Alpha’s Lone Mate

Chapter 4

Navigating the fine line between being thick and being considered fat was a constant struggle. There I stood, observing my reflection in the mirror, grappling with my own insecurities. How could my mate ever love me? Could he rescue me from this stifling prison, once known as home?

Today marked my 18th birthday, the day I could potentially discover my mate. It could happen at any moment, unless he happened to be under 18, which I sincerely hoped wasn't the case. I had dreamt of a mate who would sweep me off my feet, and together, we would escape to a new world, a different pack, perhaps even create our own. In eight years, our bond would yield offspring, children with my brown eyes and his nose. My vision painted him as my hero, my knight.

Sighing, I concealed the mirror with a sheet, no longer willing to witness my own reflection. Amina, my best friend, the only one who knew the truth and stood by my side, was the one person I couldn't see enough of.

I anticipated running into Amina at the party, though she had indicated she might not attend, unable to bear witness to my mistreatment and subjugation. She had tried numerous times to bring my brother to reason, yet I had always dissuaded her.

Melvin had thoughtfully provided a dress for his birthday celebration when I mentioned I didn't own one suitable for such an event. Retrieving the red dress he had given me from the rickety wooden chair in my small room, I couldn't help but admire its beauty, though it felt almost too luxurious for someone like me. The fabric clung to my body, and the dress felt heavy, perhaps due to its size.

I hadn't specified my size to Melvin, mainly because I wasn't entirely sure myself.

Six hours remained before the party commenced. After a quick shower, I gingerly donned the red dress. I reluctantly pulled my hair into a tight bun, as per my brother's demand. It exposed the roundness of my cheeks, my double chin, and my neck's fullness. Even though the dress was a size too large, it clung to me like a second skin, accentuating the size of my belly and revealing unflattering flabs along my back. I was acutely aware that any sudden movement might result in the dress splitting in half, so I tucked a spare set of clothes, a matching pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that Amina had given me, into a plastic bag, just in case.

Amid the cacophony of the party preparations, I heard the front door downstairs slam shut. Panicking, I immediately assumed it was either my brother or, worse, Melvin, and that I should have already left. My mind raced to fabricate excuses, but in the jumbled mess of my thoughts, none materialized.

"Claire, darling," a high-pitched voice rang out from below.

I recognized that voice; it wasn't my dear brother or Alpha Melvin. It was the woman I was forced to call my mother. Her footsteps echoed up the stairs as she ascended.

I couldn't help but groan as she pushed open my bedroom door and greeted me with a wide grin.

"That's not a nice way to greet your mother," she chimed, that irritating grin still plastered across her face.

My disdain for her was palpable. "You're not my mother. Just because I call you 'mum' doesn't make it true," I retorted.

She retorted with a smirk, "It kind of does. Ah, Claire—" I promptly cut her off.

"Don't you dare call me that. Only Dad can call me that," I snapped at her.

This response clearly displeased her. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by a stern, serious expression, her eyes revealing a multitude of emotions. "Don't get brave with me. I'm still your mother. Show some respect, or I'll have a word with Thomas. I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate hearing that Claire's been a naughty girl, now would he?" she warned, a smirk returning to her lips.

I didn't reply, but instead glared at her with an unbridled hatred. I pushed past her after a few moments and left the house, clutching the plastic bag tightly in my hand. I couldn't stand being under the same roof as her. The intensity of my loathing for her was unmatched, and I would never forgive her. Never.

I traced my steps to the location Melvin had mentioned. The pack house boasted a spacious hall, ideal for hosting the party. I followed the directions he had provided, and soon found myself in the grand hall. However, it appeared deserted, and the room was completely empty. The hall, with its towering ceilings and vast expanse, appeared cavernous. I felt minuscule in comparison, and this was my first visit to the pack house.

"Hello," I called out, my voice echoing in the emptiness.

"The princess is finally here," a voice quipped behind me, causing me to spin around abruptly and, in the process, lose my balance, landing unceremoniously on my backside.

The individual who had assisted me chuckled but quickly got down to business. "Are you going to stare at me all day, or will you lend a hand?" she queried after a brief stare-off.

"Where do I begin?" I inquired, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Help the chef," she instructed before tossing me an apron and a pair of gloves.

She then sauntered toward a table, and I flinched as she slapped her hands on it, generating a loud noise. "Don't be afraid, darling. We're all in the same boat here, slaves, while the arrogant ones indulge and do as they please," she commented.

I remained silent, unable to offer a response. Gradually, more people began arriving as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky darkened. The music blared at ear-splitting levels, and I found myself being pushed and pulled around the hall. I had unwittingly made a mistake.

I was suddenly yanked off the dance floor and, as I gazed upward, I was met with an unexpected sight. It was the red-haired woman adorned with tattoos, piercings, and chewing gum. With her pale complexion, shaved brows penciled in bright blue, and numerous piercings, she had a distinct appearance.

"Are you going to gaze at me all day, or are you going to work?" she questioned after a brief staring contest.

"I... where should I start?" I asked meekly.

"Help the chef," she replied, while simultaneously tossing me an apron and a pair of gloves.

She proceeded toward a table, forcefully thumping her hands on it to create a loud noise that made me wince. "There's no need to be scared, darling. We're all in the same boat here, slaves, while those arrogant bastards run the show and do whatever they want," she added.

Silence pervaded the room as guests arrived, and I was soon caught up in the rush, pushed and pulled in different directions. It was my mistake.

Abruptly, I was pulled off the dance floor, my eyes locking with the red-haired girl's. She had multiple tattoos, piercings, and was chewing gum. With her pale complexion, shaved brows penciled with bright blue, and numerous piercings, she had a unique appearance.

"Are you planning to stare at me all day, or will you get to work?" she inquired after a brief stare-off.

"Where should I start?" I asked in a hushed tone.

"Help the chef," she replied while tossing me an apron and a pair of gloves.

She went on to thump her hands on a nearby table, causing a loud noise that sent a shiver down my spine. "No need to be scared, darling. We're all in the same boat, slaves, while those arrogant pricks run the show and do whatever they want," she emphasized.

I kept silent.

As the hours passed and the sun dipped below the horizon, the music reached deafening levels, and I was being pulled and pushed around. It was a miscalculation on my part.

In a sudden turn of events, I found myself dragged away from the dance floor. I glanced upward to see the red-haired girl with tattoos and piercings who had been giving me instructions earlier.

"Be careful, dear. The Alpha might think you're enjoying yourself," she advised, her tone filled with amusement.

"I-I didn't mean to go there. I got lost," I stammered, overcome with nervousness.

The red-haired girl chuckled and shook her head. "Let's help serve more drinks," she suggested, handing me an apron and a pair of gloves before we began working.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I inquired, slowing my pace.

She let go of my hands, paused for a moment, and then turned around. I remained there, waiting for her response. She sighed and faced me.

"Because we're not so different. My family disowned me, just like yours," she admitted, locking eyes with me.

"No, no!" I nearly shouted, rejecting her statement. "My family did not disown me."

She laughed and asked me, "Then why are you here, serving drinks?"

With that, she departed.

As the evening wore on, the guests continued to arrive, the sun setting and the sky darkening. The music had reached an unbearable volume, and I was caught up in the hustle and bustle. It was an unintended error on my part.

A brash voice interrupted, "Get out of the way, fatso," accompanied by a shove.

Panic gripped me, and I took off running, not caring where my feet carried me. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with my sweat. After some time, I found myself in the garden, where I sat on a bench and wept.

Then something wholly unexpected occurred. It felt as though my body had a mind of its own. I sensed someone's presence behind me, and without thinking, I spun around, locking eyes with a striking figure. The music from inside the house gradually faded into the background, and everything else seemed to blur, leaving only him in focus. Finally.

Colors began swirling, vibrant and dazzling, in every direction. Blues, pinks, greens, and reds, a kaleidoscope of beauty, surrounded me. But I couldn't take my eyes off him. My mate.

He was drawing near, his approach accelerating, and I feared he might reprimand me. But to my surprise, I was enveloped in a warm, tight hug, leaving me utterly bewildered. The Alpha was hugging me.

Then he said something that only added to my confusion. "I missed you."

Staggering back slightly, I examined him closely, checking to see if he was alright and not under the influence. I scrutinized his eyes, nose, and then, almost by accident, my gaze dropped to his lips. I hastily raised my eyes to his, hoping he hadn't noticed. Yet, when I met his gaze, he was looking at my lips.

I hadn't realized how close our faces were until his lips met mine. He kissed me hungrily, desperately. He effortlessly picked me up and wrapped my legs around his waist. I was taken aback by his strength but dared not pull away from his passionate embrace. For the first time in four years, I felt loved, cherished. I didn't want to think; I simply wanted to savor this moment.

But then he pulled away. My disappointment welled up, fearing he had snapped back to reality. He scanned his surroundings. "Not here," he murmured before gently lowering me to the ground and taking my hand.

We hastened to an unknown destination. I couldn't discern how long we had been walking or how many stairs we had climbed. Yet I knew we had arrived when he opened a door and welcomed me inside. Without delay, he kissed me once more.

Vigorously, he stripped off his neat tuxedo and tossed the plastic bag from my spare clothes across the room. My dress was promptly torn in half. I instinctively attempted to shield myself, unwilling to let him see me this way.

"You're beautiful," he asserted, firmly taking my hands in his.

I couldn't help but smile, and at that moment, I genuinely believed I was. He effortlessly lifted me up, and I didn't hesitate in wrapping my legs around his waist.

My mate.

He kissed me again as well as wrapping his arms around me before walking to the bed.