Page 18 of Bound to the Marak

She looked back. At the bed. At the food tray. At the empty silence that now filled the chamber like water.

There was no going back. No other choice.

Whatever he wanted, whatever this path would lead to—it had already begun.

She stood, legs trembling.

And followed him into the unknown.

Ten

The corridor they walked through was dimly lit, with walls that pulsed faintly, like the soft throb of a living heartbeat. Leonie wasn’t sure if the light came from the walls themselves or from something beneath them. Everything about this place seemed half-organic, half-machinery. Alive and not.

Karian moved ahead of her without looking back, but she could sense his awareness of her. It was in the measured pace of his long strides, slow enough for her to keep up. In the way his tentacles moved—silent and fluid—never touching her, yet always just close enough to remind her how near they were.

He could reach her at any moment. Surround her. Crush her.

But he didn’t.

She was still reeling from the sight of them—those coiled limbs that moved with eerie grace. It should have repulsed her. Shewantedit to. But it didn’t. Not entirely.

She was frightened.

But also…curious.

And more than that—if she was honest with herself—she was starting to find himcompelling. Something in the way he moved. The sheer physicality of him. The presence he carried, silent and commanding.

They entered another room—this one different.

The lighting here was gentler, casting soft golden hues that shimmered along the curved walls. Cushions lined a low seating area, circular in shape, as if designed for conversation or meditation. A table at the center glowed faintly, its surface alive with slow-moving patterns.

A lounge, she realized. Or something like it.

Karian stopped and turned to her.

Then, without a word, he reached up and removed one of his gloves.

His bare hand was revealed—strong, long-fingered, the skin a smooth shade of moonlight-pale that shimmered slightly in the ambient light. He stepped closer.

Leonie’s heart was racing again, hammering against her ribs.

He reached out and—slowly, gently—brushed his fingers along her cheek.

Her breath hitched.

The contact sent a jolt through her—something warm, electric,alive. Not cold or slimy as she might have imagined. His skin was warmer than hers, with a texture like the finest silk, yet with a subtle firmness beneath.

She closed her eyes for a heartbeat.

He murmured something in his language—soft, almost reverent. She didn’t know the words, but thetonemade her skin prickle.

Then, he held out his hand to her.

An invitation.

She hesitated, then lifted her own hand, placing it against his palm.

He let her explore. Let herfeel.

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