Page 32 of Cursed Alien

She chatted happily as they dined, telling him about her plans for the keep, asking questions about the garden. He found himself responding more than usual, his words coming more easily in this form.

But as the meal progressed, her cheerful demeanor began to fade. Her smile grew forced, her laughter less frequent. She fell silent for long stretches, staring into her wine with a distant expression.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the words emerging as a growl despite his efforts to modulate his voice.

She sighed, setting down her glass. “I’m worried about my father. I know I told him that I’d return once I was done here, but I was sure he’d come back anyway once he recovered. But he hasn’t.” She twisted her napkin in her hands. “What if he’s still sick? What if he needs me?”

Guilt lanced through him. His Vultor side recognized the wrongness of keeping her from her family. But his beast snarled at the mere thought of letting her go, even temporarily.

Mine. Keep. Protect.

He struggled to find a compromise that would ease her worry without triggering his beast’s territorial rage. The sight of her unhappiness was unbearable. He needed to find another way to comfort her, to make her smile again.

An idea struck him, and he rose from the table, picking up one of the portable lanterns she’d repaired.

“Come,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She placed her hand in his without hesitation—a simple gesture that never failed to astonish him—and allowed him to lead her through the keep.

He took her to a part of the fortress she hadn’t yet explored, a wing that had remained mostly untouched during his rages. At the end of a long corridor they reached a set of double doors, ornately carved with scenes of Vultor history. He pushed them open, revealing a vast room lined with shelves from floor to ceiling. Books filled every available space—bound volumes of various sizes and materials, some ancient, some newer, and data crystals glittered amongst the shelves.

She gasped in delight, stepping into the room with wide eyes.

“A library!” She turned in a slow circle, taking in the extent of the collection. “I had no idea this was here.”

He watched her reaction with satisfaction. His beast had never been interested in this room, preferring to rage through the more opulent spaces that reminded him of his former glory. But he remembered spending time here in his youth, before ambition had consumed him. Dust covered everything, but the room had escaped most of his destructive rage.

She ran her fingers along the spines of several volumes, then selected one bound in dark leather. “Do you read these?” she asked, turning to him.

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

The beast found written language difficult to process, the symbols meaningless and frustrating. Even now, looking at the page she’d opened made his head ache slightly.

“Yours,” he said, gesturing around the room. “All of it.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? But these must be valuable?—”

“Yours,” he repeated firmly.

Her face lit up with such joy that his breath caught. “Really? I can read any of these?”

He nodded, something warm unfurling in his chest at her delight. This was better than the garden, better than the mechanical systems she’d repaired. This was something that spoke to her soul. She beamed at him, her earlier melancholy momentarily forgotten, and his chest swelled with satisfaction. This was what he wanted—to see her happy, to be the cause of that happiness.

She pulled another volume from a shelf, carefully opening the aged cover.

“I wish I could read your language,” she said wistfully, showing him a page of elegant script.

“Perhaps I can…” He paused, uncertain if the offer was wise. “I can read to you. Someday.” When his mind was clear enough, he meant.

Her smile was radiant. “I’d like that.”

She moved deeper into the library, lantern held high as she explored and he followed, content to watch her excitement as she explored the library, pulling books from shelves and examining them with reverent hands. Most were in the Vultor language, but some were in the common trade tongue that humans used.

She found one that particularly interested her and looked up to find him still watching her. Something in his expression must have revealed his thoughts, because her smile softened.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “This means more to me than you know.”

He nodded, unable to find words for the emotions churning within him. The sight of her surrounded by his books, her face alight with curiosity and pleasure, stirred something deep and primal in him—not just desire, but a profound sense of rightness.

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