Phoebe
I walked between my parents to the hotel we were staying. Brutus was silently following us. I glanced back at him every so often, and he would smile softly at me. My mother squeezed my hand.
“It’s okay to talk to him, sweetie,” she says to me. I shake my head. “You aren’t scared of him, are you?” Mom asks me.
“N-no,” I sputter out.
“Then why are you trembling?” Dad cuts in.
“I’m not scared, you guys,” I nearly yell. I glance back at Brutus, and he looks sad. I sigh. “I just don’t know what to think about him,” I whisper to my parents.
“No one ever knows what to think when they first meet their mate,” Mom laughs. “Hell, the day I met your father, I ran away and broke my ankle.”
