Page 62 of Claimed By the Vykan

Her heart tightened. She fought the urge to touch him immediately—to reach for his mask, his armor, his skin. The bond surged with wanting, with recognition, with the deep, velvety pull that came with every breath he took.

But she kept steady. Because this moment mattered.

“I have conditions,” she said at last.

His mask tilted, just slightly. “Speak.”

Her pulse quickened, and she almost felt giddy. She forced herself to focus.

“First,” she said, “I want to be able to return to Earth. When I choose. Not as your captive, not smuggled or restricted, but freely. I want that option. Always.”

He was silent for a long moment before he said: “You shall have it.”

She nodded, breath releasing in a slow, controlled flow. “Second… I won’t live here as your subordinate. If I stay—if we do this—I want to learn. Your language. Your traditions. Your laws. I want to walk among the Saelori as someone who belongs. Not hidden away. Not sheltered in a room.”

A faint pulse of warmth traveled along the bond: approval, pride, and something like admiration.

“You will learn all you wish,” he said. “But you will remain by my side.”

Her mouth twitched, unable to help itself. “For protection,” she teased.

“For protection,” he confirmed, and the flicker of amusement in his voice vibrated low and warm through her chest.

She allowed herself to smile.

“And… if possible,” she said, “I want access to your technology. Your ships. Your archives. I want the chance to understand your universe, not just your planet. And maybe—eventually—to use what I learn to help mine.”

“As you wish.” He didn’t hesitate.

Was that it? Was it that simple?

Trust, given so freely?

She swallowed, a mix of fear and awe and something more tender.

He was doing this for her.

Choosing her—for reasons she was only beginning to understand.

“Then…” she breathed, pulse hammering as she stood before him, “shall we prepare?”

Kyrax stepped closer, closing the remaining distance between them until she felt the heat of his body radiating through his armor. He didn’t touch her—yet—but the weight of his presence wrapped around her like smoke, sultry and intoxicating.

“Morgan Halden of Earth,” he murmured, voice low enough to vibrate through her bones, “this is your final moment of choosing.”

Her breath shuddered.

Fear coiled through her, mixing with anticipation and desire so sharp it made her thighs press together.

A sense of inevitability settled over her, as heavy as gravity.

This was it.

Her choice.

Her future.

Her heart pounded once—hard—and then settled into a strange, steady certainty.