Page 125 of Owned

“Move it! You’re not here for a fucking tea party,” Bastian taunted as he nudged one of the older men forward. They stumbled together, a knot of fear that couldn’t be untied.

They knew what awaited them inside the mansion.

Elder Ireni let out a muffled cry as he fell, and as the old headmaster’s knees hit the gravel with a thud, a thrill of darkness surged within me.

I didn’t care how Lucian would react to having these men at his mercy. All that mattered was the power I felt at that moment.

Lucian’s obsessions would be his downfall—he was the one blinded and distracted while we moved against him.

These men were just collateral damage.

No one would remember them.

But they had a purpose.

Just not the one they expected.

I slammed the trunk shut and was just about to get back into the SUV to drive it around to the garage when a sudden shout split the silence.

“Hey!”

I turned to see a figure dart away from the group like a wild animal. My heart quickened and my pulse thrummed in my ears as adrenaline coursed through me. I glanced at Bastian. My younger brother’s pale eyes were narrowed, but he didn’t seem angry. He seemed genuinely amused at the sudden show of desperation from our captives.

But not all of them.

Messana Academy’s headmaster stayed on his knees in the gravel. His shoulders shook slightly and his watery eyes were focused on the stones in front of him.

The escapee ran toward the main gates, although what he planned to do once he reached them was a mystery. Withermarsh was remote. And he would have to cross the wards if he hoped to use his power to defend himself or strike out at us… Too far for an old man to run.

Especially with his hands still bound with Bastian’s magic.

Idiot.

“Would you look at that?” Bastian mused as a cruel smile played over his lips.

“Stop him!” I commanded, but the words barely left my mouth when Bastian acted.

With a flick of his wrist, shadows twisted toward the fleeing prisoner, stretching along the gravel courtyard in pursuit. The air crackled with energy, a tension that hung just before the snap of lightning. Tendrils of dark smoke wound around Bastian’s forearms and tangled in his fingers before moving with unimaginable speed toward the fleeing Sage.

The smoky tentacles ensnared the man mid-stride like a spider catching its prey.

“Please, no!” he screamed. The sound was raw and desperate, but Bastian merely tilted his head and his eyes glinted with cruel amusement.

“It’s too late to refuse your invitation.”

The smoke constricted, squeezing the breath from the Sage’s lungs as Bastian rotated his hand to turn him toward us.

He had almost reached the gate.

Too bad.

Hope was such a frail thing.

Especially desperate hope.

Bastian turned his pale eyes to me. “What do you think Lucian will say if he finds out this little rat tried to run away?”

“He won’t like it,” I replied simply.

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