Iris
My hands are shaking as I pull Miles onto my lap, cradling his face against my chest. He grumbles and tries to wrench his head away so he can get a proper look, but I hold fast. I don’t want him to see—don’t want him to see the protesters or the look of fury in his father’s glowing red eyes.
Through the tinted window of the car, I watch Arthur storming toward the protesters, his shoulders squared and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. They’re already shrinking away from him, although the one woman who threw the tomato lifts her chin and says something.
Even from this distance, I can see Arthur’s fangs flashing as he speaks. He’s gesturing sharply, and even though I can’t hear what he’s saying, I can imagine. The Alpha’s fury is unmistakable.
The woman jabs he
