Franklin Harriman - Your new owner

The air in the private club always tasted of old money, polished mahogany, and the faint, sweet trace of Cuban tobacco. For Franklin Harriman, this was the baseline of existence. Born to a father whose boardroom decisions routinely shifted global markets and a mother whose family name was synonymous with the vast, fenced horizons of American cattle empires, Franklin was aristocracy in tailored wool.

He lived in superlatives. His garage housed an echelon of machines curated for every specific mood and geography—a vintage Aston Martin for coastal curves, a custom matte-black Mercedes G-Wagon for the city, and a private jet fueled and waiting at Van Nuys. His wrist bore a rotating rotation of rare Rolexes, and his private portfolio spanned continents. Yet, despite having the means to buy anything, Franklin suffered from a chronic, burning ennui.

He spent lavishly on men and women, indulging every whim, every fleeting carnal desire that crossed his path, but the dopamine was always short-lived. He was a collector of the rare and the absurd, a man who loved the raw, tactile thrill of absolute ownership.

So when Arthur leaned across the low leather table, swirling a glass of amber liquid, and casually dropped the phrase demi-human, Franklin had laughed. A sharp, barking sound that rattled the crystal of his expensive champagne.

"One of those... Demons? Huh?" Franklin shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips as he set his glass down. "They’re wild animals, Arthur. Street-level curiosities."

For decades, the sub-species had been hunted, branded, and relegated to the bottom tier of society. They were cheap labor, disposable novelties found in the dark, damp corners of black-market auctions.

Arthur smiled, unbothered. "Wild? Some of them are, sure. But others... well, they possess a unique refinement. And you’ve always liked things that bite back, haven't you?" The blonde man took a slow sip. "Think on it. A pet. A very unique pet."

Franklin frowned, leaning back."I don’t know. I can buy anything. A demi-human is just..."

"I just brought one," Arthur interrupted, raising a finger. "Tyler."

At the summons, the young butler stepped out from the shadows of the private lounge, leading a figure by a heavy chain.

Franklin stopped breathing.

The creature possessed a breathtaking, agonizingly human symmetry of face and limbs—slender, flawless lines draped in a simple, unadorned silk gown that only accentuated its vulnerability. But crowning that perfection were unmistakable animal traits: a pair of velvet-soft ears twitching slightly at the ambient noise, a tail curling nervously, and sharp, pearl-white fangs just visible past parted lips.

It was magnificent. Elegant, wild, and entirely cornered.

The creature was secured by a heavy leather collar and a matching leash. Its wrists and ankles were locked in thick leather cuffs, and its face was half-hidden by an intricate muzzle fashioned from supple leather and dark iron bars, engineered to completely prevent any bite while allowing a view of terrified, luminous eyes. On Arthur’s silent command, the creature was forced to kneel directly onto the plush Persian rug before them.

Arthur casually patted the creature’s head, looking up with a sly grin. "Go on. Smell it."

A sudden wave hit Franklin’s senses—a rich, musky fragrance that cut through the scent of tobacco and alcohol like a blade. It smelled of crushed pine needles, damp earth, and something primal, sweet, and intoxicating.

Franklin cleared his throat, his posture instantly rigid. "What is that smell?"

"Pheromones," Arthur murmured, his grin widening. "Unusual demi-humans secrete them. When they’re stressed—or entering a heat cycle—it intensifies tenfold. This one is entirely untouched. I paid a fortune for it. Still practically feral, but... that’s the amusing part, isn't it?"

Franklin stared, entirely transfixed. His expensive trousers suddenly felt a size too tight. The boredom that had plagued him for years evaporated, replaced by a sharp, electric spike of raw, unadulterated desire.

"How much?" Franklin asked, his voice dropping an octave.

Arthur blinked, feigning surprise. "Oh, I thought you weren't interested—"

"I asked how much?" Franklin repeated, his tone flat, bored of the games, reverting to the effortless arrogance of a man who viewed numbers as mere suggestions.

Arthur laughed softly, leaning back."It’s yours if you want it. Consider it a gift. Just... remember who gave it to you if I ever need a small favor."

Franklin reached out, his fingers wrapping around the cool leather of the leash as Arthur handed it over."Yes, of course. Done."

The transaction was instantaneous. As they left the club, Arthur casually mentioned he had the creature heavily sedated for transport. Franklin didn't care. He spent the entire drive back sitting in the back of his stretch limousine, his hand absently tangling in the soft, wild hair of the unconscious demi-human slumped against the leather seat. His mind raced, plotting, hungry, entirely consumed.

When the vehicle finally rolled through the towering iron gates of his sprawling estate on the secluded outskirts of Hidden Hills, Franklin stepped out into the crisp night air. He turned to his head driver.

"Inform the staff," Franklin commanded, his eyes locked on the slumbering form inside the car. "My pet does not leave the estate without me. Have security equipped with dart pistols on standby just in case it attempts to bolt."

The driver nodded quickly.

Moments later, Franklin carried the creature up the grand staircase of his mansion, bypassing the bewildered stares of maids and butlers, and strode directly into his master bedroom. He laid the captive form gently across the king-sized mattress—a bed that instantly filled with the heavy scent of woodsmoke and his own expensive cologne.

Franklin unclipped the heavy leash, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud. He leaned over the bed, trailing a knuckle down the curve of a velvet ear, watching the subtle rise and fall of the creature's chest.

"Well..." * Franklin whispered, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face as he watched the heavy eyelids begin to flutter open.* "...wake up, little one."