Page 15 of Bound to the Marak

But something about her—her softness, her innocence, hervulnerability—lit a fire beneath his self-control. She was so fragile. He could crush her. With one arm. With one thought. She was unguarded, unaware.

And yet she had looked at him in the auction hall.

She had watched him. Not with reverence, but with challenge. Withlife.

He shifted slightly, the holowall flickering in response to his movement. His fingers brushed the edge of the display, tracing the curve of her form. Not touching. Not yet. But close.

She is mine.

The thought came unbidden.

He had acquired her legally. He had done nothing forbidden. And yet—there was a feeling rising in him that made ancient instinct stir beneath the centuries of control.

Not lust alone.

Possession.

Possibility.

His.

She slept now. She would rest.

And when she woke, he would go to her.

Not to threaten. Not to take.

But tolearn.

To play.

A word that did not exist in the Marak tongue. But one that he would find a use for.

His human. After so many cycles. After centuries of silence and sameness, she was something new.

And he would explore her.

In time.

Nine

Leonie woke with a jolt—not to sound, but topresence.

Thick, oppressive. Like a storm about to break.

Her body tensed before her eyes even opened. Some instinct deeper than thought screamed:You are not alone.

She blinked against the gentle light overhead, her breath catching in her throat.

And there he was.

At the foot of her bed.

Still as stone.

Watching.

The alien lord.

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