Page 183 of Owned

The binding hadn’t worked.

The wound in my hand pulsed faintly as the flesh stitched together with the pale violet glow of my magic. I brought my hand closer to my face—was there something else—a faint yellow glow—graying at the edge where it met the violet color of my power?

No. Impossible.

Panic tightened in my chest.

I’d wasted precious time.

I should have been looking for another spell—or practicing the one that the Council had given me.

But could I trust them?

What would they do with me once I’d done their bidding? After defeating Lucian, would they kill me? Take control of my life just as he wanted to?”

“Fuck!”

I wanted to throw the grimoire to the ground, to scream at it, to tear it apart like it had with me.

But if I did…

If I did, I would be admitting that there was no other way.

If I did, I would be as good as dead.

But I couldn’t fail.

Not now.

Not after everything.

“Where are you?” I whispered.

But the grimoire didn’t answer me.

I bent to pick up the dagger and slashed it across my wrist with a desperate cry.

My blood dripped onto the pages, bright splashes of crimson.

I waited.

This was how it always worked. It would stain the page for a moment—a breath—and then it would sink into the parchment and the spells would appear… etched in my blood.

But nothing happened.

The blood pooled, wet and strange, on the ancient paper.

“Come on—”

I held my breath as the edges began to fade, but then it stopped.

I pushed at the book with the point of the dagger.

Nothing.

What was that supposed to mean?

What had I done?

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