Page 35 of Claimed By the Vykan

“No.”

The chamber pulsed.

Volkaarn’s projection flared with raw heat. “Defying the Council places us all at risk.”

Kyrax spoke with a calm so absolute it bordered on defiance.

“I will not surrender her.”

Selith’s voice lowered to a whisper-like hum. “Your path is chosen, then.”

Lorvanyr’s projection fractured into crystalline shards before fading.

Volkaarn’s projection dissolved in crackling embers.

Selith’s vanished last, a soft flicker of glyphs fading into darkness.

The chamber dimmed.

Kyrax stood alone.

He drew a slow breath, letting the resonance settle. The warnings, the threats, the ancient laws—all of it circled him like tightening smoke.

But beneath it, another truth pulsed:

He had touched her.

She had survived, and something in her had answered.

He would not let her go, even if it meant defying the other six.

Even if it meant risking the madness every unbonded Vykan feared.

Even if it meant his death.

Change was necessary. It always began with dissent.

And Kyrax Sagarnis had been born dissenting.

CHAPTER 16

Morgan didn’t remember collapsing onto the bed.

One moment she was standing in the garden, breath breaking in her throat, staring at the empty space where Kyrax had been.

The next, she was inside, half stumbling, half drifting, her pulse a frantic drumbeat under her skin.

She sank into the bed without thinking. The sheets drew around her like warm silk, but the comfort didn’t settle her. If anything, it magnified everything that should have calmed her.

Her chest felt too tight, and her breath came shallow, not from fear, but from something deeper—need rising in waves, fierce and bewildering.

Her thighs pressed together.

Her fingertips trembled.

Heat spread low in her belly, like a slow, burning tide.

Oh, god.