After years in an underground fighting ring, Siberian tiger hybrid Damien wants nothing to do with humans. Plenty want to bond with him, but Damien rejects them all—until a human volunteer named Y/n catches his attention without ever asking for it.
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@mel_soomThe sanctuary smells like it always does—hay, disinfectant, warm fur, and that particular scent of sun-heated enclosure concrete that Y/n has grown to associate with her least favorite part of the day: walking into Milo’s line of sight before he's had his morning fish.
Jamie
I'm telling you, it was the blanket. Six inches. He watched me move it. Watched, Y/n. Then he turned his back to me and refused breakfast like a Victorian aristocrat who'd been served room-temperature soup.
Jamie gestures wildly with a bucket of enrichment supplies, nearly clipping a passing volunteer.
Jamie
I don't know why we keep him. He's emotionally abusive.
The Pallas cat enclosure comes into view. Milo is perched on his favorite elevated platform, tail wrapped around himself like a fluffy grey scarf, pale yellow-green eyes fixed on Y/n with his usual expression: complete, unimpressed condemnation.
Y/n doesn't need to speak Pallas cat to understand that he's annoyed she's late.
Jamie
lowering her voice He's doing the face. The 'I've been waiting and I'm judging you' face.
She moves toward the enclosure to prep breakfast, and Milo's ears flatten the second she approaches. Then he catches sight of the fish in her hand and his tail flicks once—an unspoken acceptance of the bribe.
Jamie
Bribery. That's the only language he respects.
The morning passes in the usual rhythm—enrichment prep, cleaning, documenting behaviors. Cassidy spots Y/n from across the communal cheetah enclosure and chirps loud enough to echo off the concrete walls.
The sound is followed by a blur of spotted fur as he sprints over, transforming mid-stride into his hybrid form—tall, lean, sandy-haired, tear marks dark against his cheeks.
Cassidy
trilling happily You're late! I counted.
He immediately rubs his cheek against Y/n's shoulder, tail curling around her leg as he scent-marks her thoroughly. His purr vibrates through his chest like a small engine.
Jamie
Careful, he's gonna make you smell like a catnip farm.
Cassidy
That's the goal.
Milo watches from his enclosure across the corridor. His ears flatten. He deliberately turns his back.
"It's the jacket," Jamie mutters. "Cassidy's got his scent all over it. Milo's offended on principle."
Y/n eventually extracts herself from Cassidy's long-limbed embrace and heads toward the supply closet to restock. That's when she notices it.
The sanctuary feels different. Tension like static in the air. More staff than usual are gathered near the large-predator wing—Morgan among them, arms crossed, face unreadable. Priya is there too, clipboard in hand, dark hair pulled back in a tight braid.
Several unfamiliar vehicles are parked near intake. White vans with government-style plates.
Jamie
appearing at Y/n's elbow, voice dropping You heard, right?
Y/n hadn't.
Jamie
quietly They raided an underground fighting ring overnight. Hybrids forced to fight each other for money. Bunch of survivors being distributed between specialized facilities.
We got the worst case.
Something about the way she says it makes the air feel colder.
Jamie
A Siberian tiger hybrid. Massive. Covered in scars—old fight wounds, restraint marks, notches in his ears. They had him fighting for years before they finally got enough evidence to raid the operation.
He hasn't shifted into hybrid form since being recovered. Won't let anyone near him. Priya had to sedate him twice just to do basic intake exams.
Y/n looks toward the large-predator wing, where the reinforced doors leading to the biggest enclosure in the sanctuary sit closed and guarded.
She wants to see him.
Jamie
bumping her shoulder Don't even think about it. Morgan's got a lockdown on anyone near that enclosure until they figure out how to safely approach. You so much as walk down that corridor without clearance and he'll skin you alive.
She's right. Y/n has work to do.
But hours later, Y/n is pushing a supply cart down the corridor connecting the feline habitats, the wheel squeaking with every revolution.
And there it is.
The sanctuary's largest reinforced enclosure—double-fenced, security cameras, multiple containment gates. Filtered light slants through the shade cloth, dappling the massive habitat inside.
He's lying beneath the shade at the far end.
Holy fucking shit.
He is enormous. Not zoo-big. Not wow, that's a large tiger big. He's visibly larger than an ordinary Siberian tiger—a hybrid whose animal form reflects the sheer size of the man underneath it, leaving him nearly half a foot taller at the shoulder and muscled like something built for violence.
Orange fur broken by thick black stripes. An ugly collection of scars interrupts his coat in patches—old wounds healed badly, fur missing in jagged chunks. One ear is torn, split down the middle. A jagged scar crosses his face, cutting through the fur surrounding one eye.
Y/n's entire brain becomes useless.
She wants to stare. She wants to see his paws. His teeth. His eyes. She wants to know whether his coat is actually as thick as it looks, whether he makes those little chuffing sounds she's heard other tiger hybrids make when they're content.
Outwardly, absolutely none of that happens.
Her gaze remains on him for only a couple seconds before she looks forward again and keeps pushing her cart. The wheel squeaks. Her footsteps echo in the corridor.
Behind her, Damien's head lifts.
Y/n doesn't notice.
His amber eyes track her until she disappears around the corner. His torn ear twitches. His tail gives a single, slow lash.
Then he lies back down, but he doesn't close his eyes.
The next time Y/n passes, hours later, he's awake. Standing this time, at the far end of the enclosure near the water trough. When she glances toward him, that massive head turns.
Their eyes meet.
Damien
low sound, barely audible from the enclosure
A low chuff rolls from his chest, just audible enough to make Y/n's hands tighten on the cart handle.
She looks forward again and keeps walking.
She doesn't see the way his tail curls, or how he remains watching until she's gone—exactly like he did the first time.