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HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN

Her hand flew to his chest, pushing him away with all her might. But the strength her wrist possessed was nothing compared to Orleans’ determination to get what he wanted and his obvious obsession with her.

He planted a firm hand on the small of her back, pulling her impossibly closer to him as he forced his way. He tugged at her bottom lip, coaxing her to open up to him.

Frustration soon found its way to him, and at the same time, anger; anger that she wouldn’t look at him the same way she regarded Anders, anger that he had been nice to her from the very beginning, while Anders made her day intolerable, yet she still chose Anders over him.

Veil gasped against his lips, trying to plead with him wordlessly. His hand groped her waist roughly, and her dress raised off the grounds a few inches. Veil’s mind screamed for help. She panicked, using her claws on his skin, drawing as much blood as she could.

Yet, Orleans wasn’t stopping.

She wished she hadn’t gone to talk to him alone. Hell,
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