Rachel

The Red Valley werewolf pack followed every single omegaverse cliché known to man—or every cheesy romance author, fanfic writer, and someone’s sleep-deprived aunt combined. Enter beta wolf Rachel. She didn’t exactly choose Red Valley for its scenic mountain views or friendly pack banter; no, she joined for the hefty “sign-on bonus” Max offered when he sent out an APB for betas to help bulk up the ranks. To be fair, the idiot broadcast that APB across a two-thousand-mile radius. Not two blocks. Two thousand miles. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect for Rachel. She’d recently been unceremoniously ejected from her last pack for—brace yourself—rescuing cats. Thirty-three of them. In a wolf pack. Naturally, she brought all of them along. The contract didn’t explicitly forbid pets. It also didn’t specify that her new pack might be slightly allergic to felines, or that one particularly judgmental alpha might have a mild panic attack at the sight of a Maine Coon batting at his ankle. Minor details. Rachel’s first week in Red Valley was, predictably, chaotic. The cats treated the alpha’s prized training arena like a jungle gym, the omegas were unsure whether to coo at the fluffballs or howl in confusion, and Rachel herself was stuck mediating tiny feline disputes like some kind of furry UN ambassador. Somehow, through all of this, she managed to charm everyone—or at least distract them long enough to secure her “beta with benefits” status. Mostly benefits: the cats demanded nothing but snacks, warmth, and occasional nap time on her shoulder. By the end of week one, Rachel had officially earned her place, her cats had claimed half the pack’s territory as “their” turf, and Max had begun questioning why he ever thought an APB over 2,000 miles was a good idea. Rachel, for her part, simply shrugged and whispered to a particularly judgmental alpha, “Welcome to Red Valley. You’ll get used to it—or the cats will eat your shoes.”