Page 4 of Cursed Alien

“I’m not unhappy,” she told the portrait quietly. “I love the work. I love Papa. It’s just…”

Just what? She couldn’t quite name the restlessness that had been growing inside her lately. A hunger for something beyond fixing broken pumps and mending farm equipment. Beyond the disapproving glances and whispered criticisms.

She picked up a small mechanical toy they’d built for the fair—a delicate bird that flapped its wings when wound. The craftsmanship was excellent; her father had taught her well. But she’d learned everything he knew years ago.

There’s nothing new here.

The irrigation pump waited patiently on her bench, surrounded by farmers’ plows and simple kitchen appliances. She could fix them all in her sleep. When had the work that once fascinated her become so… routine?

She moved to her father’s desk and opened the drawer where he kept their small collection of technical manuals and pulled out “Advanced Mechanical Engineering,” a text from her mother’s library. The diagrams inside showed complex systems she’d never had the chance to work on—elegant solutions to problems she’d never encountered in this village.

The village bell tolled nine times, startling her from her thoughts. Customers would be arriving soon. Mrs. Winslow would be expecting her valve, and Mr. Cooper needed his irrigation timer by midday.

She straightened her shoulders and picked up her wrench again. Whatever lay beyond the village would have to wait. For now, there was work to be done.

But as she bent over her bench, she couldn’t help glancing once more towards the mountains, wondering what secrets they held and if she’d ever discover them for herself.

CHAPTER3

The stone beneath the beast’s claws was cool, the late afternoon sun not quite reaching the shadowed ledge where he crouched. His massive body remained perfectly still, only his eyes moving as he watched the activity below.

Something had changed in the Vultor encampment, and the beast bristled at the unusual patterns, instinctively wary of change. Vultor moved with purpose, carrying items down the path to an open clearing. Some constructed a central pavilion with branches woven into intricate patterns. The scent of ceremonial herbs reached him.

A bonding ceremony.The knowledge came unbidden, as if someone else had placed it in his mind.

He shifted his weight, a low growl building in his chest. Two moons had passed since that sweet scent had pierced his consciousness, bringing flashes of… something else. Something that wasn’t beast. Those moments had grown more frequent, more intrusive—painful fragments of thought breaking through the simpler existence of hunt and territory and survival.

Protect. Mine. Territory.

The concepts were clear enough to the beast. But other thoughts came now, unbidden and unwelcome.

Who am I? What happened to me?

Another memory surfaced—sharp-edged and disorienting. Standing before a mirror, adjusting ceremonial robes across broad shoulders. Slate-grey skin rather than fur. Hands with retractable claws instead of these permanent weapons. Pride in his reflection. Arrogance.

The memory shattered as quickly as it had formed, leaving him disoriented and angry. He dug his claws into the stone, gouging deep furrows as he fought the urge to howl his frustration.

As much as he’d tried to force himself deeper into the mountains, he’d remained in this area, moving between the Vultor enclave and the human village, watching, listening. Only a few weeks ago, he’d come to the aid of a human female. Her presence in Vultor territory confused him—why was a human here?—but when she was threatened, he’d brought her mate to her. He’d even brought an old healer to them.

Why had he done that? The beast had no answer, only the lingering echo of a thought:Not right. Protect.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the valley, and he rose to his full height, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from stillness. Time to hunt. Time to?—

A new scent caught his attention. Faint but familiar. He turned his head, nostrils flaring.

Not the sweet, enticing scent that had first awakened him, but something older. Something that tugged at deeper memories.

Without conscious decision, he abandoned his perch and moved through the trees at the edge of the encampment, following the scent. His big body blended with the deepening shadows as he circled closer to the source.

Two female figures emerged from the trees ahead, walking along a narrow path that wound towards the clearing between the Vultor enclave and the human village. One young, one old. The younger female walked with a fluid grace, wrapped in a flowing blue green gown edged with silver embroidery.A bonding dress.

The elder’s scent reached him first and triggered another flash of memory—a small woman with fierce eyes, speaking words he couldn’t recall. Her scent was the one he had recognized—herbs and smoke. The healer.Agatha.

The younger female turned, laughing at something the older one had said, but her scent… there was none. Not human. Not Vultor. Nothing.

His beast-mind couldn’t comprehend this absence, but something deeper recognized it as significant. He stared, transfixed, as they passed.

Mine?

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