Page 33 of Claimed By the Vykan
Patience.
Discipline sharper than any blade he wielded.
If her attunement was rushed, she would fracture.
And he would not allow that.
He turned away from her door, armor shifting with the movement, and began walking down the empty corridor. His footsteps were quiet, deliberate, his mind still clouded with the echo of her pulse, her trembling breath, her soft human command.
He would return to her.
When she was calm.
And when he was.
Because the bond between them had already begun to form, no matter how fiercely she resisted it. And he could feel it—alive, bright, stubborn—thrumming in the air like a distant, inevitable pull.
CHAPTER 15
The Bastion’s communication hall brightened as Kyrax stepped onto the circular dais. Thin lines of violet energy spiraled outward, awakening the ancient projection matrix embedded deep within the stone. The chamber air shifted—denser, electric—as the resonance linked to the other Vykan citadels across Vyranth.
One by one, the holographic forms materialized.
Each Vykan wore his ancestral mask—iron-forged, rune-etched, passed down for thousands of cycles. A Vykan’s face was rarely seen, even by other Vykan. Only his claimed partner would ever behold his true form.
Kyrax’s own mask responded to their arrival, its internal vents warming, its edges humming with quiet pressure. He held himself still.
The first projection sharpened into focus:Vhar’et Lorvanyr.
His mask resembled a fractal shard of ice, edges angular and perfect. Pale blue power crackled across the lines of his armor, as if frost formed and re-formed with each breath. His voice came cold and exact.
“Kyrax Sagarnis. The resonance has begun.”
Kyrax did not move. “A trace of venom escaped. Nothing more.”
“That is enough.”
The second projection appeared in a burst of crimson heat:Vhar’et Isshyr Volkaarn.His mask resembled a carved volcanic stone, obsidian streaked with red. Slits in the helm glowed like molten ore. Even as a projection, he radiated brutality and spine-deep menace.
“We felt your bond,” Volkaarn rumbled. “Even from our Bastions. You allowed a human to touch your rhythm. This is forbidden.”
The third projection manifested in soft, shimmering white:Vhar’et Selith Aeris,historian of their kind. Her mask was smooth, featureless, luminous with drifting glyphs. Her presence carried the weight of every ancient record, every disaster, every truth the Vykan had tried—and failed—to bury.
“The last attempted attunement with an outsider nearly destroyed us,” Selith said.
Kyrax’s jaw tightened beneath his helm.
“I am not that Vykan.”
Lorvanyr’s icy mask flickered with static. “Perhaps not. But the consequence remains the same. If she dies, the bond will collapse. And you will lose your mind.”
Volkaarn took a step forward, the projection flaring hotter.
“And we will have to kill you.”
The words hit the chamber with the weight of law.
This was the rule.
