Page 22 of Cursed Alien

“Focus on the repairs,” she told herself firmly. “That’s why you’re here. Fix what needs fixing, fulfill your bargain, then go home.”

But as she sank deeper into the warm water, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her task might be more complicated than she’d initially thought. There was more broken in this keep than just its technology.

And somewhere in the darkness beyond the door, a beast with a man’s eyes was waiting.

When she was as clean as she could be, she reluctantly left the warmth of the tub. As she dried herself on one of the large cloth towels, she realized she had nothing clean to wear. Her coveralls were filthy, and she’d left her pack with her spare clothes in the kitchen.

A wardrobe stood against one wall, and she opened it hesitantly. Inside hung several garments that must have belonged to Malrik in his more humanoid form. She selected what appeared to be a robe, enormous by her standards but better than nothing.

She slipped it on, the soft fabric enveloping her completely. It smelled faintly of him—that wild, earthy scent—and the thought sent another inexplicable flutter through her stomach.

Gathering her dirty clothes, she opened the door to find Malrik standing just outside, his massive form silhouetted against the dim light from his bedroom. He seemed to be breathing heavily, as though he’d been running, and his eyes glowed like embers in the darkness, fixed on her with an intensity that left her breathless.

CHAPTER11

Malrik stood rigid outside the bathing chamber, his massive body trembling with the effort of remaining still. Each breath drew her scent deeper into his lungs—clean skin, warm water, and beneath it all, that intoxicating sweetness that had awoken that dormant part of him. His claws extended, then retracted, then extended again as he fought for control.

The beast wanted to return to her, to claim what it considered his. The emerging male—the part of him that remembered words and courtesy and the concept of privacy—struggled to maintain his distance.

He flexed his hand, watching with fascination as his claws appeared and disappeared. This hadn’t happened before her arrival. For years—how many, he couldn’t recall—he had been locked in beast form, his thoughts fragmented and primitive. Now, with each hour in her presence, more of his rational mind surfaced.

With rationality came memory…

A grand hall. He was seated on an elevated chair and a female Vultor stood before him, her eyes flashing angrily.

“You dare reject me? Do you know who my father is?”

He sneered and gave a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Another tedious noble with more pride than sense. Like his daughter.”

Her growl rose to a shriek of rage, and his guards moved to escort her out.

“You’ll regret this,” she hissed. “The curse will find you, as it finds all who refuse their mate without cause.”

He laughed. “Superstitious nonsense. I am Malrik of House Vantar. I choose my own fate.”

The memory dissolved, leaving him confused and troubled. There was that word again—curse. It stirred something in his mind, but the thought remained elusive.

A waft of steam escaped from under the door, carrying her scent more strongly, and he groaned, pressing his forehead against the stone wall. The cold surface did nothing to cool the fever building inside him. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be waiting. Shouldn’t be imagining her in his bath, skin flushed and hair darkened by water. To his shock, his body began to respond to the image.

For the first time in his long isolation, he felt a deep, primal need that had nothing to do with hunger or thirst. He wanted. Wanted to taste her wet skin, to feel her breath against his fur, to hear her gasp his name. And beneath that want, buried so deeply he almost didn’t recognize it, was an older, more complex emotion. Something that went beyond desire.

He shook his head violently. These thoughts were dangerous. He was a beast, not a male. She was not his to claim, no matter what the beast believed. She was an intelligent being with her own desires and needs. Desires and needs that didn’t involve him, he reminded himself firmly.

When she finally emerged from the bathing room, she was wrapped in a robe that dwarfed her smaller frame. It was his—he recognized the deep blue fabric with silver embroidery along the edges, though it was faded now. Her hair hung in damp curls around her shoulders, and her skin glowed pink from the heat of the bath. She looked impossibly soft, impossibly fragile.

She startled when she saw him, one hand flying to her throat where the robe gaped open. Her cheeks, already flushed from the bath, darkened further.

“Oh! I—I didn’t know you were waiting.” She clutched the robe tighter. “I found this hanging on a hook. I hope it’s all right that I borrowed it?”

He couldn’t form words. The sight of her in his garment stirred something primal and possessive in him. His scent would now mingle with hers. The beast purred its approval and he surged forward, unable to stop himself, and pressed her against the wall. His body surrounded her, his claws digging into the stone on either side of her head. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling against hers, separated only by the thin layer of the robe.

He should apologize, back away, give her the space she surely needed. But all rational thought was drowned out by the thundering of his blood and the scent of her filling his nostrils.

Her eyes were wide, her pulse fluttering at her throat.Fear, he told himself harshly. But there was something else in her gaze, something he couldn’t identify. Her small hands came to rest on his chest, not pushing him away but just… resting there, as if absorbing the heat of his body.

He wanted to kiss her. The desire hit him with startling intensity. He’d never wanted someone this way, never felt that electric spark of attraction. And beneath the desire, that other emotion, the one he could barely remember the name of, the one he’d denied himself for too long.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, the words scraping out of his throat. “So… beautiful.”

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