I sighed, rolled over, and looked at my phone. 7.32 am.
Doesn’t that boy sleep?
I roll back over and cover my eyes with my arm. Another day a lie in is out of the question.
Down the hall, you can hear an enthusiastic 5-year-old making plane noises from his bedroom. I sigh again as the noises show no sign of stopping and I swing my legs out of bed.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Chocolate brown eyes look back at me. I have long brown hair that tumbles in loose waves over my body. I’m not fat nor skinny. I’m not particularly muscular either.
That’s due to lack of training I thought.
Gym holds no interest to me, but I know soon that I’ll have to start training. A weak wolf is no good to any pack. You see, we are not normal people. We are werewolves. Not the type that shifts at full moon and kills every human on sight, but the type that can shift whenever we like at choice and have decided to live peacefully alongside humans. We are strong, fast, and powerful. We only shift in cases of emergency and danger or to protect the pack from enemies. Our wolf forms look like normal wolves, only just slightly bigger. Not like the ugly, dangerous, vicious beasts depicted in books.
I do have curves though in the right places and a flat tummy. My belly piercing glints in the light. I look back at my face. Long black eyelashes hide big round brown eyes, I have a cute little button nose and plump soft lips harbouring a lip ring in the corner.
Mum and dad almost killed me when they saw I had it done.
I giggled at the memory. I look at the hint of rose in my cheeks. Saves on blusher, I guess.
My skin is soft and blemish free and has a slight tan to it, thanks to the endless number of hours I spend sunning myself in the garden. I turn to my wardrobe and throw on a tank top and some pyjama trousers and make my way downstairs to see what is for breakfast.
I can still hear Lucas in his bedroom, but he is making train noises now. He loves anything with an engine. I wonder how he will feel when he eventually finds out the truth. We haven’t told him yet. Mum doesn’t want to tell him he is a werewolf until the time is ready for his first shift.
That normally happens when your about 10. I was 9 when I had my first shift. The pain of breaking bones as our werewolf form grew was excruciating, I thought I was going to die, but I’m used to it now.
My wolf form is white with golden brown and grey streaks throughout the fur. She is a beautifully marked wolf. I have dark brown eyes and black ear tips like my Dad. I like being in my wolf form as I am fast, and I feel free running through the woods at night, the night air blowing through my fur, the earth between my claws. I almost feel invincible.
I get downstairs and I notice the sun is already high in the sky and the warmth radiates into the kitchen.
I love summer.
I smell the mouth-watering smell of toast coming from the toaster and music coming from the front room. I suddenly hear a voice on the phone, and I pause, trying to catch a glimpse of the conversation “Yes, I know. We haven’t mentioned it yet, but we will let her know today. Of course, of course. Hopefully, we can persuade her. No, I don’t think she will be happy by it. You know how she feels about it. Yes of course. Ok see you soon. Bye bye.”
I frown. Who is dad talking too? Sounds like a pack member. Persuade who? Mention what? Happy about what? I wonder silently.
A noise behind me makes me jump from my thoughts and I look up to see Dad walking into the kitchen. “Morning Dad. Who was that on the phone? Sounded important” I quizzed.
“Oh, hello love. You’re up early. Let me guess, Lucas woke you up too? Oh, and nothing important. Just some pack business that needs attending to” Dad chuckles, but not really looking at me in the eye.
“Oh really?” I look at him not entirely believing him and crossing my arms, but I don’t question it. “Yeah” I grumble. “Does that kid not get what the idea of a lie in means.” We both laugh at my comment.
Lucas is my 5-year-old brother. He can be cute and funny and oh my, I love him to the moon and back, but why does he insist on waking up at the crack of dawn. Every. Bloody. Morning.
I look over at my Dad buttering his toast. In my eyes, he is my hero and my best friend. He is broad shouldered with a muscula...