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T he slam of the suite’s door still reverberates through my bones as I stalk down the corridor, anger coiling like a viper in my gut. That shite message from Hansley replays on an endless loop, stoking the embers of my fury with each reiteration.

Your pet was off her leash. See me. Now.’

Gritting my teeth until my jaw throbs, I shove through the heavy fire door and descend the spiral staircase. My boots rap out a staccato rhythm against the concrete treads, the tapping echoes ricocheting off the bare walls. There’s nobody else around to witness my seething, which is just as well. At this precise moment, I’d likely throttle any poor sod foolish enough to gawk.

Once on the ground level, I storm across the grassy quad towards the Administration wing. Clusters of students linger on the expansive lawns, chatting and laughing without a care in this fucked world. Envy twists like a serrated blade, slicing through my chest at the sight of their untroubled existence. How fucking simple it must be, to fritter about without the weight of our burdens constricting every breath.

Footsteps propelling me through the revolving doors, I rake my fingers through dishevelled locks as I navigate the labyrinthine corridors. At this hour, the halls stand deserted, affording me a fragile sense of privacy. At least for the moment, no bloody bastards lurk about to scrutinise my every fucking move.

Hansley’s office comes into view, that impassive wooden barrier mocking me with its austere presence. I don’t bother knocking, simply turn the handle and barge through the threshold. If the pretentious cow demands an audience on such short notice, she can damn well accept me as I am—knackered and fuming.

“Ah, Mr. Whitlocke,” she greets in that condescending purr without glancing up from her computer monitor. One perfectly manicured nail taps a staccato beat against the polished desktop, betraying her impatience. “So courteous of you to grace me with your presence at last.”

Striding across the office, I drop into one of the low-back chairs opposite her desk without awaiting an invitation. Dredging up every ounce of restraint, I lean back and regard Hansley with a carefully neutral expression rather than unleashing the torrent of vitriol bubbling just beneath the surface.

“You summoned me, so here I am.” The words slice through my clenched teeth in clipped tones. “What’s this about my ‘pet’ being off her bloody leash?”

I lean back into the cushion, mouth twisting into a scowl as Hansley fixes me with a pointed look. “Ms. West seems to have developed a rather skewed perception of her station and intended role within our ranks.” One perfectly sculpted brow arches imperiously. “Brooks gave every indication last night’s… demonstration went swimmingly, yet now Briar seems thoroughly confused over the hierarchy.”

Shifting uncomfortably, I glance away and chew the inside of my cheek. The last bloody thing I want is to rehash the events from that dingy club with this officious harpy scrutinising my every syllable. Especially not the highly questionable orders Brooks issued in Hansley’s stead while she swanned off playing bureaucrat.

“Briar’s will is remarkably strong,” I preface carefully. “Her defiance and stubbornness were rather the point of selecting her to begin with, were they not?”

Hansley clicks her tongue in reproval, rounding the desk to perch against its edge directly before me. Crossing her ankles, she braces those ridiculously manicured talons against the polished surface and leans back, full lips pursing. “So our feisty little Neophyte is proving more than you boys can properly handle and discipline?”

The insinuation that I’m somehow incapable of exercising control over Briar ignites a flare of irate defensiveness. Planting my hands on the chair’s carved arms, I shove upright and lean over the smirking bitch, using my towering height to its full intimidating advantage.

“You’d be better served worrying over some of the other Initiates on track for Ascension,” I growl lowly, “rather than hounding me about this fucked little game you’ve concocted with Briar.”

Hansley’s eyes narrow fractionally, though her aristocratic composure doesn’t slip an inch. “Issues with tradition, Mr. Whitlocke?” she muses coolly. “I had thought your generation was finally prepared to embrace the Order’s core tenets.”

The words drip with derisive disdain, serving only to further inflame my simmering temper. I open my mouth to lash back a scathing retort, but her hand lashes out with cobra-quick reflexes—wiry fingers tangling viciously in my hair to yank my head back at a brutally strained angle.

Pain detonates along my scalp as Hansley jerks hard, lurching me off-balance until instinct dictates dropping to one knee simply to alleviate the agonising pressure. Gritting my teeth against the vicious ache radiating from my abused follicles, I glare balefully up at the smug cunt from beneath my lashes.

“Careful, boy.” The purring warning seems at odds with her aggressive actions as she looms over me in smug triumph. “I won’t tolerate defiance—no matter how entertaining you make it.”

Hansley tugs again with spiteful force, wrenching an involuntary grunt from me as I crumple fully to both knees in abject submission. Even through the haze of pain, the crushing humiliation splinters through my bravado like shards of ice freezing in my veins.

Allowing her grip to slacken marginally in clear approval at my capitulation, Hansley cards her talons almost tenderly through my hair as I seethe in silence. Her touch gentles to a featherlight caress along my nape before withdrawing completely; leaving me pathetically hunched at her feet on my knees like a fucking supplicant.

“Perhaps once you’ve reacquainted yourself with the proper place of your own house…” she murmurs with a thinly veiled threat.

I grit my teeth harder to stifle the groan cloying at the back of my throat when Hansley’s heels fall away with two dull thuds. She doesn’t even need to utter the command—that one elegant motion speaks volumes.

But seeing the harpy hike up her tight skirt and bare gloriously toned thighs while unclipping those lacy garter belts provokes a visceral reaction despite my best efforts at stoic indifference. Hansley might be a relentless, vindictive bitch, but holy hell does the woman have spectacular legs.

“Stay on your knees like a good dog,” she murmurs throatily once her skirt puddles at her waist. Dusky curls peek out in stark contrast to the pale cream of her inner thighs, glistening already with what I refuse to acknowledge as arousal. “Service me properly, and perhaps we’ll revisit your relationship with Ms. West over more civilised terms.”

As she unceremoniously unclips the last garter securing her stockings, a stray thought flits unbidden across my mind—if this shite was happening anywhere besides her office, if she wasn’t who she was, I’d have already taken the tart against the nearest flat surface. Provided she wasn’t such a manipulative harpy, her looks alone would make submitting to her demands bloody irresistible.

“Well?” She prompts with an expectant arch of one perfectly sculpted brow, fingers hooking beneath the lace trim edging her knickers. “You know how I despise being made to wait, .”

A vein throbs in my neck as I bite back the caustic retort perched on the tip of my tongue. Getting mouthy now won’t end well—not with the advantageous position she’s assumed. Instead, I slide my hands up those sleek thighs, fingers digging into supple flesh with bruising force to push them wider apart. The predatory glint flickering behind her sea-swept gaze proves she relishes the subtle assertion of dominance.

Guess I’ll indulge the duplicitous bitch this time… but this isn’t over. Far from it.

My mouth crashes against Hansley’s cunt with none of the foreplay or tenderness I’d usually employ. Tongue flicking over her rapidly dampening slit, I waste no time delving between her slick labia to lave at her clit. She shivers above me, legs parting wider as her nails dig into my scalp—less a gentle caress than branding claws scoring my skin.

Hansley always did like it rough, the depraved cunt. Which works just fine—gives me an excuse not to hold back and get some of this irritation out of my system.