Thank you reviewers! You all are the reason I'm spending countless hours staring at a computer screen when I should probably be doing something more constructive. I love to hear it that my updates make your day because your reviews make my day! Don't hate me for choosing not to give anything away regarding L'tor's fate...trust that all will be revealed as fast as I can post updates...
Disclaimers...do I still have to post these? Just in case, here goes: I don't own the concept of Predator(s) and this is a mature-rated story. I swear, from now on I think I'll just copy/paste a disclaimer here to cover my butt.
Lar'nix'va had been surprised to be contacted by L'tor, and definitely intrigued by the invitation to board his ship to entertain a proposal that L'tor would not discuss except face-to-face. It would lessen the chances of any other yautja seeing their meeting or overhearing their discussion, since what L'tor was about to propose was something he preferred to be held with the utmost discretion, in case of refusal. The fact that Lar'nix'va agreed to it spoke volumes about his self-confidence and the respect he still had for his old mei'hswei's honor and integrity, to allow himself to be put at a disadvantage by boarding L'tor's ship.
In the hours before the designated meeting time, L'tor sparred with Anya, pushing her hard, to the point of exhaustion. After she bathed and ate and recovered somewhat he bred her roughly and repeatedly, pleased by her aggressive response as she howled beneath him, her temper pricked by his demand, biting and scratching as he drove into her. He flipped her face down and dug his tusks into her back as he finished, nipping at her shoulder with his sharp teeth and making her squeal in rage as she struggled. As soon as she caught her breath he was at her again, driven by a need to assert his dominance and authority over her as his possession, by the desire to wear her down in advance of what he was sure would be a tense meeting, by the need to spend himself so fully inside her that she would be coated inside and out with his scent.
Once he was satisfied that his needs had been met she was wearing fresh breeding marks and her skin was stimulated to the point of redness by contact with his rougher hide. He hoped to make her irresistible to Lar'nix'va, a sleepy, tousled female who was well-used and docile, bearing obvious sensory evidence of recent breeding, passionate enough in her response to have left obvious evidence on L'tor's body in the form of bites and scratches. Her appearance and scent would be enough to attract the attention and envy of any yautja. It was far more commonplace to see a skittish or sullen female who reacted poorly to any contact from her mate. The subtle message he intended to convey was clear: This could be yours.
Anya resisted being woken and told to get dressed, trying to burrow deeper into the furs for more sleep. He uncovered her and ran his claws lightly down her back, something that never failed to get a reaction from her and this time was no different. She arched sexily, her lean, toned body rising as she loosed a feminine purr of pleasure. It momentarily distracted him and he gave her a thorough scratching, mindful of the puncture wounds left by his tusks. The sight of them alone was enough to stir his libido, spent as he was. She was learning to withstand his aggression without fear, letting it incite her temper and driving her to fight back.
As if reading his thoughts and thinking he was trying to rouse her for another round, she muttered, "Swear t'god, L'tor..."
He vocalized a questioning sound, unsure of what she'd said or what it meant, and when there was no response he closed his hand around her ankle and pulled her feet-first to the edge of the bed. This time her head jerked up and she glared at him.
"Wherezafireat?" she demanded, sitting up abruptly.
"Up. Have need of you," he rumbled.
"What're you, on Viagra now? Go do something else," she muttered crossly, then kicked his hand off her ankle and rolled over, pulling a fur across herself with a low groan.
No idea what she was saying. He was purposely not allowing her a full rest cycle, wanting her sleepy and calm for the coming meeting that he had kept her in the dark about. Though he was certain she would disagree, this was not up for discussion; he was honoring her request to make provisions for her that would ease her mind and leave her with no valid objection to his leaving her to hunt. Returning her to her home planet was out of the question; the only other option was to take her immediately to the clan ship, and he was also certain that, given a choice, Anya would agree with him that Lar'nix'va was a better option. He would rather bond himself more tightly to a former ally than put himself under the thumb claws of his clan's leaders just yet.
"Up," he growled, tugging the fur off of her. "Clothes."
Anya lifted her head and blinked sleepily at him then yawned hugely, ending it in a low, sultry groan as she stretched. He waited, then turned away to retrieve her coverings and carry them to the bed, just in time to hear the thump and vibration of Lar'nix'va's drop ship docking. Anya's eyes widened and she blinked.
"Whazzat?" she demanded.
"Guest," he grumbled.
She stared at him, then blinked again and asked, "We're having company?"
"Sei-i. Company." Still holding her clothing, he reached out a hand to her and she grasped it and let him pull her upright. "Get dressed," he told her, lightly dropping the clothes on the furs beside her. "Will come back for you."
He left her abruptly to go unlock the docking portal and escort Lar'nix'va into his ship, emitting a low rumble as he strode off.
First things first. He greeted his old mei'hswei with a friendly shoulder grasp that was returned, though both of them were rank with musk. It had been like that in the old days often enough L'tor thought, as he took Lar'nix'va on a tour, making sure to take him down the corridors lined with his trophies. The only difference between then and now was a distrust that hadn't been between them before. It put him on notice that Lar'nix'va was as on his guard as he was, uncertain of this meeting and why L'tor had requested it. His hunt brother was quiet, keeping slightly back and to the side of him, fully armored and heavily armed, taking no chances but making no threatening moves. L'tor was neither armed nor armored and he'd made that decision deliberately, in an attempt to put himself at a disadvantage and put Lar'nix'va at ease. He'd anticipated that his mei'hswei would put on a show of force; it was Lar'nix'va's way to be direct to the point of being confrontational. He hadn't necessarily come spoiling for a fight but was clearly prepared to meet L'tor in kind if that's what was in store for him.
Lar'nix'va paused at the skull of the xenomorph queen and rumbled as he stared at it for a moment, then leveled a calculating look on L'tor. He had been there, at that hive cleansing. He and L'tor had joined forces to cut her loose from her egg sac while others held her praetorians and drones at bay, two Elders at her head to provide distraction. She was old and wise and had weathered multiple attacks on her hive by the yautja, stealing eggs and cutting down the numbers of her young. The time had come to move her, and Lar'nix'va and L'tor had been honored to be invited to join in her capture on behalf of the clan. She was to be moved from her dank cave and installed aboard a ship, held captive to produce strong eggs for future chivas. It was an immensely dangerous undertaking to remove and relocate a queen, and it was expected among the yautja invited to participate that there would be losses.
And there had been. The massive queen had killed one of the Elders, and her praetorian guards had cut a swath through the other Blooded hunters assigned to provide cover. Lar'nix'va had dropped back to defend while L'tor had continued cutting her free of her huge egg sac, sawing feverishly and trusting his mei'hswei to watch his back. No words were spoken, no commands issued through the mayhem of squealing kainde amedha, the booming of plasma casters, the shrieking of the queen. Drones had continued to flood into the nesting chamber through every crack and crevice, more than had been anticipated. It was a testament to this queen's cunning, that she'd kept so many of her brood secreted away from the main nest then called them to come to her defense. The yautja had underestimated her and had very nearly paid for that mistake with their lives.
And when L'tor had finally cut her free he went on the defensive as the second Elder was cut down, continuing to focus on her because he had heard no warning from Lar'nix'va to distract him from his job. His hunt brother was dependable and ferocious and L'tor trusted him above all others; with Lar'nix'va at his back he paid no attention to anything else, alert for the first roar from the only one who he had absolute faith in to hold attacks at bay and allow him to ignore everything else and deal with holding off and distracting the queen.
"She was ferocious," Lar'nix'va said now, remembering. "Had there been more like us, we could have saved and captured her." There was regret in his tone; while the kainde amedha were considered vermin to be eliminated, they were also highly respected as formidable adversaries.
"Sei-i," L'tor agreed. The skull was the only female in his trophy display, and he'd hesitated before choosing to place it outside Anya's dwelling, hoping that it wouldn't convey threat to her, being that she, too, was female. In the end, he, Lar'nix'va and the eight remaining Blooded had had no choice but to kill her, though the job had been left to L'tor while the rest held off her brood. Cut free of her egg sac she was far more mobile and a threat to those remaining. L'tor had defied her attempts to get by him, using plasma caster, spear and throwing disks to drive her back as the rest held off the drones trying to defend her and protect the nest. Warriors continued to be cut down around him but L'tor remained focused on the queen and listening for any indication from Lar'nix'va that the battle raging behind him was being lost. His hunt brother, in return, had ignored the threat of the queen behind him and trusted L'tor to hold her back while he concentrated on the rest.
When the twenty two yautja became six, Lar'nix'va had bellowed to L'tor to kill her. Even if those left alive had successfully killed off the rest of her drones, they weren't enough to capture and subdue her. Already, in his laboring to reduce her threat, L'tor had sustained heavy damage but succeeded in severing one of her secondary arms and the spear-tip of the tail that had laid his thigh open to the bone. In trying to subdue her he had been concentrating on minimizing her but not attempting to outright kill her or inflict mortal wounds; the second his hunt brother had sounded the alarm he'd rallied and switched tactics from defensive to offensive. And she'd responded in kind, no longer trying to bull her way past him, seeing him as merely an annoyance, an obstacle to the defense of her hive. He became a real threat as his smart disk severed one of her primary arms and lodged in her exoskeleton near her core. While the battle had raged behind him she'd focused on him with a hard, sustained hiss of threat and warning while he'd extended his spear to its fullest length and bellowed back at her, standing his ground and defying her. Though he had prepared himself for death before entering the nest he would not go down without a fight.
A creature her size had to be brought down gradually; at such close quarters he'd dared not use his plasma cannon for fear of spraying her acidic blood on the others or himself. Even so, every cut he'd inflicted on her hard outer shell had created geysers of blood that she used to her advantage even as she slowly, steadily died, giving him no reprieve as time and again he was forced to action to avoid the acid and drive her back from her attempts at the rest of the pack. In the end, he had nearly brought her down on top of himself.
Lar'nix'va turned and clapped a hand hard on his bare shoulder, grasping and giving him a firm shake, pulling him out of the memory of blood and pain. Momentarily stunned, L'tor snapped back from the memories of that cave, the astringent burning of his eyes and olfactory pits, the sensation of searing pain and the shrieks of the dying queen in his ears.
"Was a good kill," Lar'nix'va rumbled, still holding his shoulder. He had taken three praetorian skulls, though L'tor knew there were at least another two to his credit that had not been worthy of taking, too badly damaged. The drone skulls he'd left behind, a vast pile that had steamed and silently attested to his heroic efforts in keeping the horde off of L'tor while he had concentrated on the queen. L'tor had limped out with her skull and tail tip, accompanied by Lar'nix'va and four remaining battered Elite. To this day he wondered whose effort had been greater, unsure of which of them had risked more in ensuring that they'd both walked away.
Sensing that the time was right and that his hunt brother was feeling more relaxed and at ease, he settled Lar'nix'va in his meeting room where he already had pitchers of c'ntlip prepared and goblets waiting. He allowed his hunt brother to choose one and filled it, then excused himself to go retrieve Anya.
She was dressed and dozing, curled on the furs on her side with her knees drawn up, though she came awake at L'tor's purr of greeting. Blinking awake, she lifted her head and asked, "What's going on?"
"Come," he rumbled, holding a hand out to her. He drew her to her feet and when she was standing he pressed his mandibles to the top of her head to draw in a deep breath of her, letting out a low, warm purr. She smelled like sleep, and him, lightly complimented by the cleansers from her bath.
Anya relaxed and let out a quiet sigh, giving some of her balance over to him as she eased her body against his. Her earlier temper at being woken up had faded back, and her uncertainty at the news of a visitor dissipated at his pausing to comfort her and show affection. She had the sense that he was tense but not agitated, and though she was still unsure about what was going on his simple soothing gesture had worked wonders to calm and quiet her.
Aside from her mother and father, no one had been able to do that she mused, as he led her from his bedroom and into the corridor beyond. Despite being battered and aching from an aggressive sparring session and more than one equally aggressive romp in the sack, she was instinctively aware that he held no anger toward her. She was getting him on a deeper level than she'd ever gotten anyone, having been forced to read him, respond to him and relate to him more like she did to an animal than a human. Not that she minimized or belittled him, but that she was learning to interpret nonverbal cues and forcing herself to pay closer attention because of that. He was not human; he didn't behave or act or respond in ways that she could relate to.
And something about that, the animalistic and almost primitive side of him, was a turn-on. He didn't roll out of bed in the morning, put on a suit and drive to the office, work a nine-to-five, go out for happy hour and come home to sit in front of the television until he went to bed. He honed his body daily into a weapon and had spent his entire life using it as one, fighting and killing so he could earn the right to live another day and do it again. There was no pop culture, no personal life versus work life, no mindless entertainment or hobbies.
Nothing, in other words, that she could find common ground with. But since those things had been stripped away from her and she'd been forced into his way of doing things, she was finding a certain contentment that had always eluded her in the past. Forced to focus on nothing but herself and him, she was not only coming to an understanding with him but with herself and who she was. Paying such close attention to him made her pay better attention to herself in turn, analyzing her own actions and motivations as hard as she did his.
Sleepy and physically exhausted, Anya twisted her head to stretch her neck beneath L'tor's hot grip, and when he turned her into his meeting room and another yautja abruptly rose from his seat she came to a halt, freezing as she stared. It took her a moment to recognize him; his tresses weren't spiking up from behind his head but the faint reddish hourglass pattern on his broad forehead was a dead giveaway. Shit, she thought. The asshole.
He was staring back at her, the fiery orange of his eyes bright and glittering beneath his prominent brow. As she watched, his upper mandibles lifted and his huge chest expanded enough to cause the bindings of his chest armor to creak in protest as his wide shoulders lifted. L'tor grunted and gave her neck a light squeeze before stepping into the room and leading her closer. Mentally she was cursing L'tor, thinking she was being dragged into some new test that he'd failed to mention, already wondering how badly this one was going to hurt as she deliberately dragged her feet.
"Lar'nix'va," L'tor nodded. "My mate, An'eya."
Lar'nix'va grunted acknowledgement and continued to stare at her, noting that she boldly looked him in the eyes. In any other circumstance he would consider such a thing from a female to be blatant invitation, and take action. Here, though, he remained still and matched her stare, rumbling quietly.
As in almost all areas, he shared L'tor's low opinion of ooman females, finding them too high strung, high maintenance and flighty to ever consider choosing one as more than a one-time mating partner. It had surprised him, therefore, when L'tor had entered the bar reserved for the highest ranked yautja on the clan ship, leaving a female in the designated area for mark testing. He'd been the one to approach the female to test the tattoo for several reasons. One, few others would have the nerve to intimidate L'tor's female, especially considering that she hadn't shown any sign of fear by being left to stand alone; few females made it even that far. When he saw L'tor order a second drink, prepared to wait as long as it took, it had pricked Lar'nix'va's temper enough to be the one to make his female feel fear. And two, he was honestly curious to get a better look and feel for the female that had caught L'tor's eye and had made his former hunt brother change his mind about taking one to breed with. The fact that she'd been hard to intimidate had caught him offguard.
"I remember you," she said flatly. "You screamed in my face."
Lar'nix'va bristled, straightening his spine and lowering his chin as she continued to boldly regard him. "You called this meeting," Lar'nix'va reminded L'tor as he looked Anya over, making no effort to disguise his continued interest. It was almost like she was daring him to do something. No surprise that he could smell L'tor's musk strongly on her and see signs that she'd been recently bred; had he the opportunity he wouldn't hesitate to respond to her bold defiance, either. Appearances told him that she'd either resisted strongly or that she could not only handle aggression but that she could give it in return. Only observation would would tell him which was the truth. Either way, he was definitely intrigued when he had noticed the fresh bite marks and scratches on his once mei'hswei. A spirited and passionate female was a rare and desirable thing.
"Lar'nix'va," L'tor said, redirecting his focused attention. "Let us sit and talk."
With a deep, husky grunt, Lar'nix'va settled back in his seat and watched as L'tor sat near him, the female moving to his outstretched hand and allowing him to pull her weight onto his lap. It was a practiced, familiar move that spoke volumes to Lar'nix'va. The female didn't protest L'tor's touch and moved easily onto his lap. Physically these two were comfortable with each other; despite the evidence of a recent and aggressive mating she did not mind his old hunt-brother's touch or closeness, paying more attention to Lar'nix'va as the threatening stranger than to L'tor who handled her.
L'tor, he was suddenly made aware, was staring at him. There had been a faint rise in L'tor's n'dui'se, enough to catch his attention and draw it from the female. L'tor's pupils were dilated and his lower mandibles slightly spread, putting Lar'nix'va on notice that his interest in L'tor's female was crossing an acceptable line and bordering on disrespectful. He chuffed quietly and lifted his cup to sniff the contents, his reaction subtle but indicating that he wasn't spoiling for a fight. It had the effect of backing L'tor's aggression down, too. While Lar'nix'va busied himself with trying the liquor, L'tor redirected his attention to his female. Lar'nix'va watched from the corner of his eye as they exchanged a few brief words and she agreeably settled back on L'tor's lap, curling up more comfortably. He had to admit to a certain stirring of interest at the sight of a hundred some-odd pounds of soft warmth nestled agreeably in his mei'hswei's lap.
"Mei'hswei," L'tor said, using that old title of camaraderie. They hadn't been hunt brothers in a long time, since L'tor had decided the leader of the pack they'd joined after chiva was being far too conservative in his choice of hunting grounds, and forcing them to spend more time traveling from hunt to hunt than actually hunting. Lar'nix'va had agreed with L'tor at the time and supported his challenge, but when it was over and L'tor assumed leadership of the pack he had no time for Lar'nix'va and almost no time for hunting anymore. Seeing the demands leadership put on his hunt brother had solidified in Lar'nix'va's mind that he had zero interest in tying himself down to others, and L'tor's new position only meant that their Paths had diverted from each other's. Lar'nix'va had concentrated on earning his own keep and achieving what he needed to obtain his own ship, and L'tor had continued pursuing further positions of responsibility and leadership. He held no resentment or dislike for L'tor, knowing him to be a respectable and honorable yautja with an impressive and difficult Path, but there was something in Lar'nix'va that needed more freedom and refused any taming of his wanderlust.
"Get to the point," he growled, sensing L'tor's hesitation. The liquor was good, but presence of the female had shortened Lar'nix'va's normally short temper, turning this meeting from intriguing to frustrating for him. He, too, had remembered that hive cleansing that had earned L'tor the queen's skull, and he was having a hard time reconciling his memory of those days with the yautja now sitting before him, with an ooman pet on his lap.
L'tor rumbled, mildly irritated but remembering well Lar'nix'va's preference for directness; it seemed that at least that hadn't changed about him. Very well, then. "I invited you here to offer you right of succession with my female."
Stunned, Lar'nix'va's mandibles fell slightly slack, then his gaze switched to the female in question. Her eyelids were at half-mast and blinking sleepily, no longer engaged in trying to stare him to death.
Gaining control once again over his most prominent facial features, Lar'nix'va shifted his mandibles on either side of his face. "Planning on leaving us?" he drawled.
L'tor growled, drawing his heavy brows lower over his eyes. "Merely planning for the welfare of my mate," he corrected. "I have no intention of going anywhere."
"Why me?" Lar'nix'va wanted to know, the most obvious question.
"Why not you?" L'tor countered. "Who better and more able to care for her than you? With what other yautja would she be guaranteed safety and security equal to what she has under me?"
Lar'nix'va grunted. All true. And L'tor was honoring him with this request. His gaze switched to the female in L'tor's lap to take her in again as he thought it over. She'd settled nicely, curled and comfortable on his mei'hswei, leaning against his chest with her legs drawn up and bent to the side. A departure from the usual sight of an ooman female sitting a yautja's lap, stiff with tension and flinching in reaction to every sound and movement.
She idly toyed with the hide straps hanging from L'tor's forearm by his elbow, at the end of his gauntlets. Lar'nix'va watched, intrigued. L'tor was clearly not putting on a show with this female; what you saw was what you got. Apparently his once mei'hswei, the great and mighty Honored Blood L'tor, still had an aversion to the sensation of his awa'asu touching his skin. He'd worn the hide coverings beneath his armor since they were students.
Lar'nix'va grunted quietly at the memory of Master Ci'tde asking L'tor if perhaps he wouldn't prefer becoming a worker of hides rather than a warrior. Typical of L'tor, he took the insult in stride and used the mocking of the other students as a fuel to drive him to even greater heights of glory. No one trained harder or applied himself more diligently to his lessons, no one challenged himself more earnestly or strove with more ambition to achieve his goals than L'tor. That drive was what had caused Lar'nix'va to migrate toward him; though far more fiery than L'tor he recognized a determination and seriousness that he could relate to. And L'tor had always been more cerebral than the average yautja, even in his youth.
Clearly the thinking part of L'tor was hard at work even now. Lar'nix'va was surprised at what he was proposing, turning the invitation over in his mind and trying to understand the intent behind it, trying to find the flaws in L'tor's thinking or the ulterior motive behind his proposal. His great affection and attachment to this ooman female was obvious, and all appearances indicated that she shared a strong attachment to him. While it wasn't commonplace for yautja to plan for the possibility of their demise and make a succession plan allowing for the disposition of their mate, it wasn't unusual either. It indicated the high level of respect and care he held this female in, to allow for her continued survival in case of his death.
"Does she know?" Lar'nix'va asked his hunt brother, his attention still fixed on the female.
"No," L'tor admitted with a grunt. "I prefer to receive your agreement to the proposal before settling her into the idea."
Lar'nix'va trilled in amusement, seeing Anya's eyes flash open a little wider as she started to doze off. "Tell her," Lar'nix'va decided, wanting to see her reaction and how, exactly, L'tor would 'settle' her into the idea. Any resistance to the agreement would let him know how much trouble to expect in the case that he was called on to take her.
"Your ooman-speak was always better than mine," L'tor admitted easily. And it was true; Lar'nix'va in his day had made a specialty out of hunting oomans, finding them to be his preferred prey. When they'd hunted the soft meat together L'tor would watch in amusement as Lar'nix'va used his talent with alien language and mimicry to call out to the oomans, to taunt and mock them. Lar'nix'va enjoyed employing psychological tactics to terrorize his prey and drive it to acts of desperation, the reason he preferred hunting sentient beings above all others. Where L'tor's style was more of expediency Lar'nix'va preferred to draw a hunt out slowly to its final conclusion, making him far more frightening to his prey.
L'tor's invitation to speak to his female surprised Lar'nix'va but he readily accepted the offer. "Female," he grunted, knowing she spoke english. Anya's eyes, which had fallen again to a sleepy lowering of her lids, snapped open. He nodded to her and crossed a fist over his chest with a hard, meaty thump. "Lar'nix'va."
Anya stared, recognizing his words as an introduction. She lifted herself into a straighter position on L'tor's lap and returned his nod. "Anya," she replied, relenting a bit in her distrustful guardedness with this yautja.
Pointing at L'tor, Lar'nix'va said, "Hunt brother."
She nodded, but though she understood the words she had no idea of their meaning, that hunt brothers were closer than blood brothers. That, essentially, Lar'nix'va was telling her that he and L'tor were the best of friends.
"He dies, you mine," Lar'nix'va said bluntly, coming right out with it. An astute observer, he saw her shock then the expression of distaste that followed.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded crossly, wide awake now.
Lar'nix'va spread his mandibles in a yautja grin and looked at L'tor, amused. "Your turn," he said graciously.
"An'eya," L'tor rumbled, and when she didn't relent in her laser glare at Lar'nix'va he stroked her hair to get her attention. "No worries," he told her. "Lar'nix'va will take care."
She shifted sideways on his lap so she could see both of them, clearly not pleased with the conversation they'd been having. "Oh, wait a second here, I get it," she snapped, her attention fixed now on L'tor, one hand braced against his chest as she balanced herself. "So if you decide to go get your ass shot off on one of your hunts, I go to him?"
Lar'nix'va chortled now, having followed her word-for-word while L'tor got enough to get the gist. That she was a choice female was obvious. That she had mettle and temper and backbone he'd already seen for himself. That she was funny was a pleasing surprise. Regardless of her ability to accept the agreement, it had been proposed and accepted so it was done, no matter how strenuously she might object. He respected L'tor enough to know that the chances of him dying on a hunt were slim to none, and despite their parting of ways he'd never wished his mei'hswei harm. But he had to admit to a sliver of hope that this intriguing little female might somehow fall into his hands.
He imagined her company onboard his quiet ship, her fire and temper as she dared to openly defy and challenge him. He could see why L'tor allowed it, why he enjoyed and encouraged that spirit instead of punishing it like a yautja with less confidence would. No doubt that same passionate fire was behind the small bite marks, the ones that looked like they were made with blunt ooman teeth, on his hunt brother's chest. He rumbled at the thought of her pinned on her back beneath him while he drove into her and she struggled, going so far as to sink her teeth into his hide. Knowing that despite her protests she was enjoying his breeding her, that she was acting out to incite his temper and encourage him to dominate her more fully and aggressively.
"An'eya," L'tor was saying, more weight in his tone. She clamped her jaw shut and settled, though it was clear that as far as she was concerned, this conversation wasn't over. She obeyed, though, and was attuned to the sound of warning in L'tor's voice. Lar'nix'va didn't suppose that L'tor utilized the need for physical punishment; something like that would be beneath the yautja he knew. He was curious, though, in what way the female would make him suffer for this, and in what way his hunt brother would respond and deal with her being difficult.
"Nicely done," Lar'nix'va said, switching back to their language, a quiet compliment.
"She is headstrong," L'tor told him, "but she likes to please. Please her and she will return the effort."
Lar'nix'va's eyes, their orange coloration cooling from a more reddish tinge to a calmer yellower tinge, switched from the female to L'tor, and he allowed himself to marginally relax at his old mei'hswei's show of humor. "I see she's a biter," he dared, then quickly raised his cup to drink in case L'tor decided that he'd taken a step too far.
There was a trill of amusement in answer. "I make no effort to curb her aggression," he answered easily enough, "But rest assured I responded appropriately to it."
Lar'nix'va's mane flared as L'tor's trill deepened into a chortle. It brought him back to their decades of hunting together, both prey and females. Making sexual use of sentient species was not forbidden, though it was usually advised to secure the agreement of the female. He and L'tor had skirted the line on that code of conduct, preferring feisty females who responded to their advances with vigorous refusal. The need to dominate heightened and sweetened the act for both of them, leaving them feeling more satisfied in the end. To have a female who understood that need and could respond with apparent refusal while desiring to be bred at the same time made her worth her weight in trophies.
"I'm beginning to understand just why you chose to burden yourself with a female," Lar'nix'va admitted. "I had thought you surprisingly desperate to take an ooman." He sipped again. "Though they had provided us with good sport over the years."
L'tor nodded agreement, also remembering. "And none for you?" he asked delicately. Lar'nix'va shrugged.
"I've seen what passes for ooman mates. Not interested." His eye fell on Anya again and followed the curves of her form. She had resettled, turned on her left and curled around L'tor's arm with his hand snugged between her thighs. Lar'nix'va wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself. "Is there another like the one you've claimed?" he asked L'tor. And if he answered yes, but that she was the possession of another yautja, he would hunt that one down and kill him, if that's what it took. His mei'hswei, no, but another, especially a young pup incapable of understanding what he had? In a heartbeat.
"No," L'tor told him, crushing his bloody fantasies. How much better to take her from her mate by force, demonstrating to her without touching her in the process that he was a force to be reckoned with, that she should respect him? He rumbled at the thought. The sight of what he would do to her mate would crush her down into meek submission to him.
In this case, too bad her mate was L'tor. He grunted, thinking that would be a battle for the ages. If he hadn't been offered right of succession he might have challenged L'tor to a sanctioned battle for her, jehdin jehdin, conducted on the clan ship in front of the Elders. No weapons, just bare-knuckle brawling. He hadn't had a good fight in longer than he could remember. And this one, if he lost, would mean no loss of face for him. But if he won...if he won he got to take the prize. Even just the fight alone would most definitely be worth his while; he and L'tor hadn't stood toe to toe in decades.
"I was not looking for a female when I came across this one," L'tor continued. "She intrigued me."
Lar'nix'va grunted. Understatement. "She is unlike the others I have come across," he said agreeably enough. "If she was not, I would not have agreed to your proposal."
The matter accomplished to mutual agreement, they settled into relaxed discussion. It became apparent as time passed that they were still highly compatible, despite past disagreements. The tension that had precipitated their meeting was gone now, and as neither of them seemed motivated to get up and go, the c'ntlip flowed as talk moved into past hunts and battles.
Sensing that this was going to take awhile, Anya allowed herself to relax in steady increments, settling more deeply and comfortably on L'tor's warm lap. He'd been unusually aggressive with her earlier; now she supposed that aggression had something to do with this meeting. Whatever the case, she was sore and achy. Despite her apprehension at the knowledge that L'tor had promised her to the Statue of Liberty should anything happen to him, she was easing into a pleasant numbness that was a direct result of the brutal workout he'd put her through. She wasn't done with this discussion, not by far, but there was a time and a place and here and now wasn't it. Besides, she didn't want to fight with L'tor in front of the Statue of Liberty; she'd gotten the sense that he found her temper amusing as hell, like she was cute or something, not like she was anything to take seriously. That alone was enough to piss her off even more.
She sighed quietly and shifted a bit, her head pillowed against L'tor's massive chest muscles. She could hear the triple thump of his heartbeats, a powerful resonance amplified by the cradle of bone that protected them. She'd learned things about his physiology, things that impressed and terrified her at the same time. Though humanoid in build there were tremendous differences between yautja and human that drove home who was predator and who was prey.
The reason they wore so little armor, even going up against beings that were armed with automatic weapons, was because their bodies were already designed to withstand tremendous punishment. Their hide, muscle and bone formed a protective barrier that was capable of minimizing damage from most attacks, be they claw, tooth, spear or bullet. Anything that managed to draw blood triggered a yautja's second natural defense: their bodies were capable of sensing blood loss and shunting around the damage to minimize it. Anya understood that that neat trick was performed by a complex series of valves, in a circulatory system that was far more intricate than a human's. Wounds that were non-life threatening were allowed to heal as-is, developing scar tissue that was even thicker and less sensitive than unblemished hide.
Minimizing blood loss meant that it would take a hell of a lot of wounds before a yautja would be weakened or slowed down. And to make matters worse for the wounder, the wounded yautja, who might not have been feeling particularly aggressive prior to being wounded, was now being influenced by a natural chemical cocktail released by multiple glands in response to the injury.
Since being taught this and paying attention to her captor to understand him better, Anya learned that this potent cocktail fueled a berserker rage that was predicated, at least in L'tor, by a hard huff and a strengthening of the scent he called n'dui'se. Once, when sparring, she'd landed a hard but glancing blow across his lower left mandible with the stick. She'd had a second of triumph as L'tor froze in what she'd thought was shock, then she got a sudden strong whiff of heat and beer and had enough time to start to ask, "What's that sm-" before he huffed, roared, and charged. She'd ended up knocked onto her ass out of the sparring circle hard enough to stun her, with L'tor suddenly standing over her, breathing harshly, fists clenched. The impact had thrown the stick a dozen feet from her and left her wits scattered, but as a mature yautja with strong self-control, L'tor hadn't even hit her. He'd simply barreled into her, a body to body slam that had sent her flying as, surprised by her strike, he'd reacted instinctively to reassert his dominance and take back control of the session. Classic yautja dominance behavior toward a perceived subordinate in response to insubordination; her strike had caused him pain, triggering a rage response that had the potential for a much more extreme reaction. Fortunately for her, her instinct was to stay on the floor and not move a muscle, giving him time to reassert control over himself and not doing anything to encourage or incite his need to respond to her as a threat.
Yautja aggression was infamous, even among their own kind. It was the thing that drove them, that their whole culture was built around. It honed their senses, reduced the sensation of pain or injury, fueled their muscles, sped up their metabolism and gave them hyper-focus. They could go from zero to a hundred and sixty in the blink of an eye because of this berserker cocktail, and much of their training as youngsters centered around understanding their reactions to it and learning how to not give into it unless appropriate or necessary. Even so, many of their young didn't live long because of their constant and brutal temperaments fueled by a chemical rage that could be triggered by the tiniest perceived slight. Once a yautja surrendered to that cocktail it continued to fuel them until their foe was vanquished or they themselves were dead.
Beneath the thick hide and copious amounts of muscle, in addition to an incredible circulatory system and a biological speed cocktail that was equivalent to a mixture of cocaine and PCP in a human, was the formidable yautja skeleton. Their bones were more dense than a human's, making them harder to break. The natural density was amplified by a rigorous and brutal training program that all unBlooded were required to undergo during their first fifty years of life. Constant striking and sparring during their maturation made a body that was already a lethal weapon even more so.
Each rib was thicker and wider than a human rib, the bones interlocking in a natural and mobile breastplate to protect the major organs. As if that weren't enough, each organ was itself encased in additional bone for further protection. Joints were hardier, connected with more ligaments, protected by more cartilage. Though thicker bones, bone-encased organs and denser muscle tissue made a yautja inch-by-inch heavier than a human, they moved with agility and ease, a predatory furtiveness that kept them light on their feet and capable of extreme stealth and mesmerizing flow. Most of their bulk was muscle that had been trained and honed to perfection, giving them amazing situational awareness that kept them from being clumsy or from misstepping, and making them move with confident, powerful gracefulness instead.
Their organs, in addition to being larger than a human's, were also specialized to fit an aggressive and highly active lifestyle. Their lungs had two additional lobes, though smaller than their primary lungs. A punctured lung wouldn't disable them; on the slight chance such a thing happened the secondary lung would inflate. Their twin hearts were massive five-chambered pumps that gave better circulation to the extremities than a human heart. Their systems were better able to filter impurities, distribute nutrients and oxygen, heal wounds and repair damage. Such a constitution gave a yautja a long and healthy lifespan, counterbalanced by their need to put themselves in harm's way.
The rhythmic rumble of L'tor's chuckle made Anya open her eyes out of her light doze. She blinked, taking her surroundings in and realizing that nothing had changed; they were still in the meeting room with their drinks, and he and the Statue of Liberty were sharing a laugh. She quietly lifted her leg and stretched it, feeling a click in her stiff knee before drawing it back. L'tor stroked a warm hand along her thigh over the tattoo, still engaged in conversation but not ignoring her. She blinked tiredly and looked at Lar'nix'va, holding her breath when she saw that his attention was riveted to L'tor's hand on her leg. She had the sense that he was intensely curious, to the point of fascination. L'tor's hand smoothed across her skin and his orangey eyes tracked it, then skipped to her face as if to see her reaction. When he saw she was looking at him he locked gazes with her boldly until she submissively lowered her eyes. She was not about to get into a staring contest with a yautja, much less one that L'tor respected.
She shifted, sliding over to rest her head on L'tor's bicep, allowing him to move his arm a bit, lifting it onto the chair's armrest. The straps that dangled from the back of his forearm tickled her and she caught them, idly twisting them around her fingers as she felt Lar'nix'va's continued attention and it made her nervous. She supposed she shouldn't be nervous, that she was being observed and assessed, that it was his right to do so since L'tor intended her to go to Lar'nix'va in the event anything happened to him.
Hunt Brother, she mused, then recalled L'tor calling him a pauk-de, a fucker. The yautja equivalent of a motherfucker. She smirked and lifted her eyes, finding that Lar'nix'va was still staring at her. She didn't understand their relationship, which had seemed to be contentious when Lar'nix'va had stepped forward to test her tattoo. L'tor had unloaded harshly on him, though as it turned out, scaring the shit out of her to raise her blood pressure had been what Lar'nix'va was supposed to do. But L'tor had agreed with her assessment of Lar'nix'va being an asshole and now here he was making Lar'nix'va the inheritor of his estate, including her. Or was it just her? She wasn't sure.
Untangling the straps from her fingers she twisted them together. Once, she'd idly tied the two two-foot-long straps into a hundred knots and had to deal with an angry yautja waking her and thrusting his hide-clad forearm in her sleepy face, demanding she undo the mess so he could get it off. It was funny now but at the time it hadn't been. Took her a half hour to sort out the mess, and once she had he'd rolled her onto her belly and reminded her who was boss.
That had been her first realization of what a powerful aphrodisiac fear was for her when mixed with sex. It wasn't akin to rape in her mind because L'tor took care to not harm her. There was affection in his restraint as he waited for her body to respond to his desire, in his holding out on his own pleasure until she had hers. He was fierce and aggressive and powerful and she was no match for him but he never brutalized her. His heat and beer scent had been strong, his n'dui'se, warning her that his temper was still hot, that his mood was dangerous. Knowing that, she submitted meekly, not protesting as he'd undressed her, not objecting as he'd run his hands over her body, pushing her elbows above her head until her breasts were resting on the furs, lifting her onto her knees, spreading her legs wide and stroking her sex. She realized he intended to fuck her and that she was helpless to stop him, trembling as he caressed her. At the same time she was aware of his gentleness, of the sight she must be presenting, willing and submissive because if she wasn't there was a possibility he could use force to get what he wanted.
It had surprised her then, to feel her body responding, and she'd heard his low rumble as he'd felt her wetness. The furs tickled her breasts as she remained in the position he'd put her in, playing submissive female to his dominant male. When he'd shifted and moved behind her she was titillated and excited, even more so as he continued pumping out strong musk while gently holding her hips and easing his way inside her. She knew what the smell that filled her nostrils meant, she knew he was battling for control over himself and that if she moved wrong she could ignite a firestorm of aggression, so she used her body to submit to sex instead of chancing his temper. And when she did that she'd had a thunderous orgasm, heightened and fueled by fear and by her own willing submission.
Since that day they had two kinds of sex, one that was mutual, an exchange of affection, and one that was about dominance and submission. The latter was always initiated by L'tor, and as Anya had become more confident in the game she dared to balk at his attempts to initiate, usually during sparring. It furthered his aggression when she refused to submit, resulting in his physically restraining her and using force but never truly hurting her. Sometimes her own frustration and anger got the best of her, causing her to become enraged at his use of force, fostering a defiance that required him to become more aggressive and assertive. It was a delicate game but one that drove home to her how much she'd come to trust him. And for L'tor's part, the more brutal she forced him to be seemed to make him more affectionate toward her overall. She sensed she was meeting some ingrained yautja need during breeding, giving him some kind of release beyond the obvious, fulfilling his need to reinforce and assert his dominance maybe.
It definitely reminded her of her place, especially as she became more confident and familiar and at ease with him. He wasn't her friend or her partner and she had nothing to offer him, nothing she provided for him or gave in exchange except for herself and her body. She did not, however, feel like she was a nuisance or an inconvenience to him and he never treated her with resentment or aggravation. To this day, if she was out of his sight for too long he would come looking for her, seeking her company or her assistance with whatever he was doing. That, more than the sex, made her realize that he valued her and that her presence was more than welcome; it was desirable.
She dozed off again, safe and warm and comfortable on L'tor's lap, the hide ties wound around her fingers. For a time she listened in to the rhythm of their conversation, catching a word here and there but more following the relaxed, easy cadence of it, the grunts and rumbles and clicks. She was attuned enough to recognize a distinct difference in L'tor's interaction with Lar'nix'va; it wasn't the same as the formal discussions she'd been present for on the clan ship between himself and the healer, the tattoo artist and the elders, and it wasn't the same as his socializing with his former students. He felt and sounded more at ease with this one he called asshole and hunt brother and she supposed there was a sort of friendship between them and a lot of years.
By the time L'tor woke her she'd been sleeping soundly and was disoriented, having surrendered to sheer exhaustion. It was well past her bedtime and she wasn't pleased to be woken up. He nudged her to her feet and returned her to where he'd taken her from: bed. Once she was settled he left her to go back to Lar'nix'va and the remaining liquor while she slept.
When Anya next woke, she didn't know how long she'd slept and how far they'd traveled since the meeting with Lar'nix'va. L'tor had received a summons from a familiar contact, Elder Arbitrator Warkha. The timing, in L'tor's opinion, couldn't have been better. With the issue of Anya's fate should he fall in a hunt resolved, he had set course for a large planet where a chiva had recently taken place. Four kainde amedha drones had been left unaccounted for and Warkha had offered him the opportunity to take care of them before they became a problem. Though still juveniles, if left alone the hard meats would grow to maturity, then one would become a queen. Once they established a nest they would proceed to wipe out indigent life, using every living thing as food or host for more kainde amedha. As all clans were careful to honor the requirement to chip each and every larva prior to seeding for a hunt or chiva, it was a simple enough thing to track the creatures down and eliminate them.
Eagerly accepting the Arbitrator's request, pleased that he had been the closest warrior of appropriate ability, he set about preparing for the hunt with a customary and careful going-over of his armor, weapons and equipment. He had filed a claim to be logged and archived in his personal data on the clan ship, the directive that Anya should go to Lar'nix'va. And before his hunt brother had left, they had shared personal codes long since rescinded. Lar'nix'va would be automatically notified should L'tor's personal transmitter cease to function due to destruction, calling him to come and take possession of Anya. Lar'nix'va's signature was coded as friendly to avoid the likelihood of L'tor's ship's self-defense systems firing on him when he tried to approach. The last piece was the coding of a specific button on the bridge, to be shown to Anya. Should his personal transmitter not be destroyed and automatically signal Lar'nix'va, she could signal him herself if L'tor did not return to his ship and her supplies became dangerously low.
He had not slept as he'd made his preparations, and with the ship's thrusters thumping the rhythm of full power he paused to take nourishment. It was there that he found Anya, hunched at the table picking from a bowl of cut meat. He purred a greeting to her and paused when he saw the look she leveled on him.
"I am not your possession," she spat, and he sensed that she was not only angry, but venomous. "If anything happens to you I should be returned to my home, where I belong. Not given away to your worst enemy."
L'tor stiffened and bristled but held his silence for a moment in favor of returning her glare. Usually it was enough to let her know she'd overstepped her bounds, but not this time. She matched not only his direct stare but the heat that backed it.
The truth was, she was his possession. Even when yautja females were alive, a male would still sometimes take on a female of another species as a pet. Males like him, with a high social standing that enabled them to earn ships of their own, allowing them to range far from the clan ship on solo hunts. It meant that they often missed the breeding season, and as an outlet for their needs they obtained compatible companion creatures, oomans included, not to reproduce with but to copulate with. It was not a thing that was encouraged or even openly discussed, but it was understood that a male had needs and the act of self-pleasure was a shameful waste of emission. Far better to obtain what was considered a living trophy, to undertake the necessity of feeding and caring for it, to subjugate it to your will and force your dominance over its body in exchange. For the trophy, the honor of being allowed to live as the pet of the known universe's most dominant species, permitted to exist in his presence, learn his ways, live under his protection and be the recipient of his attention and sometimes affection.
Ooman females had been favored for this role since the planet had first been discovered by yautja. Despite their perplexing emotions they were of an agreeably compatible body type, warm blooded, sentient, intelligent, and easily overpowered. With the discovery that their DNA was easily enough tampered with to create breedable compatibility their status might have changed but they were still not treated as yautja females had been treated.
"Home is here," L'tor rumbled quietly, still glaring down at her.
"No, it's not. You know my home; you took me from it. From everything and everyone I know. And now you want to hand me over to a stranger? Who doesn't even like me?"
Now he was becoming angry, and he widened the spread of his lower mandibles and growled. He watched her small nostrils flare and was pleased by the subtle tell-tale sign that she was smart enough to be nervous. He was yautja, she was ooman; his kind had spent centuries instilling awe and respect in her kind, enough for her fear to be instinctive despite her familiarity and level of comfort with him.
He huffed, then abruptly turned and strode away, his posture rigid and projecting his displeasure. He headed to his sparring room, closing and locking the door for privacy so that he could meditate in peace to put himself in the proper frame of mind to hunt. He could accept her fears and he strove to accommodate her if they were rational, but her outright defiance and refusal to accept his authority and decisions had him in a dangerously unstable mood. He needed to distance himself from his irritating mate, prepare himself for the hunt, then go. It was necessary at this point, and he supposed that he would be in a much better mood after a challenging and strenuous hunt. Perhaps by the time he returned she, too, would be in a better frame of mind.