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Thirty-Five

T he chamber was quiet, save for the hum of distant water flowing through the living walls.

Karian stood motionless at the edge of his sanctum, the words she'd spoken still echoing inside him.

I want Alfie.

Such a simple request. Such a human request.

He should have anticipated it. He should have asked. Instead, he'd brought her here, wrapped her in silks and pleasure, as if those things could undo the trauma of being torn from everything she’d known. It shamed him. Not because she accused him, but because she hadn’t. She had merely asked—without fury, without threat.

She is not Majarin, he reminded himself. She is human. And she belonged to a world.

And yet, he had taken her.

Not just her body.

Her future. Her past. Her choices.

He would never return her—not now. Not ever. But he could give her something of what she had lost. He would scour the galaxy for her creature, this “Alfie,” and bring it back to her. If she wished for other humans, he would take them too, as long as they did not hurt her. Let her build a small Earth here, among the stars, if that was what she needed to stay.

And still…

He turned when he felt her presence.

She was there, standing at the archway of the sanctum, her figure wrapped in a gown so soft and sheer it clung to her curves like mist. It shimmered under the pale light, shifting between translucent shades of silver and pearl.

The scent of her struck him like a tide.

He swallowed hard, his gills flaring instinctively.

“Come here,” he said.

She obeyed.

As she stepped into his arms, he wrapped his tentacles around her slowly, luxuriously, savoring every inch of her skin beneath the fabric. He stroked her back, the gown slipping aside like breath against her body. Her warmth pressed into him. Her heartbeat, steady and human, sang through his nerves.

She moaned softly as his caresses deepened, and the sound unraveled him.

His cock stirred, the markings across his body beginning to glow faintly once more.

She tilted her face up to his, eyes languid with pleasure, mouth slightly parted in invitation. His hunger surged.

One of his smaller tentacles slid forward, brushing her lips.

She opened.

Took him in.

The sight of her—his human—sucking gently, eyes never leaving his, turned his blood molten. His muscles tensed. He could feel the pressure building already, not just between his legs but deeper—in the place where his power lived. The vast, violent force that churned within him. The one he had never dared reveal.

The seas were already stirring.

He could sense it in the undertides, the vibration in the stone beneath his palace. A ripple of energy radiating outward—dangerous, destructive.

He had to keep control.

You cannot lose yourself, he told himself. You are the Marak.

And yet—her mouth was so soft. So willing. Her hands now stroked along his sides, nails grazing the glowing markings that responded to her touch like lightning to metal.

He growled, deep and guttural, curling his tentacles tighter around her body, lifting her effortlessly until her feet left the floor. She gasped around him, the sound vibrating through his flesh.

The seas cracked against the reefs.

He reined himself in with force of will alone, withdrawing the rising tide of his gift. Not yet. Not here.

He would not let his madness bring ruin to Luxar’s bounty. The Yerak harvested the deep. They needed calm waters. Not storms conjured by a Marak undone by desire.

But stars help him, he was drowning.

Day by day, her hold on him grew stronger. He had taken her.

But it was she who owned him now.