CHAPTER 19
Morgan slept against him, her head resting lightly against the center of his chestplate, her breath warming the seamless black armor that encased him. Strands of her hair spread across the polished surface like ink, catching faint hints of the mistlight that drifted in from the garden beyond the archway. She looked impossibly small in his arms—frail, human, soft—yet she radiated a kind of presence that filled the room more completely than any venom release or instinctive aura could.
Kyrax adjusted the intake calibration within his mask, allowing only the smallest trace of her scent to filter through. It was a controlled sample—filtered and thinned enough to prevent a full physiological response.
Even that was enough.
The sensation coursed through him at once, sharp and immediate. Heat rushed through his limbs, igniting along dormant pathways he had always assumed were inaccessible to his kind. His cock hardened against the confines of the armor, the reaction so sudden and undeniable he had to still every muscle to keep from shifting beneath her.
Sothiswas arousal.
Not the cold, detached understanding he had gleaned from Saelori records, nor the weaponized aggression the Vykan experienced in its absence. This was vivid, consuming, and strangely exquisite: pleasure without violence, intensity without destruction. It struck him with a clarity that left him breathless, though the mask allowed no breath to escape.
A human woman had awakened this in him.
He let the sensation settle, not to indulge it, but to understand it. Her scent held no sharpness, no venom-like components, none of the dangerous cues that triggered frenzy in his kind. Instead, it was warm, subtle, threaded with the faintest hint of venom adjustment. It resonated with his physiology in a way that was entirely unexpected… and entirely right.
His instincts had been correct.
Morgan Halden was not merely compatible. She was exceptional.
He studied her sleeping form, noting the relaxed position of her hands, the gentle rhythm of her breathing, the faint flush that still lingered beneath her skin. Even unconscious, she held herself with a kind of quiet defiance; the tension in her body had not evaporated, only softened. She was brave even in sleep, her stubborn will threaded through every part of her.
He had watched her stand against him earlier in the garden, furious and trembling but unbroken. Most beings faced a Vykan with terror alone. She faced him with a mixture of fear and outrage, a spark of resistance that refused to collapse.
He valued that spark more than he expected.
He shifted slightly—not enough to wake her, only enough to settle her more comfortably in his lap. The movement brought her heartbeat closer to the sensors embedded in his armor. The quiet pulse registered beneath his fingertips, steady and delicate. He attuned to it, letting the rhythm seep into him. It feltgrounding, anchoring his volatile biology more effectively than any internal regulator the mask possessed.
For a moment, he permitted his awareness to expand into the early bond forming between them. The connection was faint, still chaotic from the initial stage, but it was there—an unfinished thread linking their rhythms. He felt fragments of her, not thoughts, but impressions: exhaustion, defiance, a lingering edge of fear she fought to hide.
And beneath it, the beginning of something else—recognition.
He absorbed the echo of her breath, the faint tremor of vulnerability melting into trust she would deny if awake. The bond responded gently, like a small flame touching dry tinder.
Humans were not meant to be this compatible.
By every genetic and historical record he had studied, they were too fragile, too rapid in their biological cycles, too unstructured. Yet her body was adjusting with improbable speed, adapting to venom traces, meeting his presence instead of collapsing beneath it. She steadied him in ways his kind had lost long ago.
He recalled the Marak’s tone—subtle, distant, but layered with certainty when speaking of her. A realization stirred deep within him, something like a withheld truth rising from the depths.
Did Karian know?
Had the Majarin anticipated this outcome? Had he understood the dormant potential in Morgan Halden long before Kyrax laid eyes on her? The thought should have angered him. Instead, it settled with a strange inevitability.
Whatever the Marak had seen, whatever instinct had guided him, the result was beyond anything Kyrax could have predicted.
Morgan Halden was his.
Not by decree, not by tradition, but by the ancient laws of their bodies—laws older than the Bastions, older than the masks, older than the seven Vykan themselves.
He shifted again, and she curled closer unconsciously, her hand brushing the edge of his chestplate. Even through the armor he felt the impact—small, soft, unbearably intimate. A surge of desire swept through him, powerful enough that he had to shut his eyes for several slow breaths to keep the instinct from rising uncontrolled.
He could have her—his species were compatible in ways most were not. He could attune her fully, claim her, complete the bond already weaving itself between them.
He didn’t move.
He would not claim what she feared.
