Page 7 of Alien Charming (Alien Wolf Tales #3)

CHAPTER 7

E lli walked towards the house, gathering flowers as she went, but her mind was swirling with thoughts of Seren. His taste still lingered on her tongue, and she couldn’t stop reaching up to touch her lips. She’d never kissed anyone before, but she couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

He wants me .

The realization made her giddy with excitement and terror in equal measure. It was a dream she hadn’t dared to entertain, yet the proof had been undeniable in his eyes, in his kiss. But he was the alpha of his people, and she was… Well, what was she, really? A human. A gardener. An oddity in her own village.

How could someone like Seren truly want someone like her? The thought was almost too much to believe. But then she remembered the way he’d looked at her, the way he’d kissed her, and warmth filled her chest.

She should be focusing on preparing for the dinner party tonight. Aunt Margaret would expect everything to be perfect. But her mind kept drifting back to him, and to the way he’d touched her cheek before he left, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her shiver.

Unable to stop smiling, she slipped through the kitchen door, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard that would announce her presence. Her aunt’s strident voice carried from the parlor, where she had gathered her inner circle of sycophants. Curious about the discussion, she busied herself arranging some of the flowers she’d gathered in a vase on the hall table while straining to hear the conversation.

“I assure you,” her aunt declared, “these negotiations will benefit us all handsomely. The Vultor possess resources we’ve barely tapped.”

“But they’re so uncivilized,” Mrs. Winters complained. “Those claws, those fangs—it’s unnatural.”

Her fingers tightened around a stem, and a thorn pricked her skin. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound.

“Perhaps.” Her aunt gave a cold laugh. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t profit from them.”

The clink of teacups punctuated the conversation as she inched closer to the doorway.

“They’re clearly desperate for this alliance,” her aunt said complacently, and Elli had to bite back a protest. Seren didn’t strike her as desperate. He wanted peace between their people because he believed it was best for everyone—not because he feared anything humans would do.

“There are less problematic trade partners,” Mr. Harding, the banker, said ponderously.

“I agree. But none of them can offer what the Vultor can.”

“Which is?”

“A direct pass through the mountains to the northern settlements,” her aunt said triumphantly. “One we can control. Just think how many traders would be willing to pay us for that privilege—not just from here in the village but from the traffic that passes by on the way to the coast. And that’s just the start.”

Elli frowned at the bouquet she’d started arranging, her hands automatically twisting the stems to form a pleasing shape. She’d always suspected that her aunt was planning to use the Vultor for her own gain, but this was more ambitious than she’d imagined. Her aunt didn’t just want a simple trade agreement—she wanted to control the Vultor’s land, to turn it into a toll road for her profit.

“Once we’ve secured that agreement, there’s nothing stopping us from using their lands for lumber, hunting, or even mining,” her aunt continued, and Elli could hear the greed in her voice. “They’d be hard pressed to stop us, and we’d have a clear advantage in any negotiations.”

The others murmured agreement, but Elli felt ill. This was why her aunt wanted to host the Vultor tonight, to show off her wealth and influence. It wasn’t about building a mutually beneficial relationship. It was about control. She saw the Vultor as a resource to exploit, not as a sentient people with rights and needs of their own. Elli couldn’t imagine Seren would be foolish enough to make such an agreement, but she needed to warn him.

“They are animals playing at being civilized,” her aunt concluded. “They will pay dearly for our acceptance. Tonight’s dinner is a formality to make them believe we respect them as equals.”

Laughter followed, cruel and dismissive, and her cheeks burned with shame—not for Seren and his people, but for her aunt and these supposed pillars of the community who saw only profit where she had discovered dignity and kindness. Unable to listen to any more, she retreated to the kitchen, her hands trembling as she arranged the remaining flowers into a centerpiece. She placed the crystal vase at the center of the dining table, then methodically laid out the fine china and silverware—the good set that Margaret only used when trying to impress someone.

“One hour until our… guests arrive,” her aunt announced, sweeping into the dining room. She inspected the table with narrowed eyes. “The silver needs another polish. And for heaven’s sake, do something with your hair after you change. You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes downcast, even though it was the maid’s job to polish the silverware. “Yes, Aunt Margaret.”

“And wear the grey dress I had made for you last winter. It’s appropriately modest for the occasion.”

The grey dress. Her heart sank. The shapeless garment with its high collar and long sleeves made her look like a prison matron. She was sure her aunt had commissioned it specifically to make her appear older and less noticeable. If only she had something pretty to wear for Seren…

Pushing the thought aside, she finished polishing each piece of silverware to a mirror shine, then hurried upstairs to her simple bedroom. She washed her face and hands in the basin, then released her hair from its tight knot. For just a moment, she let it cascade down her back, imagining how it might feel to wear it loose around Seren. The thought brought warmth to her cheeks.

The clock downstairs chimed a warning. With a sigh, she twisted her hair back into the severe style her aunt dictated, securing it with extra pins. From her wardrobe, she pulled out the dreaded grey dress—a garment that somehow managed to be both too large and too constrictive. The fabric hung shapelessly around her slender frame while the collar choked her neck.

As she fastened the small buttons up the front, she caught her reflection in the small mirror above her dresser. The dress drained all color from her face, making her look pallid and sickly. It was a dress designed to make her invisible, to make her fade into the background while her aunt commanded attention.

Exactly as intended.

She lingered in front of her mirror, trying to find a way to improve the dress, but no matter how she adjusted it, the garment refused to look anything but drab. At least she’d be able to see him at dinner, perhaps even talk to him a little. The thought made the uncomfortable collar and scratchy fabric bearable.

The stairs creaked under her aunt’s heavy tread, and a moment later Margaret appeared in the doorway, her substantial frame blocking the exit. She wore her finest burgundy dress, adorned with imported lace at the collar and wrists. Her hair was arranged in an elaborate style that must have taken her maid ages to perfect.

“There you are.” Her aunt studied her, her lips pursing. “I’ve been thinking.”

Her stomach tightened. Those three words never preceded anything good.

“I’ve decided you won’t be joining us for dinner after all.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue with me,” her aunt snapped. “The Vultor leader will be here with his delegation. This is an important negotiation for the village’s future. I can’t risk you embarrassing me.”

“I wouldn’t embarrass you,” she whispered. “I know how to behave at dinner.”

“You embarrass me by simply existing. Even leaving your past aside, your awkwardness, your constant daydreaming—it’s not the impression I want to make on our guests.”

Her cheeks burned, and she stared at her folded hands. “Yes, Aunt.”

“I’m glad we understand each other. You will remain in your room,” her aunt continued. “I’ll have Marta bring you a plate later.”

“But I?—”

“This isn’t a discussion. This dinner is for adults who understand what’s at stake. Not for girls who spend their days playing in the dirt with plants.”

Her aunt closed the door with a heavy thud, leaving her alone with her disappointment. She sank onto her bed, the grey dress pooling around her like a storm cloud as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. The unfairness of it stung worse than any of her aunt’s cutting remarks. To be so close to seeing Seren again, only to have it snatched away at the last moment.

She crossed to the window and pushed it open, gulping in the cool evening air. Her tears subsided to hiccupping breaths as she wiped her face with her sleeve. The window overlooked the front garden and the path that led to the main road. From here, she could see anyone approaching the house.

She perched on the windowsill, knees drawn to her chest. The grey dress bunched uncomfortably around her waist, but she hardly noticed. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the garden as a group of figures appeared at the gate. She immediately recognized Seren—even from this distance, he cut an imposing figure. He’d dressed formally for the occasion in a deep blue tunic that accentuated his broad shoulders, and she drank in the sight of him.

One of his companions said something, and he nodded, his posture stiff and formal, but then he looked up. For one breathless moment, his eyes locked with hers. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by something warmer that made her pulse quicken. She started to raise her hand, but then her aunt’s voice interrupted the moment, all false warmth and exaggerated welcome.

Seren looked away as he was ushered inside, but she remained at the window, her fingers pressed against the glass. The space where he had stood seemed emptier somehow, as if the garden itself missed his presence. She couldn’t stay here, trapped in her room while he sat downstairs enduring her aunt’s false hospitality.

She quickly removed the grey dress, replacing it with another equally as drab, but worn to a comfortable softness. The sounds of conversation and forced laughter drifted up from below, punctuated by the clink of silverware against fine china. Her aunt’s voice rose above the others, artificially melodious, as she crept down the back stairs to the kitchen.

If she timed it right, she could slip out while Marta was serving the next course. The kitchen was warm and fragrant with roasting meat and herbs, and through the doorway she could see Marta arranging food on serving platters.

As soon as Marta disappeared through the swinging door to the dining room, she darted across the kitchen and out the back door into the gathering twilight. The cool evening air kissed her flushed cheeks as she circled around to the side of the house. Through the dining room window, she caught glimpses of the dinner party—her aunt at the head of the table, gesturing grandly. Seren’s face was locked in a stoic mask, even though he was seated in a chair too small for his big body.

The dining room windows cast golden rectangles of light across the lawn as she moved closer and crouched beneath the sill, her heart hammering against her ribs. The voices inside carried clearly through the partially opened window.

“As I was saying,” her aunt’s voice dripped with false warmth, “our village has much to offer your people, if the terms are agreeable.”

“We seek fair exchange,” Seren’s deep voice replied, the formal tone at odds with the way he had always spoken to her. “Not charity or exploitation.”

She inched up just enough to peer through the window. Seren’s massive shoulders were tense, his expression carefully neutral as Margaret gestured with her wine glass.

“Of course, of course,” her aunt simpered. “Though I must point out that it’s our village taking the greater risk. Many here still remember the… incidents from years past.”

One of the other Vultor—a striking female—shifted forward. “Ancient history, perpetuated by misunderstandings on both sides.”

Margaret’s smile tightened. “Perhaps. But perception matters, especially when asking humans to welcome your kind into their midst.”

Seren’s eyes flashed. “We’re not asking for your welcome, Mayor Jacobson. We’re proposing trade that benefits both our peoples.”

Her fingers curled into her palms. Her aunt was deliberately provoking them, setting up the negotiations to fail unless the Vultor accepted disadvantageous terms, and the realization made her stomach twist.

As if sensing her presence, Seren’s gaze suddenly shifted towards the window. For the second time that evening, their eyes met. This time, his widened slightly in recognition before he carefully returned his attention to Margaret, his expression revealing nothing.

She ducked down, her heart racing. He’d seen her. A strange thrill ran through her body, followed immediately by panic. What was she doing? If her aunt caught her spying, the consequences would be severe.

Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Not when Seren was so close, enduring her aunt’s thinly veiled insults for the sake of his people. She settled back into her hiding place, straining to hear the conversation over the pounding of her heart.