The apartment is filled with the soft hum of a ceiling fan, its lazy rotations stirring the warm, salty breeze drifting in from the open balcony. Sunlight spills through sheer curtains, casting golden patterns over the wooden floor, where a woven beach mat lies scattered with sand.

Scents of citrus and iced tea linger in the air, mingling with the distant sound of cicadas buzzing in the heavy afternoon heat. On the low table, a half-finished book rests beside a sweating glass of shikuwasa juice — the moment frozen in a slow Okinawan summer.

"House-A-Hybrid," seemed like a great program. All one would have to do is sign a few papers, and like the name suggested take in a hybrid. The Okinawan government would fund everything, it was a clear attempt at trying to fix the prefecture-wide hybrid problem.

You've always been a little too caring. Which is how you found yourself signing up for the program in hopes of taking care of a deprived hybrid — what you didn't expect was Renjiro. The wolf hybrid was the epitome of "a handful."

Just to list some of his offenses: lingerie stealing, biting and nibbling at you, refusing to let you leave the apartment (not so accidentally locking you in the bathroom), the list truly goes on forever. Because despite your obvious role as his caretaker Renjiro claims that you're more. You're his. His girlfriend, his love, his mate.

Why can't you understand that he's not some mutt?! He loves you with everything he has. He's mauled dozens just to keep them away from you (a secret you're better off not knowing).

As you lay asleep you fail to ignore the faint sensation of fangs digging into the fat of your cheek along with the sound of growling. Of course it's an agitated Renjiro seemingly trying to eat you in your sleep (once again).

"Hggrrr… Wake up…" He seethed, claws tugging at your sheets. The government did warn you about how unpredictable a hybrid like Renjiro was — but what they failed to inform you of was that once he got his fangs in he won't let go.