Page 1 of Alien Charming (Alien Wolf Tales #3)

CHAPTER 1

H e was there again.

A small smile tugged at Elli’s lips as she felt the familiar prickle between her shoulder blades. The mysterious watcher in the woods was back again. He never approached, never threatened. Just watched. Some people might have been uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger watching them, but she’d never felt alarmed by him. Instead, there was something oddly comforting about knowing he was there.

In the three weeks since she’d first noticed him, she had considered telling her aunt, but something held her back. This secret observer had become her own private mystery, something that belonged just to her in a life where everything else was controlled by Aunt Margaret.

Perhaps it was because someone was actually interested in her—that she wasn’t as invisible to him as she was to the rest of the village. The reminder erased the smile from her face. Mrs. Hendry had been more disparaging than ever on her visit to the miller and it had been harder to keep her usual neutral expression in place. Then her aunt had berated her for not stopping by the bakery, even though she’d forgotten to tell Elli to pick up another loaf of bread.

The additional chores she’d been assigned as punishment meant that she hadn’t been able to escape to the refuge of her garden until late in the day. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the neat rows of herbs she’d planted in the back corner of the garden, but the late hour couldn’t diminish the peace she found among the plants.

A stray strand of light brown hair tickled her cheek, escaping from the tight knot her aunt insisted upon, and she tucked it behind her ear as she started casually working her way closer to the woods and her mysterious visitor. She’d tried to catch a glimpse of him before, sneaking quick glances from under her lashes at the shadows beneath the trees, but she’d never been able to see much of anything—just the suggestion of a tall figure partially hidden amongst the trees. Tall enough that she was sure her watcher was a man, although the shadows seemed to exaggerate his height and size.

None of the village men were that large. She frequently speculated about the identity of her mysterious watcher, but as hard as she racked her brain, she couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the village who was that interested in her. Even without her Aunt Margaret’s constant reminders, she knew she was too small and plain to attract most men.

Her watcher seemed to be the exception.

It’s more likely he’s interested in my plants and my experiments , she thought, then winced. She didn’t believe there was anything wrong with what she was doing, but many of the villagers would disagree.

The human colonists who had settled on Cresca had done everything in their power to recreate the Earth they had left behind. Even though all of the plants and animals they had brought with them had been genetically modified for their new planet, the colonists referred to them by their Earth names and treated them as if they were the same.

Any native Crescan species that bore the slightest resemblance to an Earth creature was immediately given a familiar Earth name. The bird that was currently perched on top of the fence eyeing her curiously was called a robin, even though she’d seen enough pictures of the original bird to know that there was very little similarity between them except for the bright red chest.

The Crescan bird was covered with scales rather than feathers and his wings were composed of thin translucent membranes, but it made no difference to the colonists. They had deemed it a robin, and a robin it had become. She suspected in a few more generations no one would ever realize that there had been another version.

The flowers filling the central part of the garden were another example. Aunt Margaret was very proud of the fact that each was a product of the modified stock originally brought from Earth. Her aunt didn’t understand the subtle differences between the original versions and the new versions—differences that were growing more pronounced since Elli had started experimenting with crossbreeding the imported plants with native species.

Perhaps it was just as well that her aunt saw things in such limited terms since she only accepted the congratulations on the beauty and quantity of her blossoms with smug satisfaction. At least that satisfaction meant that she didn’t object to Elli spending as much time as possible in the garden once her chores were done. Her aunt had even permitted her to create a small greenhouse out of salvaged materials when she assured her it meant she would have the earliest flowers in the village.

However, she also used the greenhouse to perform her experiments. Her latest effort was crossing a form of sage with a Crescan moonflower with fever-reducing properties. If it worked as she hoped, it could help treat the seasonal chills that swept through the village each winter.

My mother would have loved this , she thought as she tucked the experimental seedlings in amongst the other plants. Her experiments were her rebellion, small and secret. While her aunt controlled almost every other aspect of her existence, these plants were hers alone—her quiet defiance against a life not of her choosing.

But today neither her experiments nor her mysterious watcher brought much comfort. The day had been one long blur of work and unhappiness. She no longer even had the occasional brief interactions with her friend Tessa at the bakery to look forward to. Much to the shock of the entire village, Tessa had mated a Vultor warrior. A shock exacerbated by the fact that it was the second such mating in the last few months.

The Vultor were another species that had settled on Cresca. They tended to prefer the wilder areas of the planet such as the mountains that rose up behind the village, whereas humans had chosen plains and pastures. But even though they were not competing for the same territory the interactions between humans and Vultor had frequently been marked by violence.

The tales of their animalistic behavior and predatory nature only enhanced their fearful reputation, but that reputation had begun to soften over the last few months. In addition to the two matings, her aunt, in her position as mayor of the village, had begun negotiations with Seren, the Vultor leader, about forming some type of trade alliance.

She had not been made privy to the details of the alliance, but she suspected that her aunt’s primary interest was in profit for herself rather than the village as a whole. Although her aunt was one of the wealthiest people in the village—perhaps the wealthiest after Edgar Thornfield’s mysterious death—it never seemed to be enough. And it was a wealth she had no intention of sharing with an unwanted niece. She sighed, her shoulders drooping.

She’d spotted the remnants of a bolt of last season’s fabric in the general store. A simple cotton in an attractive shade of blue, it had been reduced to half of the already modest price. She’d dared to ask her aunt if she might purchase it to make herself a dress.

“Absolutely not.” Her aunt gave her a disapproving stare. “I already provide you with sufficient clothing.” Dull, uncomfortable clothing in muted shades of grey and brown. “No doubt you want to flaunt yourself as your mother would have done,” her aunt continued. “But I have no intention of letting you repeat her mistakes.”

As always, the memory of her mother triggered the aching sadness that never seemed to go away. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could catch it. She wiped it away with the back of her wrist, leaving a smudge of dirt across her face.

The presence at the forest edge remained. Steady. Watching.

Something inside her snapped—a small thread of patience worn too thin by her aunt’s constant belittling. She straightened her shoulders and turned towards the trees.

“I know you’re there,” she called, her voice surprisingly steady. “You’ve been watching me for weeks now.”

There was no response. The birds continued their evening songs, indifferent to her small rebellion.

“If you mean me harm, you’ve had plenty of chances.” She took a step closer to the tree line. “If you don’t, then perhaps you might at least say hello.”

A moment passed. Then another. Her courage had begun to falter when a deep voice finally responded from the shadows.

“I meant no harm.” The voice was rich and warm, like honey poured over dark bread. “Your garden… it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before.”

“You’re interested in my plants?”

She couldn’t quite suppress a feeling of disappointment. Even though she’d suspected that must be what the watcher was really interested in, she’d hoped it was something more. But at least they had an interest in common.

“Do you garden as well?” she asked, stepping closer.

“Not like you do.” There was something in his tone—respect, perhaps. “Your hybrids are remarkable.”

She froze. “You know about those?”

“I notice things—like plants, and the female who tends them.”

“Then why don’t you introduce yourself properly?” she challenged, surprising herself with her boldness.

“Not today.” The voice grew softer. “I must go. But I enjoyed our conversation, Elli.”

The sound of her name in that deep voice sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine.

“You know my name,” she whispered.

“Of course.”

There was a warmth in his voice which brought the color rushing to her cheeks, and then he was gone, leaving only rustling leaves and questions that bloomed like her carefully tended seedlings.

But he’d been there, and she smiled as she turned back to her plants.

Over the next few weeks, the edge of the forest became her sanctuary. Each day she found herself hurrying through her chores, earning sharp comments from her aunt about her carelessness, just to reach the garden earlier. He wasn’t always there, waiting in the shadows, but he came most days and his voice became as familiar to her as the feel of soil between her fingers.

They spoke of everything—village politics, weather patterns, the books she snuck from her aunt’s library. He knew surprising things about botany and medicine, offering suggestions that improved her hybrids. But he never spoke of himself, deflecting her questions with practiced ease.

At night she found herself lying awake, imagining his face, creating a thousand versions of him in her mind. During particularly harsh days, when her aunt’s words cut deepest, she’d close her eyes and imagine walking into the forest with him, leaving everything behind.

“The moonflower and sage hybrid seems to be thriving,” she told him one afternoon, kneeling at the border between Margaret’s manicured world and his wild one.

“Why did you cross those two?” His voice carried through the trees, warm and curious.

“Moonflower has fever-reducing properties and sage soothes throat inflammation. Winter sickness can be dangerous, especially to children.” She patted the soil around the plant gently. “If this works…”

“You could save them,” he finished. “Your mind works differently from anyone I’ve met.”

She tried to smile into the shadows beneath the trees, but her hands trembled slightly as she worked.

“You seem troubled today,” he said, noticing as he always did.

“My aunt mentioned finding a possible suitor for me. A merchant from one of the northern settlements.”

She’d been too stunned by her aunt’s announcement to respond, and her aunt had given her a disapproving frown.

“You should be grateful anyone would consider you, given your background.”

“But… leaving the village.”

As unhappy as she had been, at least it had been a familiar unhappiness. She’d had her garden—and her hidden companion.

“He’s already had two wives,” she told her watcher, swallowing hard. According to her aunt it was the only reason he was willing to consider her.

An odd noise, almost like a growl, came from the woods, but her watcher didn’t say anything.

“I can’t keep living like this,” she whispered. “Talking to you these past weeks has been the only thing keeping me sane.” She turned towards the trees, heart pounding. “I need to know who I’m talking to. Please. Show yourself.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility. She held her breath, suddenly aware of how bold her request had been. What if he refused? What if this fragile connection—the one bright spot in her dreary existence—vanished like morning mist?

Movement caught her eye, and a large shadow detached from the trees.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice rough. “Once seen, things cannot be unseen.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I’m certain.”

The figure hesitated one final moment, then stepped into the dappled sunlight, and her breath caught in her throat.

He was… magnificent. Towering well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders that seemed capable of carrying the weight of the world. Golden eyes that actually glowed in the forest shadows were set in a hard, angular face. Dark hair sprinkled with silver was pulled back in a leather tie.

A Vultor. And not just any Vultor—Seren, the alpha of the local pack.

She should have been terrified. But despite his imposing presence, despite everything she’d been taught to fear, she felt no urge to run. Instead, a strange calm settled over her, as if some part of her had always known who waited in the shadows.