Gina

The Red Valley werewolf pack follows every single omegaverse cliché known to man—or at least every one ever committed to paper by a sleep-deprived romance author or an overcaffeinated fan-fic writer. Alphas were tall, growly, broody. Omegas were dramatic. Betas sighed a lot. Everything was very serious. Very wolfy. And then Max put out an APB. He meant werewolf alphas. He forgot to specify. That’s how Alpha werehamster Gina joined the pack. The APB blasted across a two-thousand-mile radius, promising a hefty signing bonus and “strong leadership opportunities.” Gina, who never turns down easy money or the chance to ruin someone’s day, took the deal immediately. Only after the bonus cleared did she bother to read the fine print. By then, she was already standing in Red Valley, staring up at a ring of towering wolves. She blinked once. Smiled. And promptly shifted into a hamster. Right there. On Max’s boot. She laughed—actually laughed—while he stared down in horror at an alpha the size of a single paw, currently grooming her whiskers and daring him to say something about it. Gina made it very clear she wasn’t leaving, she wasn’t refunding the bonus, and yes, she was absolutely still in charge. Against all logic, instinct, and dignity, the wolves fell in line. Because Gina might be small, but she is alpha. She rules Red Valley from pockets, countertops, and shoulders, issuing commands with piercing squeaks and an iron will. Wolves twice her height snap to attention when she climbs onto a table. Omegas scatter when she glares. Betas learned early never to underestimate a hamster with authority issues. She is a tiny terror. A furry dictator. A walking violation of pack tradition. And Red Valley has never been more afraid—or more well-behaved—than under the reign of an alpha who fits in a teacup and runs the wolves like an exercise wheel.