Page 54 of Bound to the Marak

The tension coiled tighter when he moved within her again, their bodies aligned in perfect rhythm, guided by instinct and something more—something ancient and raw. She cried out, not from pain, but from the shock of such intense pleasure. His smaller, sensitive tendrils brushed over her with exquisite precision, and she felt herself coming undone again.

His mouth descended to her neck, warm and searching. He kissed her softly, then with more pressure—and then, suddenly, a sharpness. A nip. Not painful, but jarring enough to make her gasp.

Had he… bitten her?

There was a brief sting, followed by a rush of heat—tingling, spreading like fire through her blood. Her heart pounded. Her mind blurred. She couldn’t tell where her body ended and his began.

Outside, through the transparent domed ceiling above his bed, she saw the first spirals of cloud gathering in the otherwise clear Luxari sky.

A storm was coming.

She felt it deep in her core as Karian let out a low, guttural sound against her throat—a sound that shook her, not with fear, but awe. The Marak was unraveling. And she was the reason.

When they reached their peak together, something in the world above seemed to respond. The stars dimmed behind fast-moving clouds. The shimmering sky darkened to violet. And for one breathless moment, she felt the entire universe press in close—watching, bearing witness.

Karian didn’t speak.

He simply held her afterwards, his heart thundering against her back, one great tentacle curled protectively around her midsection. Another brushed the side of her leg in slow, soothing arcs. She didn’t need words.

Because in this moment, she understood:

Whatever he’d awakened inside her, she had done the same to him.

And neither of them would ever be the same again.

Thirty-Seven

She lay against him, soft and warm, her body a perfect counterpoint to his own. The storm still rumbled distantly, a low, sullen echo of the one that had passed—both in the sky and in his blood. His arms and tentacles curled around her protectively, reverently. She was so small. So human. And yet, somehow, she had unraveled him.

He was the Marak. Ruler of Luxar. Sovereign of the skies and the seas. He should have felt powerful.

Instead, as he watched her eyelids flutter with the last remnants of bliss, he felt something dangerously close to...vulnerability.

“I will not let you be sad,” he said, his voice low, resonating from his chest. “Not here. Not with me.”

She blinked up at him, her lashes damp, her lips parted with something he didn’t quite know how to name. Trust, maybe. Or the early flickers of affection. It made his hearts stutter.

“I don’t want to be sad,” she murmured. “But I miss him. I miss my dog.”

He smoothed a hand down her hair, and another tentacle curled softly around her waist.

“Tell me how to find him,” he said. “This...Alfie.”

She hesitated, chewing her lip, then said, “He might be at a pound. A shelter. Or someone might have taken him in. We could check online—on social media. He’s microchipped.”

He frowned. “These words mean little to me. A ‘pound’? What kind of holding facility is this? And what is...a chip?”

She smiled faintly, the ghost of amusement beneath her grief. “It’s a tiny implant under his skin. It has information. His ID. His home. If someone scans it, they’ll know he’s mine.”

Ah. An Earthling form of tagging. Not unlike the aquatic tracking the Yerak used on deep-sea harvesters. Still, the thought of this 'Alfie' wandering alone—untended—irked him.

“Can you not simply take another creature?” he asked.

Her expression changed instantly. “No. I wantmydog.”

He heard the finality in her tone. The sharpness. The rawness. It wasn’t about the dog. It was about what had been taken from her. Without consent. Without warning.

He almost winced.

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