Emma's Mate (Book 1)

Chapter 9 ✔️

Emma Smith

My mate, Ashton Williams, is staring at me in silence. His face is devoid of emotion, but upon closer inspection, his eyes reveal a multitude of feelings: confusion, anger, longing, and something I can't quite place.

But that's not all. He exudes authority. He is no longer the Ashton I knew three years ago. This man is a force to be reckoned with. How could I have forgotten that he is now the alpha, no longer just the soon-to-be alpha? The raw power he emits is undeniable proof of his dominance.

Three years ago, at 18, Ashton was already tall and broad-shouldered, his muscular build hinting at his alpha heritage. He moved with a confidence that came naturally to him, his deep-set hazel eyes and strong jawline giving him a commanding presence. His tousled dark hair and boyish charm often drew the attention of those around him, and his charisma seemed effortless.

Now, at 21, Ashton has grown into his role as alpha. His body is even more powerful, his muscles more defined, his stance more imposing. The softness of youth has been replaced with a hardened maturity. His features have sharpened, his jawline even more pronounced, his gaze more intense. The warmth in his hazel eyes has dimmed, replaced by a steely resolve. He carries himself with a level of authority that wasn't there before-every movement deliberate, his presence alone demanding respect. The power he exudes is not just a promise of what is to come; it is the reality of who he has become.

I'm not sure how long we locked eyes, or more accurately, how long he stared at me while I avoided his gaze. I couldn't maintain eye contact. The emotions in his eyes made me cringe, even though he tried to hide them behind a stoic expression. My lips trembled, and my eyes welled up, but I refused to let a tear fall in front of everyone.

I have so many thoughts running through my mind, but the most important one is that I am not ready to face him. My heart pounds in my chest, a steady thrum of anxiety, my stomach twisting with guilt. I feel deeply ashamed for causing him pain with my rejection, the weight of that choice pressing heavily on my shoulders. My skin feels cold, a chill settling over me as I realize the gravity of my actions.

I never realized I was an escapist until I ran away from home. It was a wake-up call for me. I have a tendency to avoid difficult situations. Before moving to New York, my life was smooth sailing, so I never noticed these issues. Now I see that my main problem is being an escapist and an insecure person. Every step I took away from my pack, from Ashton, was another step into the unknown, a place filled with dangers I hadn't anticipated.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't even realize when someone entered through the door. I didn't notice them standing in front of me or calling out to me. It wasn't until I felt a gentle shake that I finally snapped out of my reverie.

"Princess," someone said softly. "Dad," I whispered, feeling a wave of relief wash over me at the sound of his familiar voice. I didn't need to look at him to know it was him. Just hearing him say my nickname was enough to bring tears to my eyes. His face is rugged, a hint of gray peppering his dark hair, his eyes soft yet stern, always looking at me with love and a touch of concern.

As I buried my face in his chest, I couldn't help but cry. It had been three long years since I had last seen him, and the emotions were overwhelming. "I missed you so much, Dad," I sobbed, clinging to him tightly.

He held me close, comforting me with his presence. His gentle words and soothing touch helped to calm my racing heart. I felt his strong, calloused hands-hands that had protected me my entire life-gently stroke my hair, grounding me in this moment. Finally, after so long, I felt safe and loved in my father's arms.