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Rogue Princess

Rogue Princess

  • Solange Daye

  • 51.7K words
  • ongoing
  • 18+
  • Eye13044
  • Star7.5

I was born to be extraordinary, meant to be a powerful force among all creatures. Born to three hybrid werewolves I should have been more powerful, more magical than any creature on this earth. But I am not. My wolf’s fur is silver, but I do not possess any of the abilities of a silver wolf. My witch heritage should have been enough for my powers to manifest naturally but they did not. I am nothing more than ordinary. An ordinary disappointment to the family. I am a wolf with no abilities and a human with a smart mouth that gets me into nothing but trouble. Instead of continuing to disappoint my family, I ran, and unknowingly, I ran right into the arms of my mate.

  • Werewolf
  • Mystery
  • Superpowers
  • Shapeshifters
  • Romance
CHAPTER 1

ELLA

Checking my reflection in the mirror, I turn from side to side making sure that none of my ‘important parts’ are hanging out, as Gramps Walter likes to say. Carefully I check my makeup, avoiding my own emerald gaze in the mirror. Since I ran from my family in the Appalachian Mountains I haven’t been able to look myself in the eyes. These are the same eyes that belong to one of my fathers. A constant reminder that I am not the daughter they planned for me to be. My birth was foreseen, my powers were foreseen, and yet here I stand an ordinary werewolf. The color of my wolf’s fur should have been enough to serve as passage into the magical world of witches. But unlike any Silver Wolf that has come before me I am powerless. Practicing a fake smile for the mirror I don’t miss how my smile no longer meets my eyes, but lucky for me the bar patrons are always to drunk to notice or even care.

I chuckle a little bit at my reflection, Gramps is going to throw a fit tonight. I have on a dark purple crop top that has a low neckline, leaving my overly large breasts partially on display. Dark tattooed symbols line my lower arms making me look more adventurous than I actually am. Tight leather pants that cling to my curves. I’ve paired the outfit with black pumps to make me appear taller than I really am. Several strands of my hair are dyed dark purple, they are hard to see against my black hair except for when the light catches them. Slipping a hair tie around my wrist, I fluff out the curls at the ends of my hair. Nodding my head in satisfaction, “I am getting all of the tips tonight,” I think to myself. Throwing on a black jacket, I zip up the front to hide my outfit from Gramps.

“Grandma! Gramps!” I yell through the cabin. “I am heading to work.”

Before I reach the front door I hear Gramps’s heavy footsteps behind me. “Let’s see,” he grumbles as I open the door. Rolling my eyes, I do a little spin, holding my arms out to my sides. “Hhmph,” he grunts, but luckily he doesn’t ask me to take off my jacket. “I don’t like you working there.”

I groan and stomp my foot like a teenager. “Are we going to have this fight every night I work?”

“You do not know the types walking in and out of that place,” he grumbles.

Placing my small hand on his scruffy cheek, his expression softens a little. “I do Gramps,” I tell him gently. “But I cannot rely on you and Grandma forever. I have to learn to make my own way.” He grumbles at my words. “Plus, I can handle myself. I am not some weak human.”

“You be home as soon as your shift is over,” he grunts.

Rolling my eyes at him, I yell at his retreating back, “you know I am twenty-one, right?”

“As soon as your shift is over,” he yells at my back, and I cannot help but laugh.

Hopping into Gramps’s old Ford truck, the memory of him trying to teach me how to drive it floods my mind. It took him a full month and a lot of cuss words from both of us. At first I didn’t think Gramps liked me at all. For the first full year I lived with them he insisted that I call him Walter. As much as he loves Grace he was not pleased when a werewolf showed up on his doorstep one winter night. Grace assured him that I wouldn’t be any trouble, but that didn’t lesson his unease. He wouldn’t let me shift near the horses and he only called me ‘that wolf girl.’ But something clicked when he taught me how to drive his truck. I like to say we bonded over our love of cuss words. I will never forget the rare smile on his face when I drove the truck all the way into town. From that moment on I was his Ella, and he was my Gramps.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Wolf’s Den, it’s the local bar right outside of the Lycan City limits. Looking at my watch, I am thirty minutes early. Eyeballing the dispensary next door I decide to stock up on some weed, knowing that I am getting low. Stepping into the dispensary I see that Alec is working and I cannot help the smirk that crosses my lips. Alec is a werewolf that must be part of the pack that is within the Lycan City. He does not smell like a rouge. Alec is exactly my type. Tall, blonde, dark brown eyes that swirl to black whenever I approach the counter and built like a linebacker. As far as he knows I am just a human living on the outskirts of the city with my grandparents. I unzip my jacket before approaching the counter. Hopefully I can entice him to come to the bar later and see me.

“I thought you had run off beautiful,” Alec grins as I approach the counter.

Crossing my arms under my breasts, I lean on the counter, pressing them together in a seductive way. I do not miss the way Alec’s eyes flicker from my face to my breasts. “Nope,” I say popping the ‘p.’

“Want your usual?” His face is turning red, and I know that I am pushing his buttons.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and nod eagerly. “Think you might stop by and see me later?” I chew on my bottom lip before looking up at him through my eyelashes before passing him the wad of cash in my pocket.

“Obviously,” he says a little too eagerly before handing me my weed.

Blowing him a little kiss, I swing my hips as I walk out of the dispensary and to the bar next door. Heading to the back of the building I see that Sophie is already leaning up against the back wall smoking a joint.

“Is it that bad already?” I laugh as I pull open the back door.

Carefully she snuffs out the light and puts the rest of the joint in a small metal container she keeps in her pocket. “It’s a Thursday night. The crowd is always rougher on a Thursday.”

Sliding off my jacket, I place it and my purse inside my locker and spin the dial for good measure. I know Sophie would never steal from me, but the owner of the bar, Rick, cannot be trusted. Opening her locker beside mine, Sophie reapplies her bright red lipstick and grins as she smacks her lips together.

Shutting her locker door her dull green eyes widen. “Damn El,” she whistles as she looks me up and down. “You push me closer and closer to a lesbian every day.”

“Like you need a push,” I say rolling my eyes in her direction.

Sophie is the closest thing I have to a friend since I left my uncle’s pack. Even though she is twenty-five and a werewolf, she has yet to find her mate. Of course she does not know that I know these things about her, but the absence of a mark on her neck says it all. Most werewolves find their mates shortly after they turn eighteen. So those that make it into their twenties without a mate are doing one of two things. One, they are desperately waiting and pining over their lost mate. Or, two, they are hiding from the reality that comes with having a mate. I am definitely the later of the two. Someone else to be disappointed in me is the last thing that I need in my life right now.

Letting my eyes roam, over Sophie while her back is turned I have to admit that she is definitely sexy. Her thick mousy brown hair hangs wildly over her shoulders, covering the very thin straps of her tank top that is clinging to her overly large chest for life. Her dull green eyes are not anything special, but her lips make up for it. They are full and pouty, and I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I had thought about kissing her.

“Same rule as always,” she asks while tying her tiny black apron around her waist.

“Pencil behind the ear or in the hair means help,” I smile at her. “Pencil in the apron means it is okay.” It is our own little alert system that she and I had worked out in the first week of working together. If we have a customer that is getting to handsy, rough, or just plain gross we put our pencil in our hair or behind our ear to let the other one know we need help controlling the situation. It was Sophie’s idea. I think she worries about me being surrounded by so many werewolves when she thinks I am simply a human. It has definitely come in helpful a few times though.

Walking to the front of the bar, Sophie unlocks the door and the usual rowdy Thursday crowd shuffles in. They push and shove their way to the bar demanding their alcohol. Sophie and I man the bar alone while a few other she-wolves take drinks to the customers sitting at the high-top tables. We work together seamlessly, clearing the crowd at the bar in no time. Sophie gives me a little nudge once the crowd is manageable and heads out back for a smoke.

All of the bodies in the bar are making it unbearably hot. Gripping the hair tie on my wrist, I quickly throw my hair up into a messy bun. Just as I am about to twist the hair tie one last time the door of the bar swings open wildly. The scent of honeysuckle hits my nose, and my mouth immediately begins to water. My eyes immediately turn to see who just walked in and my breath gets caught in my throat. A dark God just walked in.

My wolf, Lily, is flipping out in my mind. Prancing around in circles whining. “Mate!”

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