The Alpha's Freakshow
He scowls at my hand that rests on his arm.
Tingles work their way up through my fingertips and dance joyfully up my wrist, through my arm, and do a tap dance in my stomach with the horde of butterflies that seem to have taken up permanent residency since meeting him. He shakes my hold loose and I stare at him, trying to determine if he is always so angry.
“Yes, he is a were-elephant,” he says.
He points to a man climbing a pole and I gape when I realize it’s a monkey in an acrobat suit. It leaps from pole to pole with a girl around my age cheering him on screaming, dad. My eyes bulge and I look at him expectantly.