Iris
The camera flashes blind me for a moment, sending spots dancing across my vision. I freeze, one foot still in the car, my hand gripping Arthur’s.
“Iris! Over here!”
“A human mated to the Alpha President? Is this true, or a farce for PR?”
“How long have you been together?”
“Alpha President, what does this mean for werewolf-human relations?”
The questions just add to the dizzying atmosphere. I’ve never experienced anything like this before. I’ve occasionally dealt with art critics and journalists, but nothing remotely close to this feeding frenzy.
Arthur’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me as I finally step fully out of the car. He positions his body almost like a shield.
“Keep smiling,” he murmurs close to my ear. “Don’t respond to any questions. J
