Page 37 of Cursed Alien

“Leave,” he told his household. “All of you. This keep is no longer safe.”

They obeyed, fear overcoming loyalty. Only his advisor remained, standing at the gate as Malrik retreated into the shadows of his home.

“Find her,” his advisor had called after him. “Find your mate before it’s too late.”

But it was already too late. The transformation took him that night, his human consciousness submerged beneath the beast’s instincts. Malrik was gone, and only the beast remained…

He jerked awake,his heart pounding. The dream—no, the memory—lingered, sharp and clear. He’d forgotten so much, buried beneath years of animal existence.

But now he remembered. All of it.

He carefully disentangled himself from her and sat up, raising a hand to rub his face. The sensation of skin against skin—not fur, not claws—made him freeze.

Slowly, disbelievingly, he looked down at his hands. grey-skinned, strong-fingered hands. Vultor hands. His gaze traveled up his arms—muscled but smooth, bearing only the normal amount of hair a Vultor male should have.

He rose silently from the bed and moved to the wardrobe where a cracked mirror still hung. The face that looked back at him was his own—not the beast’s, but the face he had worn for most of his life. Angular jaw, high cheekbones, pointed ears that swept back against his skull. His eyes still held an unnatural yellow glow, but they were Vultor eyes, not the beast’s.

He was himself again. Whole. The realization made him stagger, and he gripped the edge of the wardrobe to steady himself.

How? Why now? The answer came immediately: Bella. Their connection, their intimacy, had somehow broken through the final barriers of the curse. She had called him back to himself.

A wild, desperate hope surged through him. If he could maintain this form, perhaps he could truly be what she deserved. They could build a life together, not as beast and captive, but as partners.

Even as the thought formed, he felt the transformation beginning—a prickling sensation beneath his skin, a pressure building in his skull. The beast, sensing his moment of weakness, pushed forward.

No. Not now.Not when he was so close.

He fought it, concentrating on Bella, on the memory of her touch, her smile, the sound of her voice reading to him. For a moment, the pressure receded.

Then it surged back, stronger than before. His bones began to shift, muscles stretching painfully as fur erupted across his skin. He gripped the edge of the dresser, feeling the wood splinter beneath his strengthening claws.

The hope that had flared so brightly moments before collapsed into ash. This was his punishment—to be given glimpses of what he had lost, only to have it snatched away again.

And now there was Bella—beautiful, brave Bella who had kissed him, who had looked at him without fear. What would happen when the beast fully returned? He would never hurt her, but he’d never let her go.

Despair washed over him. He would never be free. Never be worthy of her.

A low, mournful sound built in his throat, rising until it burst from him in a howl of anguish that echoed through the keep.

She bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with alarm. “Malrik? What’s wrong?”

He turned to her, knowing she could see the transformation progressing—fur already covering his arms, his face elongating into a muzzle. But his eyes—his eyes were still his own.

“Cursed,” he managed to say, the word guttural but clear. “I am cursed.”

She slid from the bed, reaching for him. “Malrik, wait?—”

But he couldn’t bear her touch—not now, when he understood exactly what he was denying her. Before she could reach him, he turned and fled, racing through the corridors of the keep and out into the night, across the terrace, and into the garden he’d begun to restore for her.

The cool night air hit his lungs as he raced into the forest beyond, the transformation completing with each powerful stride. His consciousness receded as the beast surged forward, drawn by the scent of prey and the freedom of the wild.

But not completely. Not this time.

Even as the beast reveled in its strength, a part of Malrik remained aware. Watching. Remembering.

Remembering Bella.

The beast paused atop a ridge, lifting its muzzle to the sky. Another howl tore from its throat—not of anguish this time, but of determination.

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