Page 165 of Owned

Bastian laughed, a cold, humorless sound that bounced off the damp stone. “It doesn’t matter. After those words are spoken, she’ll be bound to him forever.”

I picked up a knife and tested its balance.

None of us wanted to think about that.

She wasours.

Those were the words that mattered.

Ours.

We took turns throwing blades at the target on the far wall, each thud echoed in the room as our suspicions festered in our brains.

Valen took a swig of whiskey from the bottle and picked up a knife. “We should have killed him in the courtyard,” Valen said.He threw the blade, and it quivered in the wood as it struck the target dead center.

“Do you really think that would have worked?” I asked, my voice tight with anger. “If we’re dead, Avril is— Who will protect her from him?”

“That’s not fair,” Bastian said as he sent another blade into the wood with lethal precision. “She’s not as weak as you think she is, Titus. She might survive a few days without us.”

I felt the blame before they voiced it: the accusation that it was my hesitation that put us in this situation.

“We underestimated him,” Valen said, his eyes narrowing. “We should have known better.”

“We had no fucking choice,” I snapped. “Lucian has been… unpredictable. His paranoia is dangerous.”

Valen’s gaze met mine. He wanted answers, wanted to know if I could admit I’d been wrong.

That wasn’t fucking happening.

“We’re out of time,” Valen said. “When it’s over— We won’t get near her.”

“He’ll be watching her like a hawk,” Bastian agreed, and then he shuddered. “Don’t make me think about the wedding night—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarled. “He’s not going to touch her.”

A cold certainty filled my veins like poison. Valen was right. We were running out of time, out of options.

“Tonight we plan. If we fail, we’re all dead.”

Bastian chuckled and flung another blade at the target.

Valen took a swig of whiskey.

We were all thinking it, but no one wanted to say it.

If the wedding was allowed to go ahead, Avril wouldn’t survive it.

None of us would.

From the depthsof the dark surface of the full-length mirror, a stranger stared back at me.

Black lace traced the curves of a woman I barely recognized, and the gown that clung to my skin belonged to someone else.

Someone who wasn’t me.

Obsidian beads shimmered in intricate patterns and accentuated the swell of my breasts and the shocking plunge of the neckline.

I was too exposed. Too sensual.

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