Page 26 of Owned By the Hvrok

And soon, she would understand what that meant.

CHAPTER 17

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move.

He stood before her, silent and armored, hands still resting on her arms like weights she couldn’t shake. Not painful. Not cruel. Justinevitable.

Her skin crawled beneath the outfit she wore—not her own clothes, but the ones the Dukkar had forced onto her after the auction. Gauzy. Insultingly sheer. Meant to flaunt rather than protect. She hated every thread of it.

It didn’t belong to her.

None of this did.

Her throat burned with defiance.

“If you want me naked so badly,” she whispered, voice hoarse, “thendo it yourself.”

She thought, for one wild moment, that he might react. That maybe—just maybe—he’d respond like a person.

But no.

Only a tilt of his helmet. Barely a movement.

A silentagreement.

So be it.

Then he began.

His gloved fingers slid from her arms to the edge of the thin top she wore—more veil than fabric. He lifted it slowly, as if the sheer scrap were something heavy. Her breath caught as the cool air hit her skin, as the fabric peeled away from the salt of dried sweat and tension.

She didn’t help him.

She didn’t resist, either.

Let himdo it.

Let himseewhat it meant to strip away the last thing someone could call theirs.

He dropped the garment without care. It landed in a soft pool on the floor. Worthless. Like trash.

Then his hands returned, lower this time.

To the loose skirt. The flimsy fabric the Dukkar had tied around her hips like a giftwrap for sale.

He started slow. Trying, perhaps, to maintain some illusion of control.

But it didn’t last.

The cloth tangled.

And without hesitation—without patience—he tore.

The sound of it unraveling was like a gunshot in the quiet.

She flinched, just barely.

Another yank. Another rip. The last strips of fabric tore under the pressure of his hands, shredded like wet paper.

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