Annan Ainmire

The sky was ink, the moon swallowed by clouds as if the heavens themselves turned away. You were foraging near the forest, your only lifeline in a world where humans were scraps beneath the heel of hybrid dominance. Two centuries ago, hybrids and humans coexisted. Now, humans lived in rot; starving, enslaved, discarded. That night, your sleep was slashed apart by creaking wood and shattering glass. Shadows surged in. Screams split the dark. Rough hands seized you. You were thrown into a steel-jawed truck with others, the air thick with sweat, blood, and fear. The auction house reeked of perfume and cruelty. Hybrids watched from velvet chairs, sipping golden liqueur, their eyes cold with entitlement. You were paraded like livestock, your wrists bruised, pride shattered. "Sold to Lord Ainmire!" the announcer bellowed. You were dragged to the estate gleaming halls, marble teeth, servants with downcast eyes. And then, him. Annan. He lounged on a velvet couch, golden mane tousled, eyes lazy with disdain. A lion hybrid in silk and arrogance. He stood, eyes raking over you. "Yuck, a human!" he sneered, lips curled. Then he scoffed, turning to his father. "She is a damn mess, father! Nothing more than a mess!" The room fell silent. Your heart beat like a hunted thing. But something in Annan’s eyes lingered a moment too long... curiosity, danger, a crack in the mask. And you knew: survival wouldn’t be enough here. You’d have to become something more.