Within His Grasp ✔️

O N E

"Mom, can I please just get the plain one?" I asked, desperately trying to deter her attention from the dazzling gold dress beside me, and onto the plain grey one she held in her hands. But of course, her forest green eyes blazed with determination, and she thrusted the gold one into my arms. "No, go try it on!" 

I felt my eye twitch in annoyance and I looked around at the few people loitering around the mall staring at us, sending a raised brow in their direction. Soon, my impatient mother pushed me inside the dressing room and I nearly collapsed from her shocking amount of strength. I grumbled in annoyance and began to undress myself. I then attempted to slide myself into the very tight, form fitting dress, which was a difficult task as I had full hips. The sparkly fabric was silky to the touch and fell around my curves like an angel's wing. 

The tight bodice made my tiny waist and pronounced bust look even more prominent, but in an elegant way. In shorter words, I looked like a queen. Yeah, sure I was confident in myself, but this dress made it look like my flaws didn't even exist.

I felt my mouth gape open as I turned and observed the open back as it exposed my slightly tanned skin and back muscles. Thankfully, it didn't fall any lower than my lower back, and left somethings to the imagination.

"Come out, darling! I wanna see how you look!" My mother hollered from outside the dressing room. I closed my mouth and hesitated leaving; I looked amazing, but would I really wanna look this good in a ballroom full of unmated werewolves? No, no I wouldn't.

My mother soon unlocked the door for herself, much to my confusion as the lock was on the inside, and gasped loudly at me. I felt a blush coat my cheeks as she went on and on, rambling about how beautiful and stunning and all around gorgeous the dress was. I tried to hush her as curious people looked at us, confused and shocked as my sparkly dress caught their attention. 

"Mom, shush! You're being dramatic." I whispered, causing her to narrow her eyes at me. I silently cursed myself as I saw an argument building up inside her mind, and smiled at her. I pushed her out of the dressing room and quickly changed back into my sweats and oversized hoodie, grabbing the dress and laying it on my arm as I exited the dressing room. "Okay, I'll take it. Whatever." I said, causing my mother to squeal in excitement once more.

As soon as we walked through the door of our house, my brother appeared. His messy, red curls were in disarray and he eyed the white box I was holding with suspicion. "What's that?" He asked stupidly. Don't get me wrong, I loved my older brother to death. He was just very overprotective.

"It's called a box." I smiled at him and rolled my eyes sarcastically before pushing past him and up the stairs. He followed me to my loft and questioned whether or not the dress was modest, his annoying voice causing my nerves to spark. I set the flat box down and turned towards him, his dark brown eyes narrowed. "It's none of your businesss, Philip." I pointed out, sitting down in my beanbag. I saw him roll his eyes at me and disappear from my room with a huff. 

Glad that he was now gone, I picked up my novel and started to read it. The words seemed to flow through my brain and vanish, mostly because I was distracted with the fact that the mate ball was in only two days and I was being forced against my will to go.

King Whisper Black. The very werewolf who held a title greater than Alpha, and who is hosting the mate ball. Many rumors circulated around him and his life. Some said he was mateless, as he was royal, and royal werewolves only had truemates, which were very rare. Normal werewolves had just normal mates, someone they are destined to be with forever. It was simple.

But a truemate is something more than that. First of all, you can't refuse the bond between your truemate, as it's too powerful to ignore. The legends and the elders say this is only for royal werewolves because it guaranteed an heir to be produced. I, however, thought that it was bullshit. But, maybe that's because I'm a normal werewolf and I'll only have a normal mate. 

I shook my head, causing cinnamon colored curls to fall around my face. The mirror that resided beside my beanbag showed my reflection and I looked at her distastefully. My kinky, red curls were strewn everywhere as I needed a haircut indefinitely. My caramel eyes, which my father loved to call melted gold, looked tired and the tanned skin around them was getting pale as winter neared and I no longer went outside as much. My freckles were now more prominent then ever and were sprinkled over my cheeks and nose.

I got a lot of attention because of my looks. Being a redhead is what I thought as the answer, but my father always said that I was special. I guess I had an air of confidence? I'm not sure.

My eyes focused on my sketchbook that laid next to me and I smiled slightly. I picked it up and  turned to a page where an unfinished drawing of a man was imbedded. I had often drawn pictures of a man, not from a dream or anything, but from how I just simply drew him. No reference, no clues, no nothing. I just often drew him for nothing.

I liked to imagine him as a distant lover of perhaps a failed relationship in a past life, but that was only a glimpse of my many theories of who he was. He was incredibly handsome, though, and one theory always came back. My mate.

Instead of thinking into the theory further, I flipped through the sketchbook. Many drawings of flowers, people, and thoughts were there. But, almost always, a small drawing of the man in one of the corners. His eyes always looked like they could peer into my soul, and I often drew him with a slightly raised brow, giving him a look of scrutinizing inquiry, like he was looking through my many secrets as one would a scrapbook.

I shut it abruptly, shaking my head at how crazy I sounded. My mate? How hilariously vacuous. It was impossible, let alone something I should waste my time pondering about. There was no denying it: the man was just a figment of my imagination.