Page 3 of Bound to the Marak

It wasn’t just a shock. It was a searing bolt of agony that lit her nerves on fire and sent her sprawling to the floor with a strangled scream. Her limbs convulsed, her breath vanished, her vision whitewashed. For one horrible moment, she couldn’t move at all.

Then—blessedly—it stopped.

She lay gasping, trembling, every part of her body screaming. Tears stung her eyes. The collar pulsed faintly against her throat, like a living thing waiting for its next command.

Footsteps.

Two tall figures entered behind the squat alien—taller than humans, their bodies lithe and angular beneath dark, skin-tight suits. Their faces were smooth, oval plates—featureless and gleaming like polished obsidian. No eyes. No mouths. Just blank, empty masks.

They moved without sound. Like machines.

Leonie tried to push herself up, but her limbs betrayed her. She made it to her knees before they seized her—cold, precise hands gripping her arms and yanking her upright. Panic surged.

“Don’t,” she gasped, “don’t touch me?—!”

The squat alien shifted slightly. One stubby finger drifted toward the control device on its belt.

“No!” she cried. “Please—please don’t?—!”

The collar vibrated again. Not pain—yet—but enough to let her know it could be worse.

She went still.

The taller ones began to strip her.

Rough hands unfastened the simple clothing she’d been given when she first awoke. She screamed, fought—until the collar pulsed again. Her fight died in her throat.

They didn’t react to her sobbing. To her begging.

Her body shook with rage and humiliation, but the fear overpowered everything else. Her bare skin felt ice-cold under their alien hands as they led her, naked and shivering, into the next chamber.

The air changed.

It hissed with sterilizing vapor—thick, bluish mist that reeked of metal and antiseptic. Jets blasted her body from every angle. The warmth of the mist was no comfort. It felt clinical. Dehumanizing. Like she was being washed not for cleanliness—but for ownership.

When they were done, they handed her something.

Clothing.

If it could even be called that.

Two pieces of silken fabric—slick, alien in texture. The top clung to her skin like liquid, wrapping around her chest and leaving her stomach bare. The lower piece was little more than a strip of fabric that settled on her hips, leaving her legs exposed. It didn’t feel like clothing. It felt like display.

Like she was beingpackaged.

They escorted her back to the cell and shoved her inside. The squat alien followed her in, standing just inside the threshold. It barked something in its language—short, sharp syllables that scraped like stone against stone.

Then it pointed to her collar.

The meaning was clear.

Obey, or suffer.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her throat burned with swallowed screams. But her eyes blazed with fury.

The creature gave what might have been a satisfied grunt and turned away.

As soon as it was gone, a section of the wall opened with a lowhiss, and a tray slid out with a mechanical jerk.

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