Page 32 of Owned By the Hvrok

CHAPTER 20

She followed.

Clothed now.

Clean. Scented. Wrapped in something far more fitting than the filth she’d arrived in.

He allowed himself a slow, measured breath—filtered through the helmet’s respirator.

She lookedgood.

The sheath dress she wore—deep cobalt, sleek and fitted—was cut from mydhin fabric, sourced directly from the Dukkar archives. He’d selected it during the transaction, knowing they would offer such options. They always did. Outfitting the newly purchased was one of their many profit angles—an entire business in pleasing the owner with finely crafted garments, exotic accessories, curated scents.

This particular piece had caught his eye.

Sleek, understated, and elegant. It clung to the human’s curves with a kind of reverent precision. Flexible, adaptive, soft enough to comfort her—but structured enough to remind her of her place. The color—a blue just darker than her eyes—pleased him deeply.

She was…pleasingto look at now.

It stirred something inside him that he didn’t fully trust.

Her scent lingered faintly even through the helmet’s filters. His respirator was tuned to suppress environmental distractions—smells, ambient air pressure, molecular noise. But her scent hadpiercedit. Subtle. Clean. Now laced with one of the Dukkar’s neutral finishing oils—vanilla and something floral. But underneath that...

Her.

And it wasintoxicating.

Dangerously so.

He kept his distance. Not out of fear.

Out of discipline.

His kind had highly sensitive olfactory systems. A quirk of Hvrok biology that made emotion, pheromone, and chemical fluctuation dangerously potent in close proximity. It was why most of his kind did not go unmasked for long in the company of others.

His armor stayed on.

His helmet stayed on.

It was the only way to think clearly.

He led her through theLyxai—his ship. His personal stealth cruiser. No crew. No surveillance systems beyond the ones he personally controlled. Every mechanism was manual. Every circuit calibrated to his patterns alone. He flew it, maintained it, lived inside it.

Alone.

It had been that way for many cycles. He preferred it. Others were a distraction. No one slowed him down. No one questioned his methods. No one contaminated the air.

And now…

Now there washer.

He glanced back once—just once—and noted again her posture: upright, alert, taut with silent fury. That defiance again,folded tight now into her frame. She was no longer lashing out, no longer screaming. But it was there beneath the surface, like a second pulse.

He found itendearing.

She could be controlled, yes—but she could alsolearn. Her emotional outbursts were chaotic, unpredictable. But once spent, she regrouped. She adapted. That was... smarter than he’d expected.

Perhaps she was more intelligent than the average human.

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