Here's a Little Taste of Hybrid...

Maeve wigged out again, yanking the bedside table drawer open and flinging the contents at the trio of men in the doorway. Much to her consternation, a series of foil packets fluttered harmlessly to the floor between them, their shiny packaging catching the early-morning light. In her near state of hysteria, the foil butterflies were simply further proof of some kind of interspecies-gangbang-plot.

“I will not go quietly into the night!” she screeched. “I will not let you use me for your – no doubt pleasurable – yet sick united nations, orgy-gangbang!”

The dark-skinned human looked first to the vampire, who looked inordinately amused, and then to the werewolf, who merely shrugged beefy shoulders. “Do you think the attack broke her brain somehow?” the human asked.  

 Attack? Maeve thought, wondering at the audacity of the men to not even try to deny they had abducted her. “So you admit it? You did bite me!” She glared at the vampire, hands going to her hips in a classic gesture of anger and frustration. Unfortunately, the movement reminded her that she also had a sore hip, and she risked a quick look down.

Gasping, she noticed for the first time that she was wearing nothing but a ratty t-shirt, her short legs bare and on display. She grudgingly admitted that the shirt was super soft and comfy and angled her head, allowing a small smile to escape when she saw the image printed on the front. It was a stargate. Her kidnappers had good taste, at least. Reaching down, she was relieved to discover she still had her underwear on. Giving the silent trio a stern look, she half-turned and lifted the edge of the shirt so she could see hip. Maeve felt herself list to the side when she saw the angry-looking claw marks scratched into her skin. They were raw and red but no longer bleeding, and although they seemed to be healing, they still looked deep.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered, voice pathetically soft and filled with fear. Maeve felt her bravado leaving her as her legs started to shake.

Bitten and scratched … not possible, she told herself. If she were bitten and scratched, she would be dead. Even her vaccinations wouldn’t have been enough to save her.

Here's a Little Taste Hex...

Maeve wrenched open the door, the hinges barely surviving the violent movement, only to be brought up short by the scene in front of her. 
There was Bishop, in all his shifted werewolf glory, bronze fur bristled high as he growled with menace at … 
“Is that a squirrel?” 
Lucian’s voice spun her around and she saw he was leaning casually against the doorframe, eating a bowl of cereal. Maeve opened and closed her mouth, unsure what to say. Because her lover was indeed in some strange standoff with a small, furry animal. One, who instead of running in fear from the enormous apex predator, was standing on its hind legs reprimanding the angry wolf. 
“And I thought dying and turning into a mythical creature was the weirdest thing I would ever see,” she murmured, unable to take her gaze from the tableau in front of her. 
Bishop again rumbled deep in his throat and this time Maeve noticed the slight arching of his back and bunching shoulders – both indicators he might be about to pounce. Feeling a surge of protective panic, she moved at a speed only a hybrid could be capable of, positioning herself as bodyguard. 
“Fun-sponge,” Lucian smirked around a mouthful of cereal. “This was just about to get interesting; breakfast and a show.”
“Interesting?” Maeve was aghast. “Letting Bishop attack a defenceless little forest creature is considered interesting to you?”
“He wouldn’t hurt it … I don’t think.”