Page 229 of Owned

“You’re ok— you’re alive,” I whispered, but my voice sounded strange to my ears—layered with harmonic undertones that hadn’t been there before.

The room was silent, vibrating with it.

I had become what I needed to be.

What they needed me to be.

Maybe it was what I was meant to be all along. Maybe this was what my father had intended—

Now I was the one with all the power.

Powerful enough to protect. Powerful enough to take control of the Necromi.

Powerful enough that no one would look at me with pity or concern ever again.

I staggered to my feet, swaying slightly as my body adjusted to its new reality. Lucian’s power continued to integrate with mine, like rivers merging—violent at first, then settling into an alternative course that was neither purely his nor purely mine, but something altogether unique.

The blood bond thrummed in my chest and a small smile curved over my lips.

I could hear footsteps approaching—three pairs, moving with urgency. My stepbrothers, coming to find what remained of their father.

Coming to find what remained of me.

I gripped the bedpost to steady myself as my legs refused to cooperate.

My body felt alien—too strong yet impossibly weak, like a newborn colt with the potential strength of a warhorse. I stumbled, caught myself, and then crumpled to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

Frustration surged through me, and with it came power—raw and unfiltered.

My muscles responded instantly, lifting me to my feet with a fluid grace I’d never possessed before, just as the door exploded inward with a crash that shook dust from the ceiling.

They burst into the chamber like avenging angels, my three stepbrothers, each armed and radiating fury. Titus led the charge, his massive frame filling the doorway, a wicked blade clutched in his white-knuckled grip. Valen slipped in beside him, hands already wreathed in the ethereal blue smoke of his magic. Bastian brought up the rear, a feral grin splitting his face, twin daggers twirling between his fingers like a nervous habit more than conscious thought.

Their battle-ready postures froze as they took in the scene before them—Lucian’s withered corpse splayed across the bed, the dagger still protruding from his chest, and me standing amidst the destruction.

“Avril?” Titus’s voice cracked, the syllables fractured by disbelief.

His expression twisted through a rapid succession of emotions—shock giving way to protective fury that burned hot enough to scorch, then cooling rapidly to something more measured as understanding dawned. His eyes darted betweenme and his father’s corpse, putting together the pieces of what had transpired.

What had they expected to find here? Me violated, murdered? Lucian triumphant?

The reality was something entirely unexpected.

“What have you done?” he breathed.

“I told you to trust me,” I said.

Valen’s reaction was altogether different. His magic dissipated from his fingertips and he took a hesitant step forward, drawn by fascination rather than repulsion. His deep blue eyes widened as he looked at me.

“The grimoire,” he murmured, making connections faster than the others. His gaze flicked to Lucian, then back to me. “You took his power.”

There was awe in his voice, but his reaction was conflicted and complex.

Through our bond, I sensed his internal struggle—revulsion at my methods warred with pride in how I had taken control.

Bastian’s reaction was the most unsettling.

His initial shock melted away like ice in summer heat and was replaced by a gleaming interest that bordered on hunger. He pushed past his brothers and circled around me, maintaining a cautious distance but taking in my transformation from every angle, like an art collector assessing a controversial masterpiece.

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