Page 38 of Cursed Alien

The curse would not win. Not again. Not when he had finally found something worth fighting for.

Someone worth becoming whole for.

The beast turned back toward the keep, toward the female who smelled of sunshine and metal and home. It would return to her. He would find a way to break the curse. He had to.

Because for the first time in years, he wanted more than survival. He wanted a future.

A future with Bella.

CHAPTER18

Bella stood frozen at the window long after Malrik’s howl had faded into the night. The word “cursed” echoed in her mind, his anguish so raw it had left her shaken.

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the keep. The nest of furs behind her still held their combined scent and body heat, but without him, it felt empty.

“What happened to you?” she whispered to the darkness.

Part of her wanted to follow him, but the practical side of her brain knew better. The mountains were treacherous at night, even for someone who knew them well. And if Malrik didn’t want to be found, she wouldn’t find him.

She crawled back into the furs, burying her face in the spot where he usually slept. She kept expecting to hear him return, to feel his weight settle beside her on the furs. But the minutes stretched into hours, and still he didn’t come back.

The vast bedroom felt empty without his presence. She’d grown accustomed to his warmth, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, even his occasional growls and snuffles in sleep. Without him, the silence pressed in on her from all sides.

“He’ll come back,” she told herself firmly. “He always does.”

But as the night deepened, doubt crept in. What if this time was different? What if whatever had happened to him tonight had driven him away for good?

Sleep came in fitful bursts, interrupted by every sound from outside. Each time she jerked awake, hoping to hear his return, only to be met with silence.

Dawn arrived with pale fingers of light stretching across the room, and still no Malrik. She got up, splashed water on her face, and pulled on her coveralls. The familiar routine should have been comforting, but her hands moved mechanically, her mind elsewhere.

She wandered through the keep, touching the walls as she passed. It was remarkable how much they’d accomplished in such a short time. The main corridors were clear of debris, several rooms had been restored to functionality, and the little cleaning robot whirred along diligently, scrubbing away years of grime.

In the kitchen, she programmed the POTTS for breakfast but found she had no appetite. She left the food untouched and continued her aimless circuit of the keep.

The ballroom looked different today—less imposing, more melancholy. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams that streamed through the high windows. She remembered how Malrik had watched her explore this room, his eyes reflecting something like nostalgia.

Had he hosted balls here? The thought of him in formal attire, moving with his usual grace, made her smile despite her worry.

She crossed to the terrace doors and looked out at the garden. The stark contrast between the wild, overgrown sections and the areas Malrik had cleared made her chest ache. He’d worked so hard to create something beautiful for her.

“Where are you?” she murmured, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement.

Back inside, she tried to focus on work. The lighting system was her current project, but after dropping the same circuit board three times, she set it aside with a frustrated sigh. She couldn’t concentrate. Every few minutes, she found herself looking up, expecting to see Malrik’s huge body filling the doorway.

The thought suddenly struck her that she could leave. The outer doors weren’t locked. The path back to the village was straightforward enough. Her father was probably worried sick. She could walk away right now.

The idea lasted exactly three seconds before she dismissed it.

She told herself it was because she’d made a promise to repair the keep. She’d given her word, and she didn’t break her promises. That was all.

But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie. She wasn’t staying because of some bargain. She was staying because the thought of leaving Malrik alone in his pain was unbearable.

“Cursed,” he’d said. What did that mean? Was it just a figure of speech, or something more literal? She decided to return to the library. If Malrik couldn’t—or wouldn’t—explain what was happening to him, perhaps she could find some answers there.

The room was exactly as they’d left it the night before—the massive chair still pulled toward the center of the room, the book they’d been reading still open on the small table beside it. She ran her fingers over the leather binding, remembering the warmth of his body as she’d sat on his lap, the rumble of his chest as he’d occasionally commented on the story, the pleasure he’d brought her.

Setting that memory aside, she began searching the shelves methodically. Most of the books were in Vultor, but there were several sections with texts in the common trade language.

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