Page 97 of Claimed By My Fiancé's Brother

Unlike a certain someone who was so emotionally volatile she had no problem attempting to slap some sense into me.

I found myself stifling a smile. My fierce little rabbit.

I pulled my hand free from Anastasia’s hold.

“I have some things to get to. Let’s catch up later,” I told her. I turned to leave, but Anastasia embraced me from behind.

I paused out of confusion more than anything else. Anastasia always played a subtle hand and whenever I declined her advances, she pulled away graciously, with her head held high.

Something had changed.

“Anastasia.”

She held onto me tighter and buried her head against my back.

“I feel like you’re leaving me.” Her voice was tight and shaky. “I can’t lose you, Alexander.”

I’d hurt another important person today.

The tremor in her voice took me back to my conversation with Eleanor, and her unshakable faith in me that I didn’t deserve.

I tried to push Eleanor from my mind and focus on the present, but my thoughts refused to cooperate.

Would Eleanor ever forgive me? Did I even deserve her forgiveness?

I turned, my mind in a marshy haze that should have set off alarm bells—but Eleanor was standing right in front of me.

Her forest-green eyes glistened with tears, her blond hair a golden halo framing her cherubic features.

“Eleanor,” I rasped, reaching out to cup her cheek and wipe away her tears, ignoring the voice inside me that said something was wrong here.

Her expression shifted, but before I could overthink it, she pressed her lips to mine.

Her lips were soft, but I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that gripped me.

I pulled away, ending the kiss at the exact moment I heard a crash from the doorway of my home.

I raised my eyes, and there was Eleanor in her fighting leathers, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and pain glistened in her beautiful eyes.

I looked down at the person I held—the person I’d kissed—and Anastasia stared right back at me.

I looked back up at Eleanor, but she was already gone. The only evidence she’d been there was the broken vase at the doorstep.

Anastasia slipped her hand up my shirt, seemingly not caring about what had just happened, a purr on her lips.

I looked at the half-empty glass of water that Anastasia had given me, the haze in my mind rapidly dissipating.

“Alexander,” Anastasia rasped, pressing her lips to the hollow of my throat.

Or at least she would have, if I hadn’t yanked her hand off my chest and pulled her into a chokehold.

“A-Alexander.” Anastasia sputtered, her hand slapping at my arm as she struggled to breathe.

“You drugged me.” I wasn’t asking a question.

I’d noticed the strange taste, but I’d attributed it to the change in the dose of the medication. Of course I had. Why the fuck would I suspect my friend would drug me?

Anastasia’s struggle lessened, and I caught the tangy scent of guilt drifting off her.

---