Iris
Arthur whisks me away from the table before I can even protest. I’m not even sure if Brian, Liam, or the twins notice him taking me away—it’s as if I’m sitting at the table one moment, hot soup splashing across my leg, and the next we’re in the bathroom. Even though werewolves are supernaturally fast, Arthur has always been one of the fastest.
“Arthur, what are you—”
“Quiet,” he commands, his fingers deftly pushing up the skirt of my dress to reveal my burnt leg. The soup must have been hotter than I expected, because my skin is inflamed and already callusing slightly, and I wince as he turns on the faucet and runs cold water over it.
“You could’ve been more careful,” Arthur snaps as he soothes the burn.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself,” I g
