Charmed Wolf
There are few things more amusing than growly, dominant werewolves coated in glitter. No wonder my friend Ash raised a hand to cover his grin as Willa stormed into my office without knocking.
“Alpha,” she addressed me, ignoring Ash as irrelevant, “you have an appointment in half an hour.”
And she had a streak of glitter that started below her right eyebrow and arched up wildly toward her buzz-cut hairline. As if she’d tried to apply mascara and had her elbow jiggled at just the wrong moment.
Which, knowing the fifty-something, ramrod-spine Beta that I’d inherited from my father, was nowhere near the origin of that smear of cornstarch-based metal-mimic marring her forehead. When you run a glitter factory, sometimes sparkles end up in the wrong place.
“Should we tell her?”
