Page 29 of Cursed Alien

“Come on, little guy,” she encouraged as it made its first tentative movements across the floor, leaving a clean path in its wake. “That’s it.”

It wasn’t much—just one small robot tackling a fortress-sized cleaning job—but it represented days of work, and she couldn’t help feeling a surge of pride. The keep was slowly coming back to life, one system at a time. First the POTTS, then some of the lighting in the main areas, and now this little worker.

“One down, about twenty more to go,” she murmured to herself.

The thought of how long it would take to clean the entire fortress with just this little helper made her laugh.

“Malrik!” she called out, knowing he was nearby. He always was. “Come see what I made!”

It had been four days since their conversation in the kitchen. Four days of working side by side, of careful touches and heated glances, of sleeping wrapped in his arms each night. Four days of watching his features shift between beast and Vultor, never quite settling into either form completely.

A shadow darkened the doorway, and she turned to find Malrik watching her. His eyes glowed softly in the dim light, his massive form filling the frame. He’d been in his beast form when she woke this morning, though she’d caught glimpses of his Vultor features throughout the day—moments when his fur receded, when his face became more defined, when words came more easily.

“Look,” she said, gesturing to the robot busily cleaning the floor. “I got it working.”

He stepped into the room, moving with that strange grace that still surprised her. For someone so large, he could be remarkably silent when he chose. He crouched beside the robot, studying it with an intensity that made her smile. Everything he did, he did with his whole being.

He watched the machine’s methodical movements, his glowing yellow eyes tracking its path across the floor. After a moment, he nodded his approval.

“It cleans,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“It does,” she agreed. “Not fast, but it’s better than nothing. I found some parts for more, but they’ll take time.”

“Come,” he ordered, his voice rough but clear. He gestured toward the corridor with one clawed hand.

She smiled, long past being bothered by his brusque commands. She’d quickly learned that while he might be bossy, he never forced her to do anything she didn’t want to do. She could do whatever she pleased—as long as she stayed with him.

“Where are we going?” she asked, joining him.

“Show you something.” His words were clipped, but she’d learned that wasn’t from anger or impatience—it was simply difficult for him to speak when the beast was close to the surface.

“All right.”

As she reached his side, she deliberately placed her hand on his arm. She’d been initiating these casual touches more frequently, determined to understand the connection between them and the effect she seemed to have on his transformations.

His muscles tensed beneath her touch, as they always did initially. She’d been deliberately increasing these casual contacts, trying to get him accustomed to her touch. After that first moment of tension, he relaxed and shifted, pulling her closer to his side with one powerful arm. Also predictable.

These little rituals had become familiar over the past few days. She could touch him, talk to him, work alongside him—but any hint that she might try to leave sent the beast surging forward. She had freedom within the keep, but only as long as she stayed with him.

Strangely, she didn’t mind as much as she probably should have. There was something comforting about his constant presence, his unwavering attention. No one had ever focused on her so completely before.

He led her through corridors that were marginally cleaner than they had been when she arrived. She’d managed to get some of the lighting working in the main areas, casting a soft glow over the cold stone and metal. They passed through the ballroom, now clean and empty.

“You’ve been busy,” she observed, noting the swept floors and the absence of cobwebs in the corners.

He made a noncommittal sound, but she caught the hint of pride in his posture. He’d made himself useful during the hours she spent working on the tech systems—hauling away shattered tables and chairs, sweeping up the remnants of what must have once been magnificent crystal chandeliers.

They stepped through tall glass doors at the far end of the room and out onto a wide stone terrace. The afternoon sun bathed everything in golden light, and she blinked as her eyes adjusted, then gasped softly. The terrace overlooked what must have once been a formal garden. Most of it remained wild and overgrown, tangles of vines and shrubs competing for space, but she could see areas where Malrik had clearly been working—patches where weeds had been pulled, where stone paths had been uncovered, where flowering plants had been freed from choking vines.

“You did this?” she asked, moving to the edge of the terrace. “It’s beautiful.”

Malrik followed, his massive body oddly graceful as he moved to stand beside her, watching her reaction with an intensity that made her skin tingle.

“Flowers,” he said gruffly. “You like.”

She had mentioned it, offhandedly, a few days ago while they were eating. She’d been chattering about her childhood, about the little garden her mother had kept before she died, about how the village where she and her father lived now had little space for ornamental plants.

He’d remembered. Not only remembered, but acted on it.

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