Page 10 of Alien Huntsman

A soft creak stopped him. The door opened, and she emerged, now dressed in a dark gown with a shawl over her head. She glanced nervously over her shoulder before hurrying away from the house, keeping to the shadows.

Where was she going?

Curiosity overrode his initial plan and he decided to follow her, matching her cautious pace and staying just far enough behind that she wouldn’t notice him. She moved with surprising stealth for a human, sticking to darkened paths and pausing at intervals to check her surroundings. His curiosity deepened with each careful step she took.

What was his little baker hiding?

The village thinned out as they reached its outskirts, buildings giving way to scattered farmhouses. Moonlight spilled across the landscape, bathing everything in silver. Tessa slipped between two ancient oaks and disappeared into a thicket.

His nostrils flared as he caught a familiar scent on the breeze. Adyani. His muscles tensed instinctively. The native predators were one of the few brave enough to challenge even a Vultor.What business did this small human have with such dangerous creatures?

He crept forward, following her scent trail to a dilapidated woodshed nearly swallowed by undergrowth. The structure leaned precariously, half its roof caved in, walls gapped and weathered. The perfect place to hide something you didn’t want found.

He edged closer, peering through one of the gaps in the wooden wall, and stared in shock.

She knelt on the dirt floor, surrounded by seven adyani pups, their silver-grey coats gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the damaged roof. They yipped and tumbled around her, nipping playfully at her fingers as she unpacked a bundle of meat scraps.

He watched, dumbfounded, as she fed each pup by hand, stroking their heads and speaking to them in gentle tones. These weren’t domesticated animals—they were apex predators, feared throughout the mountains. Even as newborns, they possessed instincts that made them dangerous.

Yet they responded to her like pack members, trusting and affectionate.

This human girl was risking everything—her safety, her standing in the village—to care for orphaned adyani pups. Creatures that most humans would kill on sight.

He watched in fascination until she tucked the pups into the nest she’d created for them and he realized she was preparing to leave. Decision time. If he let her go now, she’d return to that house, to the female who wanted her dead. If he didn’t take her, the stepmother would simply hire someone else—someone whowouldn’t hesitate to end the girl’s life. At least with him, she would be alive.

He moved silently to the shed’s entrance, blocking the doorway just as she rose to her feet. The pups sensed him first, their playful yips shifting to uncertain whimpers. Before she could turn around, he pulled the cloth he’d prepared earlier out of his pocket and pressed it to her face. She tried to struggle but went limp almost immediately and he gathered her into his arms, trying to suppress the feeling of satisfaction in having her there.

One of the pups crept forward again, whimpering as it nudged at the girl’s dangling hand.

“She’ll be fine,” he found himself saying, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he felt the need to reassure the pup. “I’m not going to hurt her.”

All he had to do was deliver her somewhere safe but far away, and leave her. Simple.

A sharp pain shot through his ankle, breaking his concentration. He looked down to find the runt of the litter—the one with the white streak—attached to his ankle, tiny teeth surprisingly sharp.

“Let go, you little pest.” He shook his foot gently, but the pup growled and bit down harder, green eyes glaring up at him with fierce determination.

The other six pups circled him now, emboldened by their sibling’s courage. They yipped and snarled, their fluffy little bodies not much larger than his boots. One particularly brave pup lunged at his other ankle, and he sighed heavily. He couldn’t just leave them here. They were too young to hunt for themselves—barely weaned from the look of them. Without thegirl’s help, they’d starve within days. Or worse, some villager would find them and slaughter the entire litter.

“This wasn’t part of the deal,” he grumbled, carefully setting her down on the cleanest patch of straw he could find.

The white-streaked pup immediately abandoned him and scampered to her side, nudging her hand again with its muzzle. When she didn’t respond, it let out a mournful howl that the others quickly echoed.

“She’s just sleeping,” he told them, feeling ridiculous for explaining himself to a bunch of pups. “Now come here before I change my mind.”

He grabbed the worn blanket she had been using to line their nest, then gathered the corners to form a makeshift sack. Moving quickly, he gathered the squirming pups one by one, depositing them into the sack. They protested with high-pitched yelps, but he ignored them—they were safe in the blanket and should settle down in the darkness.

The white-streaked runt was the last and most difficult, refusing to leave Tessa’s side until he physically pried it away. It nipped at his fingers, drawing blood.

“You’re going to be trouble,” he muttered, adding the pup to the writhing bundle.

Still holding the bundle of pups with one hand, he scooped her up with his other arm. Her head lolled against his chest, dark curls spilling over his forearm. She felt as right in his embrace as she had earlier, something his beast seemed all too pleased about.

“Quiet,” he ordered the bundle as he tucked them between Tessa’s body and his chest.

To his surprise, the pups settled almost immediately. The little runt with the white streak poked its head out from the blanket, green eyes watching him with what seemed like wary acceptance. He gently pulled the blanket back over its head and ducked through the woodshed door.

The village lights faded behind him as he moved deeper into the forest, his pace never slowing despite his burdens. He knew these woods better than the villagers who feared to venture beyond their fields after dark. Fools, the lot of them. The forest held far fewer dangers than their own kind.

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