Page 51 of Owned

Her lips tightened at his words, then set in a stubborn line.

“You’ve seen what Lucian can do,” I pressed, not letting her look away. Not letting her hide. “But you haven’t seen anything. Not yet. Do you think you’ll be spared?”

“I know I won’t be,” she said. “That’s why I need your help— He murders the women he marries, isn’t that how it works?”

She was so close to the truth. Even Bastian’s pale eyes had turned wary.

“My mother was murdered,” she said. “Valen’s, too.” She paused and glanced at Bastian before looking back at me. “What happened toyourmother?” she asked.

It was a demand more than a question.

“Careful,” Bastian muttered.

She didn’t seem ready to back down. “Well?”

Bastian’s pale eyes flickered to me, and then he reached for the dagger and wrenched it out of the table.

He slipped the dagger into the folds of his shirt where the sheath was strapped against his ribs—as it always was.

“She’s too innocent for that story,” Bastian taunted, breaking the silence. He was trying to sound casual, but I could hear the anger in his tone. Barely hidden. “Maybe you should fly away while you can, little bird.”

I knew the fury those words would ignite in her. The helpless rage.

“Tell me,” she snapped. “I need to know.”

Bastian unfolded himself from the chair and ambled over to her.

He moved behind her to embrace her and trapped her against his chest with one arm. With the other, he pulled the dagger from its sheath and dragged its tip along her skin. Though I could see his enjoyment in tormenting her, she remained unflinching.

“Do you really?” Bastian’s voice curled around her like smoke, its tendrils wicked and inviting. “Our mother, Mariam, was a powerful witch. One of the strongest of Lucian’s supporters. She was everything to him.”

The dagger lifted her hair, strands slipping between the point and the long, white neck it bared. His breath was a whisper against her ear. “She was taken by the Sages. She was imprisoned… Tortured.” His other hand palmed her breast, squeezing as her breath quickened and the blade of the knife scraped over her smooth flesh.

The bastard reveled in her discomfort.

He pulled her close, and the firelight illuminated every tremor, every shiver, and as he pulled her back, her sweater dress rode up her thighs and exposed more flesh to my gaze.

She was frightened. But her eyes were furious when they met mine.

Bastian laughed, a sound too bright for the heavy gloom. He twirled the dagger with a flick of his wrist; the tip scraped deliberately across her skin and drew a thin line of red. “Lucian couldn’t save her from the Sages… He tried to rescue her, but she was too far gone. They’d tried to cleanse her of the grimoire’s influence… Don’t you think they’d do the same to you? Even if you do escape Withermarsh— You’ll be hunted by the sorcerers who taught you—raised you.”

He held her tighter, delighting in the violence his words inflicted as she tried to turn away.

I observed her carefully and relished the way her eyes widened with shock as Bastian’s words sank in. She had to know that she wouldn’t be safe with the Sages. They would turn on her just as quickly. And with the same venom. She was one of us now.

Marked.

Cursed.

The story of my mother’s death didn’t wound me as much as it had when I was younger.

When I was a child, it had almost broken me.

I’d listened to my father’s wails and curses for weeks and pledged my own revenge against the Sages and their corruptions.

But Lucian had done nothing.

He hadn’t sought revenge. Or justice.

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