, unblinking.

"It's all right," I murmured, kneeling at his side. My fingers hovered above his fur. "I stitched you up. You need rest."

Chicken Nugget gave a soft huff, tail brushing the floor as if encouraging me on. The stack of potatoes was way over his tiny head thinking he was doing a great job at gaurding.

Slowly, I reached out and let my palm graze the wolf's shoulder. The heat of him startled me again, far warmer than he should've been. My hand trembled, but I didn't pull away. Was he running a fever?

His chest rumbled beneath my touch. Not a warning growl. Something else. A vibration that traveled through my hand, up my arm, into my core. 

"You're not like other wolves, are you? Such a big fella." I whispered, knowing nothing of wolves in the first place. His eyes narrowed, just slightly. Almost like he understood.

The thought made me laugh nervously, shaking my head. "Great. Talking to a patient like he's going to answer you. Losing it."

But then his gaze shifted downward, and I realized he wasn't just looking. He was studying me. My face. How my hands moved, how I flinched, how close I was to be torn open if this predator so wished.

I jerked back, the chair behind me scraping the floor as I stumbled upright, suddenly unable to trust the strength of the leash around his mouth. The wolf blinked, slow and deliberate, as if mocking me.

"Chicken Nugget, here." My loyal dog refused to move. "Have some survival instincts you fool." I reasoned with him while he seemed content with his post beside the abnormally large wolf.

One would say Chicken Nugget, with his mixed pedigree was a large dog, one most people regardless of his goofy face wouldn't let their dogs near at the dog park with the fear that he would crush them accidentally with his sheer size. But next to this wolf, he seemed small, lap size even.

I retreated to my desk realising suddenly, how the wolf paid no heed to my dog, and just to me with those blood red eyes. And I started hoping to drown out the awareness of his gaze. 

But my eyes kept sliding back to the uncanny poise this animal seemed to have, to the faint shimmer of light in his eyes even when they closed again.

Was he domesticated? Did he belong to someone to be so calm even when restrained. Or maybe I am misunderstanding fatigue for calmness, and it's confusion for intelligence.

Chicken Nugget eventually settled against my leg, his warm body slumping into sleep. I should've gone upstairs to my apartment, should've locked the clinic and left the wolf to rest.

But I couldn't. Something kept me rooted to that chair, listening for every shift of his breath. When the clock chimed four, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

The wolf stirred again, this time pushing against the blankets with surprising strength. I hurried over, hands hovering as he shifted his weight, half-rising before collapsing back with a grunt.

"Its not yet time for you to be up and about, big fella." I soothed, crouching beside him. "Don't strain. You'll tear your stitches."

His eyes opened again, and I stilled.

His pupils dilated, catching every flicker of my reflection. My hand, meant to press gently to his bandage, faltered and instead brushed along his fur, almost in familiarity. But it's mouth was looming in closer, as if ready to take a bite. Inching closer every second while the leash's material strained to break free. 

Then, as suddenly as it came, the moment shattered. He exhaled, sharp and ragged, and closed his eyes, retreating back into uneasy sleep.

I stumbled backward, pressing a hand to my chest as though that could steady the frantic pace of my heart.

"This is insane," I whispered to the empty air. 

He was going in for the kill, but I had stayed there baring my throat.