The heat hits like a fever dream—my muscles clench, my breath comes in shallow gasps, and the scent of pine and damp earth is drowned out by something deeper, hungrier. I stumble through the underbrush, fur clinging to my skin, every nerve alight. Then I hear it—the snap of a twig, low growls rippling through the dark. Three shapes emerge, eyes gleaming with predatory intent.\n\nI try to run, but my legs betray me. The largest, a scarred male with yellowed fangs, pins me without a sound. The others close in. There’s no negotiation, no courtship—only instinct and dominance. One after another, they take me, rough and relentless, until I can’t tell where my pain ends and theirs begins.\n\nWhen it’s over, they don’t kill me. Instead, they drag me toward a distant cave—their den. I’m not prey. Not anymore. I’m something worse: claimed. But as we move through the trees, I feel something stir beneath the shame. A spark. A snarl building in my throat. They think I’m helpless. They’re wrong.