Chapter 4 - Weirdo, Warrior, Bookworm

Ciara's POV 

I decided to jog home to stretch out my stiff leg muscles from the morning training. I jog past several pack members and wave, but they don’t wave back. Being who I am, you would think people would know me. I am Beta Leon’s daughter... well... adopted daughter. I am on OK terms with most of the pack members, but most don’t pay much attention to me. However, I am lucky to be part of the warrior unit. Our unit is made up of mostly male werewolves and I am the only female in the top elite squad.

My family house isn't too far from the main road that runs down to the center of our territory. We are about a twenty-minute drive from the Packhouse and hospital, which are in the center of the pack lands.

I jog past several small businesses and the school which housed kindergarten through senior year. We are the first house on the corner of the pack’s residential area. Most of the pack prefer to have their own residences. Only the Alpha and his family lived in the Packhouse.

As I walked into my family’s house, I let the screen door slam behind me before I quickly ran up the stairs to my area of the house—the third floor. It is my own personal loft.

It is an open space area with a couple of support beams and several large windows on the far side with exposed brick on two of the four walls. My queen-size black metal frame bed is nestled in a cozy corner. The bed cover is deep blue with white and pink water lilies embroidered on it and, of course, tons of pillows to match. A gray hand-me-down leather couch and dark wood coffee table are centered in the middle of the room. In the corner is a large hanging curtain that hides the toilet and a cast-iron clawfoot tub with a small baker’s rack to hold all my female necessities and towels.

My favorite part of the whole space is when my dad had put in a set of double doors that opened to a small wooden balcony. It isn't big enough for multiple people, but I can lounge with a book or watch the night sky in pure peaceful bliss when I just need a break.

I quickly strip off my workout clothes and toss them into the hamper. Then I switch on some tunes, make my way to the bathtub and twist the tap to fill it with steaming hot water. I sink in with a soft groan, letting my sore muscles relax.

After a good soak and scrub, I quickly dry off and work a brush through my wet hair. My hair is… wild—a massive wavy multi-color mess. Red, blonde, brown, black, even golden strains blended to cascade down to the middle of my back and 100% my natural hair. It reminds me of the autumn season when the leaves change from their summer brilliance to their cozy fall colors. I run my fingers through them with some hair product and let it dry naturally.

I take a moment to look at my naked body in the full-length mirror. I rubbed my hand over the small scar that stretched across my lower abdomen. It’s been years, and it still hasn’t faded. My body is covered in small cut-like scars and needle pricks that I had received when I was just a small child. My back had the most scars, but once I was old enough, and when my father was out of town, I went into the human town and had them covered up with a very large full-back tattoo portrait. I still have one scar that I refuse to cover since it was a reminder of where I came from and where I will never be again. It is on the back of my left leg. Carved into my skin were the numbers 399. 

I have to say, other than the scars, I have a pretty nice toned body. Creamy white skin covered in reddish freckles, nice plump boobs, firm ass, but males don’t take much notice of me since they consider me a “weirdo” for being a small werewolf and a bookworm. Plus, it doesn't help that the Alpha doesn’t allow unmated males to take any interest in me.

I pad over to my clothes cabinet and select a matching bra and thong set first. They have multi-color hearts on them, and the bra has a little pink bow nestled in between my breasts. I rummage through another set of drawers for a pair of dark blue demin leggings. I pair them with my gray 1985 Fraggle Rock t-shirt with the neck collar cut out that my mother found me at the neighboring pack’s country yard sale a few years ago. I slip the shirt over my head, and it falls off one shoulder, exposing the strap of my bra.

Once I feel presentable, I slip into my favorite black high-top Converse, grab my phone and EarPods from the charging station and track my way down the stairs towards the garage.

“I wonder what the Alpha wants this time…”