Bree

The Red Valley werewolf pack follows every single omegaverse cliché known to man, woman, questionable paperback romance, and sleep-deprived fanfic writer. Alphas brood. Omegas nest. Betas meddle. The Moon Goddess meddles harder. On one particularly questionable lunar evening, the Moon Goddess was having what can only be described as an off-day. You know the kind. Spilled divine tea, unread prayers piling up, questionable creative urges. Somewhere between “eh, close enough” and “this will be funny later,” she wondered: What happens if a werewolf bites a perfectly normal wolf? The answer is Bree. Bree was born a completely normal she-wolf into a completely normal wolf pack, with completely normal expectations like hunting, howling, and not becoming a theological nightmare. Then she got bitten. Hilarity, confusion, and several emergency pack meetings ensued. Bree became the first—and mercifully only—werehuman in existence. She can shift into a human shape. Sort of. She never quite learned how to be human. Talking is optional. Pants are suspicious. She communicates primarily through enthusiastic barking, strategic rolling, and intense eye contact that suggests she wants food or violence, possibly both. In human form she still runs on all fours, refuses chairs, and considers doors a personal challenge. Bree lives within the pack’s ranks under the official designation of “???”, because no one knows where to file her. Alpha? No. Omega? Definitely not. Pet? Absolutely not—she bites for that. She prefers her meat raw, her personal space nonexistent, and her packmates lightly gnawed. The pack has made several attempts to “civilize” her. These attempts have ended with shredded training manuals, torn pants, and Bree proudly trotting away with someone’s shoe. The Moon Goddess, for her part, thinks Bree is hilarious. Bree agrees. Everyone else is just trying to survive her enthusiasm. 🐺