Page 23 of Owned By the Hvrok

Because even without a word, even without movement, he gave off a message clearer than anything spoken:

If you touch me, I will split you in half.

The thought wasn’t metaphorical.

It was a truth. A fact. A law of nature, like gravity or fire. He didn’t need to threaten her. His presencewasthe threat.

And yet… he let her rage. Let her burn. Let her unravel in front of him.

As if he knew sheneededit.

As if that, too, was part of his plan.

Her voice cracked as she stumbled through more furious words, barely intelligible through tears. She cursed at him, at theroom, at the collar around her throat, at the entire galaxy that had stolen her life away. She told him everything. That she was from Cronulla. That she’d managed a restaurant. That she had a mum in a nursing home, a dad who still remembered her name on good days, two older brothers who would kill anyone who hurt her.

She said it all, knowing he couldn’t understand a word.

Maybe that made it easier.

Eventually, the words turned into sobs. Ugly, gasping, full-body sobs that she couldn’t control. Her knees buckled slightly, and she caught herself, legs wide, shoulders hunched. She didn’t collapse. But it was close.

And still, he didn’t move.

She hated him.

God, she hated him.

And yet… what she hated more was the aching, bottomlessneedinside her.

The need to beheld. To feelsomeone. A human body. A human face. Her mum’s perfume. Her brother’s teasing laugh. The smell of salt and suncream and hot asphalt from a Cronulla summer. Her flat. Her car. Her phone.Anything.

She would’ve given anything, in that moment, to feel familiar arms around her.

But all that stood in front of her was a wall of alien armor.

Cold. Unflinching. Terrible.

He watched her the way one might watch a weather system—observing the storm, waiting for the eye to pass.

And finally, it did.

Her breath came shallow. Her body sagged.

She was spent.

She didn’t look up when he moved.

But shefeltit.

The soft whir of shifting plates. The whisper of movement across the sterile floor.

She looked up just as he reached her.

Both hands came forward—gloved this time. Black, armored, impersonal.

Not the warm, blue-skinned hand he’d touched her with before. There was no softness now.

He laid both hands gently—almost reverently—on her upper arms.

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