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“I remember when mine were that little,” she says, sitting on the arm of the chair next to me, with a distant look in her eyes. Even perched on the edge of a sofa, she’s very graceful—almost regal, even. It’s a trait I don’t possess.
“How many do you have?” I run my hands over Phoebe’s dark hair.
“Six,” she says, and I gape at her, my eyes widening. Six? I’m barely managing with this one. She laughs, and it’s such a genuine, twinkling sound. “I’ve got a set of twins, and a set of quads. My boys are the light of my life, so strong.”
My mouth drops open at this point, and her light laugh is all I can hear. She gets up from the sofa and pulls down some of the photos from the fireplace. It’s an array of her children through the years, and they’re absolutely adorable.
In the baby photos, they’re tiny, the four little boys—I’m guessing based on the light blue baby grows they’re wearing—are maybe a month or so older than Phoebe, but the toddler girls are around three or four with big cheesy grins on their faces.
In every photo, they’re identical—both the twin girls and the quadruplet boys. Even in the later photos when they’re graduating school—college, I’m guessing—they’re still carbon copies of one another.
It’s crazy, and maybe just a little supernatural.
“They’re all still identical,” I say, and she nods. “Wow. Super mum. I’m struggling with just one, I’m in awe that you managed with six under five all at the same time.”
“I had a lot of help, but that’s what we are built for,” she says, as George, I’m guessing, comes into the room.
He’s a very big man, in both height and his frame. I’m not sure how much is fat, considering I can see the outlines of his bulging arms under his tight shirt. His thighs are thick, and I have no doubt he could bench press me—without the use of his werewolf strength.
His light caramel hair is windswept, and there’s a slight frown on his pale, chapped lips. His eyes are an icy blue, and they seem to have the same assessing look that his wife’s do. He’s got the same hair colour as the quadruplet boys do, compared to the twin girls with the bright blonde.
Like Luna Wolfe, he’s dressed for summer in a thin T-shirt and some shorts, despite the chilly air. Their home isn’t overly warm, I feel a bite to my skin. Is that a wolf power? Should I be more careful when dressing Phoebe so she doesn’t overheat?
The standard rule of thumb is they need an extra layer compared to us, but is that different for wolves? Is there a guide to learn these things, or is it like when you have a human baby and just learn on the job?
I can’t believe I’ve got to categorise babies into human and… not human.
“Now, I know that this is a lot for you to handle,” Julie says, and I bite back the urge to snap at her. What does she know about this situation and my abilities to handle it? “We’re more than happy to answer any questions that you have, but we’ve got some to ask you that take priority.”
“Okay.” Of course, they do.
“We’ve got some documentation you can have, too, to read up on our world. I can only imagine how overwhelming this is in your current state of mind, and we want to help in any way we can,” George says, sitting down on the armchair that Julie is perched upon.
I nod slowly, glancing down at Phoebe. She’s nestled between my boobs, a tiny smile on her face.
Gas, it’s probably gas.
But she’s so unbothered, whereas my world has completely shifted. And I didn’t mean that for the pun.
“Where is Phoebe’s dad?” Julie asks, going straight in for the hard question. “Patrick claimed he was...”
“Um, he is dead.” I don’t know why this couple sets me on edge so badly, but their questions are really frustrating me.
“I’m so sorry,” Julie says, her face paling ever so slightly. She eyes her husband, a wary look in her eyes, but he’s focusing on me.
“Thank you. We weren’t together very long, and clearly, I wasn’t trusted with all of this,” I say softly. You know, if a three-year relationship and an engagement wasn’t that long.
I thought we were preparing for a life together.
It seems only I was doing that.
“What pack was he from?” George asks almost too eagerly.
My goal is to give them as little information as possible whilst trying to appear cooperative. These people are dangerous. I have no idea of their skills or abilities, and I need to try and protect Phoebe the best I can.
I have a tight smile on my face. “I have no idea.”
“Where did he grow up?” George asks.
