Page 8 of Alien Huntsman (Alien Wolf Tales #2)

CHAPTER 8

K orrin tracked the deer through the underbrush, moving silently despite his size. The doe paused at a small stream, ears twitching as she lowered her head to drink. He notched an arrow, drew back the bowstring, and released in one fluid motion. The arrow struck true, and the animal dropped without suffering. A clean kill.

“That makes three this week,” he muttered to himself as he approached the fallen deer.

He field-dressed the carcass with practiced efficiency, his mind wandering to the cabin where Tessa waited. His beast purred with satisfaction at the thought of returning with meat, of seeing her smile at his offering. He scowled, trying to silence the primitive part of himself.

“I’m just making sure she has enough before I leave,” he told himself for the fifth time that day.

But three days had passed since he’d brought her to the cabin, and each morning he found a new excuse to stay. More firewood needed chopping. The roof had a small leak. The pups required fresh meat. All tasks that kept him near her.

Back at the cabin, he found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with the adyani pups. One of them—the runt with the white streak—had claimed her lap and was gnawing playfully at her fingers.

“You’re back.” Her smile was warm and soft, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.

“Caught a deer.” He hefted the meat he’d wrapped in hide. “Should last a while.”

“Another one? The smokehouse is already full.”

He shrugged and moved to the small table, unwrapping his kill. “You’ll need provisions.”

“For when you leave?” Her voice was carefully neutral.

His hands stilled. He hadn’t mentioned leaving today, but they both knew he couldn’t stay forever. Shouldn’t stay.

“Yes.”

He busied himself preparing the meat, aware of her watching him. His beast growled in displeasure at the thought of abandoning her here. It wanted to stay, to protect what it considered theirs.

“The meat should last a month, maybe more if you’re careful.” He glanced around the cabin, noting the neat piles of firewood, the herbs she’d gathered hanging from the rafters, the repaired chair. “You have everything you need.”

But even as he said it, his beast snarled in disagreement. She needed him. And perhaps, though he’d never admit it aloud, he needed her too.

No!

He sliced the venison with more force than necessary as he rejected the idea, the knife thudding against the wooden cutting board. Across the cabin, she hummed softly as she sorted through the herbs she’d gathered. The melody was simple but pleasant—some village tune he didn’t recognize—and his keen ears caught every note.

He ground his teeth, irritated by how much he enjoyed the sound.

“Must you do that?” he growled.

Her humming stopped abruptly. “Do what?”

“That… noise.”

“You mean singing?” Her brows furrowed. “I didn’t realize it bothered you.”

He grunted, returning to his task. The truth was, her singing didn’t bother him at all. That was the problem. He liked it too much—the way her voice rose and fell, how she sometimes whispered the words she couldn’t quite remember. It made the cabin feel… inhabited. Warm.

Dangerous.

The runt with the white streak tumbled over to her again, yipping for attention. She immediately scooped him up, pressing her nose to his fuzzy head.

“Who’s my brave little warrior?” she cooed. “Are you guarding me from the big bad wolf?”

The pup licked her chin, and her laughter filled the small cabin. Something inside his chest twisted painfully. He watched as she gently scratched behind the animal’s ears, her touch so tender it made his throat tighten.

He looked away, focusing on the meat before him. His beast stirred restlessly, drawn to her warmth, her gentleness. It wanted to cross the room, to feel that same tenderness directed at him.

“Foolish,” he muttered under his breath.

“Did you say something?” she asked, looking up.

“Nothing important.”

As soon as she set the pup down and resumed her work, her humming started again, softer this time. He found himself straining to hear it, missing the fuller sound from before.

This attachment was growing dangerous. Every day he spent in this cabin with her chipped away at his walls. The way she cared for the pups, how she never complained about their circumstances, her quiet determination—all of it wormed beneath his defenses.

And then there were the nights, lying awake listening to her breathing and fighting the urge to join her in the narrow bed, to cradle her in his arms, to run his hands over those luscious curves…

The first night she’d spent in the cabin, she waited until she thought he was asleep before stripping down to the thin shift she wore beneath it. But he hadn’t been asleep and his night vision was excellent. He’d seen every tempting detail as the moonlight turned the thin cloth translucent and that memory haunted his dreams.

He needed to leave. Soon. Before he did something truly foolish, like admit he’d started to care for her.

Despite his resolution, the next day he found himself slipping through the forest once more, alert for any sign of prey. A flash of red caught his attention, and he knelt to examine the bush. Plump berries hung heavy on the branches, their sweet scent filling his nostrils. His beast rumbled with satisfaction.

He hadn’t planned on foraging for berries. It wasn’t the sort of thing he typically bothered with. Yet here he was, picking fruit like some village boy trying to impress his sweetheart.

He scowled at the thought, even as he carefully plucked another berry. The image of her face when he’d sampled her bread yesterday lingered in his mind—how her eyes had lit up at his grudging compliment, her smile spreading slow and warm across her face.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, but continued filling the makeshift pouch he’d fashioned from a large leaf.

When he returned to the cabin, she was stirring something over the fire. The pups dozed in a pile near her feet, exhausted from their morning play. She looked up as he entered, pushing a stray curl from her forehead.

“I was beginning to wonder where you’d gone off to,” she said.

He hesitated, suddenly feeling foolish. What was he doing, bringing her the berries? But it was too late to back out now. He stalked over and awkwardly thrust the leaf-wrapped bundle toward her.

“Thought you might use these,” he said gruffly.

Her eyes widened as she opened the package.

“Wild berries! Oh, they’re perfect!” She looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. “How did you know?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable with her delight. “Saw you looking at them in the market.”

“You remembered that?”

The wonder in her voice made his chest tighten, but before he could respond, she rose on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. The contact was brief—just the soft warmth of her lips against his skin—but it sent a shock through his entire body.

“Thank you,” she whispered, then spun away. “I’ll make a berry crumble. My father used to love those.”

He stood frozen, his hand rising unconsciously to touch the spot where her lips had been. His beast purred with satisfaction, while the rest of him remained stunned, utterly unprepared for the surge of emotions her gesture had unleashed.

That night he sat staring into the fire but he didn’t see the flames, his thoughts far away. The cabin had grown quiet after their evening meal, with only the occasional pop from the burning wood breaking the silence. Across from him, she sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers gently stroking two of the pups as they slept in her lap.

He shouldn’t feel this comfortable. This… peaceful. Not with a human. Yet something about the scene—the warmth of the fire, the softness in her eyes when she looked at him—loosened something that had been knotted tight inside him for years.

“Do you have a family?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

He tensed. It wasn’t something he spoke about. Ever. But the words came anyway.

“My mother died several years ago.” The admission hung in the air between them. He hadn’t planned to say more, but when she remained silent, waiting without pushing, the rest spilled out. “Raiders. They came through our territory, taking whatever they wanted and killing anyone who stood in their way.”

His claws extended unconsciously, digging into his palms.

“She was never the same after my father died. Fragile. We lived in the city for a while but it was too much for her. I thought she’d be happier away from the city so we moved to the mountains. She wasn’t ready to join a Pack again so I stayed close, hunted for her, protected her.” His voice roughened. “Except when she needed me most.”

He’d been tracking a deer, too far from home.

“I found her in the ruins of our home. She’d hidden, but they found her anyway.” He swallowed hard. “She wasn’t a fighter. Never had been.”

Her eyes glistened in the firelight, but she didn’t offer empty platitudes or pity. Instead, she reached across the space between them and placed her hand on his. Her touch was light, almost tentative, but it anchored him to the present.

“That’s why you hate humans,” she whispered.

He looked down at her small hand covering his.

“Yes.” The single word contained years of rage and grief.

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. Not for all humans. Not trying to excuse what had been done. Just sorry for his loss.

He didn’t pull his hand away as he watched her face carefully, searching for judgment or fear. He found neither; just that quiet acceptance that continually threw him off balance. He didn’t tell her about the weeks he’d spent tracking the raiders, how he’d picked them off one by one, how their screams had done nothing to fill the hollow ache in his chest. Some things were better left unspoken, though something in her eyes told him she’d guessed at least part of it.

“After that, I wandered,” he said, his voice rough. “Couldn’t stand being around others.”

One of the pups in her lap stretched and yawned, tiny teeth gleaming in the firelight. She stroked its head with gentle fingers and it settled back down.

“Seren found me half-dead one winter. Hadn’t eaten in days.” His lips twisted in a humorless smile. “Too stubborn to hunt, too angry to care.”

“These mountains?” she asked softly.

He nodded. “Yes, but a long way to the north. He dragged me back here. Fed me. Talked at me for hours while I just… existed.” He remembered those days in fragments—the constant presence of the older Vultor, the patient way Seren had waited for him to speak again. “He’s a good alpha. Better than I deserved.”

“But you didn’t stay.”

“Couldn’t.” He flexed his fingers, watching his claws extend and retract. “Too many memories. Too many ghosts.” He shrugged. “I took up bounty hunting. Turns out I’m good at tracking things that don’t want to be found.”

Hunting down his mother’s killers had taught him that.

“I stayed away for years. Moved from place to place. Job to job. The money was good and I liked being on the move.” He glanced around the cabin. “I used this place sometimes between contracts.”

“What made you come back?”

“Seren asked me to come back. He said he needed me.” It had been more complicated than that—messages passed through mutual contacts, rumors of growing tensions with humans, Seren’s vision for something better. “I figured I owed him that much.”

He felt her watching him, her gaze steady and unwavering. Most people looked away when he spoke of his past—uncomfortable with the darkness they glimpsed there. She didn’t.

“Do you still hate all humans?”

“Some days.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, and he felt her start to withdraw,

He couldn’t prevent himself from taking her hand in his.

“You’re different.”

“Different how?”

His hand rose to his cheek, to the spot where her lips had touched earlier. The memory of that brief contact still burned hotter than it should have.

“You care. About those pups. About people who aren’t kind to you.” His voice roughened. “You see things others don’t. I don’t hate you.”

The confession hung in the air between them, raw and honest. She studied him silently, her fingers still warm against his.

“Do you think you can learn to live with humans?” she asked finally.

His first instinct was to deny it. Humans were violent, unpredictable creatures. He knew better than anyone that they brought death and destruction in their wake.

Yet sitting here in the quiet, holding her hand, the truth hit him with unexpected force.

“I already am.”