Page 9

Nine

L eonie woke with a jolt—not to sound, but to presence .

Thick, oppressive. Like a storm about to break.

Her body tensed before her eyes even opened. Some instinct deeper than thought screamed: You are not alone.

She blinked against the gentle light overhead, her breath catching in her throat.

And there he was.

At the foot of her bed.

Still as stone.

Watching.

The alien lord.

The one who had silenced a chamber full of predators with a single word. Who had bought her, caged her, and brought her aboard a ship that pulsed like a living heart. The one whose shadow loomed behind every corner of this impossible place.

Now, he was here.

Leonie couldn’t move. Her limbs refused to obey. Her mind stalled, caught between terror and disbelief.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t shift.

He simply stood , cloaked in shadow and silence, his towering form outlined in the soft, spectral glow of the chamber walls. The mask on his face—a seamless, glistening black—was shaped to reflect nothing. No eyes. No mouth. Just that single vertical ridge that ran down its center like the blade of a sword.

A mask carved for gods, not men.

Leonie’s hands moved without her permission, clutching the soft sheets and pulling them instinctively up to her chest. As if that thin layer of fabric could protect her from him . It was laughable. Childish.

But she couldn’t stop herself.

Her heart thundered in her ribs.

He didn’t advance. Didn’t raise a hand. He simply watched her.

And in that long, unbearable silence, awe began to creep through her fear.

She had never seen anything like him.

He was tall— inhumanly tall—and perfectly still. Still in the way deep ocean things are still, motionless only because they are waiting. His cloak shimmered with a barely perceptible motion, as though it flowed through currents no one else could see. His very presence dominated the room. Bent it around him.

This is no ordinary being , she thought, her mind racing. He’s not just some alien warlord. He’s something… more.

“Who…” she began, her voice cracking through the silence. “Who are you?”

A pause.

Then a voice.

Deep. Resonant. So low it vibrated in her bones. A single word, like the stroke of a gong across water.

“Karian.”

She repeated it, dazed. “Karian.”

The name didn’t sound like a name. It sounded like a title. Like something ancient. It echoed in her ears, commanding reverence by its mere utterance.

He raised a hand.

Slowly. Deliberately.

A simple gesture.

Come.

Leonie hesitated. Everything in her body told her to stay where she was. But another force—just as primal—pushed her forward. A need to understand. A deeper current of curiosity that fear couldn’t drown.

She sat up.

The sheets fell from her shoulders as she moved, and she felt the air on her skin. Cool. Expectant.

Karian stepped forward.

And extended his hand.

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. But force . 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.

She looked back. At the bed. At the food tray. At the empty silence that now filled the chamber like water.

There was no going back. No other choice.

Whatever he wanted, whatever this path would lead to—it had already begun.

She stood, legs trembling.

And followed him into the unknown.