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She ran her fingers along the spines, looking for anything that might help. A thick volume caught her eye—”Vultor Physiology and Social Structures.” She pulled it down and settled into the massive chair they’d shared just yesterday.

Hours passed as she flipped through pages, absorbing information about Vultor biology, their dual forms, their pack hierarchies. Some of it she knew from general knowledge, but much was new to her.

It wasn’t until early afternoon that she found something promising. A section titled “Mating Bonds and Biological Imperatives.”

“The mating bond is sacred among the Vultor,” she read aloud, her voice hushed in the quiet room. “Once a Vultor recognizes their true mate, a biological imperative activates, compelling them to complete the bond. Separation from a recognized mate causes extreme distress.”

Her heart quickened as she read, learning how mated pairs shared a deep connection, how they balanced each other’s beast and Vultor sides.

Then she found it—a small section at the chapter’s end, titled “The Curse of the Unmated.”

“Vultor who reach maturity without finding a mate may experience periods of instability between their dual natures. As the years pass, this can develop into what is colloquially known as ‘the curse of the unmated.’ The beast side gradually dominates, suppressing the Vultor consciousness until it is completely subsumed.”

Her hands trembled as she continued reading.

“Once fully manifested, the curse is considered irreversible. The afflicted becomes permanently trapped in beast form, with only primitive instincts remaining. Such cases are rare but documented throughout Vultor history, often in individuals who rejected potential mates out of pride or ambition.”

She closed the book with a snap. That couldn’t be right. Malrik wasn’t permanently trapped—she’d seen his Vultor side emerging more frequently, heard him speaking in complete sentences. He was fighting his way back.

But the text had said the curse was irreversible.

She stared into space, thinking back over their time together. Malrik had been almost completely beast when she’d first arrived. Then, gradually, he’d begun to change. His speech had improved. He’d shown more control, more awareness of his surroundings.

What had caused that change? Her presence?

A memory surfaced—that first morning together, when she’d woken in his arms. The feel of his body against hers, his hand no longer furred and clawed. The word he’d growled against her neck.

“Mate.”

Was that it? Was she truly his mate? Was that why his Vultor side was emerging?

It seemed impossible. She was human, not Vultor. And yet…it would explain so much. His possessiveness. His refusal to let her leave. The way he always needed to be near her, touching her.

The way she felt drawn to him, despite everything.

She leaned back in the chair, mind racing. If she was his mate—if her presence was helping him break free of this curse—what did that mean for them? For her?

Could that be it? Was she somehow his mate? Was that why his Vultor side was emerging more frequently when he was with her?

The idea should have frightened her, but instead, a warm feeling spread through her chest. If she was his mate—his true mate—then perhaps she could help him break this curse.

The sound of movement in the corridor outside jerked her from her thoughts. Her heart leaped as she recognized the familiar cadence.

Malrik.

She rushed to the doorway just as he appeared at the end of the hall. The sight of him made her breath catch. His clothes—the pants and vest he’d worn for their dinner—hung in tatters from his body. Blood seeped from dozens of scratches across his chest and arms, as though he’d fought his way through a thornbush. His fur was matted with dirt and leaves.

But it was his eyes that held her—wild and glowing with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. Not with fear, she realized, but anticipation.

He stalked toward her, his movements fluid despite his obvious exhaustion. There was purpose in every step, a determination that made her pulse quicken.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond, but each step brought him closer, his huge body seeming to fill the corridor. There was something different about him—not fully beast, not fully Vultor, but something in between. The intelligence in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the primal hunger.

When he reached her, he stopped, looming over her. His chest heaved with each breath, and she could smell the forest on him—pine and earth and something uniquely him.

“Malrik,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”