Ramona PoV
I shuffled quietly through the living room, my voluminous white hair swaying with each step as I gathered up the endless trail of scattered toys. The place was an absolute disaster. The sleek, black leather furniture was now draped in colorful baby blankets, and all the expensive vases I once loved had been replaced by teething rings and chew toys.
My three pups—now eight months old—were supposedly secure in their playpen, but I knew better. The moment my back was turned, I heard the telltale creak of the barrier giving way.
"Oh no you don't!" I called out, spinning around just in time to see little Bulgeum walking determinedly toward the fireplace. His coat was a soft, almost glowing blond, completely unlike his father's dark fur, and he was already sporting a flickering red-tipped tail that marked him as Bulgae's son, despite his coloring. "Bulgeum, get back here right now!"
