Cursed Alien: An Alien Shifter Romance (Alien Wolf Tales), page 10
“You have books in the trade language,” she called over her shoulder, unable to hide her excitement. “Did you collect these yourself?”
He made a low sound that might have been affirmation. He remained by the doorway, watching her with those intense yellow eyes that seemed to track her every movement.
“This is incredible,” she murmured, pulling a slim volume from the shelf. The cover was embossed with intricate designs, the leather soft from age but still intact. She flipped it open, delighted to find she could read it. “It’s a collection of folk tales from the early settlement days.”
When he didn’t respond, she glanced up. He stood watching her from across the room, his massive form half-shadowed. The lantern light caught his eyes, making them glow softly. There was something in his expression that made her heart twist—a profound loneliness, a sadness that seemed etched into his features.
“I’m going to read to you,” she announced, closing the book with a decisive snap.
His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”
“Because stories are meant to be shared.” She looked around the room and spotted a massive wooden chair in the corner—carved from a single piece of dark wood with ornate armrests and a high back. Though battered and scratched in places, it had survived whatever rage had destroyed so much of the keep.
“Come here,” she said, walking toward the chair. “This looks big enough for two.”
He hesitated, then came to join her, moving with that fluid, predatory grace that still made her breath catch. He eyed the chair dubiously.
“Sit,” she instructed, patting the seat.
With obvious reluctance, he lowered himself into the chair, his big body filling most of the available space. Before she could decide where to position herself, he reached out and pulled her onto his lap.
“Oh!” The book nearly slipped from her fingers as she found herself settled firmly against him, her side pressed to his chest, his arm a secure band around her.
He made a sound that was half-growl, half-purr. “Better.”
The warmth of his body enveloped her, and she couldn’t disagree. She wiggled slightly to get comfortable, then opened the book, holding it where the lantern light fell across the pages. “These are stories from when humans first came to Cresca,” she explained. “Before the tensions with the Vultor, when everything was new and strange.”
She began to read, her voice soft in the quiet library. The first tale was about a young woman who’d followed mysterious lights into the forest and found herself in a hidden grove where the trees sang. She slipped into the rhythm of the story, her voice rising and falling with the narrative.
As she read, Malrik gradually relaxed beneath her. His breathing deepened, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against her back. Occasionally, when the story mentioned something familiar to him, he would make a small sound of recognition or his fingers would tighten slightly where they rested against her.
She finished the first story and moved to the second, about a settler who befriended a mountain creature that guarded a pass through the peaks. The parallels to her own situation weren’t lost on her, and she wondered if Malrik noticed them too.
His arms had shifted as she read, holding her more securely. One large hand now rested on her hip, thumb occasionally stroking small circles through the fabric of her makeshift dress. The casual intimacy of it sent pleasant shivers through her.
When she finished the chapter, she marked their place and closed the book. “That’s enough for tonight, I think. My voice is getting tired.”
She turned slightly to look up at him and found his gaze fixed on her face. Her breath caught. She’d seen this look before, felt the pull of it, but never quite so intensely. In the quiet intimacy of the library, with his arms around her and his warmth seeping into her bones, it felt different. Significant. His eyes glowed in the dim light of the lantern, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of yellow remained.
She knew that look by now—hunger, need, desire barely contained. It sent a thrill through her, knowing she could affect this powerful creature so deeply with just her presence, her voice. The beast was there, watching her through those eyes, but so was the male.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Without conscious thought, she reached up and traced the curve of his lower lip with her thumb. His breath hitched, a small sound escaping him that was neither human nor beast.
Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other.
“Malrik,” she whispered, not sure what she meant to say.
He didn’t respond with words. His hand came up to cup her cheek, fingers surprisingly gentle for their size. He mimicked her gesture, his thumb brushing across her lower lip, the touch feather-light but electric.
She hesitated only a moment before leaning up to press her lips to his.
The kiss started softly, a tentative exploration, but then his arms tightened around her, drawing her closer as the kiss deepened. She felt the careful scrape of his fangs against her lip, followed by the soothing stroke of his tongue. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she twisted in his lap to face him more fully, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair.
He growled, the sound vibrating through his chest and into hers. His hand slid up her back to cradle her head, supporting her as he took control of the kiss. It was rougher now, wilder, his fangs and tongue teasing her with a promise of something darker, more primal.
She lost herself in the sensation, in the taste and feel of him. His scent surrounded her—wild and masculine and intoxicating. She wanted more. Needed more.
Her fingers found the opening of his vest, brushing over the exposed skin of his chest before sliding up to his shoulders. She could feel the powerful muscles flexing as he held her close. His skin was hot, almost scorching to the touch. The heat seemed to flow from him to her, igniting a fire in her core that spread through her limbs.
She moaned against his lips, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. Some distant part of her mind marveled at how his form seemed to shift beneath her touch—sometimes fur, sometimes smooth skin, as though his body couldn’t decide which shape to hold.
But it didn’t matter. This was Malrik—her protector, her companion, her… She couldn’t complete the thought, overwhelmed by sensation as his mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck.
His teeth grazed the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, and she gasped, arching against him. The sound that rumbled from his chest was pure beast—possessive and primal.
“Mine,” he growled against her skin.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible even to her own ears. “Yours.”
His hands roamed her body, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched. When a big hand closed over her breast she gave a startled cry and he raised his head to look at her, his face etched in harsh lines.
“Touch?”
“Yes,” she whispered again, and his claws sliced through the thin fabric of her makeshift gown before his hand returned to her breast. His touch was gentle despite his strength, and she arched into him, seeking more. He teased her nipples with the rough pads of his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure through her.
The heat between her legs was becoming unbearable. She needed something, something she couldn’t put a name to. But she needed it desperately. She shifted in his lap, feeling the hard length of him pressing against her bottom, and a bolt of desire shot through her, leaving her breathless.
He made that low, rumbling sound again, the vibration resonating deep inside her. His hands were at her waist now, fingers curling around the thin material of her dress, claws poised to tear it away. But he paused, looking up at her as though waiting for permission.
“Yes,” she said again, her voice trembling. “Yes, please.”
He needed no further encouragement. A quick twist of his powerful wrists and the dress fell away, leaving her naked in his lap. Cool air washed over her skin, tightening her nipples and making her shiver with anticipation.
He froze, his eyes locked on her exposed body. His expression was almost reverent as he drank her in, his gaze traveling from her flushed face to the tips of her toes and back again.
“Beautiful,” he growled, the word halting but deliberate. His voice was thick with emotion, and something in her chest tightened at the sound.
“Touch me,” she whispered, not sure exactly what she was asking for.
But he seemed to understand. One large hand came up to cup her breast again, and he flicked his thumb over her nipple, sending a shock of pleasure through her. Then he dipped his head and took the sensitive peak into his mouth, suckling gently.
She cried out, burying her fingers in his hair and pressing herself closer. He moved to her other breast, lavishing attention on it, teasing the nipple with his tongue until she was writhing in his lap. Her hips rocked instinctively, seeking friction to ease the ache building between her thighs. He responded by shifting his grip, one hand sliding down her belly and between her legs.
She tensed, a sudden surge of uncertainty making her hesitate. No male had ever touched her so intimately before. But the hesitation lasted only a moment. She was safe with Malrik. She knew that as surely as she knew her own name. She parted her thighs, granting him access, and he growled his approval.
He gently explored her folds, stroking and teasing until she thought she might go mad from the pleasure. He found a spot that made her gasp and cry out and focused on that, circling it with his thumb while he slipped a thick finger inside her.
It was too much, yet not enough. She clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she rocked against his hand. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter within her. His finger moved faster, his thumb pressed harder, and then she was falling, crying out his name as her body shattered in ecstasy.
As she floated down from her release, she opened her eyes to find him watching her intently, his eyes glowing in the dim light. He looked almost… awestruck. As if he’d just witnessed something miraculous and couldn’t quite believe it.
“Beautiful,” he repeated, his voice even rougher than before. “My Bella. Mine.”
Her name sounded like a prayer on his lips.
She smiled up at him, suddenly shy despite the intimacy they’d just shared. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I suggested reading to you.”
His answering smile transformed his face, softening the harsh lines and revealing a glimpse of the male he must have been before the curse. “Better,” he said simply.
A wave of contentment washed over her, followed by a drowsy warmth that made her eyelids heavy. She yawned, unable to help herself, and nestled closer against his chest.
“Tired,” he observed, his voice a low rumble she could feel through his ribs.
“Mmm,” she agreed, her eyes already closing. “Just need to rest a minute.”
His arms tightened around her, secure and protective. “Sleep.”
She meant to protest that they should return to their nest, but the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear was too soothing. The last thing she remembered was the sensation of being lifted, cradled against his broad chest as he carried her from the library.
CHAPTER 17
Malrik paced the length of his bedchamber, his movements restless and agitated. The moonlight streaming through the windows cast long shadows across the floor, but his eyes adjusted easily to the darkness. Every few steps, he paused to glance over at Bella. The sight of her in his furs—peaceful, trusting, utterly vulnerable—filled him with a potent mixture of possessive satisfaction and gnawing guilt.
She looked so small against the vastness of his nest. Her golden curls spilled across the dark furs, and one hand was tucked beneath her cheek while the other reached toward the empty space where he should be lying. The memory of her body against his, the sweet sounds she’d made as he’d brought her pleasure, burned through him like wildfire.
His claws flexed and retracted as he walked, a physical manifestation of his internal struggle. With each passing day, more of his rational mind returned. He could feel his thoughts clarifying, memories crystallizing from the fog that had enveloped him for so long. The beast remained, prowling beneath his skin, but it no longer consumed him entirely.
And therein lay the problem.
The more his Vultor side reasserted itself, the more clearly he understood the magnitude of what he’d done. He’d taken her from her father, from her life, and kept her prisoner in his broken fortress. The fact that she seemed content, even happy, only intensified his shame. She deserved better than a half-beast who couldn’t even maintain his true form.
He ran a hand over his face, surprised to find smooth skin where fur had been. Looking down at his arms, he saw the transformation had progressed further than ever before. His form was almost entirely Vultor now—muscled and powerful, but no longer monstrous.
The beast within him growled its displeasure, fighting to resurface. It didn’t trust this change, didn’t understand why their mate should want them in this form when the beast was stronger, more capable of protecting her.
He moved to the window, staring out at the mountains silhouetted against the night sky. The borders of his territory stretched before him, but for the first time in years, he found himself thinking beyond those boundaries. To the Vultor enclave. To responsibilities abandoned.
To all he had lost.
Bella shifted, her eyes blinking open to find him. She pushed herself up on one elbow, hair tousled from sleep.
“Malrik?” Her voice was husky, confused. “Why are you over there?”
He didn’t answer, transfixed by the sight of the furs falling away to reveal the curve of her shoulder. His beast growled with satisfaction at the mark he’d left there—not a true claiming bite since he hadn’t broken the skin, but dark enough to be unmistakable.
She patted the furs beside her, a simple invitation that twisted something in his chest. As if he belonged there. As if she wanted him there.
He hesitated, torn between desire and the growing certainty that he should let her go. She deserved better than a cursed male who couldn’t even maintain his true form.
“Come back to bed,” she murmured, eyes already drooping. “It’s cold without you.”
The beast surged forward at her words, possessive and pleased. Mine, it growled. Needs me.
Despite his misgivings, he couldn’t resist her call. The beast wouldn’t allow it, and truthfully, neither would the male. He crossed the room in three long strides and slid beneath the furs, curling his larger body around her smaller one, and gathering her against his chest with a low rumble of contentment.
She nestled against him, fitting perfectly within his arms. Her scent—warm and sweet, now mingled with his own—filled his nostrils, and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.
“That’s better,” she sighed, already drifting back toward sleep. “You think too much when you’re over there.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. She knew him better than anyone ever had, this tiny human female who had somehow reached past the beast to find the male beneath.
He didn’t fall asleep immediately, savoring the weight of her against him, the trust implicit in the way she slept so peacefully in his arms. Both sides of his nature—Vultor and beast—were momentarily soothed by her closeness.
Eventually, his own eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed him.
He stood before the grand mirror in his chambers, adjusting the formal robes that marked him as a noble of the highest rank. The fabric was rich, the design elegant, but his attention was on his face.
Something was wrong with his eyes. The usual green had changed to an odd yellow, and the pupils seemed more elongated than they should be. He blinked, and for a moment, they flashed with an animal glow.
“A trick of the light,” he muttered, turning away.
But it wasn’t. He’d been experiencing moments of disorientation, flashes of rage that seemed to come from nowhere. His control was slipping.
The warning signs had been there for months. His temper, always quick, had become unpredictable. He’d found himself drawn to the forest more often, hunting not for sport but from some primal need. And the dreams—dreams of running on four legs, of tearing into prey with fangs and claws.
He’d dismissed it all. He was Malrik, son of the High Alpha. He was stronger than some primitive curse.
Until the night of the diplomatic reception, when one of his guests had made some perceived slight, and Malrik had nearly transformed in front of the entire assembly. Only his advisor’s swift intervention had prevented disaster.
“It is the curse of the unmated,” his advisor had said later, voice low and urgent. “You must find a mate, my lord. Someone to anchor your soul before it is too late.”
He’d sneered at the other male. “Superstitious nonsense. I will master this… inconvenience.”
But as the days passed, the episodes grew worse. His servants began to avoid him. Even his most loyal guards kept their distance.
“Bring me candidates,” he finally ordered, desperation overcoming pride. “Females suitable for mating.”
They came—the daughters of other noble houses, beautiful and accomplished. But none stirred anything in him beyond irritation. Each rejection seemed to accelerate his decline.
The last candidate had been different—not a noble, but a healer’s daughter with quiet dignity and kind eyes. Something in him had responded to her, a flicker of hope.
But that night, the beast had surged forward with unprecedented strength. He’d destroyed his chambers in a blind rage, terrified by his loss of control.
By morning, he knew what he had to do.
