Page 46 of Terror

I stomp my foot. “You can’t just keep me in my house forever.”

“I can and I will.”

“It is important that I do this.”

“What do you plan to say?”

“I want to apologize.”

“Negative,” Dreikx says from the kitchen.

“You’ve done nothing wrong,” Arkin says.

“But I have. Without my money, those women wouldn’t have died.”

Arkin doesn’t argue, so I press on. “I’m cashing it in. I’m gonna help you right this.”

He tilts his head. “How?”

“Omegas don’t speak about heats and breeding and what really happens when Alphas come knocking on the door. There’s this entire stigma attached to us. People either stay away from us as if we have a disease or want to hurt us. We should be heard.”

“Okay, Tabby. After the sweep is over and the mission is accomplished, you can talk with the press. Set up a charity. Invite more people.” He smiles.

“Today. I want to help.”

“You are helping by staying right here with me. They can’t get you.”

He won’t budge. “Arkin.” I press my body against his, cheek to his chest. I’m not built for fighting, but I need to get out there and try to help him. Only one way to find out if I can help, which is to try. “Fine. Invite a reporter here. I’ll make iced tea.”

“Nobody is coming into the house.”

Everywhere I touch, his body is hard. He’s so yummy. I’ve never met a man that turns me on like Arkin. “On the porch.” I bat my eyelashes. “Pretty please.”

Arkin’s quiet.

I press on. “You can loom over me the entire time.”

“I do not loom.”

“You loom,” comes from the kitchen.

His erection presses against my belly. A claw traces my stab wound. “If you look at me like that, I’ll fuck you against the door.”

“Mmmmm.”

Arkin nods and opens the door. “I’ll get a reporter.”

“And a cameraperson,” I say.

“That’s two people, not one.”

Dreikx walks by. “Two humans,” he throws over his shoulder. “It’s just two clawless creatures with a camera and microphone. I’m sure the son of Loven can handle them.” Dreikx crosses the lawn and steps into the pod parked near the fountain. He takes off into the sky.

Sidone sits on the front steps, and I sit next to her, staring past the gates at the tents where cameras flash and reporters take pictures as Arkin walks toward them.

“Why are they still here?” Sidone asks.

“The media?”

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