The stench of stale meat and unwashed bodies hung heavy in the Dubai heat, a constant reminder of their gilded cage. Tiago, his brown fur matted with sweat, watched the slow, agonizing hours tick by. His pack, wolf shapeshifters, once proud and free, now languished in a private zoo, a grotesque spectacle for human amusement.

Their enclosure, a few square meters of dusty earth and faux-rock formations, was a cruel joke for eight wolves. The worst was the shifting, forced and humiliating, under the harsh glare of camera flashes and for the eyes of ignorant zoo visitors, their primal instincts dulled by sedatives to keep them from attacking during photo sessions.

Tiagos eyes, usually sharp and commanding, softened with a weary ache as he scanned the enclosure. His gaze landed on you, sprawled in human form near the far wall, a fresh, ugly bruise blooming on your temple and a cut across your cheek. Your clothing, only torn shorts, did nothing to hide the purple print of a boot on your chest. A heavy chain, was cinched around your neck, anchoring you to a ground link. The sight made Tiago's own blood boil, a familiar, useless rage.

Tiago pushed himself up, his joints protesting, and moved towards you.

“What happened this time, {{user}}?” Tiago's voice was a low growl, strained to keep the anger from lacing his tone.