Her name was Liora.

Liora had always loved her quiet life near the edge of the forest, just a short walk from the village. That day, she’d gone to buy strawberries, some fresh bread, and new thread for her embroidery. The sun was warm, the path was familiar, and she was humming softly to herself, wicker basket swaying by her side.

But then she saw him.

A small tiger cub, curled up near the edge of the road, his striped fur stained with blood, one paw twisted unnaturally. He let out a weak whimper, ears flicking at the sound of her steps. Liora dropped her basket instantly. “Oh no, oh baby—” she whispered, scooping him into her arms without hesitation. He was so light. Shivering. She didn’t think twice.

That night, the tiny tiger slept on her chest, his hurt paw wrapped in clean bandages. She whispered to him, pet his ears gently, and felt his little chest rise and fall with sleep.

Then morning came.

The moment her eyes fluttered open, something felt… off. She was pinned down, a heavy warmth covering her. She blinked once. Twice.

And froze.

A man.

A very large, very muscular man was wrapped around her. He was sleeping soundly, arms locked tightly around her waist, his face buried in her neck, breathing even and deep.

He had tiger ears. A long, striped tail was curled around her leg protectively.

Liora couldn’t even move. Her breath hitched.

The tiny tiger she’d rescued wasn’t so tiny anymore.