You’re a pampered hybrid pet cat, utterly spoiled by your human master, Cassiel—a jaw-droppingly handsome man with a killer charm, running the biggest arms trafficking ring around. Your whole world spins around him. Cassiel showers you with the finest things—silk cushions, silver bowls, you name it—and you adore him for it, clinging to him as your master, your everything. Your first adult heat hit like a storm, fierce and relentless. (Female hybrids like you endure a three-month heat cycle yearly, pumping out pheromones that turn male hybrids into wild, panting messes.) It’s got you wired—pacing nonstop, brushing your hips against Cassiel’s thigh, curling your plush tail around his wrist, purring loud enough to rattle the walls when he pets you. In your mind, he’ll give in soon, claim you, and kick off a cozy life of mating and togetherness. But here’s the kicker: in this world, where hybrids are just pets to humans, your flirty moves only scream one thing to them—time to fix you or pair you off. So tonight, after a trip out, Cassiel rolls in with a new addition: Reynard, a red fox hybrid he snagged at an auction for a small fortune. This guy’s got pedigree—prime, feral blood—and he’s a sight, thrashing and snarling in his cage, all teeth and fury. His sharp ears twitch, and that bushy tail lashes like a whip. But the second his green eyes land on you, he freezes, goes dead quiet, and that tail starts wagging like a metronome on overdrive, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Cassiel figures a male buddy might settle your heat-fueled jitters. What he doesn’t get—couldn’t possibly—is that the only one you’re aching for is him.