Page 49 of Claimed By the Vykan

She choked on a panicked breath.

I can’t get free—oh god?—

“Isshyr,” a voice thundered behind them.

The world cracked.

Kyrax materialized at the edge of the garden, a living storm in metal and shadow, fury radiating from him in waves that made her vision blur. The translator stone in her pocket vibrated in warning, straining to carry the violence in his tone.

“Isshyr,” he said again, colder than the void between stars. “You dare enter my domain?”

The intruder’s helmet turned, revealing the faint red glow of his eye slits. His voice slid through the translator like ice.

“You left us no choice.”

A ripple of tension tore through the air, so sharp Morgan felt it across her skin.

“You have trespassed,” Kyrax said. “And you attempted to take what is mine.”

Isshyr’s hand tightened around her throat, cutting off her breath. Panic surged—sharp, blinding. She clawed at his wrist, desperate, vision swimming.

And then the world flashed white.

She didn’t see the movement—only the aftermath.

Isshyr’s severed hand struck the stone at her feet, plating still intact, blue Vykan blood splattering in a wide arc. Morgan wrenched herself backward as Isshyr staggered, clutching the stump at his wrist, shock shuddering through his immense frame.

Kyrax stood beside her now, his blade drawn, its edge humming with sizzling energy. He didn’t look at her—his entire focus was on the intruder.

“Because you are Vykan,” he said, voice razor-thin, “I will not kill you.”

He pressed his boot against the fallen armored hand, grinding metal and bone into the stone.

“But I will take this as restitution.”

Blood pooled beneath the severed limb, bright cobalt on the pale stone.

Isshyr hissed through his helmet’s vents. “You will regret this, Kyrax.”

“No,” Kyrax answered with terrible certainty. “I will not.”

He raised his blade in a silent command.

“Leave my sight. If you ever enter my bastion again, I will raze yours to the ground and cleanse every corridor with your blood.”

Isshyr glared, fury radiating from him—and then he stepped back, grabbing the hanging cable as the ship above lowered it once more. His soldiers retreated instantly, disciplined even in defeat. The cable yanked upward, carrying Isshyr into the depths of the mist, the ship dissolving into half-light as if swallowed by the sky itself.

Silence fell.

Only the waterfall continued its quiet song.

Blue blood stained the stones. Morgan’s knees threatened to give way. Her lungs burned as she sucked in air, one sharp breath after another.

Kyrax turned toward her.

And the garden felt suddenly very small and quiet.

CHAPTER 23