Page 124 of Owned

No wonder my magic had faltered.

No wonder the pain felt so deep.

I wanted to scream, wanted to thrash and bite and claw until I was free.

But I was too tired, too broken.

The last remnants of fight slipped from me as rough hands lifted me.

As we moved through the trees, a flash of colored light caught my eye.

I let out a groan as I turned my head.

The burning wreck of the motorcycle was in a hollow nearby—deep blue and bright gold flames licked at the trees and had started to spread through the dry underbrush. I’d been so close to freedom...

When they found the wreck they’d think I was dead…

Valen.

Maybe dead was better.

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—

But before a single word could escape my lips, a hood was shoved over my head…

And then pain enveloped me, and everything went black.

The SUV bouncedand lurched as we sped through the gates of Withermarsh. The groans of our elderly captives echoed in the cramped interior and Bastian’s grin hadn’t faltered.

“Listen to them,” he said with a jerk of his thumb toward the back of the vehicle. “It’s like a chorus of dying swans back there.” His pale eyes sparkled with mischief, as if the old men’s discomfort was the greatest joke of all. “When we went through the ward, I thought they were all going to expire right then and there and ruin all our fun.”

“Shut up, Bastian,” I growled. But he only chuckled harder, undeterred by the edge in my tone. He loved this—pushing me, testing how far he could go before I snapped.

“It’s like they’d never felt a proper ward before,” he said incredulously. “And we let these fools teach us—”

“Thankfully, none of it stuck,” I said shortly.

I pulled the SUV to a stop in the courtyard, snapped off the engine, and threw open the door. Bastian followed with nonchalant ease, and stretched as he stood beside the vehicle. It was late afternoon now, but the air was heavy, and the clouds that always hung above the estate were thick and dark—threatening a storm.

Rain.

Something worse.

I walked around to the rear of the SUV and opened the trunk. The three men inside blinked weakly at the weak daylight, and Bastian joined me.

He set his hands on his hips and looked at each of our prisoners.

“Time to get out,” Bastian sang in a chillingly cheerful tone.

One by one, we pulled them from the back of the SUV.

The captives stumbled as they were shoved toward the courtyard, their faces pale and wide-eyed with fear.

It was impossible not to savor their terror, and I watched with cold satisfaction as they struggled to regain their balance on the uneven ground. Tendrils of Bastian’s magic, and mine, bound their wrists and held their arms to their sides. But Bastian had insisted on the duct tape for their mouths.

“Just in case,” had been his reasoning.

I knew my brother better than that. The humiliation of it was the point.

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