VULNERABILITY

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"Find out who fucking destroyed my house and tried to harm my mate! I don't give a fuck what you have to do. FIND THEM," Weston roars into the phone before hanging up and throwing the phone on the bed.

I watch the black phone land right next to my leg. His screaming had woken me up. As I rub my eyes and look around, I see that I am in my room. Like, my room at my parent's house. I grip the covers and watch as Weston paces in front of me.

I know last night I had found comfort in him. It will never happen again, I promise myself. I still despise this man who is growling and pacing in front of me like a caged animal.

"Get out. Now," I demand quietly but sharply.

He stops pacing and approaches my side of the bed. His eyes are blank. I'm worried he's going to yell at me. Or bite my neck- again. However, all he does is tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and leave the room. The door shuts with a soft click.

Right away I'm confused. No yelling. No grabbing. No growling. If anything it makes me angrier. How dare he be "civil" to me. I would rather have him scream at me than treat me kindly. Mates get treated with kindness and I am NOT his mate. I refuse.

With a sigh, I push away my thoughts and focus on getting dressed. I know that my parents are downstairs. I haven't seen them since . . . the wedding. I feel sick just thinking about the wedding, Weston, and my parents. And I know that all the things I despise are downstairs in one room and I have to confront them.

I slip a hoodie on and a pair of athletic leggings and make my way slowly down the stairs. I hear laughing. It's Weston. I almost fall down the stairs as soon as I hear it. The sound is rich and. . . arousing. I never knew a laugh could be sexy until now . . .

The rational part of my brain yells STOP IT POPPY YOU SICK F-

"Honey, you're up! I made your favorite!" My mother reaches a plate out to me but I don't accept it. I watch her face fall.

"I haven't liked pancakes since I ran away, Mom."

Her face falls even more. It hurts to see her look so wounded but I push past the feeling of sympathy. Her and my father ruined my life. No matter how many plates of food she gives me, I will never find it in myself to forgive my family.

"W-Well, I can make you something els-"

I shake my head sharply before responding, "Don't bother. I'm not hungry."

I look past my mother and see Weston and my Dad sitting at the table with forks in their hands. They are watching the exchange between my mother and I with disapproving eyes. Weston shakes his head at me in frustration. No doubt he's bothered by my rudeness. I don't find it in myself to care.

"Poppy, come sit," Weston commands lightly.

I bump shoulders with my mom and take a seat next to Weston with gritted teeth. I don't want to obey Weston but I have no choice. My mom still places the plate in front of me on the table. It makes me grit my teeth even more.

"So, have your officers found anything?" My father asks Weston while taking a slow sip of coffee.

I feel Weston stiffen in anger next to me.

"No, they haven't found anything. They caught a scent inside the house but it's . . .faint."

My father looks angry as well. My mother looks concerned and places a hand on my father's shoulder. He visibly relaxes and takes another sip of his coffee.

"I'm sure something will come up. Until the house is fixed up, you're welcome to stay here as long as you like," my mother offers with a warm smile.