Page 13 of Claimed By the Vykan
“The alternative is this,” he said, his voice deep enough to vibrate through her chest. “You will be given to another. One who is powerful. One who will treat you well. You will want for nothing.”
A tremor ran through her.No.Every part of her being recoiled from the idea, horror tightening her ribcage. Somehow, impossibly, this felt worse than anything she had feared. In this scenario she had no power whatsoever.
Yet before she could stop herself, her mouth opened. “One… like you?”
The Marak paused, as though considering her question with mild interest. “Somewhat. Yes.”
The thought was dizzying. A being like him—a deity made flesh—wouldownher? The notion was terrifying, alien, and entirely unthinkable. And yet a single spark of sensation flickered through her—a strange, unwanted thrill that made her stomach dip. She crushed it instantly.I shouldn’t feel this. I shouldn’t.
“And what would he want from me in return?” she asked, the words barely louder than a whisper.
“That you be his.”
The statement was cold and unyielding. Yet there was an allure threaded through the pronouncement that unsettled her, tugging at her mind in ways she did not understand.
No. This is ridiculous.
She forced her voice steady. “And if I refuse?”
“There is no option for you to refuse.”
She stared at him, disbelief rising into anger. “Why did you ask me any of this, then?” The frustration in her voice surprised even her. “Why give me the illusion of choice?”
“As I said,” the Marak replied, “humans sometimes do not know their true minds. I merely wished to reassure you. You will be treated well. No harm will come to you. The one to whom you are pledged is honorable. He will cherish you.”
“Cherish me?” she snapped, anger cutting through her fear. “This is insane. You can’t do this.”
The Marak did not respond. He simply regarded her with that blank, silver mask, vast and immovable, the embodiment of power that needed no explanation or justification. The silence pressed against her, heavy and absolute.
“What happens if I fight like hell?” she demanded, fists curling, heat rising under her skin.
The Marak lifted one shoulder in a gesture that was almost a shrug, a ripple of effortless dismissal. “Pointless.”
Her fury flared. “Fuck you.”
The words echoed through the chamber, sharp and reckless. The moment they left her mouth, she regretted them, dread sweeping in like cold water.
The Marak went still.
Then, unexpectedly, he released a soft, resonant chuckle—warm, amused, almost indulgent. It felt wrong to hear such asound from someone like him, as though he were humoring a tempestuous child.
“Humans,” he said quietly, the faintest hint of benevolence in his tone. “Always interesting. Resistance is futile, Morgan Halden. Do not waste your energy. The easier you succumb, the sooner you will discover your truth, and the sooner you will understand the correctness of my decision. Beyond Earth, there is much you have yet to learn.”
A chill swept through her as the words settled into her mind.Resistance is futile.The chamber, the towering doors, the living walls, the alien throne—all of it reinforced the truth.
They could do anything they wanted.
She had nothing to bargain with here.
But she still had questions. “I have one question,” she said, tightening her voice to keep it from trembling.
“Speak,” the Marak replied, still wearing that tone of faintly indulgent patience.
“Will I be able to return to Earth, even if I…” She swallowed. “…am to be given to this being?”
“Yes,” the Marak said simply.
Hope flickered through her chest, delicate but real.
