A usually good-humored kind of guy, Phoenix experienced depression for the first time in his life—and he didn’t like it one bit! It would have helped if he could have held on to some hope of rescue. However, no one knew he and the others belonging to his military unit—their captain included—had been taken captive. Those who would remark on their absence—family, friends, lovers—would assume Phoenix and the others were deployed on a secret military mission. Most likely, someone in uniform had already knocked on the doors of the next of kin, hat in hand, looking appropriately sober. There’d be no reason for anyone to doubt the claim that Phoenix and the others had died in service to their country.

And it wouldn’t be entirely a lie. He was no longer the man he used to be.

General Davidson claimed from the beginning that the medical experiments being performed on Phoenix and the other unlucky soldiers would benefit Canada and the world. How? That remained unexplained, and Phoenix had yet to see what good the many shots of liquid fire injected into his veins did. Didn’t understand what they hoped to achieve with the many physical tests they subjected him to. Really worried about the stolen semen samples, as well. He wasn’t ready to be a daddy.

If only Phoenix could speak to someone, anyone… Alas, while he knew his fellow soldiers inhabited the cells around his, they couldn’t communicate or commiserate—or plot.

Even those poking, prodding, and hosing him off when he got too sweaty from the fevers didn’t utter a single word. Assholes. Phoenix memorized their faces, though, for the day he managed to break free. He would have his revenge on every single one of them.

“Patient Seventy-seven, you are to face the wall and place your hands behind your back.” The robotic voice and command surprised.

“Ooh, sounds kinky,” Phoenix called out.

“Face the wall and place your hands behind your back,” the monotone voice repeated. Real person or computer? There was no way of telling, nor did it matter.

“Does this mean you’re not going to drug me for once?”

He received no reply. However, he did find it interesting they didn’t gas his cell, their usual modus operandi when they wanted to transport Phoenix from one chamber to the next. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d suddenly dropped to the floor unconscious. It annoyed, mostly because he’d woken a few times with his face sore and bruised. Luckily, his nose, jaw, and teeth remained unbroken, but he didn’t appreciate people messing with his panty-dropping mien. Being pretty had gotten him out of more trouble than he could count—not to mention, helped ensure he never lacked for partners in the bedroom.

Curious at this change in routine, Phoenix tucked his hands behind his back. He tensed at the sound of the door to his cell opening. Should he flip around and tackle whoever entered? Make a run for it? He could try, but he would most likely fail. Not knowing the layout, and what he faced, kept him from acting. For now, it seemed best if he observed.

“Don’t move,” a gruff voice ordered, and Phoenix planned to obey until he felt cold metal brushing against his neck. He jerked to the left and spun, delivering a roundhouse kick to the guy in the white coat standing behind. His foot connected with a satisfying smack, and the guy spun, losing his grip on the collar he’d been trying to put around Phoenix’s neck.

Before Phoenix could even think of taking a run for the wide-open door, Major Stevens filled the frame, and the prongs of a taser struck, sending Phoenix to the floor with every nerve and muscle in his body jiggling. He only barely managed to not piss himself, which would have been the ultimate humiliation.

As Phoenix lay there, cheek pressed to cold concrete, mouth partially ajar and drooling, the metal collar snapped around his neck and heavy manacles went around his wrists.

As he was hauled to his feet, Major Stevens grumbled, “Next time, I don’t give a fuck what the general says. We’re gassing your ass.”

The guy he’d kicked held a hand to his nose. “Dr. Levy doesn’t want the subjects groggy for the test. He thinks the drugs in their system are the reason why we’re not seeing results,” the lab-coated dude explained with a nasally twang.

What kind of results? Phoenix would dearly love to know what the fuck they were trying to achieve.

“Let’s get him outside.” Stevens clipped a chain to a ring on the collar and dragged Phoenix along like a dog. Phoenix stumbled, mostly because he tried to take in as much detail the area they traversed as possible. Cement hallway. Elevator going up. Exiting a building to a dark sky with a smattering of stars and a glowing full moon.

So close to freedom. So far from being able to escape. The major dragged him into a box-like courtyard. Cement walls all around, about ten feet in height and topped with barbed wire. A faint coppery smell reached his nose, and his gaze zeroed in on a dark wet spot on the ground. Seemed like someone had recently hosed the ground. Not reassuring.

The major crouched and yanked the length of chain he held so that he could affix it to a ring bolted into the cement wall.

“Don’t you think tying me up like a dog is a bit of overkill? Not like I can do much with my hands tied behind my back.”

“The cuffs actually get to come off for the next bit. Wouldn’t want you to dislocate something and ruin the experiment,” Stevens stated.

“Oh no, we wouldn’t want that to happen.” Phoenix couldn’t help a sarcastic reply.

Stevens removed the manacles from Phoenix’s wrists, which only increased Phoenix’s trepidation. What did the major have planned?

Apparently, an execution, seeing as how Stevens pulled a revolver from a holster inside his jacket and aimed it at Phoenix.

“Look at you, murdering a man who can’t defend himself.” A brave reply considering the quiver within.

“You’ll only die if the protocol failed,” was the major’s cryptic reply.

Ah, yes, the protocol that involved injections that left Phoenix writhing in pain and feeling as if his insides boiled. It must not have worked as planned, because Phoenix hadn’t noticed anything different about himself.

Stevens kept his gaze on Phoenix but obviously spoke to someone else when he said, “Tell me when.”

The main doctor appeared and stood beside the major with a tablet in hand. Beside him, one of his flunkies held up a phone, obviously recording what would happen next. Sadistic bastards planning to capture him writhing once the major shot him.

Dr. Levy gave a nod. “Do it.”

The gun fired, and the bullet hit Phoenix in the shoulder, causing him to gasp in surprise. The pain hit a moment later, and he gritted his teeth.

“Nothing’s happening,” Stevens remarked.

“Because he’s fighting the trauma,” the doctor replied. “Shoot him again.”

The gun crack made Phoenix’s ears ring, and the resulting bullet to the thigh sent Phoenix crashing to the ground, where he smacked his already wounded shoulder. Pain burst, an explosive bomb of agony that had him writhing.

And squirming.

And burning.

And… roaring?

As Phoenix tried to grasp what he heard, he realized a few things.

One, he no longer felt any pain.

Two, he had his hands on the ground, only they looked like paws.

It took him a second to hear Stevens crowing. “Holy shit. He’s a tiger.”

Wait, what? Phoenix tried to exclaim, only to have the words emerge as a chuffing snort. He tugged against the chain holding him in place, only to partially choke himself. Next, he tamped the ground with paws that appeared to belong to him. Something flicking just out of sight caught his attention. He whirled and then yelped in pain when he caught hold of a sinuous and hairy tail with his teeth.

His tail, as it turned out, seeing as how it hurt when he bit it.

In that moment it hit him that Stevens wasn’t joking.

I’m a tiger. But unlike Tony, he wasn’t gr-r-r-eat.

Chapter 1

I’m never sailing again. Or if Phoenix did, he’d make sure he had an actual cabin.

The container Phoenix travelled in—AKA stowed away inside to get out of North America—really played a number on his claustrophobia. More than once, the windowless metal box had him panicking that he would run out of air and suffocate. He wouldn’t, as a few drilled holes ensured a constant supply of fresh oxygen and, when his mind got paranoid, deep breathing exercises helped, as did his nightly excursions. While Phoenix might not be able to move out and about during the day—lest the crew notice him and realize he wasn’t one of the sailors—at night, he slipped from his self-imposed cell to stretch. As he did laps around the ship to keep fit, he reminded himself he wasn’t actually a prisoner again.

Yet.

His nocturnal expeditions put him at risk of discovery, but he didn’t care. His mental health needed it. Besides, his acute sense of hearing and smell allowed him to avoid the few crew members who piloted the ship at night.

It would take twenty-seven days to reach Malaysia. A long journey, and yet, Phoenix chose a shipping freighter over other methods like flying, which required a passport and had too many facial-recognition checkpoints for his liking. He’d not escaped General Davidson and his sadistic staff just to be careless and end up captured again.

As to why he needed to get to Malaysia? Because he had questions about the whole tiger thing, and online research indicated he might find answers there. See, one thing he and the others discovered after they escaped captivity was that while they’d been led to believe shapeshifting was a thing found only in books and movies, civilizations around the world all had some version of therianthropes—AKA, people who could change into animals. Most folks knew about werewolves, but that was only the tip of the shifting iceberg. Once Phoenix and the others who’d escaped began digging and searching on the internet, they discovered a whole plethora of legends that featured therianthropes. Selkies, skin walkers, kitsune, kelpies, nagas, tiger shifters, bear, and more. Were those stories actually based in fact? If yes, could they help Phoenix and the others adjust to their new physical reality? After all, if werewolves and other mythical beings still existed, then they’d obviously managed to successfully live amongst humanity, which led to his captain theorizing, “Davidson and his lackeys must have found a therianthrope and thought it might be useful, hence why he started experimenting with the protocol.” A procedure that unlocked whatever beast hid in their ancestral genes. Tiger for Phoenix and Takhi. Wolf for the captain, plus Freya and Radley. Idris was a bear. However, it should be noted that the protocol didn’t succeed for everyone.

Gage had died. Zendaya had shifted into a wolf but went completely feral and jumped off a cliff after trying to attack the troop.

Phoenix counted himself lucky he remained sane, and his animal side turned out to be recognizable. When they’d escaped, they’d discovered there were literal monsters in the general’s literal basement. Phoenix would never forget the murderous being with wings that had emerged from the rubble and torn off someone's head before taking flight into the night sky.

Despite the difficulty in escaping, Phoenix and the other captives survived, making them the lucky ones.

Kind of.

While some chose to vanish and deal with their new reality, Phoenix wanted answers, such as, could the shift be controlled? Because, thus far, it only occurred when he went through bodily trauma. Did anything exist that would make his tiger go away permanently? Was it contagious? He’d hate to sleep with someone and cause them harm. While he always practised safe sex, he knew the women who’d escaped worried about pregnancy and what it would do to a baby.

According to the internet, werecats could be found on almost all the continents, with tigers specifically mentioned as being present in Asia and India. So why had he zoned in on Malaysia specifically? Because of a video that he stumbled on by accident. The short clip meant to showcase two young girls displaying their dance moves in a park ended up going viral because of what happened in the background. A lone man walking by on the sidewalk was struck by a speeding motorcycle. The fellow got hit hard enough he flew into the air, flipped, and landed on his head.

Folks ran to check on him, including the person holding the phone recording. It led to some shaky footage that showed people suddenly scattering from the body on the ground. Only there was no body, just a tiger. A tiger that looked right at the camera before lunging for it.

Viewers, of course, claimed it was a hoax, but Phoenix knew better. That man was a therianthrope, and Phoenix needed to find him. Hence why he paid a guy to smuggle him aboard a freighter. Why he'd been pissing in a bucket if he couldn’t hold it until his nightly jaunts. Why he’d been filching food from the galley.

As to how he’d find the fellow? No idea, but once in Malaysia, hopefully he’d be able to track the guy in the video. After all, it turned out therianthropes couldn’t entirely hide their scent, even when in human shape. Phoenix had smelled his companions often and catalogued the differences for future reference. If he ran across another feline, he’d know.

The day before the freighter was due to dock, a storm hit, one big enough to make the container ship rock.

Left.

Right.

Left…

Up until this point, Phoenix had done fairly well keeping nausea at bay. That ended once the ocean started seriously rolling. He sat with his head between his knees, doing his best to take measured and controlled breaths, hoping to settle his belly.

And failed.

Blergh.

He heartily spewed into his piss bucket, which did nothing to settle his stomach. As a matter of fact, the stench of his own vomit made it worse.

I need air. Lots of it. If this were night, not a problem, but his watch indicated it was mid-afternoon, which meant most of the crew would be awake and working. However, given the pelting rain, tilting deck, and crackling lightning, most of them would be taking cover and not on deck. Doubtful anyone would notice if he cracked open the door to his box—a door that appeared secured from the outside but could be unlocked from within. It was part of the reason Phoenix paid such a large sum to the shady smuggler he’d located in that dingy bar close to the port in British Columbia.

Before doing anything, Phoenix plastered his ear to the door and took a listen. Whistling wind. Pelting rain. Crash of thunder. The hum of the ship’s motor. Quite honestly, an army could have stood outside and he most likely wouldn’t have heard them.

Lurch. The boat went sideways, and so did his stomach. Gulping hard, Phoenix wrenched open the container’s door a few inches and gulped the moist air with relief. The pelting storm felt good against his skin, even as it soaked his clothes.

The rocking ship tilted, and the metal panel wrenched from his grip and swung wide open, letting in a drenching sheet of rain. When the freighter suddenly angled in the opposite direction, the door slammed shut, almost smashing his fingers, but more concerning? The clanging noise it made.

The storm-tossed vessel shifted again before Phoenix could grab hold of the door. It swung wide open and smacked loudly against the container beside it. Fuck.

Hopefully, no one heard. Phoenix braced his feet and held on to the still-locked panel as he leaned out to try and grab the flapping one. Just as his fingers touched metal, the ship veered, sending him off balance, but he managed to remain upright. The bucket of puke didn’t.

It fell over, and the floor of the container got grossly slick. Phoenix could do nothing to avoid it. His ick-covered feet slid, wrenching him hard, causing him to lose his grip. He fell—into the vomit, to which he added even more. In the midst of his retching, the ship slightly changed course, hitting a wave head-on and causing the vessel to rise and tilt in such a way that Phoenix slid right into his bedding, covering it in puke. When the ship crested the wave and began its descent down its valley, his slippery body could find no purchase, and whoops, he ended up sliding right out the open door.

Wham. He hit the deck hard enough he saw stars. Rather than immediately move, he lay there while the pouring rain sluiced the mess from his body.

He waited too long.

“Saya mendengar sesuatu!” The shout, in a language Phoenix didn’t know, had him wondering if he’d been spotted. Doubtful, but he really shouldn’t remain in plain sight. However, returning to his puke-covered box wasn’t an option. He needed a new hiding spot. Since the rocking ship would make walking hard, he crawled to the end of the row of containers and peeked around the corner. No one in sight.

The ship tilted, and he lost his footing on the slick deck. The angle of the ship had him sliding, and he hit the rail hard, but even worse, his body kept going. Only his quick thinking and grabbing of the bar kept him from falling into the roiling ocean. Unfortunately, as he hauled himself back on board, a sailor came into view and immediately pointed with a shout.

Phoenix cursed under his breath as he scrambled to his feet and ran back in the direction he’d come, only to realize the stern of the ship provided no adequate cover. A glance around the other side of the containers showed more sailors moving in his direction. He peeked upwards at the towering containers. If he climbed, they’d spot him for sure.

Fuck and fuck again. With the sailors closing in on his location, Phoenix didn’t have much time to figure out his next move. His choices were limited.

Jump overboard? He’d die.

Surrender? The captain would either dump him into the ocean or hand him over to the port authorities.

Even if Phoenix managed to evade the crew until they docked, the captain would most likely notify local police, who would swarm the ship looking for a stowaway. If caught, he’d end up in prison, which wouldn’t do at all.

What to do? How could he ensure he made it off the ship intact?

The clanging door of his container gave him an idea. A bad one, but he had no other option. He climbed to his home for the past few weeks, his nose wrinkling at the stench emanating from within. The rain hadn’t quite managed to sluice the smell of puke, but he steeled his delicate nose against it. He grabbed hold of the loose door and sat on the edge of the box, legs dangling, and then stuck his leg through the opening.

Am I really going to do this?

A nearby shout had him gritting his jaw before he intentionally rammed his kneecap with the metal panel. The first slam, he pussied out and the blow barely hurt.

Hearing the voices mere seconds from discovering him, he took a deep breath, pulled his leg back slightly, and this time closed the door with all his strength against his calf.

Crack.

The pain, intense and sharp, stole his breath, preventing him from crying out. But it wasn’t enough. Before Phoenix could lose his resolve, he made the wound worse, forcing the splintered bone through flesh. The agony didn’t make him scream, but he did, however, roar as the severe injury triggered the shift.

In mere seconds, the throbbing disappeared. Weird how that worked. Severe bodily trauma brought on the change and, in doing so, healed all the damage. Just in time, seeing as how the sailors reached the front of the ship.

Rather than wait for them to find him, the next time the door swung open, Phoenix leapt out and hit the slick deck with four paws—but didn’t slide. Thank you, claws.

The sailor who first came around the corner of stacked containers caught sight of him—AKA the giant tiger—and his mouth rounded as big as his eyes. He wasn’t the only crew member to gape in astonishment.

Phoenix didn’t understand the flurry of shouts that ensued, but if he had to guess, it went along the lines of “Holy fuck that cat has big teeth and claws. Get a gun.”

In short order, there was a sailor at either corner of the cargo units holding a weapon aimed at Phoenix. At least they didn’t fire them. Seemed the claim that Malaysia revered tigers might have been true.

Since there was nothing else to do, Phoenix curled into a wet kitty ball and napped. The storm died down within a few hours, and the next morning they sailed smoothly into port.

However, disembarkation proved impossible, as the watching sailors got replaced by more official-looking types. They held rifles trained in Phoenix’s direction, but he wasn’t worried they’d shoot, seeing as how those same uniformed dudes tossed him a freshly caught fish—which he devoured. He’d always enjoyed sushi, and even better, why feed him if they planned to kill him?

An hour or more after their arrival at the dock, Phoenix roused from his warm nap in the sun to the arrival of someone new. A beautiful woman of mixed race—Asian and Caucasian, if he had to guess—her reddish hair loose and wavy, framing delicate features. She chattered briefly with those guarding him before turning her gaze on Phoenix.

She spoke, but he didn’t understand a word. He did, though, grasp her interest in him, so he stood, and her left brow rose.

Yeah, baby, I am a big boy. He took a step toward her, causing the guys with guns to tense. She said something sharp and shook her head.

The blokes with weapons relaxed, and she moved slowly in Phoenix’s direction, crooning softly. He had no idea what she said and didn’t care. Fascinated by her scent, he didn’t notice others crept close. Didn’t realize the danger—and trap—until he felt the dart that hit him in the flank. In seconds, he succumbed to the injected drug.

And woke in a zoo.