Page 3 of Alien Huntsman (Alien Wolf Tales #2)

CHAPTER 3

T essa slipped out of the bakery and hurried across the alley to her house. Sammy had attempted to ‘help’ with the fruit filling she was making from the bruised apples and spilled half of it down Tessa’s dress. He meant well, but he was a gangly young man who was awkward at the best of times. Lenora’s constant criticism only made him worse despite—or perhaps because—he also had a schoolboy crush on her.

She’d tried explaining that to her stepmother, but the conversation had not gone well. Lenora told her that if Sammy wasn’t up to the job, she would fire him. Since that would leave her without any help at all, she’d kept her mouth shut after that and did her best to shield Sammy from Lenora’s wrath.

She slipped through the back door, grateful for the cool dimness of the kitchen. The house was unusually quiet. Lenora spent most of her mornings in the parlor, receiving visitors or ordering more luxuries. The silence felt wrong, and she hurried up the back stairs, then down the hall to the narrow staircase leading to the attic.

Just as she reached the stairs, a voice drifted out of the parlor—Lenora’s, pitched low and urgent.

“—need her gone. You understand?”

She froze, one foot on the bottom step. The voice that answered was deep, measured. Male. It was too muffled to be sure, but something about it seemed familiar.

“What you’re asking for comes at a price.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach. Who was Lenora speaking to? And who did she want gone? Her mind raced through possibilities. Lenora hadn’t been happy when Mrs. Peterson started selling sweet fried dough in the market. And she’d been feuding with Mrs. Jacobson over an upcoming social event.

She bit her lip and inched closer to the parlor door, her heart hammering. But she’d forgotten the creaky floorboard outside the parlor and it squeaked as her foot touched it. Damn. She backed away as rapidly as she dared and fled up the stairs to the safety of her room.

The fruit stain on her dress had spread, dark and accusing. She changed quickly, bundling the soiled garment into her washing basket. The conversation echoed in her mind as she scrubbed at her hands, trying to remove the sticky apple residue.

Need her gone. Permanently. A price.

The words chilled her more than the water from her basin. Whatever Lenora was planning, it couldn’t be good. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should recognize that man’s voice.

The sound of the front door closing reached her and she peeked out of the window in time to see Lenora leaving the house, her mouth curved in a triumphant smile. Her stomach flipped. Nothing good ever happened when her stepmother looked like that. She kept watching but no one else emerged from the house. Where had that man gone? And had he agreed to do whatever Lenora wanted?

The questions continued to haunt her throughout the rest of the day. Lenora was unusually absent from the bakery and Sammy relaxed enough to produce an acceptable pie crust. He could be a half decent baker given sufficient time and patience, but patience was in short supply where Lenora was involved.

After pre-baking the pie crusts and kneading the dough for tomorrow’s bread, she headed back to the house. The house was still quiet, the kitchen cold, and she sighed. That meant her stepmother would be dining out and Tessa would have to make do with whatever she could scavenge from the pantry.

She was chopping some rather withered carrots when the kitchen door swung open, and Lenora swept in wearing her best dress—a deep burgundy silk that rustled with every step. Her hair was arranged in a more than usually elaborate style, and she’d applied rouge to her cheeks and lips.

“I’m going out this evening,” Lenora announced. “Mr. Thornfield has invited me to dinner.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the carrots. “Yes, stepmother.”

“I doubt he’ll bother after tonight, but if he should happen to ask tomorrow, you were suddenly taken ill.”

That startled her into looking up. Something glittered at Lenora’s throat—a necklace Tessa’s father had given her mother, one Lenora had claimed for herself after his death—and the sight of it made her stomach clench.

“Will you be dining at the tavern?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice neutral.

“My affairs are none of your concern, but I believe Mr. Thornfield prefers a more… intimate setting.”

She managed to hide her shudder as Lenora checked her reflection in the small mirror by the door. Thank goodness the other woman’s jealousy meant that she’d avoided the dinner invitation. Although she was sure it would be an elaborate meal, she preferred vegetable soup to dining with Edgar any day.

“Don’t wait up,” Lenora added triumphantly as she swept out the door, leaving Tessa staring after her. There was something different about her stepmother tonight—a brittle excitement that made her uneasy.

Need her gone. Permanently.

Who could she want gone? Mrs. Peterson? Mrs. Jacobson? The new girl in the tavern who had supposedly been the victim of Edgar’s lechery?

Or… Her hands stilled on the cutting board. Could it be her? The thought sent ice through her veins. Lenora had never made a secret of her resentment, especially since Edgar had begun his unwanted attentions, but surely she wouldn’t go that far.

Despite her attempt to reassure herself, the thought continued to haunt her as she picked at the thin vegetable soup she’d made. Her appetite had vanished, replaced by a gnawing anxiety that tightened her throat. Lenora’s words and that strange man’s deep voice kept replaying in her mind.

After washing her bowl and spoon, she climbed up to her attic room, the creak of the wooden steps echoing in the quiet house. She’d once had a proper bedroom on the second floor, but Lenora had claimed it shortly after Father died, declaring she needed more space for her growing collection of dresses.

The attic ceiling sloped sharply on both sides, but despite the cramped quarters she’d managed to make the space her own. Dried flowers hung from the rafters, filling the air with their subtle fragrance. A small bookshelf held the few volumes she’d managed to save from her father’s collection before Lenora sold the rest. Her mother’s handkerchief, carefully framed, hung on the wall beside her bed.

Tonight, however, the familiar comfort of her sanctuary failed to calm her. She paced the small open area in the center of the room, her thoughts tumbling over each other, before moving to the room’s only window and looking out over the village. Lanterns glowed in windows, and smoke curled from chimneys into the night sky.

Moonlight spilled in through the glass, casting silver patterns across her faded quilt.

“What are you planning, Lenora?” she whispered, looking across to Edgar’s house—the largest in the village.

The man Lenora had been speaking with—could he have been the Vultor she’d bumped into at the market? The voice had seemed familiar, but she couldn’t be certain. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the mild spring evening. If Lenora truly wanted her gone, what would stop her? With Father gone, there was no one to protect her, no one who would even notice if she disappeared.

“Stop it,” she told herself. There was no point in borrowing trouble, and she had more important things to do tonight.

She changed into her darkest dress and wrapped a dark shawl around her shoulders, then hurried back down to the kitchen to collect the cloth sack of dried meat scraps she’d hidden away. The pups would be hungry by now.

Normally she had to wait until Lenora retired before sneaking out of the house, but with any luck her stepmother would be gone for hours. If Lenora happened to return first, it wouldn’t be the first time Tessa had climbed up the wooden lattice attached to the side of the house. The trellis, overgrown with ivy, had become her secret escape route over the past few weeks.

She ducked out into the alley, keeping to the shadows as she reached the lane leading out of the village. The abandoned woodshed lay at the far edge of the village, near the tree line where the forest began its climb up into the mountains. No one ventured there anymore—not since old Mr. Hemlock had died last winter and his property had fallen into disrepair.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly prickled, and she glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, and she quickened her pace, slipping between two buildings and cutting across a small field.

The woodshed appeared ahead, a dark silhouette against the night sky. Her nerves still on edge, she approached cautiously, listening for any sound besides the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. Again, that strange sensation washed over her—eyes following her movements from somewhere in the darkness.

She hesitated, scanning the tree line. Was that a shadow moving among the pines? She tried desperately to penetrate the darkness beneath the trees but couldn’t see anything. She decided she was letting her imagination get the better of her and hurried the rest of the way to the woodshed.

The door creaked as she eased it open. Inside, tiny whimpers greeted her, and seven pairs of eyes reflected the moonlight that streamed through gaps in the wooden walls. The adyani pups tumbled toward her, their small bodies vibrating with excitement.

“Hello, little ones,” she whispered, kneeling to meet them. “Did you miss me?”

They swarmed over her, their soft bodies warm against her hands as she laughed and tried to pet each of them at once. A quick look around confirmed that the woodshed remained exactly as she’d left it that morning—half the roof sagging dangerously, moonlight streaming through the gaps in the weathered planks. She’d reinforced one corner with old blankets and straw, creating a nest where the pups could huddle together.

“Here you go,” she murmured, pulling the dried meat from her pocket. She tore it into smaller pieces, distributing it evenly among the seven hungry mouths. Their needle-sharp teeth grazed her fingertips as they snatched the offerings.

The smallest pup, whom she’d named Bashful, struggled to get his share. She scooped him up, cradling him against her chest while feeding him directly.

“You need to be quicker,” she whispered, stroking his silvery fur. “Your brothers won’t always wait.”

Most villagers would be horrified to find her here. The adyani had a fearsome reputation—wild predators that occasionally descended from the mountains to prey on livestock. Stories of their viciousness circulated amongst the children, tales meant to keep them from wandering too far into the forest.

But when she’d found the pups, their eyes barely open and their mother dead, she couldn’t leave them. They would have died without her help.

“You’re not monsters,” she told them, watching as they finished their meal and began to play, tumbling over each other in mock battles. “You’re just trying to survive, like the rest of us.”

The largest pup, Storm, bounded up to her, planting his front paws on her knee. His eyes glowed green in the darkness, intelligent and curious. She scratched behind his ears, smiling as he leaned into her touch. In taking care of the pups, she’d found something she’d been missing since her father died—a sense of being needed, of having something to love.

The moonlight flickered outside one of the gaps in the woodshed wall, and her heart lurched against her ribs. She squinted into the darkness through the gap. Was that a shadow shifting between the trees? She held her breath, straining to hear any sound beyond the pups’ playful growls.

Nothing.

“Just my imagination,” she whispered, but the unease lingered.

Need her gone. You understand?

She shivered and glanced up at the moon’s position through the broken roof. It was getting late, and her day would start before dawn. Not to mention she’d prefer to be back before Lenora returned.

“Time to settle down, little ones.”

She guided the pups back to their nest, making sure they were comfortable. They were growing so quickly—soon they’d be too large to hide here. What would she do then? She couldn’t bear the thought of releasing them to fend for themselves, not when the villagers would shoot them on sight.

Storm nuzzled her hand, as if sensing her worry. “I’ll figure something out,” she promised, giving him a final pat. “I always do.”

As she rose to her feet, dusting straw from her skirt, the pups suddenly whimpered, their ears flattening against their heads as they stared past her toward the door.

“What’s wrong?”

She started to turn, but a strong arm wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides. She opened her mouth to scream, but a cloth was pressed firmly against her face, smothering the sound. A sickly sweet smell filled her nostrils—cloying, overwhelming.

She struggled, kicking backward, but her captor held firm. The pups’ frightened whines grew distant as darkness crept in from the edges of her vision. Her limbs felt impossibly heavy, her thoughts scattering like leaves in a storm.

As the last of her consciousness slipped away, she caught a glimpse of her attacker’s face, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight. A pair of glowing golden eyes stared down at her.

Then everything went black.