Page 51 of Alien Huntsman

Korrin didn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny it anymore. The thought of losing Tessa had torn something open inside him—something he’d kept locked away for too long.

“I should have been here,” he said, his voice rough with self-recrimination.

“Who?” Korrin asked grimly, though his beast already knew the answer, had caught the scent of the one who dared threaten what was his.

Agatha silently handed him the scraps of fabric. He took them, bringing them to his nose. The cologne was stronger now—cloying, expensive, with undertones of something bitter. Beneath it all lingered the unmistakable scent of Tessa’s blood, faint but present.

His claws extended involuntarily, puncturing the leather. The beast within him snarled, demanding retribution, demanding blood for blood.

“He drugged her with the poisoned honey, knowing it would kill her. But the sick bastard intended to rape her while she was dying.”

Agatha’s weathered face hardened, her eyes sharp as flint.

“He can’t be allowed to get away with what he did,” she said grimly. “This wasn’t just an attempt to remove an inconvenience—this was calculated murder.”

His gaze drifted back to the cabin where Tessa lay sleeping. She’d said she loved him. The words echoed in his mind, precious and terrifying. She’d offered him her heart even as the poison was trying to still hers.

“No,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “He won’t get away with it.”

He crushed the fabric in his fist, his decision made. Edgar had tried to take what was his—what he now acknowledged was the most important thing in his world. His mate. The word resonated through him with absolute certainty.

He looked back at the cabin, his chest tight with an unfamiliar ache. He could still see Tessa’s pale face, hear the whispered “I love you” that had slipped from her lips before she’d drifted back to sleep.

“How long will she sleep?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Agatha’s knowing eyes studied him. “At least a few more hours. The worst is past, but her body needs time to recover.”

“And you’re certain she’ll be all right?” He couldn’t keep the edge of desperation from his voice.

“I’ve treated poison victims for fifty years,” Agatha said firmly. “She’ll live, though she’ll be weak for a day or two.” She placed a weathered hand on his arm. “Go. Do what you must. I’ll remain at her side until you return.”

Korrin hesitated, torn between the need to hunt down those who had harmed Tessa and the desire to be there when she opened her eyes again.

“The longer you wait,” Agatha said quietly, “the more time they have to prepare another attempt.”

That decided him. With a curt nod, he turned and disappeared into the trees. Night had fallen, but his Vultor eyes pierced the darkness easily. The forest opened before him, familiar and welcoming. He moved swiftly, silently, his body shifting partially as he ran—not fully beast, but something between, faster and more lethal than either form alone.

The rage he’d been suppressing boiled beneath his skin. Lenora had sent Edgar to poison Tessa, then attempted to finish the jobherself. The thought of either of them touching her, hurting her, made his beast howl for blood.

His claws extended as he ran, his fangs lengthening in his mouth. He’d been hired to make Tessa disappear, but instead, she’d made him feel something he’d thought impossible. She’d shown him kindness, acceptance—love. And they had tried to take that from him.

He’d always been a hunter, but tonight he was something more primal. Tonight, he was vengeance.

His senses led him unerringly through the forest toward the village. The scent of Edgar—that mixture of expensive cologne, sweat, and the bitter tang of human greed—was easy to track. His beast snarled beneath his skin, demanding retribution.

The lights of the village appeared through the trees, and he slowed his pace. He knew Edgar’s home—the largest in the village, a two-story monstrosity with ornate trim and manicured gardens. It stood separate from the other houses, as if Edgar couldn’t bear to have neighbors too close—perfect for his purposes.

He circled the property, staying in the shadows. The house was dark except for a single light on the ground floor. A servant’s entrance at the rear stood unguarded. Pathetic. The man had wealth but no sense. Any decent predator would know to secure all entry points.

He tested the door handle. Locked, but that meant nothing to him. Korrin extended a claw and worked it into the mechanism, feeling for the tumblers. A quick twist, and the lock gave way with a soft click. He slipped inside, silent as a shadow.

The scent of blood hit him immediately—fresh, human blood. His nostrils flared as he followed it through the darkened kitchen and down a hallway. The light he’d seen came from beneath a door at the end.

He moved closer, his hearing picking up muttered curses from within. He eased the door open just enough to see inside.

Edgar sat in a plush chair, his trousers rolled up to expose his ankles. Both were marked with deep, ragged scratches—clearly the work of small, sharp teeth. The pups had defended Tessa well. The man dabbed at the wounds with a cloth, wincing.

“Damned mongrels,” Edgar muttered. “Should have killed them first.”

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