Page 9 of Bound to the Marak

She blinked, and her eyes stung. But no tears came. Not yet.

She was no longer a nurse. No longer anything. Just a human plucked from her world, stripped of everything, walking barefoot into the grasp of a being who had silenced a room with a word.

She didn’t know what he was. What he wanted.

But he’d bought her.

And now she belonged to him.

The masked figure turned, lifted a hand, and gestured to the ship.

It opened for him.

Not a hatch—not really. The hull simplyparted, as if obeying a master’s thought, and a ramp unfurled with liquid smoothness.

Leonie stepped forward, every nerve taut. Her legs shook.

She walked into the unknown.

Six

The ship sealed around her like a dream, soundless and seamless.

Leonie crossed the threshold, and it felt as if she’d stepped not into a vessel, but into the heart of something alive. The air was subtly perfumed, not with anything familiar, but something sweet and mineral, like ozone after lightning. The walls were curved and smooth, absorbing light more than reflecting it. Pale veins of silvery-blue pulsed gently beneath the surface, like blood through an alien skin.

With every step, her unease deepened.

Her bare feet touched the warm floor: smooth, unmarred, almost glass-like. It was clean, meticulously so, but the sensation of her skin against it unsettled her. Each step reminded her she didn’t belong here. That she wasn’t prepared. Not for this place. Not for any of it.

She glanced ahead at the two figures leading her.

Tall, silent, unnervingly graceful.

They were humanoid—more so than any of the creatures she’d seen in the auction hall—but there was somethingoffabout them. They moved like dancers, each gesture purposeful, fluid, as though their very bodies had been trained to obey an aesthetic law she couldn’t perceive. Their pale skin shimmered faintly under the lights, and the subtle rise and fall of narrow gills along their necks told her what their perfectly still faces did not:

They weren’t human.

Not even close.

Their hair was obsidian-black, impossibly smooth, and their eyes—featureless, liquid black—reflected nothing. They didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak to her. When they spoke to one another, it was in that same language the masked one had used: low and melodic, like water over stone, threaded with something sharp and ancient.

Leonie followed in silence, her heart thudding, her mind a riot of fear and speculation.

Why was she here?

What did he want?

Her imagination grasped for answers, wild and scattered.Medical experimentation? Breeding? Labour? Entertainment? Some kind of trophy? A pet?

Her stomach clenched.

Pleasure?

The thought came unbidden, and she nearly stumbled.

Her cheeks flushed with shame. Not just at the idea—but at the uncertainty. He hadn't touched her. Hadn’t said a single word she understood. But his presence had spoken volumes. He hadn’t bought her out of mercy. That much was certain.

Her pulse ticked louder in her ears. She could still hear the single word he’d used to end the auction. Still see the way the others had shrunk from him. He hadn’t needed to threaten. His authority was intrinsic—like gravity. Hewaspower.

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