Page 45 of Cursed Alien

“I do,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I want to leave you. I just need to know he’s all right.”

He nodded, seeming to understand. “And after?”

“After we make sure he’s okay?” She thought for a moment. “I’d like to go back to the keep with you. It’s become home. But maybe we could visit my father sometimes? And perhaps he could visit us, once he’s fully recovered?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and she could almost see the conflict playing out behind his eyes—the beast’s territorial instincts warring with his growing Vultor rationality.

“Perhaps,” he finally said, which she took as a significant concession.

They continued in companionable silence as she admired the beauty of the forest. Despite growing up near these mountains, she’d rarely ventured this deep into the woods. Everything seemed more vibrant here—the greens deeper, the flowers brighter, the air fresher.

Suddenly, Malrik froze. His head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. A low growl built in his chest.

“What is it?” she whispered, instantly alert.

“Others,” he growled. “Coming this way.”

CHAPTER21

Malrik tested the air, seeking out more information about who approached.Vultor. Not just one, but several. A patrol.

He froze, pulling Bella behind him with one arm while the other hand went to his blade. His beast form was weapon enough, but his Vultor side remembered the comfort of steel and he’d selected a blade from his armory before they left. The familiar motion had triggered another memory—training yards, warriors bowing before him, his arrogant dismissal of their skills. He growled low in his throat, pushing the memory away as his beast surged forward, fur rippling across his skin, claws extending fully.

“What is it?” she whispered, her hand on his arm.

“Vultor. I’ll protect you,” he promised.

“I know.” She reached for his hand, fearlessly twining her fingers with his. “And I’ll protect you too.”

The absurdity of it—this small human female protecting him—should have angered his beast. Instead, warmth spread through his chest. She had already protected him in ways she couldn’t understand, bringing him back from the edge of oblivion one touch, one smile at a time.

Although his beast urged him to confront the strange males, he scanned their surroundings, looking for cover. If they could hide, wait for the patrol to pass… No. The wind would carry their scent—his scent—to the warriors. They would investigate.

“We should go to meet them,” she said softly. “If they’re Agatha’s friends, they might help us.”

His beast snarled at the suggestion, territorial instincts flaring, but his Vultor side recognized the logic. Better to face them on his terms than be hunted down.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered, moving forward with measured steps.

They hadn’t gone far when the patrol appeared—three warriors moving with the silent grace of predators. They spotted Malrik immediately, freezing in place with expressions of shock and wariness.

The leader, an older male with a hard face, stepped forward, hand on his weapon. “Identify yourself,” he commanded in the Vultor tongue.

He struggled to respond in the same language, the words feeling foreign on his tongue after so long. “Malrik,” he finally managed.

The name sent a visible ripple through the patrol. The leader’s eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion.

“Malrik died seasons ago,” he said. “We heard you’d been seen, but the beast that wears his form is not welcome in these lands.”

He growled, his beast responding to the threat in the warrior’s tone. His transformation advanced further—fur spreading across his chest and arms, his face elongating slightly.

“He is Malrik,” Bella said, stepping out from behind him despite his attempt to keep her sheltered. “And I am his mate.”

The declaration silenced the patrol. They stared at her with undisguised astonishment, then back at Malrik with new assessment in their eyes.

“Another human mate?” one of the younger warriors muttered.

The leader studied them both, his gaze lingering on the places where Malrik’s transformation seemed to halt—not fully beast, not fully Vultor. “Impossible,” he said, but with less certainty.

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