Page 73 of Claimed By the Vykan
Kyrax glanced at her, and she sensed the faint curl of satisfaction beneath his guarded calm.
When they landed on one of the high circular platforms, attendants bowed deeply, eyes lowered, waiting for Kyrax’s command. Not a single one dared look directly at him—or at her.
He extended his hand.
She placed hers in it.
Equal.
The bond whispered it through her, a quiet recognition.
They walked together through the vast corridors of the Bastion, the air humming with energy. The saelori they passed lifted their heads just enough to acknowledge her presence before lowering them again in reverence.
Word had already spread.
The human was no longer just the Vykan’s chosen.
She was attuned.
The council chamber waited, carved into the mountain itself—half living stone, half ancient technology. Seven towering thrones formed a circle, though only five were occupied today. The sixth remained empty, Isshyr’s sigil still scorched from where Kyrax had ripped his gauntlet off in punishment.
The remaining Vykan rose as Kyrax entered, their armor gleaming like shadow-wrought metal. Even masked, their tension crackled in the air.
Kyrax led her to stand beside him, his massive form radiating authority. He didn’t touch her, but he didn’t have to. The bond shimmered between them like a silent vow.
One of the Vykan—Vhranak, older and more rigid in posture—spoke first.
“You bring her before us formalized,” he said, voice echoing in the chamber. “It seems the rumors were… not exaggerated.”
Kyrax inclined his head—the extent of his courtesy. “Morgan of Earth stands as my equal.”
A ripple of unease passed among the thrones.
“She is not Saelori,” Vhranak countered. “Nor Vykan. Nor of any known lineage compatible with our laws.”
“She belongs to me,” Kyrax stated. “And therefore she stands under my dominion and protection.”
Another Vykan—Seraxis, the sleekest and most politically cautious—leaned forward. “The precedent this sets?—”
“Is irrelevant,” Kyrax interrupted. “The bond is formed. The attunement holds. And she thrives.” He paused, voice dropping into a tone that echoed with warning. “You questioned her survival. You questioned my judgment. Both doubts have been answered.”
Silence swept the chamber.
Vyranth’s mist swirled through the carved openings in the stone, drifting across the floor like ghostly coils. Light caughtthe edges of the Vykan masks, casting red reflections across the walls.
Morgan breathed slowly, stepping forward—not hiding behind him, but at his side.
“I come here of my own choice,” she said, her voice carrying clearly across the chamber. “I intend to learn your customs, your history. I intend to serve this world as he does.”
Kyrax’s pride flickered through the bond, a warm, dangerous heat against her skin.
Vhranak looked at her, then at Kyrax. “You truly expect us to accept this.”
“Yes,” Kyrax said.
“And if we refuse?” Seraxis murmured.
The temperature in the chamber dropped.
