Page 69 of Claimed By the Vykan
The craft skimmed low over suburban streets, lights flickering beneath them. At last, the pilot directed the vessel toward a wooded park near her old apartment complex. The skimmer landed without noise, folding into the shadows as if it were woven from them.
Morgan stepped out first.
And Earth… felt small.
After the Vykan world, everything felt like it was wrapped in cotton—familiar, yes, but diminished.
Kyrax noticed the shift in her breathing. His hand hovered near her back—not touching, but close enough to anchor. Always aware. Always guarding.
They crossed the quiet street, entering the complex side entrance. Kyrax paused only once, scanning the electronic security panel. With a low, amused rumble, he pressed two fingers against the metal.
The entire system died.
“Your world’s defenses are fragile,” he murmured.
“Please don’t tell my father that,” she muttered.
“You worry he will use it.”
“I worry he’ll brag.”
He huffed softly, the Vykan equivalent of a laugh.
They climbed the stairs. Each level felt more surreal than the last—carpeted corridors, fluorescent lights, faint music drifting from someone’s apartment. Ordinary life continued, unaware that a towering, venomous alien warlord walked through their building, armored in shadow.
And then they reached her door.
She paused, her pulse quickening.
This was it.
Home.
Her old home.
She tried the handle, but it was locked.
Of course it was.
Kyrax stepped forward before she could stop him. He grasped the handle in one metal gauntlet, squeezed, and the mechanism shattered like brittle clay. The door drifted open an inch.
“Morgan,” he warned softly, “I sense?—”
She stiffened.
The apartment was lit with late-night activity, the glow of a TV screen bouncing colors off the hallway walls.
And then, she heard the voices.
Soft ones. Muted laughter. A bit intoxicated, maybe. A man and a woman.
She pushed the door open just enough to see inside.
It wasn’t her home anymore.
The walls were painted a different color. Her furniture was gone. A different couch. A different framed print on the wall. Shoes that weren’t hers were near the mat. She glimpsed a mug on the counter, a jacket she didn’t recognize.
Her entire life had been erased in under two months.
