Page 50 of Owned

Thanks to the blood bond, I could sense other things, too.

Fear.

Defiance.

A tremor of lust.

She belonged to us just as surely as we belonged to her.

I didn’t want to admit it, but it was true.

I held the silence like a vice as I focused on the young witch at the center of the room. Avril trembled like the candlelight. She hadn’t made a choice.

Not yet.

“What’s it going to be?” Bastian’s voice was a silken threat and the blade in his hand tapped against stone in time with each word.

His blond hair fell in careless curls over his forehead and his pale eyes glittered with mischief and malice.

“Don’t leave us hanging.”

He moved closer.

The dagger twirled between his fingers, a quicksilver gleam that sang through the air before he slammed it into the scarred tabletop. He released it, and the blade quivered in the wood.

He could be so dramatic.

Avril bit down hard on her lower lip, but her chin lifted.

Bastian was just toying with her.

I could hear his voice in my head already:“Everyone has their hobbies, brother.”

“You can feel it, can’t you?” I said in a low voice and Avril’s eyes met mine, but some of her initial boldness was gone.

Good. She had to know who was in control here.

She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Liar.

I’d seen her use the grimoire—she knew what was hidden between its ancient pages. And what it could do.

“The power you were meant to have,” I replied. “The Grimoire chose you, Avril.” Her name tasted sweet and dangerous on my tongue. I let it linger and savored the way it filled the room. “If you don’t let it in, Lucian will take everything from you.”

Her eyes flickered, a momentary spark. I felt the anger behind her gaze, sharp and accusing, as if she hoped it might wound me. But I welcomed it.

Better anger than fear.

Fear wouldn’t get her through what was coming.

Bastian draped himself across one of the leather chairs, lounging as if the decision meant nothing to him.

But I saw the way he watched her.

Hunger and amusement danced across his too-innocent face. It was all a game to him, one he’d rigged to entertain himself no matter how it played out.

“I don’t think she wants to play,” he said, his voice mocking and sweet. “Maybe Avi’s happy being a puppet...”

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