Page 16 of Owned By the Hvrok

The being who had purchased her. Who had taken her from the horror of the auction block—only to trap her here.

He stood near the far wall, a silent monolith in black armor. Broad, tall, impossibly powerful, with a presence that sucked the air out of the room. She hadn’t heard a single sound when he moved, hadn’t felt the floor tremble under his weight. He was too controlled for that. Too precise.

Her fingers toyed unconsciously with the edge of the collar around her throat. The one placed there by the slavers. Uncomfortable. Too tight. It pinched when she turned her head, and the strange metal left her skin itchy, burning faintly inplaces. She hated the feel of it. Hated what it meant. But she hadn’t dared try to remove it—she didn’t know how, and the last time someone had tried to assert control through it, pain had followed.

Now, her captor reached toward the wall—didn’t touch it, just… hovered his palm there. A panel hissed open, as if responding to an unspoken command.

He retrieved something from within.

Something small. Compact.

Another collar.

But not like the one she wore now.

This one was beautiful.

Black and silver, but speckled with pale gemstones—like stars trapped beneath the surface. Aquamarine-hued jewels gleamed faintly as they caught the shifting starlight streaming through the nearby window. It was shaped to encircle the throat with a kind of alien elegance, more like a regal adornment than a restraint.

It stunned her into stillness.

Her stomach flipped.

He turned to her with it in hand. His blue fingers—bare again—curved around it like it was a sacred thing.

She took a half-step back.

No words. No questions. Just the silent offering of a new chain.

She couldn’t help the swell of resentment rising in her chest.

Another collar? What difference did it make how pretty it was? Did he think making it glitter would make it feel less like ownership?

Her jaw clenched.

And yet… he didn’t move closer. Didn’t force it on her. Just held it, studying her through the inscrutable black visor of his helmet.

She couldn’t read him. She didn’t even know if he could understand her language. But something about the moment stretched and settled like a fragile truce. A strange, charged pause.

Eventually, he turned and set the new collar gently on the low table.

A choice.

It stunned her.

Sylvia swallowed hard, unsure what to do with the tangle of emotion rising in her chest.

The fact that he hadn’t simply removed the slavers’ collar and snapped on his own without asking—that he had stopped, paused, left it there for her to see—meant something.

But what?

He faced her again, unmoving.

She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t tell if he was angry, or waiting, or even thinking. His armor betrayed nothing. Only his hand remained bare, the blue of his skin a vivid contrast against the shadows of the room. That hand had touched her before—her hair, her cheek. Strangely gentle, like he was trying to learn her through touch.

Sylvia turned her face away.

Her eyes landed on the window.

---