Page 100 of Owned By the Hvrok

Dulahath inclined his head. "Of course."

Kyhin shifted his weight. "Do you have a translator?"

Dulahath grunted. "You want to talk to her. Properly."

Kyhin didn’t confirm or deny it. He only stared.

"Latest model from the Majarin trade post," Dulahath added. "Expensive. I’ll add it to your already absurd bill."

"Do it."

"A crew member will bring it to your quarters within the hour."

Kyhin gave a nod.

The other Rovok crew gave him a wide berth as he turned.

He could feel their fear. See it in the way their eyes flicked to Sylvia, then quickly away.

Good.

Let them fear.

It would keep them alive.

And now, with his human cradled against his chest, Kyhin would show her what it truly meant to belong to a Hvrok.

What it meant to be his.

CHAPTER 47

The quarters were utilitarian, undecorated, but spacious enough. Clean metal walls, bolted fixtures, a large bed with a simple spread. The lighting was warm, almost surprisingly pleasant—soft golden tones that diffused across the ceiling and walls, more reminiscent of Earth than Sylvia expected.

Almost familiar.

There was a basin with fresh water. Steam drifted up from a tray on a side table. Food. She didn’t recognize it, not exactly, but it was hot and aromatic. Some kind of meat stew in a thick, dark gravy with a white, starchy substance alongside it, steaming and soft. It looked almost like mashed potatoes.Alienmashed potatoes.

It seemed… edible enough. Hopefully, it wouldn’t poison her.

Kyhin carried her in and deposited her gently in a wide, cushioned chair.

He crossed to the food and brought the tray over.

Then, to her faint amusement, he picked up one of the utensils—a polished, metal tool somewhere between a spoon and a fork. A spork. Of course. Aliens had sporks, too.

And, with utter seriousness, he crouched before her and offered her the first bite.

Again with this, she thought. Feeding her. He insisted on it.

Warmth unfurled in her belly: not from the food, but from the act itself. From the tenderness buried in his domination. The way he controlled the moment, but made it feel like worship.

Still, she lifted a hand. Pointed to his helm.

"Take it off," she murmured. Her voice was soft, coaxing.

He tilted his head slightly and grunted.

Was that… amusement?

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