Page 25 of Cursed Alien
She glanced down at the arm holding her and froze. The limb looked almost… normal. Well, not normal exactly—it was still massive, corded with muscle that no human could match. But the dark silver fur had receded, revealing slate-colored skin. Most startling of all, where fearsome claws had been, there were now fingers. Large strong fingers, but recognizably a hand rather than a beast’s paw.
What did it mean? Was he changing somehow?
Her scientific curiosity flared to life, but was immediately derailed when she shifted slightly and felt something hard pressing against her lower back. Heat flooded her face as she realized what it was.
Oh.
Well. That was… interesting. And potentially problematic.
He’d promised she was safe, and she believed him—or at least, she believed he meant it. But he was also clearly not entirely in control of himself. Best not to tempt fate.
She began to inch away, trying to extricate herself without waking him. She’d almost made it to the edge of the nest when a low growl rumbled through the chamber. Before she could react, his arm tightened around her waist. In one fluid motion, he rolled her onto her back and came down on top of her.
The transformation was immediate and shocking. The arm that had appeared almost human was once again covered in thick fur. Claws extended from his fingertips, digging into the furs beside her head. His face, which she hadn’t seen clearly in the darkness, was fully bestial—muzzle elongated, ears pointed, fangs gleaming.
Only his eyes remained the same—that intense, intelligent yellow that had haunted her thoughts since their first encounter.
Those eyes now traveled down her body, darkening as they fixed on where the oversized robe had fallen open, exposing the curve of her breast and the plane of her stomach. The glow in his eyes intensified, turning almost incandescent.
A shiver ran through her body, not entirely from fear. Something hot and unfamiliar coiled in her belly, a response she hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t sure how to process.
“You promised,” she whispered, finding her voice. “You said I’d be safe.”
His gaze snapped back to her face. Something like confusion flickered across his features, as if he were struggling to remember who or what he was.
He lowered his head slowly toward her neck, and she held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. His breath was hot against the sensitive skin of her throat.
“Mate,” he growled, the word barely recognizable as speech.
Before she could respond, his lips—softer than she would have imagined—pressed against her pulse point. The delicate scrape of fangs followed, not breaking the skin but letting her feel their presence, their potential.
Heat surged through her body, pooling low in her abdomen. This was nothing like the awkward fumbling she’d experienced with the village boys. This was primal, dangerous, and inexplicably compelling.
Then, as suddenly as he’d pinned her, Malrik leapt away. He stood at the edge of the nest, chest heaving, eyes wild. Without another sound, he turned and stalked from the room, his massive form disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
She lay frozen for several heartbeats, staring at the empty doorway. Her hand drifted to her neck, fingers tracing where his mouth had been. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his body against hers, the weight of him both frightening and thrilling.
“What the hell was that?” she murmured to the empty room.
She sat up slowly, pulling the robe closed with trembling hands. The logical part of her brain—the part that methodically solved mechanical problems and never panicked when things went wrong—tried to make sense of what had just happened.
He’d called her “mate.” The word echoed in her mind, stirring something unexpected. She knew little about Vultor customs, but even she understood the significance of that term. Mates were for life among their kind. It wasn’t some casual designation.
And then there was his transformation—the way his arm had appeared almost normal while he slept, only to revert when he woke. Was the beast form something he could control? Or was it controlling him?
She sighed and swung her legs over the edge of the nest. Whatever was happening with Malrik would have to wait. She had work to do, and dwelling on the confusing mix of fear and attraction she’d just experienced wouldn’t help either of them.
She was about to go in search of her pack when she spotted it outside the bathing room door. He must have retrieved it sometime during the night. Touched by his thoughtfulness, she pulled out a clean coverall. The familiar garment comforted her—practical, functional, with no ambiguity about its purpose. Unlike everything else in this strange situation.
As she fastened the front clasps, she tried to organize her thoughts. The keep needed power, which meant getting the generators running again. Once she had power, she could work on the replicator system so they wouldn’t have to rely on Malrik’s hunting. And somewhere in all of that, she needed to figure out what was happening with her host.
“One problem at a time,” she told herself firmly. “Fix what you can fix.”
She tied her hair back with a strip of cloth from her pack and headed for the control room she’d discovered yesterday. The corridors were silent, with no sign of Malrik. Part of her was relieved; another part was inexplicably disappointed.
The control room was just as she’d left it—dusty, dim, but full of promise. She knelt beside the main panel and resumed her work, grateful for the distraction of mechanical systems that, while complex, followed logical rules.
Unlike the creature whose keep she now shared.
