Dashiel's consciousness returned in fragments. His head throbbed, and his thoughts were sluggish and tangled.
When he tried to rub his forehead, he realized his hand was wrapped around a glass full of liquor. He had no idea when he'd poured himself a drink, but the dizziness in his skull felt exactly like those occasions when he'd had one too many.
He sat up fully — and nothing around him looked anything like his office. Without panicking, he set the glass on the side table and took stock of his surroundings, trying to piece together where he was.
A few moments ago, he'd been in his office finishing up work before exhaustion knocked him out cold. Now he'd woken up in a place he'd never seen before. From what he could tell, it was a study with the feel of a private library — shelves lined with books, a large glass cabinet displaying bottles of various liquors. The room was spacious, and its walls were hung with portraits of people he didn't recognize.
Still groggy, Dashiel got to his feet and walked to the nearest portrait for a closer look. It showed a family of three.
The man stood tall, radiating an imposing, almost aristocratic air. The woman sat in a chair with a boy of about three on her lap — beautiful and elegant in her own right. What struck Dashiel as odd was her purple hair, and the boy's hair, which carried the same faint violet tint. Had the painter made a mistake? Why would a small child have purple-tinged hair? He couldn't make sense of it. In the portrait, the adults' expressions stood in stark contrast to the child's. While the man and woman wore serious, unsatisfied faces — as though trapped in a situation neither had chosen — the boy beamed with a sunny, innocent grin fitting for his age.
Dashiel studied the portrait for a long moment, then let his gaze drop to the words engraved on the frame beneath it.
Nilsson Family
His confusion deepened. He turned to survey the room again. After a few seconds, he lifted his wrist to check the time and found a watch — but not his. Dashiel had a passion for timepieces and owned a considerable collection. The watch on his wrist didn't resemble any of them.
Another thing he noticed: his body's musculature was far more pronounced than before.
Something was very wrong.
First — he had no idea where he was.
Second — he was wearing a watch that definitely wasn't his.
Third — and this felt like the most important point — his body had a build completely different from the one he knew.
Decades of navigating the corporate world had taught him to stay composed in disorienting situations. He scanned the room once more and spotted a medium-sized mirror hanging on the wall. He approached it slowly, his headache still nagging, but that discomfort became utterly insignificant the moment he saw his reflection.
The man staring back at him was not Dashiel Nilsson.
It took him a few seconds to react. He raised his hand instinctively to touch his face, then lowered it almost immediately. The reflection showed a young man — Dashiel estimated about twenty-seven — with striking features and deep grey eyes that lent him an air of mystery. But what stood out most was the unusual hair, which, if you looked closely enough, carried a distinct purple undertone.
Dashiel dragged his hand down his face in frustration.
Damn it. How in the world had he ended up in a body that wasn't his — and where the hell was this place? Questions multiplied in his mind, but he wasn't going to find answers standing around doing nothing.
He started by checking the body for any useful clues. Luckily, he found a wallet in his pocket. He exhaled with marginal relief and opened it.
Beyond the cash and credit cards, there was an ID. The photo matched the body he was now inhabiting, but the name printed on it was identical to his own.
Dashiel Nilsson, the card read, along with other details like date of birth and gender. But what truly gave him a glimmer of comprehension was a field he had never seen on any identification in his entire life.
Sub-gender: Dominant Alpha.
Everything his niece had told him came flooding back.
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