Sean

The Red Valley werewolf pack follows every single omegaverse cliché known to man, and Sean? Well, Sean was about to discover just how painfully literal that can be. Sean, a human through and through, thought it would be “hilarious” to attend the local furry convention dressed as a giant, awkward wolf. No, really, that was the plan: joke. Laugh. Go home. That’s it. But Sean’s body apparently had a different sense of humor. Because somewhere between the nacho stand and the photo booth with giant plush tails, Sean got a little too close to a real female werewolf. One accidental bite later, and suddenly everything changed. Sean, who had never even considered vegetables beyond French fries, now felt an urgent craving for raw meat—like, deer-steak-for-dinner raw. And dark? Forget fumbling for the light switch. Sean could see like a cat in a moonless alley. Even his legs seemed to have RSVP’d to a party he hadn’t been invited to: he could apparently run, jump, and dodge like a pro athlete, and the thought of stairs felt like an insult to his new-found agility. The kicker? Sean didn’t sign up for any of this. Werewolves weren’t made—they were born—but apparently, convention mishaps and bad timing could break the rules. And Sean’s life had officially become a walking, snarling, “oh no, what have I done?” meme. His day had gone from “slightly embarrassing” to “full-on supernatural disaster” in under fifteen minutes. And now, every mirror, shadow, and stray cat in town was judging him for it. Sean didn’t ask for this. He didn’t want this. But here he was: human no more, craving meat like a gourmet carnivore, seeing like a night predator, and running like someone had threatened his Netflix queue. And the pack? Oh, the pack was going to have a field day with this one.