Page 142 of Glutton for Punishment

“No,” my father says coolly. “You’re interested in a liability.”

I almost hang up on him.

“You will do this,” he continues, “or you will suffer consequences I assure you neither you nor Miss Davies will enjoy.”

The line goes dead.

For a moment I stand there staring at my reflection in the glass window, jaw tight enough to ache. Then the bond jerks in my chest.

Fear.

I straighten. Arwen must be close, and she’s scared.

Another pulse hits me—confusion this time, threaded with panic and humiliation.

I move before thinking, following the pull through the corridors of the academy. Students glance up as I pass, probably because I’m walking far too fast for someone raised to embody Pride composure.

I don’t care.

The bond pulls harder as I near one of the older classroom wings tucked behind the debate halls. A male voice echoes through the open doorway ahead.

“You think you belong here?”

I step inside. Arwen is backed against the far wall, crouching low as if she’s physically trying to make herself smaller. Across from her stands a third-year Pride student I vaguely recognize. His power presses thickly through the room.

The bastard is inside her head.

“You’re not even close to our level,” he says, towering over her. “You’re playing dress-up, pretending like you belong here.”

“Enough!” I shout, barely maintaining my fury. How dare he think he can touch my bond?

The student spins around so quickly that his composure slips. Fear flickers across his face the instant he recognizes me.

“W-Willshire, I was just—”

“Using your pride power on another student.” I step further into the room, cold fury settling into place. “Despite academy rules.”

His face pales. Arwen looks up at me from the floor, breathing shallowly. Confusion clouds her expression.

The student straightens, attempting dignity. “She doesn’t belong here. I was just proving my point before she gets herself hurt.”

I feel my control slip. Power curls beneath my skin before I can stop it. I lock onto his mind and push. Steering his mind toward an apology. His mental shields are like rice paper to my power.

His posture jerks.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, looking confused at his own words.

“Looks like you’re the one who doesn’t belong here. Raised in Pride with the best education possible, and your shields are pathetic.”

Humiliation blooms bright red across his face.

Then, because I’m angrier than I should be, I push once more and convince his mind that he should go to the Dean’s office and confess his actions.

I release him, disgust already curling in my stomach at myself. Horror flashes across his features as he flees without another word.

No matter how much he may have deserved it, directing someone’s will feels like a gross violation.

Arwen rises to her feet, brushing hair from her face as embarrassment floods through the bond.