Page 1 of Alien Huntsman (Alien Wolf Tales #2)

CHAPTER 1

T essa finished shaping the third batch of loaves, then covered them with a clean cloth and set them aside to rise a second time as she checked the big clock on the wall. Perfect. Another hour and she would have the bread in the bakery’s brick ovens which meant she could let the ovens cool down by mid-morning. The warmth of the ovens was welcome in the chill before daybreak when she started work but it rapidly became oppressive now that summer had arrived.

In spite of the heat, the bakery kitchen was one of her favorite places in the world—the scent of fresh-baked bread mingling with the sweetness of the pastries cooling on the counters, the neat rows of pottery mixing bowls and copper saucepans gleaming on the wooden shelves her father had built, the coolness of marble slab she used for making confectionaries. She’d taken her first steps on the worn tile floor and spent countless hours of her childhood helping her father shape loaves or stir the sweet, yeasty dough, her fingers sticky and her cheeks covered in flour.

Her father had taught her how to bake when she was barely tall enough to reach the top of the heavy wooden tables.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he’d say, laughing as she hopped impatiently from one foot to the other, anxious to see the results of their labors. “Everything happens in its own time.”

He’d been a patient teacher and she’d enjoyed working at his side. After her mother died when she was six, the bakery had become even more of a refuge. But that was before he married her stepmother; before he died and left everything to his new wife.

A wife who demanded more every year. The number of loaves Tessa baked every day kept increasing, but it was never enough for Lenora. She sighed and took a moment to stretch, trying to relieve the ache in her shoulders from the hours of repetitive motion. Still, there was something calming about the rhythmic press and fold of the dough beneath her palms, a small pocket of peace before the village—and her stepmother—awakened.

“Tessa! Are those honey cakes ready yet? Mrs. Jacobson’s maid will be here any minute!”

Her stepmother Lenora’s cold voice interrupted the rare moment of tranquility, and she sighed and reached for the cooling rack. “I’m just finishing the glaze now.”

“Well, hurry. And make sure you wrap them properly this time.”

Lenora swept into the kitchen, impeccably dressed as always. She was wearing another new dress—this one an embroidered pink silk which flattered her pale complexion—and her blonde hair was artfully arranged. Her stepmother often reminded her of a statue—beautiful but cold. There was certainly no trace of warmth on her face as she gave Tessa her usual icy stare.

“Your hair’s coming loose and there’s flour on your dress. You look like a vagrant.”

As she tucked a wayward curl back into her braid she tried to convince herself that her stepmother meant well, but the words rang hollow. As much as she tried to look for the good in people, she’d long ago given up on any hope of affection or even praise from the other woman. Lenora had made some effort while her father was alive—at least in his presence—but after his death she’d stopped even trying.

But she’s the only family I have left , she reminded herself, and nodded.

“I’ll clean up before the shop opens?—”

The bell above the door in the front room jingled.

“I’ve already opened it,” Lenora snapped. “We can’t afford to miss any business.”

Lenora urged her impatiently into the shop as Tessa bit back a retort. The bakery had always been successful, but her stepmother’s constant expenditures drained most of the profits and she was always trying to bring in more revenue.

Tessa’s stomach tightened as Edgar Thornfeld’s unmistakable cologne preceded him into the shop. He was the only man in the village to wear cologne, and it was undoubtedly expensive, but she’d always found it heavy and unpleasant.

Lenora’s demeanor transformed instantly. “Edgar! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Good morning, Lenora.” He paused, looking Tessa up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. Not for the first time, she was grateful that her stepmother insisted that she dress modestly—unlike her own much more revealing gowns. But even a high neck, long sleeves, and a voluminous apron couldn’t completely conceal her curves, and Edgar’s gaze lingered on her breasts. “And Tessa, my dear. You look quite… appetizing.”

Tessa forced a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Thornfield. What can we do for you this morning?”

“I’ve come for something sweet,” he said, his gaze still crawling over her. “Though perhaps not bread.”

Keeping her voice as neutral as possible, she edged away from the counter as she gestured at the display.

“We have some excellent fruit tarts today.”

“Edgar, I just received that imported tea you recommended,” Lenora interrupted, touching his arm. “Won’t you join me in the parlor to try it?”

His eyes never left Tessa. “Perhaps another time, Lenora.”

She caught the flash of hatred in her stepmother’s eyes before Lenora masked it with a brittle smile.

“Tessa, don’t you have some errands to run?” Lenora’s words dripped with honeyed venom. “You can be so absent-minded, dear.”

“Yes, of course.”

She grabbed her basket, grateful for the excuse to escape. Lenora only wanted to be alone with Edgar but for once, she welcomed her stepmother’s scheming. Anything to escape the crawling sensation of Edgar’s eyes on her.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” she murmured, slipping past them.

“Take your time, dear,” Lenora called with false sweetness, already angling herself between Edgar and the door.

The still cool morning air felt like freedom as she stepped onto the dusty street. She had no critical errands, but she’d learned to enjoy these rare moments away from the shop. Most of the shopkeepers were just raising their shutters and the market vendors were still setting up their stalls, so she decided to take a quick walk.

When she passed her friend Scarlett’s weaving studio, she stopped and gave it a wistful look. The small shop with its colorful sign was dark, the door locked. Her friend had disappeared into the woods and returned mated to a Vultor—the other alien race that had colonies on Cresca. The Vultor had a terrible reputation as vicious hunters and killers but Scarlett’s grandmother Agatha had been effusive about Finnar, Scarlett’s mate. She’d described how he’d come to her rescue and protected her from a villainous human.

Tessa knew there was more to the story, but Agatha’s praise had eased the way and when Scarlett returned to the village with Finnar he had been regarded with suspicion but not hatred. They still whispered about “the beast” who had stolen her friend away but the story had the familiar comfort of a favorite bedtime story. It had certainly helped that Mrs. Jacobson, the village mayor, was negotiating a trade agreement with the Vultor pack and spent a lot of time talking about how profitable it would be.

Despite that, Scarlett and Finnar spent most of their time at the Vultor enclave in the mountains to the north of the village and she missed her friend. But she couldn’t blame Scarlett. She’d seen how Finnar looked at her friend—with a devotion that made her heart ache with longing. She couldn’t begrudge her friend the happiness she’d found, even if it meant their stolen afternoons of shared tea and confidences had dwindled to rare occasions.

At least someone escaped.

Sighing, she continued walking. Between dawn-to-dusk work at the bakery and Lenora’s increasing restrictions on her movements—“A proper young lady doesn’t wander about unescorted”—she felt more isolated than ever. The few friends she’d maintained after her father’s death had either married or moved away, leaving her with nothing but Lenora’s cold scrutiny and constant criticism. And Edgar’s unwanted attention.

By the time she returned to the market square it was bustling with activity, a welcome distraction from her thoughts. Her first stop was Willem’s fruit stand, where baskets of apples and pears gleamed in the morning light. Willem had an orchard of hybrid fruit trees—modified from the original Earth planets to flourish on Cresca.

“Good morning, Tessa!” Willem’s weathered face crinkled into a smile. “Nice to see you out so early.”

“Good morning. Lenora sent me out to run errands.” She returned his smile, examining the fruit. “These look wonderful.”

A flash of sympathy crossed the old man’s face before he nodded. “Your father always said you had an eye for quality. Remember how he’d bring you here when you were knee-high, letting you pick out the fruit for your mother’s pies?”

The unexpected mention of her father made her chest ache. “I remember,” she said softly.

“Thomas Fairwind was a good man.” He looked as if he wanted to add something else, but he only sighed and placed an extra pear in her basket. “This one’s on the house, for old times’ sake.”

“Thank you.”

She handed over her coins, blinking back sudden tears as he took them, then gently squeezed her hand with gnarled fingers. She managed a watery smile before she walked away, memories washing over her. Her father’s deep laugh, the way he’d swing her onto his shoulders when she was small, his patient hands guiding hers as she learned to knead dough. Four years since the fever had taken him, yet the loss still felt raw some days.

Everything had changed after his death. Her stepmother had never shown her much affection, but there had been a grudging tolerance while her father lived. Lenora had at least maintained appearances then, limiting her criticisms to when they were alone.

But with no one to temper her, Lenora’s true nature emerged. The thinly veiled insults. The increasing workload. The way she’d begun treating Tessa like a servant rather than family. Each day brought some new slight, some fresh reminder that she was unwanted in what had once been her home. Her father would barely recognize their lives now. The bakery still stood, but its heart was gone.

Doing her best to push the memories aside, she turned toward the flower stall. A flash of movement caught her eye—someone ducking behind the colorful display of blooms—and she immediately recognized the hunched shoulders and brown hair pulled back from a pale face.

“Elli? Is that you?”

Elli Jacobson’s head popped up from behind a bucket of daisies, and the girl gave her a tentative smile.

“Good morning, Tessa.” Elli straightened, tugging nervously at her dress—a drab grey thing at least two sizes too large. “I was just… I delivered these for Aunt Margaret.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, stepping closer and fingering a collection of huge pink blooms. “Especially these.”

Elli flashed her a quick smile, the expression transforming her face, then ducked her head.

“I’ve been experimenting with crossing some strains of the hybridized plants from Earth with native plants.” She glanced anxiously over her shoulder. “Aunt Margaret doesn’t know.”

She nodded understandingly. Some of the colonists did everything they could to make Cresca a new Earth, clinging to the notion that the hybrid plants and animals they’d brought with them were just like the originals. They even used Earth names to describe anything on Cresca that was remotely similar to something that had existed on Earth. She thought that what Elli was doing—mixing both together to create something new and beautiful—was far more impressive. It also required considerable skill, but then Elli had always loved their nature lessons before Mrs. Jacobson had declared school a waste of time for her niece.

“Your aunt doesn’t know what she’s missing. You always had the greenest thumb in class.”

Elli blushed, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve. “I should go. Aunt Margaret wants me to polish the silver before the council meeting. She’d be furious if she knew I was talking instead of working.”

“It’s good to see you,” she said softly. “We miss you at the town festivals.”

At least Lenora had let her attend those, knowing that the village would gossip about her absence, but she wondered how much longer that would last now that Edgar had set his sights on her.

“I miss them too, but Aunt Margaret says I’m too clumsy for dancing.” Elli’s gaze darted toward the mayor’s house at the end of the square as she attempted a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And too simple for conversation.”

She frowned. “That’s not true. You were always?—”

“Elli!” Mrs. Jacobson’s sharp voice cut through the market chatter. “What are you doing loitering about?”

Elli’s shoulders hunched instantly. “Coming, Aunt Margaret!”

The other girl quickly backed away from Tessa, nearly knocking over a bucket of roses in her haste. “I have to go. It was nice seeing you.”

As she watched Elli scurry away, her heart ached for her old schoolmate. If Lenora hadn’t needed her to run the bakery, she knew her stepmother would have kept her just as confined. Mrs. Jacobson’s voice carried across the square, sharp with disapproval as she scolded Elli for dawdling. The scolding attracted several sympathetic looks but no one seemed surprised.

She sighed, mentally calculating how much time she had left before Lenora would expect her return. Sammy, the part-time shop assistant that Lenora had very reluctantly been forced to hire, should be at the bakery by now, giving her a few more moments of freedom.

Something small and fast suddenly collided with her legs, sending her stumbling. The basket tilted, and several apples tumbled onto the dusty ground along with two of Willem’s prized pears.

“Oof!” A small boy sat sprawled in the dirt before her, tears already welling in his eyes. He couldn’t have been more than five or six, with a mop of unruly brown hair and dirt-smudged cheeks, and she immediately recognized him. Tommy Edgerton, the miller’s youngest son.

“I’m sorry!” he wailed, his bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to!”

Ignoring the fruit scattered around them, she kneeled down next to him. “Are you hurt, Tommy?”

The boy shook his head, but his lips continued to tremble as he looked at the spilled fruit. “Your apples…”

“They’re just a bit dusty. Nothing a little polishing won’t fix.”

“Mama says I run too fast,” he sniffled.

“Your mama might be right about that.” She laughed and helped him to his feet, then gently brushed the dirt from his knees. “Where were you running to in such a hurry?”

“My friend has a new puppy.” Tommy pointed toward the tanner’s shop. “I wanted to see it before I had to go home.”

Her heart softened at the mention of puppies, and she thought of her own secret charges hidden in the woods.

“Puppies are worth hurrying for,” she agreed, picking up the fallen fruit and brushing them off as she put them back in her basket. She selected the shiniest apple and handed it to him. “Here. A treat for your adventure.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Really? But I made you drop them.”

“Accidents happen.” Although she knew Lenora would scold her for the wasted coins, she couldn’t bring herself to care. “Now go see that puppy, but walk this time, alright?”

Tommy nodded vigorously, clutching the apple to his chest. “Thank you, Miss Tessa!”

He took three careful steps before breaking into another run, disappearing around the corner of the tanner’s shop, and she shook her head, smiling after him. His enthusiasm reminded her of the adyani pups she’d been raising in secret—all boundless energy and joyful chaos.

Trying to decide if she could use the bruised fruit in an apple cake instead of the tart she’d been planning, she turned to continue on her way—and slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Her basket tipped again, this time staying miraculously upright as strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t—” Her apology died on her lips as she looked up. And up.

A Vultor male towered over her, his massive body blocking the sun. Although one or two Vultor occasionally appeared in the village now, they were still few and far between. Wild dark hair fell past his shoulders, accentuating the angular, lupine quality of his features, and the simple leather vest he wore revealed arms corded with muscle. But it was his eyes that trapped her—luminous amber, studying her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

Time seemed to stretch between them. His hands remained on her shoulders, huge and warm and surprisingly gentle for their size. Something stirred in her chest—a strange flutter of recognition even though she knew she’d never seen him before.

The Vultor’s nostrils flared slightly, and his eyes widened, the amber glow intensifying to gold for a heartbeat. Then, as abruptly as he’d caught her, he released her and stepped back.

“Watch where you’re going,” he growled, his voice deep and rough, like stones tumbling down a mountainside.

Before she could respond, he turned and strode away, his powerful gait carrying him swiftly through the crowd. People parted before him, some with fearful glances, others with quickly masked hostility.

She stood frozen, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t name as she watched him go. The encounter had lasted mere seconds, but she felt oddly unmoored, as if something fundamental had shifted inside her.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed a hand to her chest, willing her racing heart to slow. What was wrong with her? He was just a Vultor—admittedly an imposing one, but still. She had errands to finish and Lenora would be waiting, ready with criticism for any delay.

With a sigh, she adjusted her basket and turned toward the spice merchant’s stall. Back to her humdrum life—one that had no place for mysterious Vultor with glowing eyes.