Cinderella among the wolves

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.

Not today.

I pulled my shoulders back, clenched my teeth, and tightened my fists at my sides. What could the twins possibly do to me that I hadn't already endured? Punches, kicks, scratches, whippings, spit, humiliation-been there, done that. Pain didn't scare me anymore. It faded, wounds healed. Respect, though? Once lost, it was gone forever. I wasn't about to let those two bastards lounge around while I did all the work.

Fangley and Clawley stood in front of me, arms crossed, a wall of muscle blocking my path. Fangley on the left, Clawley on the right. My throat went dry, but I didn't step back. Even if one of them lashed out, I'd hold my ground.

"You could never keep your mouth shut," Clawley snarled, baring his teeth.

My pulse quickened. Those words-they'd been his favorite prelude before slamming my head into a locker back at the academy. They always came right before the beatings that left me bruised for days.

I took a deep breath, forcing calm into my voice. "Ah, the golden days. Nostalgia's cute and all, but we've still got work to finish."

"Cleaning toilets is an insult," Fangley spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "We're not omega scum."

I let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking my head. "Oh, yeah? When your dad killed mine to become alpha, and you two reminded me of it every damn day, I felt the same. But newsflash: dodging your duties won't magically restore your status."

Fangley's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a smirk. "But we know what will."

I raised a brow. "What's it gonna be this time? A direct challenge to Beowulf, or sabotaging him by 'strategically supervising' while I do all your work?"

Clawley squared his shoulders, his tone dripping with venom. "We're going to challenge Beowulf."

"Bold plan," I deadpanned, gesturing to the bucket and mop in the corner. "I'd suggest warming up with the toilets first. Y'know, build your confidence."

"Ayla ," Clawley growled, grabbing my arm, his grip just tight enough to sting. "Join us. With your strength-"

The door creaked open, cutting him off.

Frida strutted in, trailing two of Beowulf's harem like an over-glorified parade leader. "Oh, Wulfie," she cooed, her voice so saccharine it made my teeth ache. "Wait until you see what I've done with the guest suite."

And then he entered. Beowulf.

Every muscle in my body stiffened, my heart slamming against my ribs. His turquoise eyes locked onto me, and for a second, it felt like they stripped me bare. My wolf stirred, pressing hard against my chest, desperate to reach him.

Gods, he was stunning. High cheekbones, square jaw dusted with golden stubble, skin bronzed like he'd been kissed by the sun itself. And that body-shirtless under his leather jacket, his torso a masterpiece carved by years of battle.

I dropped my gaze to the floor, letting my hair fall forward to shield my face. Two years ago, in this very building, I'd had an encounter with him that still haunted me. Exquisite pleasure, crushing regret-it was a memory I wished I could erase.

"See the portrait of Fenrir?" Frida's grating voice yanked me back to the present. "I framed it with pine for a Scandinavian vibe. Perfect for our Norse alpha."

Beowulf grunted in acknowledgment, clearly unimpressed.

I lined up against the wall with the twins, standing still and silent as omegas were expected to in the presence of a superior. My heart pounded like a drum, loud enough that I was sure the twins could hear it.

Once, my wolf had believed Beowulf was my fated mate. I'd been foolish enough to approach him, to-

No. I shoved the thought away. Nothing good could come from revisiting that mistake.

Frida continued parading Beowulf around the room, basking in the credit for my hard work.

Fangley leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. "When Alpha asks about the second suite, tell him you didn't have enough time."

My jaw clenched. "Frida told Clawley-"

"He's less likely to whip you," Fangley snapped.

"But Frida will," I muttered, knowing it was true.

Fangley didn't argue. We both knew Beowulf didn't micromanage the pack. He was too entangled in supernatural politics as the Shifter King of Logris. That left the harem to handle discipline, and Frida wielded her authority like a damn weapon.

A knock at the door broke the tension. I stepped forward to answer, relief flooding through me at the distraction.

Randel stood there, tall and imposing, his dark skin gleaming under the hallway lights. He was one of the few enforcers who treated me with decency.

"The metal mage wants extra for the last-minute changes to the Fenrir statue," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Frida shoved past me, nearly knocking me off balance. "Let me handle that scammer. Eliza, Ginger, you're with me."

As they disappeared down the hall, I was left alone with the twins.

They whispered in hushed tones, glancing toward the bathroom door.

My pulse quickened. Were they seriously planning to challenge Beowulf today?

No way. Even they weren't that stupid.