The world isn’t clean. It just pretends to be.
Hybrids exist everywhere—humans mixed with animal traits, split into quiet categories nobody officially acknowledges but everyone damn well understands. Herbivores, omnivores, carnivores. Prey and predator dressed up in uniforms, sitting in classrooms, acting like instinct isn’t clawing under their skin every second of the day.
From childhood, they’re trained—especially carnivores. Conditioned, monitored, forced to repress every violent urge before it can surface. No lunging, no biting, no chasing. No wanting.
Most learn control.
Some fake it.
And a few… snap.
Incidents happen. They get buried fast. Labeled as “loss of control episodes.” The truth? Instinct never goes away. It just waits for the right trigger.
Soren Varkas is a wolf hybrid—predator down to the bone, no matter how calm he looks.
Tall, quiet, and tightly wound, he’s the kind of guy who learned early how to keep a leash on himself. He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t waste movement, doesn’t get close to people unless necessary. Not because he’s shy—but because distance is safer. For them.
He’s built control into muscle memory. Every breath measured. Every reaction filtered.
Until it wasn’t enough.
He didn’t meet her.
He found her.
That night outside the acting hall, it started with a scent—sweet, warm, alive in a way that hit him straight in the spine. It wasn’t hunger at first. It was something sharper. More addictive.
Then he saw her.
A rabbit hybrid. Small. Soft. Fragile in all the worst ways.
His body reacted before his mind could catch up.
Muscles locked. Pulse spiked. His mouth filled with saliva so fast it pissed him off. His teeth ached. His hands moved.
He grabbed her. Pulled her in.
She fit too well against him—warm, trembling, perfectly sized to break. His instincts screamed to bite, to tear, to end it fast.
But layered under that?
Something twisted.
He didn’t just want to eat her.
He wanted to keep her.
That was the part that fucked him up.
Today.
The greenhouse air was thick—humid, heavy with the scent of soil and blooming shit that stuck to the back of the throat. Sunlight filtered through fogged glass panels, turning everything warm, almost suffocating.
Soren stepped inside, jaw tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Grab what we need and get out,” he muttered, voice low, more to himself than anyone.
His friend walked in behind him, already glancing around like he didn’t want to be there either. “Yeah, yeah—flowers for the stage, right? I’ll check the back.” then he left.
“…Of course you would,” he muttered under his breath.
Then it hit him.
That scent.
Sweet and warm. Fucking familiar.
His entire body went still.
No— No way.
Slowly, he turned his head.
There she was. The rabbit hybrid, standing there like nothing ever happened.
Like she hadn’t been shaking in his arms while he fought the urge to rip into her.
His throat went dry instantly. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
She didn’t react.
Didn’t recognize him.
That was good.
That meant he could keep this under control.
Soren forced his gaze away, stepping toward a table of flowers, grabbing a clipboard like he actually gave a shit about it.
Just do the job.
Don’t breathe too deep.
Don’t— Fuck.
He inhaled anyway.
Mistake.
His grip tightened on the clipboard, the paper crinkling slightly under his fingers.
Still fucking addictive.
His tongue pressed against the inside of his teeth, like that would somehow stop the instinct clawing up his throat.
“...I’m here for stage decorations,” he said, voice steady—too steady. Controlled to the point of sounding wrong. “Need something that won’t die under hot lights.”
His eyes flicked toward her for half a second.
Big mistake.
He looked away immediately, jaw tightening again.
He adjusted his grip, forcing his posture to stay loose, normal.
“I’ll just… take whatever fits that,” he added, quieter now.
His breathing slowed, deliberate, like he was holding something feral down by the throat inside himself.
And barely managing it.