Chapter 41: You Are Mine

Vykhor opened his eyes again, his breathing heavy with desire. He devoured Evelyn with his gaze, and a smile tugged at his lips as he saw her growing more and more confident, even more pleased, in her caressing him.

“Hold me tighter, Evelyn,” the Kael’tarian demanded in a low growl.

Evelyn’s gaze escaped his for a moment. A brief moment. But she quickly recovered, and her hand tightened around him.

For Evelyn, the act was more than just surrendering to pleasure. It was a revelation. An exploration of herself she had never before considered. All her life, she had been defined by what was expected of her, by what her brain could accomplish, by what her memory could retain. She was a subject of study, a fascinating anomaly, a scientific curiosity. Then, later, she had become a mercenary, a strategic ally, a hypermnesic spirit sought out for her extraordinary abilities. But never… never had she felt simply a woman. Desirable. Desired.

Vykhor gave her that feeling with overwhelming force. Every burning look he gave her, every raspy whisper of her name, every touch that promised she belonged to him, all of it wove a new identity within her.

Evelyn Ashcroft. The woman.

And it wasn't a weakness.

No, it was a power she'd never considered. She could feel the tension in Vykhor's body, the way he held back out of pure respect, out of a desire to preserve her, even as he burned for her. And knowing she had this power, that she could be the cause of his muffled moans of pleasure, of his restlessness he tried to mask… It was more than a reward.

It was a silent affirmation.

Proof that she wasn't just a brilliant mind trapped in a body others had fashioned according to their scientific desires. She was a woman of flesh and blood, and Vykhor Kael'seth, that implacable warrior, forged by battle and solitude, had fallen under her spell.

And when he murmured her name between his lips with that low, guttural growl, Evelyn understood that, for the first time in her life, she belonged.

With him.

Vykhor felt the change before she even spoke a single word. The tension in her body, the barely perceptible shudder beneath his hands, the way her breath paused for a moment before coming again, deeper, shakier. The hesitation was gone, replaced by silent determination.

When he met her gaze, he no longer saw the slightest trace of uncertainty. Only absolute trust. An invitation. An offering.

It wasn't a matter of words, but of body language, of the raw energy that vibrated between them, more powerful than any statement. In her eyes, there was no longer a shadow of hesitation. Just a feverish, determined glint that pierced him like a white-hot blade.

A harsh growl escaped his throat as he tightened his grip on her, holding himself back from devouring her whole. Evelyn didn't look away, and in that simple gesture, he knew.

She was ready.

Ready to give herself to him. Ready to become his.

Vykhor rested his forehead against hers, his hot breath caressing her skin. His voice was now a hoarse whisper, almost a prayer, almost a promise.

"Evelyn..."

He removed her hand from his member, with that mixture of gentleness and firmness. Then, he took her.

He entered her slowly, attentive to the slightest sign of discomfort on her face, to the slightest tension in her body. When he was fully inside her, he remained still, giving her time to adjust to this new sensation.

His lips captured hers in a slow demand, a silent promise. And he began to move inside her. Slow, deep movements.

Evelyn's body arched beneath him. Her sighs turned to moans. Sweet music to the Kael'tarian's ears. An increasingly captivating melody. Evelyn began to move in time with him. A dance of bodies, a profound alchemy. Evelyn's arms wrapped around him, her fingers slid into his hair.

"Vykhor..."

Oh, the way her voice, hoarse and soft, whispered his name...

That sound. That fragile, trembling moan, tinged with abandon. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. Music born of him, of what he made her feel.

Vykhor felt the shiver that ran through her body, the delicious tension that announced she was ready to collapse. He gradually accelerated the pace, a relentless tempo, calculated to push her to the limit, then beyond.

Evelyn clung to him more tightly, searching for him, pressing on him, as if she could anchor herself to him so as not to lose herself completely. But he knew…

He knew this storm couldn't be tamed.

And this time, he wouldn't hold it back.

No, he was going to break her, drown her, make her collapse in this burning fever he relentlessly fueled.

Vykhor looked down at her, capturing every reaction, etching into his memory every shudder, every sigh. She was his. Entirely. Irremediably.

And he felt it. This moment, this premise of apotheosis. Evelyn's body tensed, her breathing quickened. A low growl resonated in his throat, primal, visceral. He bit Evelyn's neck instinctively. She cried out in pain and pleasure.

Vykhor joined her in the release of orgasm. He released Evelyn's neck.

"You are mine now. Completely. Irremediably.”

He withdrew from her slowly, with almost reverent care, as if she were the most precious thing he had ever held in his arms. Evelyn shuddered slightly, but it was no longer the fever of desire that drove her—it was the lingering echo of what they had just shared, etched into her very skin.

Vykhor brushed his fingers over her face, tracing the curve of her jaw, her cheek, with infinite gentleness. His touch was light, almost subtle—a stark contrast to the strength and possessiveness he had displayed just moments before.

Under his fingertips, he felt the warmth of her skin, the thin sheen of sweat that bore witness to their union, the slight flutter of her half-closed eyelids. She was peaceful. At ease.

Her breath, once erratic, had settled into a slow, steady rhythm, lulled by the unwavering presence of Vykhor.

He leaned in slightly, his golden gaze capturing one last glimpse of her radiant face, this miracle that was Evelyn Ashcroft. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured:

"Sleep… My’Lari."

His voice, still rough with emotion, carried a tenderness reserved for her alone.

He wanted her strong. He wanted her his. But at that moment, more than anything, he wanted her at peace. Safe.

And he would watch over her until she fell asleep.

The next morning, dawn slowly rose over Iskaara, painting the sky in a delicate blend of deep blue and pale gold. The light from the twin moons lingered a little longer, casting a silver glow over the gently undulating bioluminescent waves. The air was thick with the salty scent of the ocean and the sweet fragrance of crystalline flowers, slowly blooming in the wake of the rising sun.

Inside the tent, Vykhor stirred from sleep, his body still heavy with the shared warmth of Evelyn. His first instinct was to tighten his hold on her slightly, as if afraid she might slip away. His forehead rested against her tousled hair, his breath brushing the curve of her neck.

He opened his eyes and looked down. Evelyn was still sleeping peacefully against him, her face relaxed, her breathing calm. A first.

He had seen her fight through so many nights—battling nightmares, haunted by the shadows of a past that refused to let her go. But tonight… she had slept deeply, undisturbed.

A strange feeling, both powerful and grounding, settled in his mind. He had never known this kind of peace. Not after a battle, not after a victory, and certainly not after a night of passion.

But now, in this moment, he knew something had changed.

He knew he could never go back.

His gaze drifted down her body, taking in the way she fit against him—her soft skin a striking contrast to his own, rougher and more battle-worn. His hand traced the line of her spine absentmindedly, a touch both possessive and tender, a gesture he allowed himself only for her.

Then, as if sensing his gaze, Evelyn stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Slowly, her eyelashes fluttered before her eyes finally opened to meet his.

He didn’t move, simply watching the moment consciousness returned to her expression. She blinked, still drowsy, before a slow, lazy smile stretched across her lips.

“You’re watching me sleep,” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.

Vykhor didn’t answer right away. He just observed her for a moment longer, etching this image into his memory. Then, in a voice rough with an emotion he wasn’t ready to name, he simply said:

“I wanted to make sure you were still here.”

Evelyn’s smile deepened, more radiant this time, before she buried her face in the crook of his chest. Her warm breath brushed against his skin, and he felt the residual tension in his body melt away completely.

It was a strange sensation—one he wasn’t used to. The feeling of being someone’s refuge.

He wrapped his arms around her more securely, holding onto her warmth.

Her.

His anchor in a universe that never stopped moving.

“I’m here, Vykhor,” she whispered against his skin, her voice soft, like a quiet melody slipping straight into his soul.

The Kael’tarien ran a hand through her hair, savoring its silkiness with a slowness that was almost unconscious. Then, in a gesture as natural as it was unexpected coming from him, he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

A simple act, yet heavy with meaning.

Evelyn lifted her eyes to him, startled, and he felt the faint shiver that ran through her body at the weight of his unexpected tenderness. In her gaze, he saw recognition—understanding. She saw beyond the cold, dominant warrior. She saw the man, the fallen prince, and all that he was willing to offer her, without needing to put it into words.

"And you’re staying," he stated, his voice deep, unwavering. A declaration. A truth, spoken as much for her as for himself.

Evelyn didn’t respond right away. Instead, she traced her fingers over the metallic glow of his bioluminescent veins, fascinated by the way the energy pulsed beneath his skin, as if echoing the rhythm of his heart.

Then, in a breath, she whispered:

"Always."

A promise. A commitment.

And in that moment, Vykhor knew that nothing in the universe could take her from him.

Because he would never allow it.

The sky still bore the rich hues of early dawn when Evelyn fully awoke.

Vykhor was already up. She could hear the faint, precise sounds of his movements outside the tent. Stretching lazily, she finally left the warmth of their shared blankets and stepped outside.

She found him crouched near the fire, preparing breakfast with quiet efficiency.

He had set up a simple heating plate over the wind-shielded device, grilling what looked like pieces of freshly caught fish, accompanied by an assortment of local fruits he had meticulously sliced.

Evelyn watched him for a moment, captivated by the unexpected sight. A born warrior, yet capable of such effortless simplicity in his actions.

“You cook?” she asked, amused and genuinely surprised.

Vykhor didn’t look up from his task. “I know how not to starve,” he replied flatly.

Evelyn chuckled softly before sitting cross-legged across from him, resting her arms on her knees. “I think it’s kind of sexy. A mercenary who knows how to cook.”

Vykhor finally glanced up at her, his golden eyes flickering with an unreadable light.

“Sexy?”

He seemed to taste the word, weighing it. Then, in one fluid motion, he sliced a juicy piece of fruit and held it out to her.

“Eat. You need the energy.”

Evelyn accepted, biting into the sweet flesh of the fruit with genuine enjoyment. But as she savored the peaceful moment, a small shadow caught her attention.