My Runaway Mate

I woke up to the sound of my mother's voice piercing through the tranquility of my room. "Rita! Rita, wake up! How can you sleep this long? A lady is not supposed to be so lazy!" Her words echoed in my ears as I groggily rolled my eyes, attempting to shield myself from her nagging. Shaking off the remnants of sleep, I reluctantly rose from the comfort of my bed and mechanically smoothed out the disheveled sheets. As I tidied up, I couldn't help but feel a sense of emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Birthdays had never held much significance to me, and the thought of celebrating felt burdensome. Wanting to escape the suffocating atmosphere at home, I grabbed my phone and swiftly messaged my friends, Grace and Derick. We had been inseparable since the age of ten, and their companionship provided solace in the midst of our werewolf existence. I typed, "Hey guys, any chance you're coming over today? I could use some company." Almost immediately, Derick responded with a sticker, accompanied by his playful remark. "Already missing us, huh?" I rolled my eyes and shot back an emoji, knowing he would sense the light-hearted sarcasm behind it. Grace chimed in, "So, it's your Birthday, right? What have you got in store?" I sighed inwardly, contemplating her question. The truth was, I didn't care much for birthday plans, especially when I was the reluctant center of attention. But buried within me was a glimmer of curiosity, wondering if this milestone would hold any surprises. With a tinge of indifference, I replied, "I don't really have any plans. Yeah, it's today. Just another day, I guess." I masked my internal turmoil with nonchalance, unwilling to expose the conflicting emotions that lay beneath the surface. Birthdays were meant to be joyous occasions, but for me, they often carried a heavy weight of expectation and uncertainty. Leaving my room behind, I ambled toward the kitchen, feeling the weight of turning eighteen settled upon my shoulders. The notion of entering adulthood felt both exciting and daunting. As I reached for a carton of milk from the fridge and took a sip straight from it, my mother's disapproving gaze fell upon me. She scolded, reminding me that a lady should always drink from a cup. It seemed like she nagged about every little thing, adding to the constant friction between us. Before I could retreat from her incessant nagging, she reminded me of the impending ball I was expected to attend that evening. It was customary for werewolves to attend a ball upon turning eighteen, where they would potentially find their mate. The mere thought of it sent shivers down my spine, as I longed for a simpler life, one where I could remain at home with my friends, free from the pressure of finding a lifelong partner. Later in the afternoon, Grace and Derick arrived at my house, their presence offering a sense of comfort amidst my growing anxiety. My mother wasted no time in assigning them the task of helping me get ready for the ball. As they exchanged glances, a hint of concern crept into their eyes, prompting Grace to ask, "What's wrong, Rita? You seem troubled." I paused for a moment, weighing my words carefully. How could I explain the overwhelming fear that engulfed me? How could I confide in them about my apprehension regarding the ball and the idea of finding a mate? Instead, I forced a smile and replied, "Oh, it's nothing. Just nerves, I suppose. I'm just not sure I'm ready for all this." The unspoken truth hung heavy in the air, and I hoped they could see the vulnerability etched across my face. Grace's gaze softened, and she reached out to hold my hand. "Rita, we're here for you, no matter what. We'll get through this together, alright?" Her words offered a glimmer of reassurance, but deep down, the uncertainty still lingered. In that moment, as I looked at my friends Grace and Derick, I couldn't help but yearn for the simplicity of their lives. They had the freedom to choose their own paths, their own mates, while I, as the daughter of an alpha, carried the weight of responsibilities on my shoulders. The expectations placed upon me were stifling, suffocating even. But I had to wear the mask of duty, hiding my true desires beneath layers of obligation. Lost in my thoughts, I barely noticed Derick tugging at my hand, bringing me back to the present moment. His touch, once comforting, now made me feel tense and unsettled. I couldn't quite pinpoint the reason behind this change, but his presence sent a ripple of uncertainty through my being. Yet, I forced a smile and replied, "I'm okay, just lost in my thoughts." As my friends bid me farewell, I turned my attention to preparing for the ball. My mother took charge, skillfully applying makeup to enhance my features. She added a rosy lip gloss, accentuating my lips with a touch of glamour. Her skilled hands moved with precision, transforming me into the image of an alpha's daughter. But as the final touches were applied, a flicker of rebellion burned within me. I longed for the freedom to choose my own destiny, to follow my heart rather than adhering to tradition. The time for the ball approached, and my mother, dressed in her regal attire, drove me to the grand venue. I stepped out of the car, my heart pounding with anticipation. The sight that greeted me was a sea of noble girls and boys, dressed in their finest attire, ready to embark on a night of destiny and possibility. Restlessness gnawed at my insides as I navigated through the crowd, feeling the weight of every gaze upon me. Suddenly, a young man approached me, his black hair sleek and his eyes a warm shade of brown. There was a kindness in his face that put me at ease. He extended his hand and asked, "Can I have this dance?" I nodded, accepting his invitation, and placed my hand in his. As the music filled the ballroom, we began to sway in rhythm, our steps guided by the enchanting melody. In that moment, as we danced, I allowed myself to be swept away from the confines of my responsibilities. The pressures and expectations faded into the background as I succumbed to the joy of the present. His presence, his touch, ignited a flicker of excitement within me, breaking through the walls I had built around my heart. As we twirled across the dance floor he looked into my eyes, his gaze piercing through my soul, he gently asked, "What is your name?" I took a deep breath, feeling a surge of anticipation. "Rita," I replied, representing the Wildwood Pack. His nod seemed filled with a subtle understanding. It was then he revealed his true identity, ALPHA Walter of the IronClaw Pack. A rush of emotions flooded over me as we exchanged pleasantries, his voice resonating with power and authority. And then, unexpectedly, his words shifted, complimenting the loveliness of my dress. I couldn't help but smile, my heart fluttering in response to his charming demeanor. We were still dancing, our bodies moving in harmony, when all of a sudden, Alpha Walter's voice broke through the music. "Excuse me," he said, his tone polite yet distant. As he left my side, a wave of vulnerability washed over me, leaving me with a lingering unease. Doubts crept into my mind, questioning whether his sudden departure was due to my lack of chattiness. Had I failed to meet his expectations?