Page 23 of Alien Charming

She finally drifted into sleep, her troubled thoughts giving way to the heavy pull of exhaustion. In her dreams, the familiar darkness of her bedroom faded, replaced by dappled sunlight filtering through leaves. She found herself in a clearing she didn’t recognize, wildflowers dotting the grass beneath her bare feet.

The warmth of the sun caressed her skin, and she realized she wore only a thin white shift that fluttered around her calves inthe gentle breeze. Her hair hung loose down her back, freed from its usual severe knot.

“Elli.”

The deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to find Seren stepping from the shadows of the forest. In the dream, she felt no shame, no doubt—only a delicious anticipation that pooled in her belly.

He moved towards her with the fluid grace of a predator, but she felt no fear. His golden eyes gleamed with a hunger that matched the ache building within her. When he reached her, he cupped her cheek with impossible gentleness.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip, and she leaned into his touch.

“I’m here now.”

He lowered his head, and she didn’t hesitate to meet him. His arms encircled her, drawing her against the solid wall of his chest. She melted into him, her hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, loosening it from its tie.

The kiss deepened, and she sighed against his mouth as his hands roamed her back, leaving trails of heat wherever they touched. He lifted her effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Mine,” he growled against her throat, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin there without breaking it. The possessive word sent a thrill through her that had nothing to do with fear.

“Yours,” she agreed, her voice breathy and unfamiliar to her own ears.

He lowered them both to a bed of soft grass, his body a welcome weight above hers. In the dream, everything felt right, perfect—as if this were exactly where she was meant to be.

She woke with a gasp, her nightgown clinging to her damp skin and an unfamiliar ache between her thighs. The remnants of the dream lingered, leaving her breathless and confused. Sunlight streamed through her window, and she realized she’d overslept. Aunt Margaret would be furious.

She scrambled out of bed, her heart still racing from the images that had filled her sleep. Her cheeks burned as she recalled the dream—Seren’s hands on her body, his lips against her throat, the way she had responded so eagerly. The memory of his actual kisses tangled with the dream, making it difficult to separate reality from fantasy. Except… they had gone much further in her dream.

Despite her aunt’s best efforts she was familiar with the basic mechanics of sex, or at least human sex. Was Vultor sex that different? Both Tessa and Scarlett seemed happy enough.

Oh, God. What am I thinking?

She blushed at the direction of her thoughts and hurried through her morning routine, trying to force her thoughts to more practical matters. Like the fact that she hadn’t finished all her chores last night, and Aunt Margaret would no doubt have a list of new ones for her to complete today.

But as she dressed and brushed her hair, her mind kept wandering back to the clearing, to the feeling of his body pressed against hers, and to the word that had sent such a shock of longing through her.

Mine.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of desire that clung to her. It had been a dream, nothing more. A wayward fantasy that held no bearing on reality.

“Elli!” Her aunt’s sharp voice cut through her thoughts. “Are you still abed? The morning is half-gone!”

“Coming, Aunt Margaret!”

She hastily splashed water on her face, trying to cool her flushed skin, then twisted her hair into its usual tight knot, wincing as she secured it with pins. The girl in her dream had worn her hair loose and wild, and had been confident in a way she couldn’t imagine.

“Ellianna!”

Her aunt’s voice held a warning note, and she hurried downstairs, trying to force thoughts of Seren and the dream to the back of her mind. She would have time to think about it later, when she was alone in the garden. Perhaps he would come to her again, and she could understand what had happened between them.

For now, she had chores to complete and an aunt to appease. But as she moved through her morning tasks, she couldn’t help but touch her lips occasionally, remembering the pressure of his mouth against hers—the one part of the night she knew had been wonderfully, terrifyingly real.

As she went about her errands, she hardly noticed the length of her list or the weight of her basket. Mrs. Hobson’s sour expression barely registered as she purchased flour and sugar. The shopkeeper’s clipped tone and the way she counted out her change with exaggerated care—as if suspecting her of being toodim to notice shortchanging—simply rolled off her like water from oiled cloth.

“Thank you,” she said, giving Mrs. Hobson an absentminded smile, and saw the woman shake her head as she left.

She continued to the butcher’s shop, where as usual Mr. Collins served her last. Normally it would have stung, but today she simply waited patiently, her mind drifting to the memory of golden eyes intent on her face.

“What’ll it be?” Mr. Collins finally asked, not bothering to look up from his cutting board.

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