Page 27 of Alien Huntsman

The simple declaration stole her breath. She resumed cleaning his wounds to hide the flush creeping up her neck. His skin felt fever-hot beneath her fingertips, and each touch seemed to calm the wildness in him.

“I’ve never seen you shift before.” She traced a particularly long scratch across his shoulder, trying to distract herself from the way his proximity affected her. “It was… beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful.”

His hand captured hers, stilling her movements. “You weren’t afraid.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “No.”

“Why not?” Genuine confusion wrinkled his brow.

She shrugged, her free hand coming up to brush a strand of dark hair from his face. “Because it’s still you. Beast or man, you wouldn’t hurt me.”

Something vulnerable flashed across his features before he looked away. She continued cleaning his wounds, her touch growing more confident. The pups had settled into their makeshift bed in the corner, no longer distressed now that the danger had passed.

Even though he’d calmed, he still hadn’t returned to his normal state. His claws remained extended, sharp and deadly at the tips of his fingers. The angular planes of his face seemed more pronounced, almost lupine, and his canines still protruded slightly when he spoke. Those amber eyes hadn’t lost their unearthly glow, tracking her movements with predatory focus.

She reached for a fresh cloth, her fingers brushing against his shoulder as she dabbed at a cut near his collarbone. He tensed atfirst, then gradually relaxed beneath her touch. On impulse, she let her hand linger, stroking down the muscled curve of his arm in a soothing motion.

A rumbling sound vibrated from his chest—not quite a growl, but something deeper, more contented. She smiled to herself and continued the gentle caress, fascinated by how it seemed to calm the beast still lurking beneath his skin.

“Does that help?” she whispered, fingers tracing patterns across his shoulder.

He nodded once, his eyes half-lidded now. The tension in his body ebbed with each stroke of her hand. Emboldened, she ran her palm across his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath her fingertips. His skin was hot to the touch, feverish almost, and surprisingly soft despite the hardness of the muscle beneath.

She found herself enjoying the contact more than she should. The way his breath caught when her fingers traced a particularly sensitive spot. How his skin pebbled with goosebumps in the wake of her touch. There was something intoxicating about having this powerful, dangerous male melting beneath her hands.

With each gentle stroke, his features softened further. The sharp angles of his face became less pronounced, his claws gradually receding. Yet she didn’t stop touching him, even when it was no longer necessary to calm him. She couldn’t bring herself to break the connection between them.

“Better?” she asked, her voice low and husky

His eyes, still glowing but now heavy-lidded, fixed on her face. “Don’t stop.”

Tessa’s heart fluttered as she continued her gentle ministrations, fascinated by how her touch seemed to anchor him, drawing him back from the edge of his beast form. The wounds weren’t as severe as she’d initially feared—already the smaller cuts were closing before her eyes, another reminder of how different he was from her.

“Who was that?” she asked softly, her fingers tracing the line of his shoulder. “The other Vultor.”

He tensed beneath her touch. His jaw tightened, and for a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, turning his face away. “He shouldn’t have been here.”

She frowned, her hand pausing on his arm. “He seemed different.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, but it lacked the earlier ferocity. She held her ground, continuing to stroke his arm until he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.

“He’s lost to his beast form,” he finally admitted, his voice rough. “Sometimes, when a Vultor doesn’t find their mate by a certain age, the beast starts to take over. The shift becomes harder to control.”

She gave him a horrified look. “You mean he’s stuck like that?”

“Yes. He can’t shift back at all anymore. The beast has consumed him.” He caught her hand in his, his thumb absently stroking her palm. “He’s been living wild in these mountains for years. Hunting. Surviving. But he’s more animal than Vultor now.”

A chill down her spine. “That’s terrible. Isn’t there anything that can be done for him?”

His expression turned grim. “No. Once the change becomes permanent, there’s no going back.” His eyes met hers, something vulnerable flickering in their depths. “It’s the fate many of us fear most.”

She couldn’t shake the image of the wild Vultor from her mind. Those haunted eyes, the way he’d growled “no harm” before disappearing into the forest. A creature trapped between worlds, neither fully beast nor man.

“Maybe he didn’t mean any harm,” she suggested, her fingers resuming their gentle path along his arm. “He said as much before he left.”

His entire body tensed beneath her touch. The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his amber eyes flashed with something primal. His hand tightened around hers, not painfully, but with enough pressure to convey his disagreement.

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