Page 5 of Alien Charming (Alien Wolf Tales #3)
CHAPTER 5
E lli tucked Agatha’s packages carefully into her basket, relieved to escape the judgmental stares of the villagers. The old woman walked with surprising vigor beside her, occasionally tapping her walking stick against the ground for emphasis rather than support.
“You didn’t need to stand up for me,” she murmured gratefully.
“Nonsense. That pompous shopkeeper needed someone to remind him of his manners.” Agatha’s eyes twinkled. “Besides, I’ve never had much patience for bullies. I’m glad I decided to come into the village today.”
The path to Agatha’s cottage wound away from the village, following the road that skirted the foothills and marked the unofficial boundary of Vultor territory. Aunt Margaret would be furious about the delay, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. The trees lining the road filtered the heat of the midday sun, and for once she felt something close to peace.
“Your grandmother and I were friends, you know,” Agatha said suddenly. “She had the same gentle way with plants.”
She nearly stumbled. Agatha was the grandmother of one of her school friends, but she’d never realized there was another connection between them. No one ever mentioned her grandmother. “You knew her?”
“Of course. Smartest woman in the village, though few appreciated it.” Agatha glanced sideways at her and shook her head. “Your aunt certainly didn’t when your grandfather married her.”
They crested a small rise, and Agatha’s cottage came into view. Tucked into the edge of the woods at the base of the foothills, it was small but well kept, with a garden that rivaled her own in the variety of plants. Smoke curled from the chimney despite the warm day.
“Your garden is beautiful,” she said, pausing to admire the lush collection of herbs and flowers.
“It serves its purpose.” Agatha’s eyes twinkled again. “Though I suspect yours might be even more interesting these days.”
Heat immediately rushed to her cheeks. Did Agatha somehow know about her conversations with Seren? She busied herself adjusting the packages in her basket.
“I should get these inside for you.”
“And then you should stay for tea.” It wasn’t a question. “Your aunt’s temper won’t improve whether you’re an hour late or two.”
She hesitated in front of the door, knowing Aunt Margaret would be livid, knowing she should refuse and hurry home.
Instead, she stepped inside.
Sunlight flooded the room from the big south-facing window behind the loom. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams, perfuming the air with their scent, and shelves filled with jars of mysterious contents lined one of the walls.
“Bring those packages in here and put them on the table, dear,” Agatha said, preceding her into the small, cozy kitchen. “The kettle’s already hot.”
She obeyed, then perched nervously on the edge of a chair as she watched the old woman prepare tea with the ease of long practice. She’d never been inside Agatha’s home before, but something about the space felt familiar, like a half-remembered dream.
“Drink up,” Agatha urged, placing a steaming mug before her. “It’s chamomile with a touch of something special.”
The tea was delicious, and she sipped it slowly as she gathered her courage. “Mrs. Ashworth?—”
“Agatha, please. You’re an adult now, dear.”
The statement caught her off guard—she was so used to everyone in the village treating her as a not-so-bright child. From the sympathetic look on the old woman’s face as she settled across from her, she suspected Agatha understood the impact as well.
“Agatha,” she repeated shakily, “I was wondering… what do you know about the Vultor?”
The question hung in the air between them, and her heart pounded so loudly she was certain Agatha must have heard it.
“Curious about our neighbors, are we?” Agatha’s expression revealed nothing as she sipped her tea.
“I’ve heard stories,” she said carefully, “but I don’t think they’re true. They can’t be the monsters people say they are.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you say that?”
“You told everyone how pleased you were when your granddaughter mated Finnar.” She stared down into her mug, sure that she was blushing again. “You wouldn’t have done that if you thought he was dangerous. And if they were as vicious as the stories say, why would they want a trade alliance? Why not just attack us?”
“A fair point.” Agatha nodded slowly. “The Vultor are proud, territorial, and fiercely protective of their own. But monsters? No. They’re people with their own customs and history—a history that’s tangled with ours in ways few remember—or perhaps more accurately, choose to remember.”
“What kind of history?”
“The kind your aunt would rather everyone forget,” Agatha said quietly. “The kind that challenges who the real monsters might be.”
Her fingers tightened around her mug as she watched Agatha’s weathered face. The old woman’s eyes seemed to look beyond the cottage walls, into some distant memory.
“Your aunt would have you believe the Vultor are mindless beasts. The truth is far more complicated, but I haven’t forgotten the past.”
“Is that why you didn’t mind when Scarlett and Finnar were mated? Because you remember that past?”
“Remember? Oh yes, I remember.” Agatha gave a soft laugh. “Child, I was in love with one.”
The tea nearly slipped from her grasp as she stared at the old woman, searching for signs of jest but finding none.
“No one in the village would have accepted it, but I didn’t care,” Agatha continued, a wistful smile playing at her lips.
“But how did you?—”
“Meet? At the edge of the woods—much like you and Seren.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “We just… talk sometimes.”
“Mmm.” Agatha didn’t press the point, and she quickly returned to the original subject.
“What happened to him?”
“He found his true mate—another Vultor.”
“True mate?”
“The Vultor experience what they call a mate bond—a permanent lifelong bond to their chosen mate. I had hoped…”
The old woman’s voice trailed off, her eyes looking into the past.
“And they only feel that for another Vultor?” Elli whispered, an unexpected ache in her chest.
“I thought so, but Finnar and Scarlett proved me wrong. And now Tessa and Korrin. I don’t know—the Vultor were more numerous then, before the massacres.”
“Massacres?” she gasped.
“Your history lessons conveniently omit that part.” Agatha’s expression darkened. “Not that the Vultor were entirely blameless either, but once the cycle of violence began it was hard to stop.”
“How did it end?”
“I’m not sure that it did. From what I’ve heard, there are still incidents—on both sides.” Agatha sighed. “As far as I know, no one has ever attempted what Seren is trying to accomplish. But old prejudices die hard, especially when people like your aunt find them useful.”
She knew her cheeks had heated again at the mention of his name, but she did her best to keep her voice composed.
“Is that why she’s pushing for the trade alliance? To use them somehow?”
“Margaret has never done anything that didn’t benefit Margaret first,” Agatha said tartly, then reached across the table and covered Elli’s hand with her own. “The Vultor aren’t monsters, child. But they aren’t tame either. They feel deeply, love fiercely, and remember everything—both kindness and cruelty.”
“Then why do people hate them so much?”
“Because they’re different. Because they’re powerful, and because no one can control them.” Agatha smiled sadly. “And because most people don’t look past their fear to learn the truth.”
She nodded slowly, thinking of the people in the market square. It would be easier, in some ways, to let herself believe the lies, to think of Seren as a monster, but she knew better.
Agatha let her sit with her thoughts until she’d finished her tea. When she rose to leave, the old woman handed her a small bundle wrapped in paper. “For you,” she said. “To help with your garden.”
“Thank you, Mrs.—I mean, Agatha. For everything.”
She left the cottage and walked home along the edge of the woods, hugging the package of seeds and dried herbs. The sun had already begun its descent, casting long shadows across the trail. She’d stayed much longer than she’d intended, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it.
Agatha had been in love with a Vultor. The knowledge still stunned her. The old woman had shown her a small carved wooden pendant—a token from the male she’d loved—and the tenderness in her eyes when she spoke of him had made her heart ache.
“Remember that your Seren is the alpha,” Agatha had said as they parted. “It could… complicate things, but don’t let fear steal what might be precious.”
Her cheeks warmed again at the memory. My Seren . The words felt both terrifying and right in a way she couldn’t explain.
She paused at a bend in the trail, looking up into the mountains. Vultor territory. Somewhere in that ancient forest, Seren was leading his people. Was he thinking of her as she was thinking of him?
What would it be like to touch his hand? To stand close enough to feel his warmth? The thought sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with fear.
The village teachings had always painted the Vultor as mindless beasts—violent, unpredictable, dangerous. But when she remembered Seren’s careful distance, his thoughtful questions about her plants, the way his deep voice softened when he spoke of his hopes for peace between their peoples… she couldn’t reconcile those moments with the stories she’d been told.
He’d been nothing but gentle with her. Respectful. Curious.
Aunt Margaret would be furious if she knew. The whole village would shun her more than they already did. But for the first time in her life, she found herself not caring what they thought. Their judgment seemed small compared to the connection she felt growing between herself and Seren.
Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow she would go to the garden early, and perhaps he would be there, watching from the trees as he often did. The thought made her steps lighter, despite knowing the scolding that awaited her at home.
For once, she had something that was entirely her own—something no one, not even Aunt Margaret, could take away.