Page 4 of Alien Huntsman

She stood frozen, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t name as she watched him go. The encounter had lasted mere seconds, but she felt oddly unmoored, as if something fundamental had shifted inside her.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed a hand to her chest, willing her racing heart to slow. What was wrong with her? He was just a Vultor—admittedly an imposing one, but still. She had errands to finish and Lenora would be waiting, ready with criticism for any delay.

With a sigh, she adjusted her basket and turned toward the spice merchant’s stall. Back to her humdrum life—one that had no place for mysterious Vultor with glowing eyes.

CHAPTER 2

Korrin strode through the crowded marketplace, scowling as humans instinctively moved out of his path. Their scent irritated his beast—except for hers. Her scent lingered, infuriatingly sweet and pleasant, like sun-warmed honey. His beast had wanted to lean closer, breathe in more of that sweetness.

He flexed his hands, still feeling the warmth where he’d steadied her. Small, soft, curvy in all the places that made his mouth go dry. Those big blue eyes looking up at him without fear, just surprise and… curiosity?

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, shouldering past a merchant whose cart jutted too far into the lane. Damn humans. Always in the way.

The man started to protest then caught sight of his face. The complaint died in his throat.

Ignoring the merchant, he made his way towards the tavern at the edge of the marketplace, still unable to shake the image of the girl. The way she’d knelt to comfort that child who’d barreledinto her, scattering her fruit across the dirt. No anger. No harsh words. Just gentle hands and a smile that had turned her already beautiful face radiant. He knew how rare it was for someone to show such concern for a child.

After his father died, his Vultor heritage made him a frequent target for adults as well as other children. Until he reached an age where that heritage made him bigger and stronger than any human male. The overt cruelty disappeared behind suspicious looks and nervous evasion.

She was only kind because it was a human child, he told himself, but the words didn’t ring true. She hadn’t looked up at him as if he were to be hated, or even feared.

He slammed open the tavern door harder than necessary, causing conversations to come to an abrupt halt as he entered. The familiar silence followed him to a corner table where he dropped into a chair, back to the wall, facing the entrance.

“Ale?” The barkeep called, after a nervous look around.

He gave a quick jerk of his head. The barkeep drew a glass and tried to hand it to the barmaid who immediately shook her head. Humans. His lip curled.

The barkeep brought the ale instead, depositing it on the table and immediately retreating. At least the ale was drinkable—their success with brewing was one of the few benefits of sharing the planet with humans. He sat back, sipping the ale slowly as he kept a watchful eye on the other patrons. Most of them were watching him just as closely, although they tried to hide it.

The nature of his work—tracking down missing people—meant that he’d spent a considerable amount of time amongst humans, but he would never be foolish enough to trust them. It was easierin Port Cantor because the presence of the spaceport ensured a variety of alien races. Here in the hinterlands, the settlements were almost entirely human.

As he finished the ale, he wondered idly what this next job would entail. The specifics didn’t particularly concern him—as long as the job paid well. Coin was coin, and humans were humans. Selfish, greedy, treacherous. He had no issue using his particular set of skills against them.

A pair of merchants at the bar kept glancing his way, whispering theories about his presence. He caught fragments—“bounty hunter” and “dangerous” and “should tell the mayor.”

Let them talk. Their fear kept them at a distance—which did not bode well for Seren’s current project. His alpha had been negotiating with the mayor for a formal trade agreement with the village. As if humans could ever see the Vultor as anything but monsters to be feared or resources to be exploited. Then again, the prospect of profit was a powerful motivator.

“It’s better than more bloodshed,” Seren had told him the last time they talked. “They need to understand that we’re more than the stories they tell. And we—you—need to know that they’re not all alike.”

He’d merely grunted in response. He’d seen too much of human nature to share his hope. They smiled while plotting betrayal. They promised peace while sharpening knives.

The tavern door swung open, admitting a gust of warm air and the village’s self-important mayor. The female paused, scanning the room until her gaze landed on him. Her mouth pinched into a thin line before she nodded stiffly and approached a table of well-dressed merchants.

Even the humans who sought Vultor assistance viewed them as tools, not allies. Necessary evils. Weapons to be aimed at problems then quickly dismissed.

And that suited him perfectly. He had no interest in Seren’s dreams of cooperation. He’d take their coin, complete whatever tasks they couldn’t handle themselves, and leave their petty settlements behind. The less time spent among humans, the better.

Yet the memory of warm blue eyes and a gentle smile tugged at him. One exception in a sea of contempt.

Annoyed at the direction of his thoughts, he tossed a few coins onto the scarred wooden table and pushed his chair away from the wall. He’d wasted enough time with these humans and their suspicious glances. The tavern air had grown too thick with their fear-scent and whispers.

Outside, the sun was halfway to its peak. Time for his meeting. He automatically dropped a hand to the knife on his belt, fingering the well-worn handle. His own natural weapons were usually more than sufficient, but it never hurt to be prepared.

The village marketplace still bustled with activity as vendors called out their wares and haggled with customers, and he found himself eyeing the fruit stall where the small human female had paused to talk to the vendor. Before he could question the impulse, his feet carried him toward the weathered wooden stand.

The vendor—a stocky old male with grey hair and weathered hands—looked up as he approached. Instead of the usual widening eyes and nervous fidgeting, the male merely raised his eyebrows.

“What can I get for you?” the male asked, straightening a pile of apples.

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