Page 9 of Cursed Alien

Thunder boomed, distracting him. The storm had blown in suddenly, battering the mountains with unexpected fury. It was during this tempest that the human male had arrived, driving through the gates in a motorized wagon that sputtered and died in the courtyard.

A male who carried her scent.

The memory of that first moment sent a growl rumbling through his chest. His beast had emerged fully then, raging at the intruder who dared to carry the scent of his female. He’d dragged the struggling human to one of the towers, locking him behind a door with functioning tech—one of the few systems that still worked in the decaying keep.

Three days had passed since then. He had provided water, had even dragged a freshly killed grazing animal to the male’s cell, but the male had refused to eat it. Instead, he shouted demands and pleas that stirred uncomfortable fragments of memory.

Lightning flashed again, and in that instant, he caught his reflection in a shattered mirror mounted on the wall—massive shoulders hunched, fangs gleaming in the dim light, yellow eyes glowing with an unnatural fire. The sight triggered another memory—of looking into a different mirror and seeing a different face. A face with smooth grey skin instead of fur, and sharp aristocratic features instead of a snarling muzzle.

Malrik.

The thought formed with surprising clarity, and he pressed a clawed hand against the wall, steadying himself as the realization washed over him. He had been Malrik. He had been a warrior, a leader, a prince among his people.

Now he was… this.

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, and he slashed at the mirror, sending the remaining fragments scattering across the stone floor. The brief moment of clarity receded, leaving him caught between two worlds, two minds.

The human in the tower was connected to her. He didn’t understand how he knew this, but the certainty drove him to keep the human alive despite his initial instinct to eliminate any male who might be a rival.

Thunder crashed overhead, and he moved to one of the arched windows. It was barely past noon, but the cloud cover was so dense that it could have been evening. Rain streamed down the cracked glass as he gazed out at the dark forest surrounding his keep. His territory. His prison.

The wind shifted, and something new caught his attention—a scent carried on the damp air. Fresh, sweet, distinctive.

Her.

His nostrils flared, his muscles tensing. It was impossible. Yet there it was again, stronger now. The scent that had haunted him for the past two months.

His beast surged forward, eager to claim, to possess, but the rational part of him—the part that had been emerging more frequently since catching her scent that first time—held him back. Instead of charging towards her, he melted into the shadows, moving silently through hidden passages until he reached the main courtyard. He pressed himself back into a shadowed alcove as he watched the entrance. Minutes passed, marked only by the storm’s rhythm and the pounding of his heart.

The massive wooden doors that opened into the courtyard hung askew on rusted hinges. Rain and wind swirled through the opening, but with them came that scent—unmistakable now.

She was here.

From his concealed position, he watched her slip through the doors. She was smaller than he remembered, but her drenched clothes clung to her soft curves. Lightning flashed, illuminating her face for an instant—round cheeks, determined jaw, intelligent eyes scanning the shadows of the courtyard.

“Hello?” she called, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. The same soft musical voice that had haunted his dreams. “Is anyone here? I’m looking for my father.”

Father.The word connected in his mind. The male in the tower—he was her father. Not a rival. Relief flooded him.

When she spotted the wagon, she froze. Recognition flashed across her face, followed immediately by horror.

“Papa!” she gasped, rushing towards the vehicle. Fear sharpened her scent when she found no sign of the male. She spun around, scanning the shadows with increasing desperation. “Papa! Can you hear me?”

He watched as she traced her father’s path, following footprints in the mud to the keep’s entrance. She moved cautiously but without hesitation, determination overriding her obvious fear. Her courage stirred something in him—admiration, respect.

She disappeared inside, and he followed, keeping to the shadows as she searched room after room. Her calls grew more desperate with each empty chamber. Finally, a sound from above caught her attention—the weak cry that his sensitive ears had been hearing for days.

When she discovered the stairs leading to the east tower, her pace quickened. He tensed, knowing what she would find. Part of him wanted to reveal himself, to explain, but the words wouldn’t form. The beast still held too much control.

She climbed the winding stairs, calling for her father with increasing volume. Halfway up, a male voice responded—weak but unmistakable.

“Bella? Bella, is that you?”

“Papa!” She raced up the remaining stairs, her footsteps echoing against the stone walls.

Bella.The name resonated in his mind like the toll of a distant bell.Bella.The female had a name now, and somehow that made her more real, more dangerous to the fragile balance within him.

He followed her up the stairs, moving with preternatural quiet despite his size. At the top, he watched as she discovered the heavy wooden door that imprisoned her father.

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