Page 1 of Alien Huntsman

CHAPTER 1

Tessa 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’tcompletely 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.”

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