18. Owen

Over the next two days, they pressed toward the region of Acren. Owen constantly pondered if the Hunters were tracking them and kept his senses alert for pursuers. Venturing aimlessly through forests without someone to guide them discreetly from town to town meant they could stumble into Wielders or Legion soldiers at any moment.

Owen looked at Colt's back as the man chatted with Brom. It wasn't hard to imagine living someplace with his lover, working and coming home to each other every night. But Owen feared that being Shadowborn would always reveal itself in some way and ruin their moment. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to have a normal life with Colt, but he craved it constantly.

When they finally emerged from the trees, they found a backroad nearby and a run-down roadside inn.

"We should stop," Gilda said. She let out a heavy breath, her fingers hooked around the straps of her leather bag. "We're all exhausted, and Brom needs a bed to rest and heal properly."

"I'm all for it…" Brom winced as he dismounted one of their stolen horses. "But we should go in separately. You and Owen go, and let Colt and I in through the back door."

There wasn't enough snow to do anything but dust the ground with white, but the air had turned bitter, and they needed a break from it. They put the horses up in the stable and made their way to the inn, which was nestled on the main road, a treat for travelers. They held Kingsland Gold wine, which Owen declined when the innkeeper offered them a bottle. They seemed to fit right in with the patrons, looking downtrodden and dirty.

They all holed up in one room, more than ready to rest. While Gilda left for the privy, Owen stood before the hearth. The fire warmed his bones, and after days of wearing his knit cap, he tugged it off and pulled his scarf from his face. Looking over, he watched as Colt removed the purple cap Gilda had given him, and his heart pulled.

"I noticed there were several washrooms downstairs," Brom said as he put his bag on the floor. "I think we should all rent one."

Colt raised his brows. "What, a bath?"

"That's what I said." Brom removed his belt and tossed it on one of the beds.

"Suppose we could."

"Best get on it, then. Before others take it first."

"What are you trying to say?"

Brom shrugged. "You smell."

Colt scowled at him but grabbed a clean pair of clothes from his bag and left the room in haste.

"How's that dagger suiting you, Owen?" Brom asked, his voice hoarse as he sat on one of the beds.

Owen fingered the hilt of it. "It's fine. Why?"

"Well, I was going to buy you something better if need be. Perhaps a sword if we come across a blacksmith."

"You know I don't care to use a blade." Owen pulled out a dark pair of trousers and a new shirt to change into. "I need a new set of clothes instead."

"Yes, but it's still good to have a sturdy blade."

"I don't need a sword," Owen snapped, recalling Gilda's words that he need only rely on his Essence. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I'm sorry, Brom. I just need some rest."

"Don't worry about it. Go get a bath. We'll meet back up here to eat."

Coming downstairs, Owen met with a roomful of patrons as he looked around for the bath. Coupled with the heat from the kitchen, the common room was stifling. Men and women ate at the sturdy wooden tables, and a card game started at one end. Barmaids brought out trays of drinks and handed them out to worn travelers, which made Owen feel more at ease.

"Pardon me, hun," a woman said as she passed by him. The room was so tightly packed with people that he could smell her perfume as she walked past, as well as the sweat from a man who sat nearby.

Longing for fresh air, Owen followed the bath signs to a narrow hall. There, he found three doors, buttwo of them were occupied, so he turned to the last one and, finding it open, went inside.

A dented tin tub sat half full of clean water. A folded towel lay over the back of a chair, and a cracked vase of dried flowers sat on a stool near the window. The room was small and run-down but cozy, with a furnace in the corner where a kettle of water boiled.

A woman came inside. "Hello, do you need a bath?" She smiled. Her hair was held back with a red scarf, and her dress was tight around the bust.

Owen looked away. "Yes," he said.

"I just poured in a big pot of hot water. One more should do the trick, and it should be nice and warm for you." She grabbed a rag and took the kettle by the handle, then poured it into the tub and smiled at him. "Would you like help washing?"

"Oh, no, thank you." He had never been asked before.

The attendant nodded and turned for the door, putting out a brass plate before she left to let him know she expected payment either way.

Once he was alone, Owen shed his dirty clothes and sank into the tub with a sigh. The water was warmer than what he was used to. It eased the ache in his feet and legs. After wetting his hair, he grabbed a sliver of soap and covered every inch of his body with suds until he felt clean. He'd bathed in the stream the morning after the masque, but now he felt he'd finally washed the rest of the muck off him. After, he propped his arms up on the sides and leaned back.

As he closed his eyes, he thought of food. Eating sounded good, but so did sleeping. His mind and body could use both. He needed rest more than anything.

Raising his right hand out of the water, Owen studied his palm. The black char from the fire he'd created was gone now. It had been such a surprise when the flames had emerged from his hands, but looking back now, it made a strange kind of sense. He'd noticed the burning sensation in his body any time he'd had to use his Essence when they were in danger, but rather than hold that burn inside, this time he'd let it out freely. And purple fire had been the result. Pure and bright, it had caught onto Rem's cloak, the flames more than just fire.

He held his palm out, wondering if he should try to do it again, but he was too tired. Instead, he put his hand back under the water and closed his eyes. It didn't take long before his thoughts wandered to Colt.

A man he had only known for two months seemed to be the only person he felt truly comfortable with. It felt as though they had known each other for much longer. Perhaps it was the tie to Amias that connected them, or something more. Their bond seemed to have unraveled Colt in the softest of ways, making him worry about Owen, but Owen also worried about him. All the time. He hadn't been that way when they first met. Colt didn't become overly protective of Owen until they had been on their own, after Amias was gone, nor did Owen feel that way about Colt until then…

Owen's fingers trailed down his stomach as he thought of the curves in Colt's muscles that lined his chest and arms, of his unkempt hair and the way he stood tall and walked with the grace of a back alley rogue. Smiling, his hand moved between his legs.

Then a sound in the hall made him pull back, and his heart hammered. He sank into the tub to his chin, and when he heard nothing more, he relaxed.

When the door opened, Owen's eyes widened, and he bolted upright, afraid the attendant was back. He wasn't prepared to see the menacing dark eyes of Rem instead.

As he moved to get out of the tub, the man pulled out a weapon Owen had never seen before. The wooden handle resembled the curved hilt of a knife, but the steel was shaped into a short tube. At the end, a large black hole stared at him.

"It seems I keep finding you in rather… titillating situations," Rem said, his voice low as he shut the door.

Owen's jaw clenched.

"One move, and this thing will go off. It will blow a hole in you and turn that water red quite fast."

"You won't kill me," Owen seethed.

"I won't, but I can injure you, and I promise you, a wound from a firearm is much harder to recover from than any other weapon of range I've encountered."

Owen moved his hand under the water, able to move the chair beside the tub and slam it against Rem's leg. Rem grunted in pain and lost his balance, and Owen took the chance to get out of the tub. He grappled with the weapon in Rem's hand, sending it to the floor in their fight.

He put up his hands, sending Rem against the wall as he did with Quinnby, but his power didn't surge as forcefully as it did then.

He was tired and naked, and he didn't want to run out of the room bare, so he tried to grab up his clothes, but he realized his mistake too late when he removed his eyes from Rem. His Essence faltered from his modesty. Rem brought something up to his lips and blew through it, and within seconds, something sharp jabbed into Owen's neck with a sting, similar to the one he'd felt before when Quinnby drugged him and placed him in his dungeon.

Dropping his clothes, Owen's fingers fumbled at his neck, where he felt something thin and pin-like sticking out of it. He pulled it out with a wince and fell to his knees, his limbs weak. He tried to move, but his body suddenly felt like jelly.

Rem came close to his ear and pressed something cold and hard against his head. "You're not going to try anything else, because if you do, I'll shoot you."

Owen tried getting angry, his hands warming as the Essence surged through his arms, but he was unable to lift them, and instead, his mind grew hazy from whatever drug had entered his veins.

I hold the power of a cursed god in my veins and yet I've been overcome by a drug, again.

Rem grabbed Owen's clothes from the floor and opened the nearby window to shove them through, then he wrapped the towel around Owen. Owen grunted as he was lifted and carried to the open window. Rem whistled to someone nearby and soon another pair of hands helped pull Owen through.

As his eyesight blurred and his body became mush, Owen looked at the inn as he was dressed by rough hands and placed in a saddle. He tried to speak but was unable. And then a strange twilight sleep took over him.