Page 59 of Cursed Alien

She laughed. “I’m glad you’re happy here.”

“And you? Are you happy with your beast-prince?”

“He’s hardly a prince anymore,” she said, though they both knew it wasn’t true. Malrik might have abdicated his formal position, but the Vultor still treated him with the deference due his bloodline.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out gently.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I’m happier than I ever thought possible.”

Her father nodded, satisfied. “Good. That’s all a father wants.” He turned back to his work, a signal that the emotional moment had passed. “Now, off with you. I need to calibrate this sensor array before sundown.”

She kissed his cheek and left him to his tinkering, heading outside into the late afternoon sunshine. The keep’s garden spread before her, once overgrown and wild, now partially tamed into orderly beds interspersed with wilder areas. It had become one of her favorite places at the keep, especially since Malrik spent so much time there.

She found him kneeling beside a bed of silver-blue flowers, his broad back to her as he carefully pruned dead blooms. Even from behind, she could tell he wasn’t in full beast form—his silhouette was more Vultor than animal today, though still not like the other Vultor who occasionally visited.

Unlike them, Malrik never fully transformed back to the traditional Vultor appearance. His form remained a blend—more beast than most Vultor would tolerate, more rational than the beast alone had been. The curse had been broken, but it had left its mark on him permanently.

Bella didn’t mind. She loved him in any form.

She approached quietly, admiring the play of muscles beneath his skin as he worked. His form today was somewhere between beast and Vultor—his skin a deep slate grey, with patches of dark silver fur across his shoulders and down his spine. His hands ended in claws, but they moved with delicate precision among the fragile blooms.

As if sensing her presence, he turned, his yellow eyes finding her instantly. They still glowed when his emotions ran high, but now they usually shone with contentment rather than rage or hunger.

“Finished with the power coupling?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

“All fixed,” she confirmed, moving to join him. “The next storm can rage all it wants—we’ll keep our lights.”

He made a sound of approval, setting aside his gardening tools as she approached. When she reached him, he pulled her down to sit beside him on the stone bench, his arm settling comfortably around her waist.

“Your father’s device is promising,” he said. “I’ve arranged for the next Vultor trading party to test it.”

“He told me. He’s thrilled.” She leaned against his side, enjoying the warmth of his skin against hers. “You’ve been good to him.”

Malrik shrugged, a gesture he’d picked up from her. “He is your blood. And he has valuable skills.”

“Mmm, very practical,” she teased, knowing there was more to it than that. For all his lingering beast instincts, Malrik had developed a genuine fondness for her father.

He growled softly, but there was no heat in it. “Would you prefer I be impractical?”

“Sometimes.” She traced a finger along the line where fur met skin on his arm. “You look more Vultor than beast today.”

“Does that disappoint you?” There was a hint of real concern in his voice.

She shifted to face him, cupping his cheek in her palm. “Nothing about you disappoints me. But sometimes…” She bit her lip, suddenly shy.

His eyes flashed. “Sometimes?”

“Sometimes I miss the beast,” she admitted. “The wild part of you.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face, revealing the sharp points of his fangs. “He’s never far from the surface.”

“I know.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. “And I know exactly how to bring him out, too.”

Before he could respond, she sprang to her feet and darted away, throwing a challenging look over her shoulder as she headed for the tree line at the edge of the garden.

His growl followed her, low and primal, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. She ran faster, laughing as she plunged into the cool shadows of the forest. Behind her, she heard the distinctive sound of transformation—fabric tearing, a guttural snarl, the heavy thud of paws on earth.

The beast was loose.

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