Charmed Wolf

It’s just that no one is willing to be glitter bombed....”
“I wouldn’t mind it.” I let a smile break out across my face. Five minutes of glorious sparkle followed by thirty minutes of relentless scrubbing? Sounded like a much-needed break from the spreadsheets, letters, and bills on my desk.
The silence below was deafening. The glitter bombers’ eyes grew so wide I might as well have suggested tap-dancing naked in Times Square.
Willa’s response was more understated but also more powerful. She met my gaze and shook her head. Once. Hard.
The gesture dislodged a cloud of sparkles, which should have been hilarious. Instead, it struck me like a punch to the gut.
No, my Beta was saying, that was inappropriate behavior for an Alpha. Especially one who’d only held her position for six months.
Behind me, Ash hummed commiseration. But I didn’t need to be patted on the back, literally or verbally. I was Alpha.
So I straightened my spine until I resembled Willa, only significantly less sparkly. “Just kidding,” I told the glitter bombers.
Then I closed the window more quietly than I wanted to before retreating to my desk.
ASH LEFT AFTER THAT. He always knew when to make himself scarce. And the factory gradually emptied out as the work day ended.
Which didn’t mean I was off the hook. As long as a single wolf remained in my vicinity, I remained on call.
For example: “Do you need anything else, Alpha?” asked the ten-thousandth shifter to intrude upon my day.
I didn’t glance up this time because the speaker happened to be the lowest wolf on our totem pole. Perpetually terrified, he tended to pee his pants every time I made eye contact. “No, thank you,” I answered. “You can go home.”
Another two minutes of typing, then another voice: “Alpha, it’s quitting time and the pups are antsy.”
The spreadsheet in front of me contained far too many red cells. Negative income since we’d yet to find any buyers for our product, the product I’d dreamed up to replace my father’s outdated but fiscally responsible tobacco-growing enterprise. I wanted to tear my hair out and scream.
Instead, I graced this pack mate with a smile. He could handle eye contact. Craved it, actually. My attention proved there was an Alpha in charge even though my father’s body had been reduced to ash then returned to the forest.
“Take the pups for a run then,” I suggested, although I shouldn’t have had to state the obvious. “No one will see you. The humans left an hour ago.”
The pup minder backed away bowing, as if I was a medieval ruler. “Thank you, Alpha. I’m sorry, Alpha.”
Drat. Must have let a little annoyance seep into my voice.
I tamped down stray emotion, or seemed to. Because the next two pack mates didn’t prostrate themselves on the floor with their bellies exposed. They left, instead, with bounces in their steps and the smiles of wolves content in their pack.
For my part, I fell deeper into my spreadsheet as the litany of “Alpha”s faded. Such relief to have half an hour of solitude before I needed to prepare for an evening of challenges.
But, no. Challenges weren’t the only item remaining on my to-do list. An email from Willa dinged in my inbox. Inside was the information we’d both forgotten while I was letting the devil on my shoulder guide my actions.
My industrious Beta had set up an appointment with a potential Consort. A mandatory part of my transition to leadership. One I didn’t relish.
And, yes, I was going to be late.

Chapter 2
He’s beautiful. My wolf and I cocked our shared human head as we stared in the plate-glass window of Fluff Enough Bakery. The other potential Consorts I’d considered over the last six months had been powerful wolves with excellent heredity, but they’d lacked this male’s chiseled cheekbones and lanky vitality.
They’d also watched me with greedy eyes. Their wolves had been alert, ready to fight or fuck. Maybe fight and fuck in the same moment.
Not this male. He sat cross-legged on the bench seat of a half-booth, eyes closed and back straight. His hands rested on his knees, thumbs touching middle fingers. But even though he appeared to be meditating, his nostrils twitched ever so slightly when another diner rose to drop off a dirty plate at the counter. He was 100% alert.
And he matched the scanty description Willa had left for me. Biracial with some African component to his heritage. Six foot four inches of lean, muscular beauty. Close-cropped, jet-black hair.
So I opened the door, letting myself in. Watched out of the corner of my eye to see how he’d respond to my heady chocolate aroma.
This was the first test...and also one of the reasons I met potential Consorts in a human-run bakery. Usually, my signature scent was lost amid fumes from brownies, dark chocolate tarts, and homemade truffles. In the midst of all that created sweetness, even shifters didn’t tend to notice that I smelled like a pack princess—a cossetted alpha’s daughter—rather than a gritty pack leader. I wouldn’t have to take no-longer-wanted interviewees out back and break their arms before they’d take no for an answer.
Only, the venue didn’t work this time. The potential Consort’s eyes remained closed but his head turned toward me. He’d smelled something, although I couldn’t quite discern his reaction at our current distance.
“The regular?” Megan asked from behind the counter, reminding me that I’d made other advances in my interview technique since the arm-breaking fiasco.
I nodded. “Every bit of it.”
“Are you sure?” Megan leaned in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. The volume wasn’t, of course, low enough to keep shifters in the dark. Megan was totally human and unaware that her shop currently hosted not one but two werewolves. “This one’s pretty.”
She waggled her eyebrows. The male’s lips twitched ever so slightly.
“Certain,” I growled.
And Megan shrugged, ringing up two meals and paying for them—plus a 100% tip—out of the credit card I’d left on file. The tip was sufficient