Page 57 of Owned By the Hvrok

He was there.

Towering. Armored. And holding something in his arms.

A coat.

But not just any coat.

It was impossibly soft-looking, pale and golden, thick and luxurious. It looked warm.God, it looked warm.

She didn’t know what kind of creature had died to provide a pelt like that. Didn’t care.

Because he held it out to her, beckoning.

And she, shaking and half-numb, rose on unsteady feet and went to him.

He draped it around her shoulders without a word: carefully, gently, reverently.

For a moment, in the way he moved, in the way he fastened it at her chest and smoothed the fur down her arms, she felt like…

No. Don’t think it.

She wasn’t a queen. She wasn’t anything but a captive.

A shivering, helpless,gratefulcaptive.

And that was the worst part.

Even wrapped in the fur, her body still shook. Her skin burned with the icy fire of returning sensation, and the tremors wouldn’t stop.

She looked up at him, wanting to curse him again, wanting to scream.

But she couldn’t even speak.

And then, without warning, he bent, scooped her into his arms.

She gasped, startled by the sudden lift.

His grip was solid. Immense. Effortless. And her weight—nothing to him.

He carried her with ease, one arm beneath her knees, the other at her back.

She blinked, dazed.What—what is he doing now?

And then, his armor began to retract.

It hissed and folded in on itself, vanishing into hidden panels, collapsing inward like living metal. The smooth black hardness dissolved from his chest, his arms, his legs.

Leaving behind dark blue skin. Bare. Muscular. Radiating warmth.

But the helm remained.

Still faceless.

Still unreadable.

She didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or melt into the heat of him.

And for now, she could do none of those things.

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