Page 13 of Owned

But something else worried me more: the new and urgent hunger that our father seemed to have for Avril.

Why did he want her so desperately?

Bastian seethed ahead of me, and Titus’ stride was long and angry.

Lucian hadn’t even bothered to threaten us.

I didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved.

Maybe both.

As if to twist the knife deeper, his voice drifted down the corridor with cruel cheerfulness. “Only a few weeks more, my love.” Whatever Avril’s reply was, it didn’t carry as far.

My insides churned as I imagined tears brimming in her wide eyes.

Or worse—what if her lips curved into a smile and she let him kiss her…

Letting her go wasn’t possible—not after I’d tasted the heat of those tears on my tongue and felt her gasp like a pulse against my skin.

She was ours.

We followed Titus into the library. As I stepped into the room, Titus gestured angrily at the doors and they slammed shut behind me.

“What the hell was that?” Titus demanded.

“What was what?” Bastian feigned innocence.

“You— You were taunting him.” Titus glared. “Typical.”

Bastian shrugged and flung himself into one of the overstuffed leather chairs. “Give me some credit. I got us out of there, didn’t I?”

“And left her with him.”

“She can handle it,” Bastian retorted, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“What if she can’t?” I asked. “What if he finds out—”

“He doesn’t know anything,” Titus interrupted, though his voice was unsteady.

Titus walked to the shelf that held crystal decanters of the expensive whiskey he favored. He poured me a glass, but I waved it away.

“We have to get her out of this,” I said sharply. “The wedding—he wants it to happen sooner than we expected.”

“Too soon,” Bastian echoed. He reached toward Titus and flexed his fingers, beckoning toward the glass to whiskey until Titus let out a grunt and pushed it into his outstretched hand.

“Too soon for what?” Titus asked. His eyes were dark as he turned them on Bastian. “For us?”

“Do you honestly think she’d choose us over what Lucian can offer?” Titus snapped. “He’ll make her queen of Messana.”

“He won’t let her live long enough,” I snarled.

“She can’t possibly want him,” Bastian muttered as he lifted the glass of dark whiskey to his lips.

“Doesn’t matter what she wants if he forces it,” I said.

“Just like everything else.” Titus’ voice was low. “We can’t let another plan of his succeed. If this wedding goes through—”

Bastian cut him off. “It’s not going to.”

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