LXVIII

While still deep in her work, the door's hinges whined. Lyla ignored the giant's entrance and approach, even his large hand once it rested on the table alongside her painting.

The beast leaned down with a low, displeased growl. "Throw it away." Lyla was focused on finishing the last details, the little flicks of her

brush exaggerating the cracks in the Dome. "Why would I throw it away?" She had painted her final morning of freedom; the moment denied her out on the ice.

It was stark and horrific in its implication.

His lips were at her ear, his breath fluttering her hair. "Have you done this to upset me, little one?"

The brush tip was dipped again until drenched in black paint. "No." She felt his hand gather up her hair so he might pull her head back from where it hung over her project. Kieran was not hurting her, or yanking, he simply unfolded the omega, forcing her to meet his narrowed gaze.

He was stern as he searched her expression. "You will paint something else."