Page 11 of Cursed Alien
“This keep is your territory?” she asked, understanding dawning. “Then I’m sorry we’re trespassing. I’m sure my father just needed shelter. We’ll leave as soon as I release him.”
She turned back to the lock, fingers flying over the controls with increased urgency. The tech behind it was surprisingly sophisticated but she was sure she could override it.
“No.”
His voice sounded closer and she whirled around, placing herself between him and the door, arms spread wide. She still couldn’t see much other than his outline as those glowing yellow eyes focused on her face.
“You’ll have to go through me to get to him,” she said firmly.
“No harm,” he said, his voice less guttural than before.
“If you mean that, then let him go,” she said, but he shook his massive head.
“No. Payment.”
“Payment? You mean for trespassing” She frowned up at him. “What kind of payment?”
He gestured around them at the crumbling keep. “This place… broken. Tech fails. You fix.”
She followed the gesture, taking in the deteriorating structure with new understanding. “You want me to repair your keep?”
He nodded.
“If I fix your tech, you’ll let my father go?”
“Yes.”
A weak protest came from behind the door. “Bella, no! Don’t trust it?—”
“Him,” she corrected automatically, still focused on the huge figure in front of her. “I think he’s a Vultor.”
“All the more reason to run!” her father called. “The Vultor are dangerous!”
The male growled low in his throat, but the sound held no real threat.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I’ll fix your tech if you let my father go now.”
“No,” he growled. “Fix first.”
“Let me see him,” she demanded. “I need to know he’s unharmed.”
He hesitated, then she caught a flash of claws as he waved a hand. Taking the gesture as acquiescence, she turned back to the lock and this time he didn’t object. She manipulated the controls again and the lock mechanism finally yielded, the door swinging open to reveal a circular chamber beyond.
She stood frozen at the threshold for a moment, her eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. The air hung heavy with dampness and decay, yet beneath it all was a faint electrical hum—the unmistakable signature of powered tech.
“Papa?” she called, her voice echoing against stone walls.
A weak cough answered from the shadows.
She rushed forward, nearly tripping over fallen debris. Her father sat huddled in a corner, his clothes still damp, face pale in the meager light filtering through a narrow window. A thin blanket—little more than a rag—was wrapped around his shoulders.
“What are you doing here?” he wheezed, attempting to stand but falling back with a grimace. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Did you think I’d just sit at home when you didn’t return?” She knelt beside him, pressing her palm to his forehead. He was burning up. “You’re sick.”
“It’s nothing.” He tried to wave her concern away, but another coughing fit doubled him over.
She put her arm around his shoulders as she scanned the room, taking in details her panic had initially obscured. Despite its dilapidated state, this was no ordinary ruin. An occasional light blinked on a faded control panel next to the door. Conduits ran along the ceiling, disappearing into the stonework. The tech might be old, but it was far more sophisticated than anything she’d seen since they left the city.
