Page 219 of Owned

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

This was my father—my dead father—possessing my body to enact his revenge against the man who had destroyed both our lives.

“When the moment is right, I will relinquish control,” Dario explained. “You’ll need to strike quickly. The dagger from the grimoire is still within your gown—I made sure of it. You remember where?”

I did. The small blackened silver blade, hidden within the folds of dark lace at my waist, pressed against my hip. I could feel its weight now that he’d drawn my attention to it.

“He’ll kill me before I can reach it,” I protested.

“No,” Dario said with grim certainty. “He won’t. He’s weaker than he knows. Andyouare stronger than you believe. You carry my blood, Avril, and more power than you’ve yet realized.”

Lucian turned back toward us, his preparations complete.

The room now glowed with the eerie light of dozens of bewitched candles, creating an atmosphere that was more sinister than seductive.

“Are you ready, my bride?” he asked. His voice dropped to a predatory purr as he approached.

Panic streaked through me.

I wasn’t ready.

“Ready and waiting,” the entity—my father—replied with my voice.

“Remember,” Dario whispered to me alone. “When I release you, strike without hesitation. He will not expect it. He sees you as weak and compliant. Use that against him.”

A terrible clarity settled over me. This was it—the culmination of everything that had happened since my mother’s death. Perhaps even before. My father’s spirit had guided me to this moment and manipulated events to create this opportunity.

I should have been angry, betrayed—and part of me was.

But a larger part recognized the truth in his words.

“What will you do for your freedom?” the voice murmured.

“Anything,” I shot back.

“Good girl… it may come to that.”

The dagger’spresence burned against my hip.

A promise of vengeance.

But what was I supposed to do? The blade was so small—

As Lucian’s fingers worked at the fastenings of my gown, my father directed my hands to assist him, to keep his questing fingers away from the hidden weapon.

Panic streaked through me—what if he found the dagger?

What would he do?

Each touch of Lucian’s icy fingers against my skin sent waves of revulsion through me, but I channeled that disgust into focus.

Survival required patience.

Revenge demanded precision.

“Allow me,” the entity—my father—said with my voice, and my hands pushed Lucian’s away. “I want to unveil myself to you... properly.”

“I hate this!” I screamed. “Don’t you fuckingdarelet him touch me!”

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