Page 40 of Owned

But I wouldn’t submit to him—not after everything he’d done to my family.

After everything he had done to me.

And for everything he had planned… I didn’t want to think about it.

An image of Clara’s lifeless eyes flickered into my mind and I shook my head to force it away, but a vision of my mother’s face replaced it—pale and rotting—

“Make it stop,” I whispered.

The grimoire’s whispers rose in my thoughts and I lifted my face from my hands.

It sat on my vanity, waiting in the dark.

All the power I sought was hidden in its pages.

The way I could defeat Lucian and snatch my life back from his hands was there—

I rose to my feet and crossed the room on unsteady legs.

My fingers hovered over the intricately stitched leather, and the red stones embedded in the grimoire seemed to wink at me in the dim light. A candle flickered to life. Then another.

I sank down into the chair and took a breath before I pulled the hidden dagger from the grimoire’s spine.

The familiar kiss of the blade against my skin was comforting now and my eyes drifted closed as my blood dripped over the lock—

If giving in was so easy.

Why would I fight it?

I slumpedagainst the window seat, my shoulder pressed against the cold glass.

I’d been watching the rain, but the storm had subsided enough to allow the faintest bit of light to pierce through the clouds—the smallest reprieve. I hadn’t been outside in days and the weather hadn’t helped my mood.

My focus had been on the grimoire and my arms were criss-crossed with healing cuts from where I’d opened my veins to bring the grimoire’s secrets to the surface.

I was exhausted.

Hollow.

I tapped my finger against the glass and traced the path of a wayward raindrop.

But I wasn’t broken.

Not anymore.

I was angry.

As I looked out over the garden, a flicker of movement caught my eye.

Valen.

Lust spiked through me as I watched his figure move through the carefully sculpted garden, and I wondered briefly if I’d become like him and his brothers—if cruelty was a taste that grew sweeter with time. Maybe I’d grow to savor it too.

I could see him more clearly now, long and lean, curling hair caught in the breeze. He paused at the edge of the garden and looked toward the house. The slight tilt of his head made me think he saw me.

I pressed my fingers to the glass, then slipped from the window seat and padded across the room and slipped into a pair of low-heeled shoes. My cashmere sweater slipped down over my shoulder and a chill rippled over my skin, but I didn’t pause as I walked toward the door.

No jacket. I didn’t have time to hunt through my closet for anything appropriate.

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