Page 17 of Bound to the Marak

She flinched at first—couldn’t help it—but he didn’t retract. Just waited, hand open, patient.

She stared at it. It was broad, powerful. Armored with sleek black material that glinted faintly under the light. Then, slowly, she reached out and laid her trembling fingers against his.

A current passed through her the moment they touched.

Not pain. Not quite. Butforce. Pure, contained force. Like brushing fingertips to lightning sealed in glass. His warmth shocked her. She had expected something cold. Wet. Inhuman.

But he was warm. Alive.

And overwhelmingly strong.

Her breath caught again as he stepped closer.

His robes shifted with him—and from beneath them, something emerged.

Not legs.

Tentacles.

Seven of them.

Black, sinuous, and fluid. They moved independently, coiling softly over the polished floor like creatures in their own right. Sleek, ridged, silent.

Leonie’s stomach clenched. Her mouth went dry.

She’d known. She’d seen glimpses. But seeing them this close—this clearly—was different. Her mind reeled. This wasn’t a man in a costume. He was another species entirely. Not human at all.

“You’re…” she whispered, unable to finish the sentence.

He said nothing. Only watched.

And now she noticed more.

His outfit today was different. Gone were the voluminous robes from the auction. In their place was something more fitted—like living armor—clinging to his torso, accentuating every muscle, every ridge of power beneath his pale, hard body. He was carved from shadow and strength, an apex creature draped in elegance.

He could kill her in an instant.

He could crush her with one limb.

And yet… he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out—again—with his hand. Not to grab. Not to harm.

But to touch.

He brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his movements slow. Purposeful. A mirror of what he had done back in the auction chamber.

It was almost… reverent.

The breath she’d been holding shuddered out of her.

“What do you want from me?” she whispered.

But he gave no answer. Not yet.

Instead, he turned, his movements as fluid as the sea, and gestured toward the doorway. His meaning was clear.

Come.

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