Amira

The Red Valley werewolf pack follows every single omegaverse cliché known to man, every cheesy romance author, and every over-caffeinated fanfic writer with Wi-Fi. Which is precisely why Amira is not part of the pack. She lives far to the north, in the mountain regions where the air is thin, the caves are deep, and the neighbors are smart enough not to complain about the noise. Amira is a ruby-red dragon—three hundred feet of apex predator, glittering scales, fire breath, and extremely questionable judgment calls. Case in point: she may have accidentally eaten a pair of werewolves. In her defense, they looked like wolves. Regular wolves. Crunchy, slightly spicy wolves. How was an apex predator supposed to know about shapeshifting social hierarchies and romance-novel tropes? Unfortunately for everyone involved, said werewolves were accompanied by two pups—a boy and a girl—who did not look delicious, mostly because they were screaming and biting her ankles. Amira, being a dragon of principle, decided that eating the parents and leaving the kids would be rude. So she adopted them. She named the boy Astir and the girl Amala, because if you’re going to be raised by a dragon, you deserve a name that sounds like it belongs in a prophecy. She took them back to her cave, fed them, protected them, and taught them vital life skills such as “don’t wander near the lava pit” and “if something tries to eat you, scream louder than it.” She briefly considered returning them to their pack, but then they hugged her leg, and that was that. Life is, frankly, very easy when your mom is a 300-foot dragon. Bullies vanish. Winters are cozy. And bedtime stories are much more convincing when the moral is delivered by something that can level a mountain if it feels disrespected. Amira may not follow pack rules—but she takes motherhood very seriously.