Page 5 of Bound to the Marak

He was tall. Easily a head taller than any other being on the floor. A long, black cloak trailed behind him like living shadow. His form was obscured by robes layered with intricate symbols that glowed faintly, their meaning lost on her. His face was hidden behind a smooth mask of dark metal etched with swirling patterns. No eyes. No mouth. Just the mask.

He moved like liquid—elegant, silent. Even the air around him seemed to hum in a different frequency.

Leonie held her breath as he approached.

He stood before her for a long moment. Said nothing. Then, slowly, he reached out with a gloved hand and ran his fingers through her hair. A shiver crawled down her spine—not of fear, exactly, but something colder. Something older.

He spoke.

The words were like music made from a language she could not hope to understand. Deep and rhythmic, layered with strange tones that seemed to resonate inside her chest more than her ears.

Whatever he said, the crowd behind him parted. Some even bowed.

Then came the bidding.

Lights flared across the room, flashing red and green. Symbols raced across digital panels suspended in the air. Voices called out in a dozen alien tongues, each announcing a number, a price, a claim.

Leonie pressed her hands to her ears. Her cage vibrated with the noise. Panic welled in her chest.

And still, the cloaked figure stood silently, unmoving.

Waiting.

Four

The bidding had started as a pulse. Now it was a storm.

Lights flared overhead, blinding and hot, illuminating the platform where Leonie stood encased in her floating cage. The space beyond was a swirl of motion and noise—a vast arena of glass and metal, brimming with creatures she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Dozens of bidders filled the surrounding tiers, their bodies shifting and twitching, limbs gesturing, devices flashing with competing offers.

Symbols burst across the air in radiant columns—glyphs and holograms in constant motion, each representing a value, a stake, a price. She didn’t recognize a single one.

Languages clashed like weapons. Some barked, some clicked, others hummed in dissonant chords. A nearby alien—slender, silver-skinned, with insectile eyes and too-long fingers—emitted a rapid stream of trills as its bid was registered. A guttural roar answered from across the room, where a massive red-skinned warrior slammed a clawed fist into the console in front of him. The weapon strapped to his back buzzed with restrained energy, glowing with static heat.

Another creature hissed nearby—scaly, sharp-jawed, eyes flickering like candle flames.

Leonie stood motionless in the center of it all, her heart a clenched fist in her chest.

Her knees were locked. Her throat was dry. The collar around her neck itched and throbbed faintly, a constant reminder that she wasn’t just being watched—she wasowned. Or soon would be.

And the question that haunted her now wasn’tifshe would be sold.

It wasto whom.

The red-skinned warrior? All coiled muscle and snarling heat, who radiated violence like a furnace?

The skeletal grey alien, whose voice grated like metal and who stared at her like a puzzle to be dissected?

A hissing, bloblike dark blue shape with no discernible face, who kept uttering what sounded like her measurements?

She didn’t know which would be worse. Every time one raised a bidding device, her stomach twisted.

This is insane,she thought, panic spiking.This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.

But it was.

The lights pulsed again—red this time.

Final round.

---