Page 6 of Owned

The grimoire murmured behind my thoughts.

Threats and praise intertwined.

“You don’t need them forever,”the grimoire murmured.“Only until you’re strong enough—”

And I would be.

Soon.

The room was too quiet.

Too still.

I stood alone in the velvet hush of my chambers as sweat cooled on my skin. The taste of them still lingered on my tongue. The sheets—tangled, damp, and reeking of sex—lay in disarray behind me. I had stumbled from the bed in a haze and left the door closed behind me, but the echoes of their voices still rang in my ears.

Mine, too.

Gods.

I should feel ashamed.

Instead, I felt... alive.

Sore.

Split wide open and stuffed full.

My knees had buckled when I climbed out of bed, the tremble in my thighs like the aftershock of magic.

I should feel shame.

But all I feel is heat.

And hunger.

The full-length mirror loomed ahead of me. I drifted toward it, barefoot on cold hardwood, my negligee clung to my skin. I hadn’t bothered with a robe. The bruises were too fresh. Too sacred.

My breath hitched as I reached out and touched the silvered surface of the mirror. My reflection stared back—lips swollen, eyes rimmed with the shadow of tears that had long since dried.My hair was a snarled halo, stuck to the sweat on my neck. But it wasn’t the face that arrested me.

It was the marks.

Fingertips. Teeth. Hands.

Red. Purple. Blue.

My thighs were speckled with fingerprints. The inside of one bore a perfect crescent where Bastian had gripped me too tightly. My breasts bore the imprint of Valen’s mouth. My hips were shadowed by the bruises left by Titus’s punishing grip.

I ran my fingers over the mosaic of damage.

No—evidence.

Power.

Each mark was a promise.

My skin was a map of their devotion.

"They didn’t take me," I whispered aloud. "I let them."

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