Page 31 of Bound to the Marak

And then—quietly, with the same precision he had removed it—he lifted the mask once more.

The seams sealed with a soft whisper as he pressed it into place.

A part of him regretted it.

But the world outside demanded the mask.

At the door, he looked back.

And this time, his voice dropped low—not a command, but a vow.

“Sleep, Leonie. You are safe now.”

Then he was gone.

But her name echoed in him still.

Leonie.

And the memory of her eyes upon his face.

Seventeen

Leonie hadn’t been able to look away.

The moment Karian had removed his mask, something inside her shifted. The air between them had felt impossibly still, charged with meaning she didn’t yet understand. She had braced herself for horror—for some grotesque face that would cement the truth of her captivity, something alien enough to crush whatever fragile link had started to form between them.

But what she saw shattered that expectation completely.

He was beautiful.

Not beautiful in a human sense. There was nothing familiar about his features. And yet... they mesmerized her. His skin shimmered with a pale, opaline glow, like moonlight filtered through deep ocean currents. His features were sharp, sculpted—high cheekbones, an elegant, predatory jawline, and a mouth that looked neither cruel nor kind, but deeply controlled. Regal.

His eyes were the most disorienting of all—black from edge to edge, devoid of whites or irises, vast and depthless like two polished stones. She had expected emptiness. Instead, she saw... weight. Age. A quiet force that made her chest tighten with something like awe.

And then there were the tentacles.

Seven of them, long and fluid, trailing from beneath the hem of his dark robe. They moved subtly, curling and adjusting with a life of their own. Sleek, muscular, lined with delicate ridges and faintly gleaming suction pads. They weren’t threatening—not overtly—but they unsettled her all the same. She couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be touched by one. What he could do with them. The raw strength they implied.

She shivered, more from thought than temperature.

He hadn’t touched her with his tentacles. Not yet. But he could.

And she wasn’t entirely certain she didn’t want him to.

That thought terrified her more than anything else.

He’d known she was afraid. He admitted as much. And still—he hadn’t come to her. He’d left her strapped down, silent, bracing for death while explosions shook the walls of the ship around her.

She wanted to scream at him for that.

And yet… when he had spoken her name, his voice had shifted. Softened. There had been no cruelty in it. No ownership. Just reverence. It had sounded like discovery. Like she was something precious he hadn’t expected to find.

And when he said he didn’t want her to fear him... she had almost believed him.

Almost.

Her wrists still bore faint impressions where the restraints had held her. She rubbed them absently as she sat on the edge of the alien bed, her eyes fixed on the door he had exited through. The metal was smooth, seamless, but it might as well have been stone. She didn’t know if she could follow him, or if she even wanted to.

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