Page 103 of Owned By the Hvrok

"Leave it. It’s mine now."

The translated words echoed in Kyhin’s mind, sharper than any blade he had ever wielded. She touched the collar with a kind of reverence, with ownership, and something in him broke open.

Did he own her… or did she own him?

The thought struck hard, devastating him.

His arousal came fast, as it always did around her, magnified by the full rush of her scent, thick in the air, unfiltered, glorious.

He would need his armor repaired, of course. But maybe… maybe he would have the respirator permanently modulated to allow her scent through. To live in it. To breathe it like oxygen.

It was part of him now.

She was part of him.

And he would do anything she demanded to keep her happy…

Except give her back.

But she didn’t want that either. She’d said it. She’d claimed the collar.

His.

Her glorious neck was wrapped in the symbol of his claim. Her voice, her scent, her gaze… all sweet. Innocent. Brave. Too sweet for a being like him to own.

And yet, she was his.

He thought of Anakris. Of how she had trusted him there. Clung to him. Believed in him.

And he realized…

She gave him purpose.

An assassin’s life was hollow. For cycles, he’d drifted, hunted, killed, merely… existing.

But now, he burned with direction. With intent.

Her.

The knowing of it took over. Devoured all coherent thought. Lust and reverence and something deeper—something almost sacred—rose up and shattered his control.

His armor peeled back at his command, segment by segment, even unfolding from his wings, and he dropped to his knees.

"Please," he said hoarsely, the translator catching the word, echoing it to her. "I need you right now."

She stood.

Crossed to him, slow and graceful.

Clad only in that damn dress—his choice. She was exquisite. Untouchable.

But she was his.

And he was going to ruin her again.

He reached up and tore the dress from her like it was nothing.

Her gasp was sharp, her eyes wide. And he saw it there: the desire. The heat. The hunger.

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