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Twenty-One

H e 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. But she —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.”

He inclined his head, accepting that—for now.

“But first,” she added, “you need to teach me. Your language. Your culture. Your customs. What’s expected of me in this place.”

Karian blinked slowly. Her voice did not tremble. Her request—no, demand—was made with full awareness of her position. Not as an equal. Not yet. But as someone who refused to be ruled by ignorance. It impressed him.

And intrigued him.

He could sense it then, clearly: part of her still dreamed of returning to her home world. Still fantasized that this might somehow be undone. That one day, she would wake up in her bed on Earth, and this would be nothing more than a vivid nightmare.

But another part of her was already adapting. Making peace with the unthinkable. She had not broken—she had adjusted . That, more than anything, made her worthy.

He spoke slowly, with deliberate calm. “You will have that knowledge. My language, my culture, my world—I will teach you everything. And in return, you will give me what I desire.”

She didn’t flinch. But he could feel the pulse of resistance still fluttering inside her.

“I can be patient, Leonie,” he said. “You are safe here. Nothing will harm you. No one will defy you. You will be honored. Worshipped. Treated as a goddess.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

“But you must give yourself to me. To my needs.”

Something in him stirred then. His body. His blood.

Patience.

He had always prided himself on it. He had waited years to crush the Tixan. He had waited through decades of isolation to reclaim control of Malvar. But now—now he burned.

His control frayed with every heartbeat.

Was it the scent of her skin? The way she looked at him without trembling? The way she challenged him, instead of crumpling?

Majarin were not immune to desire. Their biology had not shed its primal edges. And Karian, for all his dominance and divinity, was not immune to need.

She was here. Close. And every second he waited only fed the storm inside him.

He rose from his seat in the transport craft, towering above her. His voice was calm, but charged with tension.

“I will take you to the Inner Sanctum.”

She blinked, uncertain.

“There,” he said, “you will understand. You will feel what it means to belong here. To belong to me.”

His tentacles moved, slow and deliberate beneath his robes, restrained—for now.

She stared at him, and for a moment, he swore he saw the flicker of something dangerous in her gaze.

Not fear.

Anticipation.