Felicity

The Red Valley werewolf pack follows every single omegaverse cliché known to man, woman, and overly online fan-fic author. Alphas brood. Betas meddle. Omegas nest. There are meetings about scenting, territory, and feelings no one wants to admit they have. Into this deeply serious, very dramatic ecosystem wandered… Felicity. Enter cat shifter—cat shifter—Felicity. Not a panther. Not a tiger. Not even one of those elegant, mysterious lynx types. Just a regular house cat. Orange tabby. The kind that knocks glasses off counters and then looks offended you put them there in the first place. She joined the pack for the hefty bonus offered when Max sent out an APB for alphas to beef up the ranks of Red Valley. In her defense, the idiot broadcast it through the entirety of a two-thousand-mile radius. Felicity heard “bonus,” showed up, signed nothing, asked zero questions, and left with the money stuffed in her pocket like a raccoon who’d just pulled off a successful heist. As a feline shifter of the small variety, she doesn’t have a designation. No alpha, beta, or omega. She isn’t even entirely sure what an alpha is. Something loud? Hairy? Chronically stressed? She stopped listening halfway through the explanation and took a nap. She also doesn’t pay rent. At all. She simply pockets the bonus and lives wherever she feels like—rotating dens, commandeering beds, stealing hoodies, and vanishing for days only to reappear exactly at mealtime. The pack isn’t sure what kind of shifter she is. But that orange tabby cat that conveniently eats at every den and sleeps at the foot of everyone’s bed on a strict nightly rotation is starting to look real suspicious. Max swears it’s just a cat. Felicity, currently licking her paw and judging everyone silently, sees no reason to correct him.