Page 9 of Alien Huntsman (Alien Wolf Tales #2)

CHAPTER 9

T essa smiled at Korrin, caught off guard by his statement.

“I suppose you are.”

She’d grown so used to him being there, to his brooding looks and growly commands—it was hard to imagine a time when he hadn’t been part of her life.

I don’t want to imagine a time without him .

Her chest ached as she glanced at his profile, strong and sharp against the firelight. She shouldn’t feel this way about the male who’d taken her from her home on her stepmother’s orders. And yet… the gentleness with which he treated the pups, the way he’d saved her from the ravine, how he seemed so pleased to provide for her—those things spoke louder than his gruff exterior.

“You know,” she said, keeping her voice light, “for someone who claims to despise humans, you’ve been remarkably patient with this one.”

His mouth twitched. “I told you—you’re not like the others.”

“But I am human. Not all of us are the same, just as not all Vultor are the same.” One of the pups scrambled down off her lap and climbed back into the basket with the others. “People are shaped by their experiences, their choices. What happened to your mother was terrible, but it doesn’t define all of us.”

His jaw tightened, and she wondered if she’d pushed too far. But she needed him to understand.

“The men who hurt your mother—they would have hurt me too. They’re not my people any more than they’re yours.”

He remained silent, but she felt his eyes on her. Studying. Considering.

“I don’t know that I’d like all Vultor, but I like who you are,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. “You’re protective and fierce. Honest. And you treat those adyani pups like they’re your children.”

The corner of his mouth curled up slightly at that. “They’re growing on me.”

“I’m glad.” She leaned forward, unable to resist reaching for his hand again. “Maybe it’s time you stopped trying to keep people at a distance.”

His fingers tightened on hers. The fire crackled as she watched him, his eyes reflecting the flickering light. Something about him called to her, stirred something deep inside.

“Maybe.”

It wasn’t much but it was a start.

The next morning she met him at the door when he returned from his morning hunt.

“I want you to teach me,” she said quickly, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Teach you what?”

“Everything. How to navigate the forest, find food, identify what’s safe to eat.” She gestured to the rabbits. “I can’t just wait here while you do everything. And if you’re not here…”

He started to say something then changed his mind, studying her for a long moment, those amber eyes unreadable. “It’s dangerous out there.”

“Which is exactly why I need to learn. What if something happens to you?”

A flash of something—concern?—crossed his face before he nodded. “Fine. We’ll start today.”

The forest was transformed in daylight, less threatening and more magical. She listened carefully as he pointed out landmarks, teaching her how to orient herself.

“The moss grows thicker on the north side of trees,” he explained, his large hand brushing against the trunk. “And see how the branches grow? They reach toward the sun.”

When he showed her which berries were safe to eat, their fingers brushed as he placed them in her palm. A jolt of warmth shot up her arm, and she nearly dropped them. His eyes met hers, briefly flaring gold before he looked away.

“These mushrooms are poisonous,” he said later, crouching beside a cluster of red-capped fungi. She kneeled beside him, their shoulders touching. “But these—” he reached for another variety nearby, “—are safe.”

She leaned closer to examine them, suddenly aware of how near his face was to hers. His wild clean scent filled her senses, and when she looked up, he was watching her and he heart raced at the hunger in his eyes.

“I—” she began, but the words died in her throat.

He very slowly lifted his hand and touched her cheek. Only the lightest touch but her whole being was focused on that one point of contact. She started to sway towards him, but then he was back on his feet and reaching down to help her up.

That night, she proudly stirred the stew, made almost entirely of her efforts in the forest. The savory aroma filled the small cabin, mingling with the scent of fresh bread she’d managed to bake in the crude oven. She glanced over to smile at Korrin and found him sprawled on the rug in front of the fire, surrounded by the adyani pups.

Storm was chewing on his vest while Bold tugged playfully at his boot. The remaining five tumbled around him in a squirming mass of fur and tiny teeth. What struck her most wasn’t just that he allowed it, but that his usual stern expression had softened into something that almost resembled a smile.

“They’re getting stronger,” she observed, hiding her own smile behind the wooden spoon she was using.

He grunted as a pup nipped his finger. “And more troublesome.”

But there was no heat in his words. His large hand carefully scooped up Bashful and tucked him against his shoulder. The tiny creature nuzzled against his neck, and her chest suddenly ached.

The cabin felt different tonight. The fire crackled, the stew bubbled, and the pups’ playful yips filled the space between. As she moved around the small kitchen area, setting out the wooden bowls and spoons, she was aware of his eyes following her movements.

This felt like… home. Not the bakery with Lenora’s constant criticism. Not even her father’s house before his death. This was something new, something she’d craved without knowing it—a place where she belonged. Here, in this rustic cabin with a man who’d kidnapped her and seven orphaned pups, she felt more at peace than she had in years. It was absurd. Dangerous, even. And yet…

She watched as he gently disentangled himself from the pups, careful not to hurt them. The fearsome bounty hunter who’d terrified her just days ago now looked almost… domestic.

The thought of family—something she hadn’t truly had since her father died—bloomed warm and unexpected in her chest.

He joined her as she ladled the steaming stew into wooden bowls. Their fingers brushed as she passed him a bowl, sending a now-familiar warmth up her arm. She settled on the rough-hewn chair across from him, watching as he took his first bite.

“Good?” she asked, oddly anxious for his approval.

He nodded, amber eyes catching the firelight. “Better than anything I’ve had in months.”

The compliment warmed her more than it should have. She busied herself with her own bowl, letting the rich flavors of rabbit and wild herbs fill her mouth. The pups had settled into a pile near the hearth, their tiny bodies rising and falling in synchronized sleep.

“I used to dream about having a mother,” she said suddenly, surprising herself with the admission. “My mother died when I was six and then it was just me and my father. I loved him very much, but I still wanted a mother.”

He put down his spoon, watching her.

“When my father brought Lenora home, I was so excited.” She stared into her stew, watching the steam curl upward. “I’d arranged flowers in her room, helped the cook prepare a special meal, I even made her a small cake.”

The memory stung, even now. “She took one look at it and said she didn’t eat sweets. Later, I found it tossed in the garbage.”

His jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

“She was never very nice but she kept up appearances—until my father died and the mask came off.” Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for her cup. “She wanted the bakery, the house, everything my father had built. But I was still useful to her. Until she changed her mind and hired you.”

“Why would she want you dead? What threat could you possibly pose to her?”

She swallowed hard, setting her spoon down as her appetite vanished. The question brought back memories she’d rather forget—Edgar’s clammy hands, his breath too close to her face, his eyes that followed her every movement.

“Edgar Thornfield,” she said, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. “He’s the wealthiest man in the village. Owns half the businesses, including the mill.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold despite the fire’s warmth.

“Lenora has been trying to catch his attention ever since my father died. But he…” She looked away, her cheeks heating. “He only had eyes for me.”

His expression darkened. “The male with the terrible scent?”

She nodded, surprised he’d noticed. “He comes to the bakery almost every day. Always finding reasons to brush against me or touch my hand.” She shuddered at the memory. “The night you… took me, I think he’d invited me to supper but Lenora went instead.”

“Your stepmother sees you as competition,” he concluded, his voice a low growl.

“Yes. Though I never wanted him. I don’t think Edgar even wants me specifically—he wants a possession. Something pretty to display and control.” She looked up at him. “Lenora would happily play that role if it meant access to his money and status. But as long as I was there…”

“He wouldn’t look at her,” he finished.

“No. And he’s been getting more impatient. He told me that he was tired of waiting, that I’d come around eventually. That a girl in my position couldn’t afford to be choosy. I wasn’t sure at the time but now I think Lenora overheard our conversation and that’s when she decided I needed to disappear for good. If I wasn’t around, Edgar would have to settle for her.”

A low, rumbling growl erupted from his chest, vibrating through the small cabin. Her head snapped up, her eyes widening at the sound. It wasn’t just anger in that sound—there was something else, something primal and possessive that made her breath catch.

“Edgar will never touch you.” The words came out as a promise, each syllable punctuated with barely contained fury.

She stared at him, heart racing. She should have been frightened by the predatory gleam in his amber eyes, by the way his claws had partially extended, digging small grooves into the wooden tabletop. But instead of fear, a strange warmth bloomed in her chest.

“You’re not… scared of me?” he asked, seeming surprised by her reaction. His growl had tapered off, but tension still radiated from his powerful body.

“No,” she admitted softly, surprising herself with the truth of it. “I probably should be, but I’m not.”

He studied her face, confusion replacing some of the anger. “Most humans would be running for the door.”

“I’m not most humans,” she replied, daring to reach across the table. Her fingers hovered inches from his clenched fist. “And I think you know that.”

His eyes tracked her movement, the gold in them seeming to glow brighter. Slowly, deliberately, he uncurled his fingers and turned his palm upward, allowing her to place her small hand in his.

“No,” he agreed, his voice rough. “You’re not.”

The heat of his skin against hers sent a shiver up her arm. There was something undeniably thrilling about the way he’d reacted to Edgar’s treatment of her—not just protective anger, but something deeper, as though the very idea of another man claiming her was unthinkable.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, though his thumb was now tracing circles on her palm, seemingly unconsciously.

“You didn’t,” she whispered, mesmerized by the gentle movement. “It’s just… no one’s ever been angry on my behalf before. Thank you.”