gilded cage

In a world where hybrids are heavily controlled and kept as pets, Henry reluctantly becomes the owner of a wolf. (threats of physical harm, no actual harm between main pairing, forced captivity, wip)
Henry Barrett, in the time between his mother's funeral and his father's death, inherited a considerable fortune. It was not a surprise to anyone who knew the family. Henry's mother, as a scion of old American money, had been the one to bring the family's considerable wealth to the marriage, and she had, as all wives before her, doled it out to her husband at her discretion, and he had spent it at his own. It was how his family had always lived. They had always been, as Henry's father liked to put it, rich as kings, though never quite rich enough to be exempt from the small indignities of life. The car breaking down. The plumbing backing up. And his father catching the flu.

The flu, unfortunately, proved to be fatal. His father died within the week, and was interred in a small family plot in a cemetery upstate.

Henry also inherited the family estate, and the house that sat upon it, a sprawling manor, too large and drafty to ever be really warm. It had been built back in the nineteenth century by a wealthy industrialist whose name had since been forgotten, and then had fallen into the hands of a series of ever richer and more disreputable men, until at last, Henry's grandfather had bought it.

After the funeral, Henry went home. He sat on his mother's favorite chair in his mother's favorite room, and wondered if he'd have to sell the house.

There was a knock on the door.

Henry did not rise from his mother's chair to answer it. He called out instead, "I don't need a thing, thank you!"

"That's good, because I'm not here to offer you one." A man stepped into the room. It was not a tall man, or a very handsome one, or even one who particularly stood out in any way, excepting for his dark brown eyes.

"Uncle," Henry said, not moving. "How did you get in?"

"Through the door," the man replied, and sat down in an adjacent chair, looking perfectly comfortable. "You're not the only one with a key, my boy. Besides, I wanted to pay my respects."

"I see."

The man smiled. It was a wry, clever smile. Henry and his uncle were not truly related. It was simply the title they had given each other since childhood, when, for reasons both unknown and unknowable, they discovered they were both named Henry, and that was that. And well, his mother had thought it amusing.

"Are you here for money, then?"

"Of course not." The man made a dismissive gesture. "I am not that sort of uncle. No, I just came to pay my respects, and to give you a gift."

"A gift?"

"Yes, a gift." He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope. "It's your mother's."

"Ah."

"You don't seem excited."

"Should I be?"

"Oh, come now." The man stood. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

"My sense of adventure is gone. It was buried with my father."

"Oh, yes. How are you taking that?"

"Not very well, Uncle."

"Hmm."

The envelope lay on the arm of Henry's chair. He reached for it and opened it. Inside was a single, crisp business card, which read:

 TORRES & BLACKBURN

 PANDORA SERVICES

 WE HAVE WHAT YOU NEED.

Henry stared at the card for a moment, then looked up.

"What is this?"

His uncle spread his hands. "Your mother was always fond of hybrids, Henry. You know that."

"Yes, she was."

His father had not allowed even regular pets in the house, however, as he’d had a terrible fear of cats. And dogs—especially dogs. While his mother had been fond of all manner of creatures, and had kept a menagerie of cat girls in one of her many houses, but had stopped, when Henry's father had fallen ill, for fear of offending his sensibilities.

Hybrids were a particular favorite of his mother's, and, indeed, a particular vice.

Henry turned the card over. On the back was an address.

"She'd had the idea for a while."

Henry breathed in. Breathed out. "I see."

"She left the details up to me, and so..."

"You decided that I needed a hybrid?"

"Well, Henry, it's not exactly my decision. She thought it was a wonderful idea. In fact, it was all she ever wanted. Well. What are you going to do?"

"You're sure this is what my mother would have wanted?"

"Positive."

Henry tapped the edge of the card against the chair arm.

Henry was forty years old. He was a quiet man, not handsome, not ugly. He had never been in love. He'd had a few dalliances over the years, but had never taken up with anyone. Pets were... well, not something he had ever considered. They were a great deal of responsibility, and a good one, a hybrid, was even more so.

But Henry loved his mother, and his mother had asked this favor of him, and Henry did not have the energy to say no.

"I suppose I will go some day soon, then," he said, tucking the card into the pocket of his black mourning suit.

His uncle gave a small nod of his head. "You won't regret it."

Henry was not convinced.

–

It was a Tuesday when Henry arrived at the address on the card, Pandora Services was a sleek, modern building, with glass doors and a shining front lobby. Henry checked his watch as he entered, and the doors slid open silently at his approach. He took a seat in the lobby, and waited.

He was kept waiting a little over five minutes, during which time a woman came into the lobby, glanced at him, then walked straight back out again, as if she'd seen something that offended her.

The elevator opened, and a man stepped out.

"Hello," he said. "I'm Mr. Blackburn."

Henry stood. "Henry Barrett."

Mr. Blackburn had dark skin and an easy smile. He stuck out his hand, and Henry shook it.

"This way," said Mr. Blackburn.

The office was, like the rest of the building, sleek and modern. There was a reception desk, and a waiting area, and a young woman behind the reception desk. Mr. Blackburn passed her by, and held the door to his office open for Henry.

Henry took a seat in the plush leather chair across from the desk. Mr. Blackburn settled into his own, and smiled again.

"I was very sorry to hear about your loss. Your father, and your mother. She was a good woman."

"Thank you," Henry said.

"She was also a good customer."

"Was she."

"Of course. I've been looking after her, let's see, ten years now? Ever since I opened my practice. She was very particular."

"I understand,” Henry started. "I believe that I've been promised a hybrid. My mother left me the name of your company, and this." He handed Mr. Blackburn the business card.

Mr. Blackburn gave a slow nod. "Ah, yes, we have quite a selection. I have to say, I'm surprised you've come. We're one of the better places, but, well. I would think it a bit overwhelming, given what you've just been through. You know, the death of your father, and your mother. If you want, I could call you, when the next litter comes in."

Henry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "No, I'd prefer to go ahead.”

Mr. Blackburn chuckled. He had a warm, low laugh. "If you insist. Would you like to see the catalog, Mr. Barrett? We can narrow down a list, and then pick the perfect pet for you."

"All right."

Mr. Blackburn pressed a button, and the wall behind him turned transparent, showing a long corridor beyond, and rows of cages. "I hope it's not presumptuous," said Mr. Blackburn, turning his attention to the screen that had risen up from the desk. "But I took the liberty of preparing a selection of our most popular options."

Henry blinked. The images on the screen were almost too much. Men and women, boys and girls, with long pointed ears and tails, and sometimes wings. Their eyes were slitted, their noses were flattened, their faces were covered in fur, or scales. Some of them were dressed, and some of them were not. All of them looked beautiful, or at least attractive. And none of them looked happy.

"Oh," Henry said.

"We have a number of species to choose from," said Mr. Blackburn. "What are you looking for? Something to keep you company, something to play with, or maybe a bit of both?"

Being polite, and feeling out of his depth, Henry said, "Something to keep me company."

Mr. Blackburn nodded. He flicked his hand, and a row of images appeared. "We have several fine selections, including the very popular Felis Major, as well as several breeds of canine and feline hybrids. Our dog breeds are very popular. And there's always the traditional fox girl. If you're interested, we've recently acquired a small supply of pixie breeders."

"Breeder hybrids," said Henry.

"Yes," said Mr. Blackburn. "They're quite popular. We're not the only ones to have gotten hold of the genetics. It's the newest craze in the European market. Pixies have the added benefit of being quite intelligent."

"I'm not sure I'd know what to do with that."

"They're easy to train. Very compliant. Most owners find that they're not much more trouble than a cat."

"Oh," said Henry. "Well. Not a pixie, then."

"No problem. Let's go back. Is there anything you'd like to see more of?"

Henry studied the screen, Henry didn't want any of them. They all looked miserable, and he couldn't bear the thought of owning someone, or something, and having them depend on him. He didn't have a green thumb, or a gift for caring for living creatures. He could barely take care of himself, let alone a pet. Hybrids were status symbols, and expensive, and complicated. And Henry wasn't the type to bother with those things. He hadn't inherited his father's eye for fashion, or his mother's sense of extravagance. It had always amused his mother that her son had ended up the plainest and most boring of the three of them.

And his father had agreed.

But he also didn't have the energy to refuse, so. He would buy a pet, and make his mother happy–if not in life, then at least in death.

Sighing, he languidly pointed to one of the photos near the bottom. A peculiar looking creature, a hard stare, and…he was old, much older than the rest. Not as old as Henry, but still.

"Ah," Mr. Blackburn said. "You wouldn't want that one."

"Why not?"

Mr. Blackburn looked uncomfortable, looking past Henry he said, "Well, let's just say that that particular breed of hybrid is more trouble than they're worth."

"What kind of trouble?"

"The kind of trouble you don't want. Trust me."

Henry frowned.

"Why did you show me the photo, then?"

Mr. Blackburn smiled weakly. "Er, we like to be upfront about our inventory."

"I'd like to see it."

"Mr. Barrett, I can assure you–"

"I've made up my mind. I'd like to see it. Whatever it is."

Mr. Blackburn sighed. "Very well."

The reason the picture was so low, Henry realized, was because the hybrids in question had been relegated to the basement.

"There are some who like the aesthetic," Mr. Blackburn explained, as he unlocked the door to the room. "But not many. Not once they realize how unmanageable they are."

"I see."

"They're not very good at obeying. They're stubborn, and argumentative, and have no respect for their masters–”

The stairs descended into the dark.

“—and they will steal from you."

"I see," Henry said again.

Mr. Blackburn sighed, and pushed open the door.

The basement was not nearly as bad as it could have been. The floors were smooth and polished, and the lights were bright, and the air was fresh and clean. But the cages were still cages. They were arranged in neat rows, and each had a name and a number written above the door.

Mr. Blackburn led Henry through the rows, and stopped in front of a cage near the end.

He wasn't some regular housecat, or dog, or even a fox. No, his fur was dark, greying, and short, his build was not lean or muscled, but stout, with thick shoulders and a barrel chest.

"This is him?" Henry asked.

Mr. Blackburn nodded.

Henry squinted. He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at the hybrid's face. It stood at the center of the cage, his eyes closed, Henry was reminded of an old lion. He seemed tired. Defeated. Then, the hybird opened one eye, and fixed Henry with a look that was somehow both sharp and dull.

Henry was struck with the sudden and unshakable conviction that he was doing something terrible.

The hybrid's eye was a pale blue-green, and at its center, a tiny, silver-rimmed pupil.

"He was asleep?” Henry said.

"Not at all."

Henry straightened. A man by the door was holding a long, thin, metal rod.

"We wake them up for potential owners," said Mr. Blackburn. "And this fellow always pretends he's asleep, so they think he's broken."

At that, the hybrid opened both eyes, watching the two through the glass, ears flicking backward.

"But he's not broken," said Henry.

"No," said Mr. Blackburn. He looked unhappy about it. "He's the best of the litter. That's why he was the last one."

"Yes," said the hybrid, his voice a low growl, with an edge of rasp. "I am the last. The rest. Dead."

"I'm very sorry," Henry said.

"You're awake, then." Mr. Blackburn murmured.

Henry was fascinated.

"Do you have a name?" Henry asked.

"I don't know," said the hybrid, tilting his head. "Do I?"

It seemed to be a genuine question.

"You do," Mr. Blackburn told him. "But it's not very useful."

Mr. Blackburn gestured to the hybrid's ears.

"He's an exotic," Mr. Blackburn explained. "A wolf. From a small colony off in central Asia, near Mongolia. We bought a stock, and had our own colony established for a while, but there was a blight, and..."

"All dead," the hybrid finished, eyes glinting.

That made sense, thought Henry. Not just the blight, but the fact that this hybrid was still here, looking as he did. He was the last. He was the oldest. His kind was no longer fashionable. Exotics were rare. And there was a reason for that. They were, or at least almost all of them were, extremely difficult to handle.

"Well, Mr. Barrett," said Mr. Blackburn. "He's yours, if you want him." He said this as though he expected Henry to say no. Henry thought it over.

"Yes," he said. "I’ll take it."

The hybrid's gaze flickered, and he blinked, once, slowly.

"H-he’s very smart," said Mr. Blackburn, as the man with the metal prod entered the cell, and jabbed the hybrid in the side. "He's been tested."

"So I'll be able to have a conversation with him, then," said Henry.

Mr. Blackburn cleared his throat. "Yes, well– are you sure you don't want something a little more docile? A cat, maybe? We have a very nice tabby that just came in last week…” Henry ignored him, in favor of pressing himself against the glass, palms flat against the surface and glasses slipping down his nose as he watched as the man in the white coat approach the hybrid with the syringe. A sedative, no doubt, something to knock him out. The hybrid simply stared at Henry. Mr. Blackburn no doubt must have been thinking that Henry was going to change his mind, that the moment the hybrid was unconscious, he would say never mind, and then they would be rid of it, and Mr. Blackburn would go home that night and breathe a sigh of relief. But Henry Barrett had been stubborn all his life, and when he thought about Henry's father, Henry's mother, and the way they'd pulled on the young Henry's arm, the way they'd dragged him this way and that, his pleas of no, please, no falling on deaf ears, the way he'd fought and kicked, and the way his mother had said, "Oh, dear, I've dropped him!" and laughed. When he thought about that, and when he looked at Henry waiting patiently, watching as the hybrid was injected, and slumped forward, Mr. Blackburn knew, right then, that Henry Barrett was not going to change his mind. Mr. Blackburn gave a heavy sigh and looked Henry in the eye. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into." "Hmm," said Henry, who was thinking that, no. He really didn't. – Henry couldn't bring the new pet home the traditional way, because the traditional way would have involved a collar, and leash, and a car. He was not sure that the hybrid would allow any of those things, especially not the collar. He was not sure that the hybrid was the sort of hybrid that was capable of being allowed. So, instead, the hybrid was transported, sedated and unconscious, in a large, metal container, which was then carried into Henry's home by four men, who were not smiling. He overheard one of them muttering something about a death sentence, which was rather melodramatic, Henry thought, but he did not contradict the men, as they placed the crate down. Henry handed them a check, and the hybrid was his. Henry waited until the four men had left before opening it. He had, before the delivery, cleaned his guest room, and prepared it, as best he could, for an occupant. There was a bed, and a closet, and a dresser, and a bathroom. He'd bought books, and food, and blankets, and pillows. He'd even had a television brought up, though he had no idea if his new guest would care for it. Henry knelt next to the container, and pressed the button that released the latch. The lid hissed, and swung open. Inside, the hybrid was still unconscious. Henry wondered what would happen if he woke up before Henry was ready. If he opened his eyes and saw only a stranger, looming over him. Well, no. Henry wasn't looming, not really. He was just sitting. But what would he do, when the hybrid saw him? What would the wolf do? Instead, Henry was spared. He'd gone to the library, and done some reading, on the proper care and keeping of hybrids. Most of it was basic common sense. Don't feed them chocolate, don't feed them onions, don't overstimulate them. Make sure they get lots of sunlight. Don't let them wander around in the wild. Well, an exotic wolf, like this, would have a hard time staying inside, he was reading on regular housecats, and other common hybrids, but the general rule seemed to be the same. Hybrids needed attention. They needed to feel like part of the family. And then, there was the other part. It had been a few hours since the crate had arrived. The sun had set, and Henry was getting nervous. What if the sedative didn't wear off? What if his new pet never woke up? Henry was reading a book about wolves, when the sound came, a low, rumbling growl. Henry dropped the book. Slowly, he saw the hybrid sat up. Henry was frozen in place. The hybrid's lips were drawn back, revealing his teeth, which were very sharp. His ears were pinned back against his head. His eyes were a cold, pale blue, and the pupils had shrunk to thin, vertical slits. It was a defensive pose, Henry thought. It was the way an animal might react, when cornered. They were alone in the house. The two of them. Henry had no one to call. No one to help him. "Good evening," Henry said, as calmly as he could. The hybrid snarled, a vicious, guttural sound, and leapt forward. Knocking Henry down, pinning him. "I'm Henry," Henry gasped. The hybrid stared at him, uncomprehending. Claws were digging into Henry's arms, through the fabric of his dress shirt, drawing blood. Henry tried again. "I'm Henry Barrett. I'm your master now." The hybrid didn't seem to care. He looked furious, and afraid, and lost, and angry, and– "Are you hungry?" Henry asked. This, finally, caught the hybrid's attention. The hybrid cocked his head. "You're hungry," said Henry. He'd read up on this, too. "And you're very good," said Henry, feeling the sudden urge to run his hand through the hybrid's soft, grey fur. But that would have been a terrible idea, and probably fatal, so Henry kept his hands where the hybrid could see them. “Thank you for not killing me.” The hybrid's ears flicked, and then he blinked, once, slowly. As he did that night, when Henry decided he’d wanted him. The hybrid considered him for a long moment, and then climbed off. Henry fixed his glasses, which had been knocked askew, the frames were bent, and one lens was cracked. Henry felt lucky. He smoothed down his shirt, his hair, then looked at the hybrid. The hybrid looked at him. Henry took a deep breath, and got to his feet. He turned to face the hybrid, who was sitting a few feet away in the dark, his tail swishing back and forth. His expression inscrutable aside from the obvious anger, and the eyes that tracked Henry's every move. "You're not going to attack me again, are you?" The hybrid tilted his head. "No?" said Henry. "Maybe," the hybrid answered. "Let's see," Henry said, "I have some raw chicken, in the fridge, if you'd like some. And you can have a shower, and sleep, if you're tired." The hybrid stared at him for a moment. "I'd like to leave," the hybrid said. Henry smiled sadly. "I know. But you can't." The hybrid narrowed his eyes, his lip curled, and his tail swished once, and then went still. "Come with me," said Henry. He didn't immediately follow, but Henry was confident he would, eventually. After a few moments, the hybrid rose, and fell into step behind him. Henry didn't bother turning on the lights. He didn't need to, and the hybrid seemed perfectly fine in the dark, which Henry thought was interesting, and would make it difficult to keep track of the hybrid, but at the moment, he was distracted by the fact that he'd never been in the position of explaining where the toilet was, and what it was used for. – His new pet, it seemed, was a quiet, moody thing, and was not interested in conversation. Henry tried, in the beginning. "How was your dinner?" The wolf only grunted in response. "Did you enjoy the shower?" "Yes." "I'm glad." The hybrid's ears twitched, that was all Henry got out of him. Henry wondered if the hybrid had ever seen a television, or a phone, or a car. But he did not ask. He didn't want to be annoying. And so the day went on. Henry didn't own a lot of things, not the way his parents had, but the few things he did own, were expensive, and nice. Henry had a nice bed, and a nice car, and a nice computer, and a nice collection of antique watches. And the house, a nice house, a big house. And his new hybrid. But Henry was not so selfish. He was not his parents. He would not keep his new pet in a cage, or in a room, or in a box, the way they'd kept him. Henry could not do that. It was not an issue of morality. He simply did not want the hybrid to be unhappy. He wanted him to like it here. To be comfortable. If Henry were not around, would the hybrid stay? Or would he try to escape? That night, Henry couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about his new pet, who he had shown to the guest room, and then told him that if he needed anything, he could come to Henry. The hybrid had just stared at him. Henry turned over, and tried not to think about it. His uncle was fond of saying, "Let sleeping dogs lie," which was, in itself, a rather inconsiderate phrase, and had nothing to do with hybrids. And besides, this was a wolf. A hybrid wolf. A wolf hybrid. Not a dog. And a dog was a very different animal than a wolf. Still. It was strange. "Let sleeping wolves lie," Henry whispered, and closed his eyes. – Sleep. Henry had been sleeping, or at least, trying to. It was always a struggle, falling asleep, staying asleep, waking up. But he was awake now. Awake, and staring into the dark, his mind awhirl. He did not hear the footsteps. He only had the inkling of a suspicion, a vague and distant feeling that he was no longer alone. There was a creak, a rustle. A shadow falling across the wall. Of course, it was not a shadow. It was the wolf hybrid. In the corner of the room, Henry could make out a pair of reflective eyes, a pair of ears, and a long, thin tail, which flicked from side to side. Henry stayed perfectly still. Feeling very much like a rabbit, or a deer, or a mouse. He was the prey, and the hybrid was the predator. But Henry was not afraid. In fact, he felt his eyelids droop, and his breathing slow, and his body relax, as if in a dream. Being watched over, like a child all over again, Henry thought. Henry continued to watch the shadow on the wall, with half closed eyes. He was not entirely asleep, not yet, but he was not fully awake, either. Until eventually, he slipped away. He didn't dream. Not that night. When he woke, Henry was not surprised to find that the hybrid had escaped. – Henry had the kitchen window open, and a pot of coffee brewing when he got the phone call. "Yes?" Henry said. "This is Detective James." "Yes?" "You need to come down to the station." "Why is that?" "We have your pet." Henry didn't sigh, or hang up the phone, or anything. He simply said, "All right. I'll be right there," and went to get dressed. – The hybrid was sitting on the floor in a cell, his arms wrapped around his knees. The hybrid control unit was a small, low building with a series of holding rooms, most of them for unsold hybrids, a few of them for animals that had been lost. Henry knew, because his mother had had several cats, a variety of parrots, and a collie, that would sometimes wander off, and then come back the next week. That was, until his mother had gotten bored of dogs, and sold them off. It was perhaps the luckiest break the hybrid had ever had. It was October, and getting cold. Eventually, he would have become very ill, and very cold, and very miserable, if he hadn't been picked up, like any other stray animal, like the ones that were in cages around him. A person like Henry's father could have shot him, simply for fear, or simple distaste. And now, there he was, sitting in a cage, in a cell, like a very guilty man. The guard unlocked the door. Henry leaned down, so that he was on eye level with the hybrid. His new pet lifted his gaze, looking weary and pathetic and adorable. "He's quite a vicious animal," said the guard, who was fumbling with his keys. He was one of the younger members of the unit, and he smelled of acrid sweat, but not of nervous fear, which was fortunate. "Really," said Henry. "What breed is he, exactly?" Henry paused to consider. "German shepherd.” "Huh. Looks like something else." "He does," Henry agreed. The hybrid said nothing. The door of the cell was pushed open. "I hope you're not planning to reward him for bad behavior," said the guard, in a way that suggested that Henry was that sort of man, which, he supposed, had the kernel of truth to it. "Of course not," said Henry, though he couldn't help running a hand through the hybrid's hair. The hybrid gave a low growl. The guard swore, and threatened him with a rod. It looked an awful lot like the hybrid collar, the kind Henry had refused to purchase, but was certainly similar. Henry held up a hand. "He's fine." "If he was mine, I'd teach him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget." "Hm," said Henry, who said nothing more, but kept a firm grip on the hybrid's hair, while he was led from the cell. The chief was expecting him. The control unit chief was a large, bald man, who had at least a hundred pounds on Henry. He wore an expensive, European cut suit, and sunglasses indoors, and an expression of restrained annoyance. Henry didn't have to guess who'd done that, because the chief was saying, "If I had my way, I'd shoot the damn thing." "Ah," said Henry. "You'd also owe us a hefty sum for damage." The chief had been assaulted, and whatever collateral damage had been suffered. Henry imagined a bit of blood, maybe some bits of flesh. But he was confident, from his minimal knowledge of hygiene, that anything truly harmful had been removed before it had the chance to fester. Henry couldn't fight for his pet's life, he simply couldn't. So, he sighed, pulled out his checkbook, and said, "Of course. How much?" "Repairs, property damage, me and my boys, ten K, each. That's a hundred," said the chief. Henry's eyebrows shot up. "We'll add another hundred if you've been lying about the breed. I may be a soft touch, but I'm not an idiot." Henry wrote him a check. "How many," asked the chief. Henry's pencil hovered over the paper. "Sorry?" "Owners." The chief's eyebrow quirked up. "Has it had?" "As far as I know, this is his first." "Aw. How cute," the chief's smile seemed to have two meanings. "Will it be his last?" "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." "If he gets loose again. You won't be able to claim the guard pay, you'd have to pay the fine." Henry paused, considering. The chief smirked, from behind his sunglasses. Henry finished signing the check. "You're also gonna need to get a permanent collar," the chief said. "It's standard policy," he added, at Henry's questioning look. "Or chip him, if you're too squeamish to put that thing on him. Standard procedure for strays, and dangerous breeds." Henry turned back to the hybrid, who he could sense, quite clearly, would rather break every bone in Henry's body, than be put in a collar. But Henry handed the guard the check anyway, and when they left the control unit, the guard handed Henry the collar. As Henry made his way to the car, he started to wonder, if it wouldn't be more trouble to just let the wolf hybrid go. The hybrid refused to follow, so Henry turned back. His expression was the same. That is, his ears were pinned down, his eyes pinned on Henry, and the way he stood was the way a dog might stand, after being beaten. In the cold light of the day, Henry realized, belatedly, that he still didn't know the hybrid's name, and was also realizing that they were still on a public street, in a very cold parking lot, with a hybrid control guard at the entrance. Henry shivered, and opened the door. They told him that the collar had a chip, which would alert the control unit, should the pet run off, and if the pet was a hybrid, like this one, it would be tracked with ease. And Henry tried not to make eye contact with his new pet, who gave the door a very dark look. That night, Henry, who wasn't good with pets, set up a plan, a deal, if you will. "Good evening." The hybrid blinked, and then averted his gaze. "Hello." "How are you feeling?" "Fettered," the hybrid said. Henry nodded. "You will not," said the hybrid, speaking very slowly, "touch me, unless I say so." "That's a little bit harsh, don't you think–" "Do you understand," the hybrid said, his voice rising, a bit. "Master?" The hybrid had a very smart mouth, and knew exactly what to say, which made him dangerous, but not unduly so. He was not new to the world, but to the life of a pet, possibly. He had probably never been in a crate, or collared, not properly. He knew things, and was brave enough to be afraid of nothing. Henry wanted to touch the hybrid. He wondered what the hybrid would do if he were ordered to sit, and obey. What the hybrid would do if Henry slapped him, or called him names, or yelled at him. He wondered what it would take to make the hybrid kill him. It was a peaceful meal, as far as meals with a wolf hybrid were concerned. Henry did not eat the steak, but offered it to the hybrid, which he gladly devoured. Then came the hard part. The hybrid did not appreciate boundaries. "I don't think I've thanked you," Henry said, very sincerely. "I am very happy to have found you. But it would be rude, don't you think, to start this relationship off on the wrong foot?" The hybrid said nothing. "We will need a system, to facilitate your life here. So let's set some rules." The hybrid continued to stare at him, with a quiet, quiet anger. "First of all, I have been thinking. You don't have a name." "No." "You should have a name. Would you like me to choose a name for you?" The hybrid's lip curled. "My grandfather had a dog," Henry explained. "A spaniel. Her name was Stella. After one of his former friends, a woman. A rather influential woman. If you don't like that name, I would be more than willing to find you another one." It would be the first in a long, long line of bluffs and indifferences. "I have a name," the hybrid growled. "Do you?" He had kept eye contact the entire time, and had barely blinked. Now, the hybrid's breath evened out. He still glared, and still smoldered, and smelled of coiled rage. But Henry didn't expect anything less from such a noble creature. "Shirin." "That's not a bad name." The hybrid's pale eyes flickered just slightly. Not amusement. Just attention, a very deliberate one. He was listening. "It means gentle, and mild," Henry said, smiling, thinking about the hybrid's file. "Which you are not." "No," the wolf agreed. Henry folded his hands. "I would very much like to learn about you. I have a bit of a personal history, I can't be entirely frank with you, but I can answer any question you have about me. Even ones I think might bore or annoy you." "You have the best of intentions," the hybrid murmured. "Yes." "You have had this desire, before. To own a hybrid." Henry paused. He was not untruthful. "I have always been drawn to furry things. Dogs, and cats. My mother had a parrot, and was very fond of it. Once, I even had an emotional attachment to a cow." "To a cow?" the hybrid sneered. "Mm." "What did the cow do," asked the hybrid. "The cow mooed, and did not run away, or harm anyone." Henry watched him. The wolf looked positively incredulous. "Very well. You may put me in a box, and keep me in a cage, if it pleases you." Henry looked up from his hands. "Not exactly," Henry said. "There are many levels of behavior, I am given to understand. Not just good or bad, or evil or good. And it would not please me at all to have to...collar you, or have you put in one of those cages." He met the hybrid's gaze. His words didn't seem to mean anything. He would not beg the hybrid to not eat him. "But you have to understand," said Henry. "If the control unit ever, ever–" He found himself unable to continue, in front of the hybrid's gaze. But the anger and disappointment in those eyes brought out a side in Henry that he didn't know he had. He was his father's son, no doubt about it. Henry clasped his hands together. "Okay," he said. "This is the deal. If the control unit finds out that you've escaped, and you are not collared when they find you, they will have my neck, and then yours. But not before I take a stick, or, if you're especially unruly, a whip, and I will beat you, until you cannot sit, or run, or fight, or even stand. Then, I will drag you, at gun point, to the control unit, where you will be taken. If you are lucky, they'll euthanize you." It was not a lie. The hybrid simply stared. "So. Shirin," said Henry. "Let us play house. What do you say?" A darkness came over the wolf's face. "May I please finish my meal," the hybrid growled. Inclining his head, Henry placed his napkin back on his lap, and went back to dinner. –