Page 1 of Cursed Alien

CHAPTER1

The beast’s claws dug into earth as he stalked silently through the forest. Only the scent of evergreens and the distant rush of water registered as he slipped through the shadows, his massive form blending easily with the darkness between trees.

The cottma he was tracking suddenly paused, head up and long ears twitching, as it became aware of his presence. It tried to dart into the undergrowth but it was too late. He pounced, claws extended, and ended the chase in an instant. His jaws snapped and blood filled his mouth, hot and satisfying. He tore into the flesh, consuming the meat with savage efficiency.

This was his existence now. Hunt. Kill. Eat. Defend his territory. Sleep. A simple cycle with no past or future, only the endless present of instinct and survival.

A breeze shifted through the trees, carrying something new, and he paused mid-bite. His nostrils flared, drawing in a scent unlike anything in his mountain domain. Sweet, like the wildflowers that bloomed in hidden valleys, yet with an undertone of metal and oil. The combination tugged at something buried deep within his consciousness.

The half-eaten cottma forgotten, he raised his head and inhaled deeply. The scent called to him, not to his hunger but to something else—something lost beneath fur and fang and claw.

Female.

The word surfaced unbidden, a fragment from another existence. Not prey. Not enemy. Something else.

Something important.

Images flashed through his mind—hands instead of paws, words instead of growls. He shook his head, disoriented by these foreign thoughts.

Malrik.

Another word, this one more troubling. A name. His name? He snarled, confused by the intrusion of this other consciousness. He was beast, nothing more. This… Malrik… was a threat to the simplicity of his existence.

Yet the scent pulled at him, awakening hunger of a different kind. He stored the remains of his kill and set off through the trees, tracking the elusive fragrance, drawn by an instinct stronger than his resistance. It led him down the mountain’s slope, towards a village nestled amongst the foothills.

He crested a ridge and froze. Below, a small figure walked briskly along the road that skirted the edge of the forest. Small, but not a child. Her soft curves were evident despite the heavy clothing she wore, and wild blonde curls glittered in the sunlight like precious metal. She carried a heavy pack on her back and a tool belt slung around her hips.

Female. Human.

Beautiful.

The thought was not the beast’s. It belonged to the other—to Malrik—who stirred more insistently now. The beast growled low in his throat, fighting against the intrusion.

The female looked up, scanning the ridge. For a moment, her gaze seemed to meet his, even though he knew his fur blended perfectly with the rocks. She couldn’t see him, yet something passed between them—a connection that made his heart pound in an unfamiliar rhythm.

Mine.

This thought belonged to both beast and male, a rare moment of alignment between the dual aspects of his fractured self. The realization startled him enough that he retreated a step, claws scraping against stone.

The female heard the sound. Her body tensed, hand moving to something at her belt. He recognized the posture of a creature preparing to defend itself. He should retreat—humans brought danger, brought memories. The beast recoiled from these images, from the pain they carried, and he snarled, backing away.

“Hello?”

Her soft musical voice carried clearly across the distance between them, but the beast was already retreating, fleeing not from her but from the memories her presence evoked. Only when he reached the dense forest again did he slow, his breathing harsh and labored not from exertion but from the internal struggle. The other—Malrik—had retreated again, driven back into the recesses of his consciousness, but the beast remained aware of his presence.

As he went to retrieve the remains of his meal, the female’s scent lingered in his memory. Something had changed within him, a door cracked open that could never fully close again. In the darkness of his mind, Malrik now waited.

The beast lifted his muzzle to the sky and howled—a sound of warning, of claiming, of longing. The sound echoed across his mountain domain, carrying with it a promise that neither beast nor male fully understood.

Mine.

CHAPTER2

Two months later…

Bella tightenedthe last bolt on the wagon’s engine compartment with a satisfying twist of her wrench, and ran her hand across the gleaming metal surface, proud of their work. The motorized wagon had been a labor of love for months—salvaged parts, rebuilt systems, and countless late nights hunched over schematics by the light of an artificial lantern.

Its copper-plated exterior gleamed in the early morning light, giving it an appearance far more elegant than its cobbled-together innards deserved. The mismatched gears and repurposed valves beneath that shiny surface told the true story of their financial situation—making do with whatever they could find or afford.

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