Page 26 of Alien Charming

“Control yourself,” he muttered. This was precisely why he needed the public ceremony. Witnesses. Protocols. Traditions that would prevent him from doing something reckless—like sweeping Elli into his arms and carrying her back to his den. If she attended, he would be courteous. Distant. He would not seek her out. Would not touch her. Would not breathe in her intoxicating scent.

He exhaled heavily, knowing these were lies he told himself.

He caught a familiar scent on the breeze and turned to see Korrin approaching, a massive woven basket balanced on one arm. The younger Vultor’s cocky grin was firmly in place, though Seren noted the way his eyes constantly scanned the perimeter. Years of vigilance didn’t disappear overnight.

“Your mate’s been busy,” he said, nodding towards the basket overflowing with pastries.

“Tessa insisted, even though I told her that she wasn’t expected to provide food for her own ceremony.” Korrin set the basket down on the nearest table and grinned at him as the aroma of honey cakes and berry tarts wafted upwards. “She said sweet treats would sweeten the mood.”

“She’s not wrong,” he admitted. “Though I doubt the humans will appreciate her efforts as much as we will.”

Korrin shrugged, then glanced around, his voice dropping. “Any sign of Malrik?”

He sighed. Malik was a Vultor warrior who had been lost to the curse of the unmated a long time ago, disappearing into the mountains to live as little more than an animal. Such malesrarely lasted long, but Malrik had been trapped in his beast form for years now—and yet he’d unexpectedly helped Korrin and Tessa during their ordeal.

“No sign of him,” he said quietly. “But he’s always been good at evasion. I’m still surprised he came to Tessa’s aid.”

“He helped save her,” Korrin said, his usual arrogance replaced with something like confusion. “But I still don’t know why. He’s more beast than Vultor.”

He shook his head. “Even in beast form, we retain some essence of ourselves. Perhaps there’s more left in him than we thought.”

“Maybe.” Korrin didn’t sound convinced. “Tessa wants to help him. She says we owe him that.”

“Your mate has a kind heart.”

“Too kind. You know as well as I do that the cursed can’t be trusted. If he returns…”

“We’ll deal with it,” he assured him. “For now, let’s focus on tonight’s ceremony.”

“I intend to,” Korrin said firmly, then gave him a questioning look. “And speaking of mates…”

“Don’t,” he warned, already anticipating the question, and changed the subject. “Has Tessa shared any insights about the village’s response to the trade agreement?”

Korrin gave him a knowing look but played along. “She thinks that a surprising number of them are in favor. As much as I distrust the mayor, she’s been doing a good job of convincing them that it will be a profitable arrangement.”

He snorted. “I suspect most of those profits will be going straight into her pocket, but we can work on that once the agreement is in place.”

As they discussed negotiation strategies, his thoughts drifted to Malrik. The rogue Vultor had once been a wealthy, arrogant male. He’d thought himself above the curse, rejecting any potential mate, only to find himself falling victim to the very fate he’d scorned. Seren understood his hubris only too well. He’d believed that with discipline and purpose, control was always possible. He’d managed for decades, channeling his energy into leading the pack.

Yet now, with Elli’s scent still lingering in his memory, he understood Malrik’s descent in a way he never had before. His own beast paced restlessly beneath his skin, clawing for freedom, demanding he claim what it recognized as his.

Mine, it growled.Protect. Claim.

He inhaled deeply, fighting for control. The beast pressed against his consciousness, making his skin feel too tight, his teeth ache with the need to lengthen into fangs.

“Seren?” Korrin’s voice pulled him back. “Your eyes are glowing.”

He turned away, forcing his breathing to steady. “It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” The other male’s tone held no mockery, only concern. “I’ve never seen you struggle for control before.”

“I’m not struggling,” he growled, the lie obvious to both of them.

For the first time in his life, he felt genuine fear—not for himself, but for Elli. What if he lost control around her? What if the beast took over and he frightened her? Or worse?

Was this how it began for Malrik? This constant internal battle, this pressure building with no release? Was this how he lost himself?

His hands curled into fists as he fought to stay in control, half-hoping that Elli would attend the ceremony, and half-afraid of what would happen if she did.

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