Page 30 of Alien Huntsman

Just his name on her lips was enough to make his beast howl. He paused, one hand on the door frame, claws digging into the wood.

“Will you be gone long?” she asked, her voice soft but steady.

He should say yes. He should leave while there was still any hope of resisting her.

“No.”

Later that night he sat before the fire watching the flames. The cabin had grown quiet with nightfall, save for the occasional crackle of burning wood and the soft breathing of the pups curled together in their makeshift bed.

He should have left days ago. That had been the plan—deliver her somewhere safe, ensure she had supplies, and disappear. Simple. Clean. Instead, he remained, trapped by something more powerful than duty or obligation.

His enhanced hearing picked up Tessa’s movements from the bed across the cabin. The slight rustling of blankets, the subtle change in her breathing pattern. She wasn’t asleep, though she’d retired over an hour ago. He could feel her watching him, her gaze a tangible weight against his skin.

He kept his eyes fixed on the fire, unwilling to look over and break the fragile equilibrium they’d established after that kiss. If he turned, if he met those blue eyes again…

“You’ve been glaring at those flames like they’ve personally offended you,” her voice drifted across the cabin, tinged with amusement.

Despite himself, he turned. She lay on her side, propped up on one elbow, hair loose around her shoulders in dark waves. The firelight cast a warm glow across her skin, softening her features and highlighting the curve of her lips.

“Always so broody,” she teased, her smile small but genuine. “What terrible thoughts are occupying that mind of yours tonight?”

His jaw tightened. If she knew the nature of his thoughts, she wouldn’t be smiling at him like that.

“You should sleep,” he said roughly.

“So should you,” she countered, holding his gaze without a trace of fear. “But I’m beginning to think you never do.”

A moment of silence stretched between them, filled only by the popping of the fire. Then, unexpectedly, her expression softened.

“You know something?” she said quietly. “I’m not sorry.”

He frowned. “About what?”

“That you kidnapped me.” Her eyes never left his. “I know I should be. But I’m not.”

He stared at her, her words hanging in the air between them. Not sorry. The admission struck something deep inside him, something primal and possessive that he’d been fighting to suppress.

Before he could formulate a response, a sudden howl of wind rattled the cabin’s shutters. The temperature plummeted as if winter had descended in an instant. One of those rare mountain storms—violent and unpredictable, rolling in without warning.

The fire flickered wildly as cold air found every crack in the cabin’s aging structure. He watched her pull the thin blanket tighter around herself, a visible shiver running through her body. Her teeth chattered slightly as another gust of wind battered the cabin.

His beast stirred, restless and agitated.Fix it. Protect. Warm.

Humans were fragile, their bodies poorly equipped for the mountains’ harsh conditions. Even a summer storm could bedangerous. He’d seen what exposure could do, how quickly the cold could steal life.

She needs warmth. She needs us.

He tried to ignore the voice, to push back against the instinct driving him forward. But when another violent shiver wracked her body, something inside him snapped.

Before he could reconsider, he was on his feet, crossing the short distance to the bed. Her eyes widened as he lifted the edge of the blanket.

“Move over,” he growled.

She studied his face and for a moment, he thought she might refuse, might push him away. Then, without a word, she shifted toward the wall, making space beside her.

He slid under the blanket, the narrow bed forcing them close together. His body heat—always running hotter than a human’s—immediately created a pocket of warmth between them. Still, she trembled, whether from cold or proximity, he couldn’t tell.

“Come here,” he murmured, opening his arms.

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