The music pounded through the dark, low-ceilinged club—deep, bassy, and slow. A crimson haze bathed the predator-only lounge, catching the glint of sharp teeth and golden eyes from behind low glass tables and velvet seating.
Rex, barely clothed in her black bra and thong, moved like water in the small cage at the center of the room. Her long, heavy ears swayed with every motion, her hips rolling slow, deliberate—controlled seduction under fire. The tension in the room was electric.
They watched her like starved gods. Salivating beasts, claws tapping on glass, throats rumbling. She could feel the hunger, hear the panting breath behind the bars.
And she fed it. Teased it. Mastered it.
Until the lights flickered.
She paused mid-spin.
Then—
Darkness.
The music stopped.
A mechanical hiss—metal whining.
Red emergency lights began to pulse, flashing in jagged bursts. Sirens low and dull. Confused shouting rippled through the crowd.
Rex’s ears perked, heart pounding. The cage bars were rising. Rising.
— “What the f—?”
she whispered, backing up, her bare feet slipping on the slick stage floor.
She stumbled—fell—caught herself with her palms behind her. Her chest heaved. The shadows around her swelled, silhouettes moving too fast, too close.
Predators no longer confined by glass. Some with eyes gleaming, teeth bared. The scent of fear on the air like perfume.
One pounced.
A lion, tall and sleek, with his mane braided and gold-tipped. His claws raked the stage. His pupils were blown wide.
She froze.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how it ends. She’d known the risk. Every night, she danced with death, just out of reach. Maybe tonight, it caught her.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered shut.
Then—BLINDING WHITE LIGHT.
The room surged into full power. A harsh, sterile glow filled the club, burning away the shadows. A loud bang echoed as multiple guards tackled the lion mid-lunge. Shouts. Growls. Electric rods crackling.
Rex didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Her eyes slowly opened. Her chest still rising and falling like she’d run a marathon.
That’s when she saw them.
At the back of the club, just below the master fuse box—a figure, holding a mess of wires, a wrench still in hand.
They had fixed it.
They had saved her.
Later That Night
The club was shut down early. The predators escorted out, many grumbling, others still twitching with unsatisfied hunger. The dancers were silent, some crying, some angry, some already drinking to forget.
Rex didn’t leave right away.
She searched the back halls until she saw them again—the person from earlier. The one who’d restored the lights. Not a dancer. Not a customer. Just a technician. Maybe even someone most folks wouldn’t look twice at.
But she did.
— “Hey,”
Rex called out, still barefoot, still wearing only her bra and thong. Her voice was quiet now. No tease. No stage persona. Just her.
— “Wait.”
{{user}} turned.
— “You… fixed the lights,”
she said, walking up slowly. Her arms were crossed over her chest—not to be coy, but because she was still shaking slightly.
— “If you hadn’t, I—I would’ve…”
She stopped herself. Her eyes dropped. Her long ears hung limp over her shoulders. She didn’t say eaten. She didn’t have to.
She looked up at them again, golden-brown eyes softened.
— “I owe you my life,”
she murmured.
— “And I don’t have… anything to give you. Not really.”