Page 33 of Cursed Alien

This was where she belonged. Where they both belonged.

She stopped at a section where maps were stored in long drawers.

“Maps of what?” she asked, pulling one out and unrolling it carefully.

“Cresca,” he said, recognizing the detailed rendering of the continent. “And others.”

She studied the map, tracing the mountain range where his keep was located, then the valley where her village lay. Her finger lingered there, and her expression grew wistful.

The sight pierced him. She was thinking of home, of her father. His beast stirred, possessive and angry, but he pushed it down.

“You miss him,” he said, the words difficult to form through his beast’s resistance.

She nodded, not looking up from the map. “He’s all I have. And he wasn’t well when he left.”

He fought an internal battle, his rational side arguing against his beast’s possessiveness. He couldn’t keep her prisoner forever. She had come willingly, had stayed willingly, but that didn’t make her his property.

“We could…” He struggled with the concept, with the words. “Send message.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with hope. “Really? You’d let me contact him?”

The beast howled in protest, but he nodded stiffly. “Small message. Not leave.” He couldn’t bear the thought of her leaving, not yet. Perhaps not ever.

She set the map aside and approached him, reaching up to touch his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, now more defined as his fur continued to recede.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That would make me feel so much better.”

The simple touch, the gratitude in her eyes, soothed his beast’s agitation. She wasn’t trying to escape. She was acknowledging his concession, his gift.

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “Find way.”

She smiled, and the last of his tension eased. She returned to exploring the library, pulling out more books that caught her interest, exclaiming over illustrations and maps.

He leaned against the wall, content to watch her. The library had never been his favorite place in the keep, but seeing it through her eyes transformed it into something magical.

As she moved through the stacks, lantern light casting her shadow against the shelves, he realized something had shifted between them. The bargain that had brought her here—her service in exchange for her father’s freedom—no longer defined their relationship.

What they were building now was something else entirely. Something his beast craved and his Vultor side had long forgotten how to seek.

CHAPTER16

Bella wandered through the shelves, fingers trailing along the spines of countless volumes. His collection was even larger than she’d first realized—hundreds of volumes filled the tall shelves that lined the walls. She pulled out several books at random, discovering that while many were written in the Vultor language with its elegant, flowing script, others were in the common trade language she’d learned as a child.

“You have books in the trade language,” she called over her shoulder, unable to hide her excitement. “Did you collect these yourself?”

He made a low sound that might have been affirmation. He remained by the doorway, watching her with those intense yellow eyes that seemed to track her every movement.

“This is incredible,” she murmured, pulling a slim volume from the shelf. The cover was embossed with intricate designs, the leather soft from age but still intact. She flipped it open, delighted to find she could read it. “It’s a collection of folk tales from the early settlement days.”

When he didn’t respond, she glanced up. He stood watching her from across the room, his massive form half-shadowed. The lantern light caught his eyes, making them glow softly. There was something in his expression that made her heart twist—a profound loneliness, a sadness that seemed etched into his features.

“I’m going to read to you,” she announced, closing the book with a decisive snap.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Because stories are meant to be shared.” She looked around the room and spotted a massive wooden chair in the corner—carved from a single piece of dark wood with ornate armrests and a high back. Though battered and scratched in places, it had survived whatever rage had destroyed so much of the keep.

“Come here,” she said, walking toward the chair. “This looks big enough for two.”

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