Page 4 of Alien Charming

“Are you regretting showing yourself?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I was just remembering the first time I saw you.”

“Before we started talking?”

He nodded, suddenly feeling as awkward as a young pup. “I watched you work with your plants. I watched the way you handled each seedling, each stem, with such care.”

She’d knelt gracefully between the rows of plants, gently loosening roots, murmuring encouragement to the plants as if they could understand. Despite the sadness that so frequently shadowed her features, there was a serenity to her that soothed his beast.

“Your patience struck me,” he continued. “You never showed frustration. You worked methodically, giving attention to each plant.”

A pretty wash of pink tinted her cheeks. “They respond better to gentleness than force. Plants have their own time.”

“As do all living things.” He found himself stepping closer, leaving the shadow of the trees. “I watched you create order from chaos, beauty from nothing. It was… peaceful.”

Her quiet determination had resonated with something long buried within him, and watching her tend her garden had become the brightest part of his days.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly disarmed. Standing at the edge of the forest, exposed in the afternoon light, he found himself searching for words—an unfamiliar predicament given his years as alpha.

It wasn’t just her lack of fear that unsettled him. It was the way her mind worked. Over the past few weeks, he’d realized that not only was she astonishingly perceptive, she somehow saw the connections between things—plants and people, problems and solutions—that most people missed.

“You think differently,” he’d told her once, but she’d only shrugged.

“My aunt says I think too much.”

Something protective had stirred in his chest at her casual dismissal, and perhaps that too had led to him revealing himself.

His instincts screamed at him to retreat as he stood exposed in the daylight. What was he doing? Engaging in conversation with a human female as if they were equals, as if there weren’t years of bloodshed between their peoples.

“I should go,” he said abruptly, taking a step backwards. The afternoon sun felt harsh on his skin after so many days observing from the shadows.

Disappointment flickered across her face. “Will you come back tomorrow?”

The hopeful note in her voice threatened to unravel his resolve, and her intoxicating scent clouded his judgment.

“I don’t know if that’s wise,” he answered truthfully, even though he suspected he wouldn’t be able to resist.

“Because I’m human?” she asked, her perceptiveness catching him off guard.

“Because I’m Vultor,” he countered. “And the alpha. I have responsibilities.”

She nodded, accepting his answer, but that quiet understanding only made it worse.

“Thank you for showing yourself,” she said softly. “It means a great deal to me.”

Before he could respond—before he could do something truly foolish like step closer or, worse, reach for her—he turned and strode back into the protective darkness of the forest. Once concealed among the ancient trees, he broke into a run, pushing his body to its limits, trying to outpace the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

He didn’t slow until he was miles away, deep in Vultor territory. Leaning against a massive trunk, he drew ragged breaths into his lungs.

“Fool,” he growled at himself. “Reckless, selfish fool.”

What madness had possessed him to reveal himself? To indulge this… obsession with a human female? A female barely into adulthood, innocent and sheltered despite her keen mind.

Elli was everything he couldn’t afford to want. Too young. Too gentle. Too human. Her small hands were made for coaxing life from soil, not surviving in his harsh world. Her delicate body would break under the force of a Vultor mate.

And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way sunlight caught in her hair, how her eyes lit up when discussing her plants, the careful consideration she gave his words.

“She deserves better than a beast,” he muttered, pushing away from the tree. Better than a leader who carried the weight of his people’s survival. Better than a male who had sacrificed any hope of personal happiness for duty.

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