Page 37 of Bound to the Marak

But the weight of her question hung between them.

She looked away, biting her lip. “I mean,” she added under her breath, “there are worse things…”

She hadn’t meant to say it aloud.

But it was true, wasn’t it?

There were worse fates than being claimed by a powerful being who, so far, hadn’t harmed her. Who offered softness where she expected cruelty. Who spoke ofpleasurelike a promise.

And yet.

It maddened her. The not knowing. The imbalance of power. The way he watched her like she was both a mystery and a prize.

“I don’t understand how I can talk to you like this,” she whispered, half to herself.

Because shewastalking back. Challenging him.

He was terrifying. And still, she defied him with her questions, her doubts.

And he let her.

Karian didn’t speak. Not immediately.

But his silence didn’t feel threatening. It felt… patient. As if he were waiting for her to understand something. Something important.

And maybe, part of her was beginning to.

Twenty-One

He watched her closely, his eyes drinking in every flicker of expression on her face—the narrowing of her eyes, the tension in her jaw, the tremble in her hands that she tried to hide. Her emotions flared around her like an aura. Fear. Anger. Longing. A quiet defiance.

Fascinating.

The Majarin had long since evolved beyond overt emotional displays. Even the other Marak were trained from infancy to temper their passions, to suppress instinct in favor of calculated reason. Butshe—this human female—burned with raw emotion.

Unhidden. Untamed.

And now that he’d seen it up close, Karian was beginning to understand: Leonie was far more intelligent than he had initially credited. She was not some simple creature to be tamed with silks and sensual words. She was aware—sharply aware—of her predicament, and already, she was calculating how to survive it. How to retain what was hers: her mind, her culture, her sense of self.

She had spirit.

It complicated things.

Keeping her would not be a matter of comfort and opulence alone. She would require stimulation. Purpose. Autonomy—at least the illusion of it. If he wasn’t careful, she might grow resentful. Rebellious. She might try to resist him in ways he wouldn’t expect.

But it didn’t matter.

She was his now.

Earth would never see her again. She just didn’t know that yet.

He could feel her looking at him, expectant. Still processing his declaration. Still wondering what her place was here, on Luxar. What he wanted from her.

So he asked, his voice low, steady. “What do you require to be… happy here?”

Her gaze snapped to him, sharp. And for once, he could not decipher her expression. It was something layered—dark and cool, touched by bitterness, but with the faintest glint of reluctant respect.

“Let me think about it,” she said. Her voice carried weight. A decision still forming. “I’ll tell you after I’ve had time to think.”

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