Page 36 of Cursed Alien

He moved to the window, staring out at the mountains silhouetted against the night sky. The borders of his territory stretched before him, but for the first time in years, he found himself thinking beyond those boundaries. To the Vultor enclave. To responsibilities abandoned.

To all he had lost.

Bella shifted, her eyes blinking open to find him. She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair tousled from sleep.

“Malrik?” Her voice was husky, confused. “Why are you over there?”

He didn’t answer, transfixed by the sight of the furs falling away to reveal the curve of her shoulder. His beast growled with satisfaction at the mark he’d left there—not a true claiming bite since he hadn’t broken the skin, but dark enough to be unmistakable.

She patted the furs beside her, a simple invitation that twisted something in his chest. As if he belonged there. As if she wanted him there.

He hesitated, torn between desire and the growing certainty that he should let her go. She deserved better than a cursed male who couldn’t even maintain his true form.

“Come back to bed,” she murmured, eyes already drooping. “It’s cold without you.”

The beast surged forward at her words, possessive and pleased.Mine, it growled.Needs me.

Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t resist her call. The beast wouldn’t allow it, and truthfully, neither would the male. He crossed the room in three long strides and slid beneath the furs, curling his larger body around her smaller one, and gathering her against his chest with a low rumble of contentment.

She nestled against him, fitting perfectly within his arms. Her scent—warm and sweet, now mingled with his own—filled his nostrils, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

“That’s better,” she sighed, already drifting back toward sleep. “You think too much when you’re over there.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. She knew him better than anyone ever had, this tiny human female who had somehow reached past the beast to find the male beneath.

He didn’t fall asleep immediately, savoring the weight of her against him, the trust implicit in the way she slept so peacefully in his arms. Both sides of his nature—Vultor and beast—were momentarily soothed by her closeness.

Eventually, his own eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed him.

He stoodbefore the grand mirror in his chambers, adjusting the formal robes that marked him as a noble of the highest rank. The fabric was rich, the design elegant, but his attention was on his face.

Something was wrong with his eyes. The usual green had changed to an odd yellow, and the pupils seemed more elongated than they should be. He blinked, and for a moment, they flashed with an animal glow.

“A trick of the light,” he muttered, turning away.

But it wasn’t. He’d been experiencing moments of disorientation, flashes of rage that seemed to come from nowhere. His control was slipping.

The warning signs had been there for months. His temper, always quick, had become unpredictable. He’d found himself drawn to the forest more often, hunting not for sport but from some primal need. And the dreams—dreams of running on four legs, of tearing into prey with fangs and claws.

He’d dismissed it all. He was Malrik, son of the High Alpha. He was stronger than some primitive curse.

Until the night of the diplomatic reception, when one of his guests had made some perceived slight, and Malrik had nearly transformed in front of the entire assembly. Only his advisor’s swift intervention had prevented disaster.

“It is the curse of the unmated,” his advisor had said later, voice low and urgent. “You must find a mate, my lord. Someone to anchor your soul before it is too late.”

He’d sneered at the other male. “Superstitious nonsense. I will master this… inconvenience.”

But as the days passed, the episodes grew worse. His servants began to avoid him. Even his most loyal guards kept their distance.

“Bring me candidates,” he finally ordered, desperation overcoming pride. “Females suitable for mating.”

They came—the daughters of other noble houses, beautiful and accomplished. But none stirred anything in him beyond irritation. Each rejection seemed to accelerate his decline.

The last candidate had been different—not a noble, but a healer’s daughter with quiet dignity and kind eyes. Something in him had responded to her, a flicker of hope.

But that night, the beast had surged forward with unprecedented strength. He’d destroyed his chambers in a blind rage, terrified by his loss of control.

By morning, he knew what he had to do.

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