Denis among wolves 1

I was the wolf-shifter Cinderella.

No joke.

First reason? Tonight was the Wolf Moon Mixer-a grand event where the three most prominent packs of Europe paraded their most eligible, unmated wolves. It was like a supernatural singles market. Our alpha was hosting this year, but me? I didn't even qualify to serve drinks.

Instead, I'd been assigned to scrub the visitors' lodge from top to bottom. That's what you get when you're lower than an omega in the pack hierarchy-so low you're practically invisible unless someone needs a mop.

I pulled the mop out of the bucket, dumped the grimy water down the toilet, and flushed. After shoving the cleaning supplies back into their cupboard, I wiped my brow on the sleeve of my overalls and surveyed the bathroom.

The marble surfaces gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the frosted window. Gold taps sparkled, and the jacuzzi-large enough for eight-looked pristine. The whole room practically glowed.

All that without a single Disney song or a crew of singing critters. Take that, Cinderella.

But my fairytale didn't include a ball, a prince, or even a pumpkin carriage. No, it came with laughter-male, raucous, and irritating as hell-from the suite's living area. The second reason I was the shifter Cinderella? If Cinderella had her ugly stepsisters, I had the Ember twins.

I pushed the bathroom door open and stepped into the living area I'd spent the morning scrubbing spotless. There they were, Fangley and Clawley, sprawled across the plush sofas, glued to a documentary about Scandinavian shamans.

"Hey!" I clapped my hands loudly. "We've got a list of chores to finish before noon!"

Fangley barely spared me a glance, shooting a lazy glare before turning back to the screen.

I felt my jaw tighten. Of the two, Fangley was supposedly the responsible one, but when they were together, their combined laziness was unmatched.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a pair of boxers-crumpled, stained, and definitely not mine. I held them up. "Which one of you idiots left this in the bathroom I just cleaned?"

Fangley flicked a glance at Clawley, who snickered but didn't bother answering. Instead, he grabbed the remote and cranked up the TV volume. On-screen, some guy sliced open a bird's belly, examining its entrails.

I clenched my fists. "Of all the times to slack off, why now? The alpha's trying to make a good impression!"

"Ayla ," Fangley drawled, not even looking at me, "why ask a question when you already know the answer?"

"Beowulf can kiss my ass," Clawley muttered, stretching and plopping his feet onto the coffee table. "We stocked the bars, unloaded the kegs, and set up the grill. That's our share done."

"Now fetch us beers," Fangley added, not missing a beat.

I stormed over to the TV, following the power cord with my eyes until it disappeared behind the cabinet. "Your 'share' was half-assed at best," I snapped. "Frida said one of you was supposed to help me with the rooms."

Frida, our self-appointed head housekeeper, avoided physical labor like it might bite her. She gave orders from the sidelines, wielding her title like a whip.

Clawley belched and ran a hand through his scraggly hair. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Fangley waved a dismissive hand. "Unless you want all three of us punished, get to work."

Oh, hell no.

I stormed toward the power cable, my lips pressed into a tight line. Of all the people I could've been stuck with, the pack administrator just had to assign me to work with the Ember twins-a pair of arrogant bastards whose father had killed mine.

Pack history was a tangled mess, and mine was at the center of it. My dad had been the alpha for years, leading with strength and fairness, until the Ember twins' father challenged him. He didn't just take my father's title-he took his life. Alpha Ember ruled with cruelty, and for years, he kept his grip on the pack.

Then, a few years ago, Beowulf showed up. A young, ambitious wolf with something to prove, he came out of nowhere and took Alpha Ember down in a fair fight. The pack needed a new leader, and Beowulf seized the throne.

You'd think that would've been the end of the Embers, but being the children of a defeated alpha is one of the worst fates in pack politics. No one respects you, and the power your family once wielded vanishes overnight.

Under Alpha Ember, my mom and I had been shoved to the bottom of the pack, treated like dirt. Meanwhile, the twins, drunk on their father's power, made my life hell at the academy. They tormented me for sport, always reminding me how untouchable they were.

Now? Their dad was dead, their family disgraced, and they'd been stripped of their status. They were omegas.

But even with their fall from grace, they still outranked me and my mom. That's how it worked in the pack-there was always someone lower.

And lucky me, that someone was us.

I yanked the power cord from the socket, plunging the room into silence as the screen went black mid-bird-dissection.

Both twins turned to glare at me, their annoyance in perfect synchronization.

"Listen up," I said, crossing my arms. "We've got one more room to finish. If we all pitch in, we can be done before anyone arrives-"

"Did you not hear my brother?" Fangley growled, standing. His voice was low and sharp, the remnants of his old arrogance still intact. "Beowulf can call us omegas, strip our rank, but I'll be damned if we help him curry favor with other packs."

"And cleaning's for weasel shifters," Clawley added, sneering, "or those who live with them."

I stiffened. "Neither of you would have the guts to say that to his face."

The twins rose in unison, their movements menacingly smooth. Their posturing was familiar-a throwback to our academy days when they'd bullied me relentlessly.

But times had changed. They weren't the all-powerful tyrants they used to be. Their father's defeat had knocked them down the hierarchy, just as mine had left me at rock bottom. Yet somehow, they still acted like they were better than me.