Page 7 of Alien Huntsman

His jaw clenched. He wasn’t responsible for this human girl. He owed her nothing.

And yet…

“Fine,” he growled. “I’ll take her away from here. But I choose where and when and how.”

She smiled triumphantly. “Of course. I don’t care about the method, only the result.” She pushed the pouch back towards him. “Do we have a deal?”

He took it, hating himself even as he did. “Yes.”

“You may choose the specific time, but it needs to be done as soon as possible.” Her eyes gleamed with malicious satisfaction. “I’ll simply say she ran away, and I’m sure no one will question it.”

He nodded once, then turned to leave, already turning over plans in his head. No matter what he did with the girl, she’d be better off than remaining here with this vicious female.

CHAPTER 3

Tessa slipped out of the bakery and hurried across the alley to her house. Sammy had attempted to ‘help’ with the fruit filling she was making from the bruised apples and spilled half of it down Tessa’s dress. He meant well, but he was a gangly young man who was awkward at the best of times. Lenora’s constant criticism only made him worse despite—or perhaps because—he also had a schoolboy crush on her.

She’d tried explaining that to her stepmother, but the conversation had not gone well. Lenora told her that if Sammy wasn’t up to the job, she would fire him. Since that would leave her without any help at all, she’d kept her mouth shut after that and did her best to shield Sammy from Lenora’s wrath.

She slipped through the back door, grateful for the cool dimness of the kitchen. The house was unusually quiet. Lenora spent most of her mornings in the parlor, receiving visitors or ordering more luxuries. The silence felt wrong, and she hurried up the back stairs, then down the hall to the narrow staircase leading to the attic.

Just as she reached the stairs, a voice drifted out of the parlor—Lenora’s, pitched low and urgent.

“—need her gone. You understand?”

She froze, one foot on the bottom step. The voice that answered was deep, measured. Male. It was too muffled to be sure, but something about it seemed familiar.

“What you’re asking for comes at a price.”

A cold weight settled in her stomach. Who was Lenora speaking to? And who did she want gone? Her mind raced through possibilities. Lenora hadn’t been happy when Mrs. Peterson started selling sweet fried dough in the market. And she’d been feuding with Mrs. Jacobson over an upcoming social event.

She bit her lip and inched closer to the parlor door, her heart hammering. But she’d forgotten the creaky floorboard outside the parlor and it squeaked as her foot touched it. Damn. She backed away as rapidly as she dared and fled up the stairs to the safety of her room.

The fruit stain on her dress had spread, dark and accusing. She changed quickly, bundling the soiled garment into her washing basket. The conversation echoed in her mind as she scrubbed at her hands, trying to remove the sticky apple residue.

Need her gone. Permanently. A price.

The words chilled her more than the water from her basin. Whatever Lenora was planning, it couldn’t be good. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should recognize that man’s voice.

The sound of the front door closing reached her and she peeked out of the window in time to see Lenora leaving the house,her mouth curved in a triumphant smile. Her stomach flipped. Nothing good ever happened when her stepmother looked like that. She kept watching but no one else emerged from the house. Where had that man gone? And had he agreed to do whatever Lenora wanted?

The questions continued to haunt her throughout the rest of the day. Lenora was unusually absent from the bakery and Sammy relaxed enough to produce an acceptable pie crust. He could be a half decent baker given sufficient time and patience, but patience was in short supply where Lenora was involved.

After pre-baking the pie crusts and kneading the dough for tomorrow’s bread, she headed back to the house. The house was still quiet, the kitchen cold, and she sighed. That meant her stepmother would be dining out and Tessa would have to make do with whatever she could scavenge from the pantry.

She was chopping some rather withered carrots when the kitchen door swung open, and Lenora swept in wearing her best dress—a deep burgundy silk that rustled with every step. Her hair was arranged in a more than usually elaborate style, and she’d applied rouge to her cheeks and lips.

“I’m going out this evening,” Lenora announced. “Mr. Thornfield has invited me to dinner.”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the carrots. “Yes, stepmother.”

“I doubt he’ll bother after tonight, but if he should happen to ask tomorrow, you were suddenly taken ill.”

That startled her into looking up. Something glittered at Lenora’s throat—a necklace Tessa’s father had given her mother, one Lenora had claimed for herself after his death—and the sight of it made her stomach clench.

“Will you be dining at the tavern?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice neutral.

“My affairs are none of your concern, but I believe Mr. Thornfield prefers a more… intimate setting.”

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