I thank all of you who rose in answer to my plea and reviewed the last chapter, and a special thank you to my regular (awesome) reviewers. It's nice to work hard on something and get feedback for it. This story is becoming somewhat zaftig in scale and length and there's a few chapters to go. I'm not sure yet how many, but I believe we're a little more than halfway done. How do I know this? Because this story has existed on my hard drive, though in not as much detail as has been posted, for years. Hard for me to make a definitive estimate; in my document we're right around page 230 of 401...keeping in mind that the published version has quite a bit more detail and skips some of what I had previously written, then subsequently deemed unnecessary and discarded. Never expected to share this story with an audience, and I've had to iron out some unexplained skips and jumps in plot in my personal version. If you're interested and you're following...and I know that nearly a thousand of you are, according to the number of visitors and hits to each chapter and the favorites and alerts on the story...then let me know. It encourages me to keep fleshing out these meaty chapters for you and posting them.
I don't own the concept of Predator(s). I'm making no money off this story, only hoping for feedback from those who follow it. This is intended for a mature audience who aren't offended by cussy-type words and yautja/human sexy-type things.
When Elder Arbitrator Warkha requested permission to take Anya for a short walk, L'tor knew that it wasn't something he could refuse. She was rigid beside him, drawing in short, sharp breaths that told him she was frightened, her body odor becoming faintly acrid in tandem with what he was sure was rising panic. He turned from all of them and poured out a half goblet of lightly fermented juice, normally used as an ingredient to flavor other, stronger drinks. He made sure she could see that he was adding a drop of liquid sedative, then he looked her over and added another. The last thing he needed right now would be for Anya to demonstrate one of her panic attacks and subsequent fits of rage for the Arbitrators' viewing enjoyment.
When she balked at accepting the goblet, the other Arbitrator rumbled in mocking amusement and asked if this was how he always controlled his mate. The query crossed the line and he glanced at the one still seated and growled quietly. At that, Anya took the goblet.
"It is a valid question, Master L'tor. Answer it," Warkha's voice grated.
"H'ko," he rumbled, his tone subdued, "it is not how I control my mate. I do not need to control my mate."
"You restrain her, then," Warkha surmised. "Keep her locked up."
"H'ko. She has freedom to move and go where she pleases, except the engine room."
"You let her loose?" Warkha chirped, his surprise evident. Even the females kept on the clan's ships were contained within specific monitored areas, to reduce the risk of them being damaged or damaging themselves or their pups. When L'tor stared steadily back at him, he rumbled and mulled it over. "Is it your intention to keep her as a pet, or do you intend to reproduce with her?"
"I would answer that an ooman female can be both mate and pet. My mate and pet, not my clan's. I chose her, I care for her, I train her," L'tor said flatly and firmly. A pet was a companion, and though aware that the term might offend Anya had she understood the yautja word for it, it was not intended as insult. Pets were not common for yautja as they were unnecessary indulgences that few, usually only the highest ranked, had the ability, room and resources to keep. Though oomans had been kept as pets in the past, now any Blooded yautja had the ability to claim one, thanks to the backing of his clan and its resources in helping to care for it.
"Smells like you've been more busy pauking it than training it," the other Arbitrator chimed in, then lifted his goblet to help himself to more liquor. He swallowed while L'tor boldly baked him with a stare that bordered on challenge, then he abruptly lowered the goblet and asked, "...or is pauking it your idea of training it?"
"K'cte," Warkha rumbled soothingly: Enough. "Master L'tor pursues what is his right, to reproduce. There is no shame in that." He shifted closer to L'tor and his female, subtly putting himself between his fellow Arbitrator and the Master Elite in hopes to defuse some of the tension in the room. "It is his clan's wish that he do so as well. We are merely here to ensure that this is what is being done."
"I am not aware of any time limit that constrains my personal discretion in the proper completion of the necessary steps," L'tor growled, still directing a sustained and molten stare at Warkha's associate and addressing him. "Had I known it was a race I would have made sure I won it."
Warkha trilled lightly, and Arbitrator Kvklar cut his eyes to him, almost accusingly. He couldn't help it, though. Compared to him L'tor was still a pup, but an impressive one with a record that backed up not only his reputation but his bold statement. L'tor had just confirmed what Warkha had already assumed and presented when he'd met with L'tor's clan Leader and Elder advisors: that L'tor was careful and methodical when the situation called for it. Since L'tor hadn't seen fit to take a mate prior to this, clearly he was not feeling any great urgency. Perhaps, Warkha had ventured to assume, with a properly compliant female on his ship he might very well be making diligent use of her before gestation put her out of heat and made breeding her a non-option.
"No time limit," Warkha agreed, his tone reassuring but still imperious and no-nonsense. And just then he noticed that L'tor's female was studying him over the lip of her goblet. He'd already taken note of the Master Elite's subtle, sustained contact with her as he used one of his hands to touch behind her. She allowed it without moving away or protesting. Possibly it was because of the sedative. Even so, it was interesting to note because it implied that not only was she comfortable with L'tor's touch, but he was familiar with how to touch her. Her scent told him that L'tor had been doing far more touching than this, but restraining and positioning an ooman female in preparation of mating her was far different than the contact he was now witnessing. And in spite of L'tor's clearly aroused temper he was still paying close attention to his female.
Warkha addressed her. Though she was calmer now, she was still afraid. He was actually pleased that L'tor had seen fit to sedate her; it would lower her guard enough for him to ask her a few questions, and could possibly result in her forgetting any directives L'tor might have handed down to her in preparation. It took a bit of coaxing to get her to leave the meeting room with him and he saw L'tor's gentle shove to encourage her. Soon enough she was moving under her own power and Warkha turned and moved away, listening to her timid steps as she trailed behind him.
Once Anya and Warkha's steps had gone beyond his hearing, L'tor finally allowed the flare he'd been holding back. This Arbitrator, who still hadn't had the respect to introduce himself, was vaguely familiar to him. He searched his long memory, drawing in the other's scent in steady huffs, trying to place it.
The Arbitrator snorted dismissively at him, then stood from his chair and passed L'tor by almost closely enough to brush against him, the outer corner of his regal cloak trailing over L'tor's leg. It was a subtle challenge, one that L'tor wouldn't have put up with from any other. While he might not have any particular respect for this yautja, he respected his position as Arbitrator and guest.
The Arbitrator helped himself to more c'ntlip, refilling his goblet, then filling another and carrying both to the table. "Sit," he said shortly, placing the new goblet in front of the chair nearest him. He seated himself with a practiced backward nudge that kept his cloak from pulling too tightly, then lifted his goblet and drank. Still bristling, L'tor relented and settled himself, still baking the other with a steady glare that clearly broadcast his intense dislike. "Is someone's n'dui'se a little ripe?" the Arbitrator asked mockingly, huffing pointedly at L'tor's rising scent. "Careful, pup. Those with an eye toward a leadership position should learn how to control such things."
L'tor shifted in his seat, subconsciously making rapid calculations regarding his ability to not only challenge and fight this Arbitrator, but win. Had he not been so aggravated and defensive, he might have mulled over the reason for his reaction and questioned himself as to why it had been so easy for this one to burrow under his skin like an irritating parasite. "Those who are guests should learn how to introduce themselves," he said flatly. He received a surprised look, then the Arbitrator quickly smothered his reaction and glanced away to carefully set his goblet on the table.
"Has it been so long that you forget the sight and scent of your own sire, pup?" Kvklar drawled. "Your bearer did a poor job of properly educating you and teaching you your bloodline."
L'tor went even more still at this news as vague recognition and memory finally dawned. "Her education was sufficient," he growled stiffly. "We have not crossed paths since my chiva." And prior to it, he'd only seen his sire one other time. That wasn't so unusual, but L'tor's aggravation turned toward himself a bit with his lapse and inability to recognize him. There were those who took great personal pride in their bloodline but L'tor wasn't one of them, despite the fact that he came from excellent stock. His parentage and ancestry wasn't to his own credit; he preferred to let his achievements speak for him instead of his bloodline.
"Sei-i. I have been busy. So have you." L'tor dipped his mandibles in agreement. Motioning vaguely toward the doorway, Kvklar said, "I am disappointed to have come across you like this. It was my understanding that you were quite proficient with hunting the pyode amedha."
"She is not," L'tor said quietly, "pyode amedha. Those days are past." He'd gotten a better handle on his anger but it was still very much there, and hearing his sire refer to his mate as soft meat - prey to be hunted - stirred it again. "You choose to abstain. I choose to breed."
Kvklar grunted and lifted his goblet to his mouth again to drink. "Our females were strong," he said after a moment. "This is a test. They have decided that we have become too weak, and they challenge us to be better. When they return they will reward those who refused to dishonor themselves by mating prey."
L'tor had heard it before, had even believed it himself for a long while. A majority of the older generations and a good number of the last purebloods like himself held to the belief that the clan's Matriarchs had ordered the females into hiding deliberately. Theories abounded: the Matriarchs believed that their race had become corrupted; that too many unworthy males were surviving their chivas; that males were to be punished for taking alien pets - oomans especially - to mate with. That the females felt there were too many males and their numbers needed to be reduced; that they'd even chosen worthy males to take with them into hiding in order to create their race anew, leaving the rest to fight amongst themselves and eventually die off.
Part of the reason he'd so diligently applied himself to his training, then focused with laser intensity on personal success and prowess, was a subconscious belief that they were still watching, that they would see his worth and take him, too. He would show them that not all was lost, that worthy males who took pride in being yautja still existed.
Lar'nix'va had mocked him for his beliefs. Told him that the imaginary females were to L'tor like the imaginary gods were to the others, things that he strained to please while adamantly refusing to believe they didn't exist. Lar'nix'va believed in nothing but himself and defiantly insisted that if the gods and the females didn't give a c'jit about him, he would return the favor. He had been the one to introduce L'tor to the pleasure of rutting ooman females, and over time L'tor's belief that yautja females were watching and waiting waned, until he, like Lar'nix'va, had no patience for those with unfounded theories.
"Feel free to inform them of my dishonor if you ever see them, then," he growled to his sire, in response to his warning.
Kvklar looked startled by his response, then narrowed his eyes and helped himself to more c'ntlip. "You can be sure of it," he growled back. "But it's not too late for you. Kill your pet before you end up impregnating it with impure offspring that will dilute your blood and dishonor your entire race."
The unintentional disrespect he'd shown his sire by not recognizing him immediately no longer seemed like such a lapse. "Your advice is noted," he said dryly, then finally reached for his goblet, relaxed enough to allow himself to drink now.
"Do not disgrace me," Kvklar hissed, his volume low and imperious.
"I have no intention to, nor do I believe I have done so yet." When Kvklar bristled at him, L'tor grunted. "My advice to you would be to keep your unasked-for advice behind your tusks."
When Warkha returned with Anya, Kvklar was still glaring dangerously at L'tor, who had coolly maintained a practiced air of aloof indifference. He was confident that he had the upper hand, and he had spent the remaining time reviewing their exchange. Until this unexpected reunion with his sire he had been unaware that there was still a part of him that was holding on to his reservations about going through with reproducing with an alien female. Thus, the reason for his instant defensiveness upon the slightest perception of disapproval of his choice from another.
Suddenly now, he was ready to move on to the next phase in his life. Prepared to hear what his clan's Leader and Elders wanted to discuss with him. Eager to see Anya advance from her current role as his pet companion and blossom into her full potential as a breeding female, a true mate.
Far calmer than he had been since the Arbitrators' arrival on his ship, he escorted Anya back to his quarters. She told him of Warkha's questions and they were evidence that his unusual treatment of her had drawn suspicion. It didn't matter anymore. He would bring her back to the place he'd taken her from in order to honor his agreement to her, then he would return her to settle in the safety and security of the clan ship.
Everything was different, Anya couldn't help but think as she stepped from the humid and carefully filtered air inside L'tor's drop ship onto its extended ramp. The night air was warm, but it felt different...smelt different...sounded different.
For a moment Anya was paralyzed and felt a tingling rush that warned her of panic, then L'tor rumbled and rested his hand on the back of her neck, slipping it beneath the growing length of her hair. In that instant she calmed and remembered where she was and why she was here: she was home to see her friends. All the used-to-be-familiar input she was being bombarded with was less overwhelming, and her excitement and nervous anticipation eased as he reminded her that he was there.
Benny's parking lot was full of cars and her heart was hammering hard in her ears. She didn't know how long she'd been gone. She didn't know how she'd be received...if she would be received. It was for sure that she was a different person now than she had been when she'd been taken from her home, but how different she didn't know.
He was waiting on her, matching her pace as she slowly made her way through the lot, turning her head at the sound of voices at the far end of the row of cars. It was too dark for her to see who it was, but just the sound of people talking was like a balm to her ears. Overhead a jet roared past, either on its way to or from LAX. There was the constant low hum of automobiles coming from every direction, the steady, rasping buzz of insects from the nearby field where L'tor had set his ship down, and a dog barking not too far away. The air tasted clogged and dirty, something she'd never noticed before about her hometown; now she understood better what the experts said about LA's smog situation.
She made it to the bar's doors, then paused to take a breath before tugging the right one open with a sense of déjà vu that was eerie. She'd stood here a thousand times before, but never so nervously. There was a muffled bass thumping that went loud enough to stun her when she pulled the door open, then stepped inside with L'tor on her heels.
It took a second as she stood there staring, her eyes sweeping the interior of her beloved hangout, relieved to realize that she was recognizing people, to see the regulars sitting in their usual places. Heads started turning to look, and the place fell silent except for the stereo. Benny, she realized, was staring at her from the opposite side of the oak bar, then he wordlessly turned away, reached up, and jerked the power cord out of the wall next to the mirror. The sudden silence made those who hadn't noticed her arrival yet turn and look.
There was shock on their features as they stared at her, frozen in the midst of a hundred different activities. Kiki, Jones and Carter were gathered at their usual table. Mickey was by the pool tables with TJ. A group of yautja were sitting in the back. Trey was sitting at the bar next to Burke. Dozens of other familiar faces were scattered around the bar, but not all the ones she'd hoped to see on this impromptu visit.
Anya raised her hand, holding up her dead iPhone. "Just stopped by to juice up my phone," she said meekly. "Anybody happen to have a charger on them?"
Kiki was the first to react, coming to her feet with a delighted, piercing shriek and scrambling around her table to charge, arms held out. That seemed to snap everybody into motion and the voice level in the bar became deafening as everyone started shouting and closing in. Behind her, L'tor rumbled and seemed to remind the rest that he was there, stepping up to move closer to her as his hand around her neck tightened and he pulled her against his flank. Kiki slammed to a respectful halt, unsure, until Anya stepped forward and lifted her arms for a hug, needing one so damn badly, and she obligingly continued her charge.
"Omygod-omygod-omygod," Kiki was sobbing, slamming hard into her and clutching her tightly, letting out a high whine. Anya laughed even as she felt tears burn in her eyes, hugging her back just as tightly. L'tor's massive hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, then moved away as he let go of her. Then she was surrounded by her friends, everyone shouting questions, all touching her and yelling as she was pulled from one hug to the next, reassuring her that she was still welcome here among them, that she hadn't been forgotten and that she'd been missed.
As the tide pulled her away from her yautja she went with it, absorbed with seeing and touching her friends, with hearing their voices and feeling their welcome, in the process momentarily forgetting about him. Even Benny came from behind the bar to gruffly hug her, muttering "Missed you, kid," and she was aware of cellphone cameras taking pictures as calls went out to tell those who weren't here tonight to come quickly.
When the initial rush faded back enough for her to remember that she hadn't come here alone, she glanced around for L'tor and spotted him some distance away, standing off to the side and watching her protectively but giving her space. Even his posture was subtly deliberate, keeping her in line with his left shoulder instead of full-body facing her, broadcasting diligence without being directly threatening. His accommodation made her feel like crying all over again, struck by the realization that the big bully was making a concerted effort to get her and to please her and attempting to not intimidate her friends. She was sure he wasn't liking the situation, her surrounded by what was, to him, a cast of unknown characters, all touching and crowding her. His posture and attention told her that he was alert for the first sign of her discomfort, for the first indication of threat. If she so much as sneezed he was going to mow through everyone like an tornado. In retrospect, she should have told him that something like this might happen, and despite his evident dislike for her being separated from him by others he was handling it well.
"I wasn't kidding about the charger," Anya said, remembering the phone in her hand and holding it up. Mickey pried it from her grip and she spotted it being passed along until it ended up behind the bar with Benny. Problem solved; at least she would get her music back for twelve hours. She checked L'tor's position and posture again, not wanting to make him angry by ignoring and insulting him. For right now, though, it was impossible to break free of the mob of people gathered around her, pressing close and shouting questions, wanting to know where she'd been and why she was back. She responded as best she could, unable to convince them of a simple truth: she had no idea why she was back, or for how long, or if she would ever come again. This visit was a gift from her yautja and its duration was entirely up to him and however long he would tolerate staying here.
"... kicking myself that I haven't been around in awhile-" Trey was saying earnestly.
"Where's Shotsy?" Anya asked him suddenly. For some reason the pitbull had been on her mind a few times recently; most probably because in her new position she found herself appreciating how mystifying life must be like for the dog among all these humans.
"In the car," Trey told her. "Want me to go get him?"
She puttered her lips. She'd love to see Shotsy again and the dog loved her to death. Trey headed for the front door to the parking lot and Anya redirected her attention to Mickey, extolling the virtues of her 'new look' and saying that life must be agreeing with her. Oh, and the outfit was hot as hell.
"These guys know how to dress a girl, that's for damn sure," he was saying, looking her over. Anya did an eye-switch to check L'tor, sure that if he was hearing this and seeing Mickey's admiring perusal he would be far from pleased...especially since she had the sense that Mickey was already on his shit list. "All girls should dress like this."
"And the tat," Carter added, joining in. "Thing is hawt. Thought you didn't like tats, Annie?"
Her mouth worked for a minute; she'd almost told them she didn't have much of a choice in the matter but an inner voice had backed her off from saying it at the last minute.
"Didn't it hurt?" Caryn was asking, no doubt assuming it had been applied via needle like most permanent tattoos.
"How long'd it take?"
"What's it mean? Looks like words or something in the middle there."
"What'd you do to your hair?"
The questions went back and forth, so rapidly that she didn't have time to address any of them. It amused her that some responded to the questions asked by others; they were gathered around her, fascinated and looking her over for now. She didn't feel different but apparently she looked very different. It was, much to her relief, an acceptable difference, though. Nothing so shocking or horrifying as to be off-putting to the people she considered to be friends.
The front door opened and Anya lifted her head, expecting to see more people coming in. Instead, she saw Shotsy off his leash, followed by Trey. The dog was a ball of excitement, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds and the number of people present. When his heavy jaw snapped up and he froze, staring at L'tor, Anya felt a wash of horror as she saw him determine a threat and lock on. With a push from his powerful hind end he suddenly charged at the yautja and Anya snapped into action, shoving her way through the crowd around her to stand clear.
"ShotZAY!" Anya hollered, and watched as the pitbull braked with his forelegs, skidding on the wooden boards as the momentum of his hind legs thrust him forward a few feet. Keeping his balance, the big dog half-turned to look at her and the imaginary gun she'd made with her thumb and forefinger. "Bang!" she said loudly. The pit puffed out his cheeks then obediently collapsed and played dead. It was an old trick that had come in handy when she took Shotsy out with her when she rode Stretch and the dog found something to chase. At fifty five pounds, she wasn't going to win a physical battle with the powerful and stubborn pit so she'd learned to resort to his shameless desire to be the center of attention and his bottomless stomach. Thankfully he remembered the game and decided it was preferable to tasting a chunk of yautja. Grinning with relief, Anya raised her imaginary gun and blew a breath across its imaginary muzzle while L'tor stared at her, bristling and growling loudly enough for the whole bar to hear in the horrified silence that followed.
Lowering her weapon, Anya crossed the bar to the prone form of the dog, relieved he'd remembered the game and played along. If he hadn't, she had no doubt that he would have been gutted sometime within the next two or three strides, traumatizing everyone in the bar. She smirked at L'tor and crouched beside Shotsy, putting her hands on him while the yautja's angry growling rose in volume and thrummed in depth, his wristblades already extended and held down at the side of his leg, just waiting for Shotsy to come and get some.
"Who wantzacookie?" she asked, vigorously petting Shotsy to reward him. His head snapped up, the magic words the cue to end the game. He was so good at this trick that in the past he'd remained motionless while she'd pulled him across the floor and rolled him to lay on his other side, so she knew it was the words and not the touch that brought him back to life. "Whoza good boy?" she said, her hands on either side of his huge head as she scratched his ears. He scrambled up and bowled her over in his eagerness to lick her face, practically putting her whole head in his mouth as he stood over her and enthusiastically greeted her. Pits did everything aggressively, even their affection. She was used to it but well aware that the dog's behavior was pissing L'tor off. "Show me where the cookies are, Shotz. Wherezacookie?" He climbed off her and galumphed toward the bar, swinging his blocky head around as he did his happy dance while he cavorted, front and back ends swiveling in opposite directions.
Anya got to her feet and dusted herself off to give her nerves a moment to settle, then went to L'tor. His fist flexed and the wrist blades retracted, making her sigh in relief that he'd decided there was no longer a threat. She smiled up at him and lightly patted his rock-hard belly. "Took care'a that one for ya, big guy," she said quietly. As she turned to follow Shotsy L'tor's hand came up and he brushed through her hair with a low, grunting, gravelly chuckle. A deliberate PDA, public display of affection. She lifted her chin and continued after Shotsy while her friends stared, put on notice. It would, she hoped, eliminate any more fear-based questions probing for answers about how L'tor treated her. The plain truth, she realized, was that he downright adored her, but try explaining that to anyone who looked at him. He was over seven and a half feet tall and probably somewhere over three hundred fifty pounds of muscle, trained and experienced in the fine arts of hunting, stalking, fighting and killing. His mere presence in the bar terrorized everyone who looked at him...and the exposed blades and threatening growl hadn't helped to calm them down any.
"Hup pubup," she invited the pit, patting the edge of the bar. He immediately went up onto his hind legs and put his forepaws on the bar, his whip tail lashing the air as he worked his powerful jaws and vocalized his desperation for a treat, his eyes locked on her and only her. Anya lifted the section of bar and ducked through to find the jar of dog cookies that Ben kept behind it. His huffing and grunting got louder as he lost sight of her, stamping impatiently until she popped up with the jar in her hand.
"Herezago," she said, pulling out a good-sized hunk of whatever meat by-product it was and handing it over. From the corner of her eye she could see that not only was L'tor not taking a seat; he'd shifted to stand facing her with his fists clenched and shoulders rounded, his glare through the eyeslits in his mask boring into her. Probably, she realized belatedly, he was just loving her putting her fingers in Shotsy's mouth and rethinking his decision to stand down from killing the dog. She couldn't blame him, thinking what he must be seeing: a large and aggressive predatory animal wholly focused on her. Well, on the jar of treats, but they were the drug and she was the supplier. And Shotsy, unknown to L'tor, was more her dog than Trey's.
Speaking of Trey, he was hyperventilating at the bar with his head in his hands, apparently well aware of the fate that his overexcited dog had so narrowly avoided. He'd yelled and hollered for Shotsy to stop, which had had the unfortunate effect of ramping the pit up and convincing him, due to the hysteria in Trey's tone, that the yautja was a threat and was in dire need of a good killing.
Anya came around the bar, leaving the jar on it. Shotsy was stupid like a fox and she was good at reading him. Right now he was giving her every indication that L'tor-eating was still a definite possibility on his immediate agenda, once he determined that the treat-a-thon intermission was over.
"Gidown Shotz," she said, and he obediently slid back to all fours, hoping it would result in more snacks. "Sit." He stopped panting and cocked his head at her, one crooked lower canine catching on his upper lip and giving him a comical expression. "Oh, that's good," she said sarcastically and put her hands on her hips while a few friends tittered.
"Where's yer daddy?" Anya asked, and Shotsy's docked ears perked before his big head swiveled and he looked at Trey, two stools away. "Daddy's been lettin' you get away with murder now that I'm not around anymore, isn't he?"
Trey lifted his head and gave her a bleak smile. "You always were the boss with him," he admitted with a sigh.
"When's the last time you even took stoop here for a walk?" she demanded.
"Never. I don't take him for a walk; he takes me for a drag," Trey reminded her.
Anya snorted and shook her head at the sweet look Trey turned on her to try to get her off his case. "Listen, we got us a problem," she said, slapping her hand on the bartop. Shotsy whuffed at her and went absolutely still, paying close attention to the proximity of her hand to the treat jar.
"Yeah? What's that?"
She lifted her right foot and pointed to it, making Trey and half the bar look. "See that? It's gonna make all hell break loose around here," she predicted. Trey narrowed his eyes.
"How's that?"
"He-" she pointed to Shotsy, still standing right in front of her and staring at her, "is gonna get bored with this any second now and remember what he was fixing to do before. And then I-" she pointed at herself, "will kick his back legs out from under him to knock him off course. And since Shotsy's built like a brick shithouse, the kick will hurt me way worse than him, making me yell in pain."
Kiki stifled a giggle and looked over at L'tor, still standing and glaring. She was the only one who got it. Then again, she was the only female in the group standing around and listening.
"So what?" Trey asked.
"So I'll yell in pain just about the same time Shotsy spins around to face me because of the kick."
Anya noticed that Shotsy was starting to dart quick and dirty looks at L'tor, checking to see if he was still where he'd last left him. She clicked at the pit and tossed him another treat, regaining his undivided attention.
"And when that happens, everybody gets to see what a plasmacaster can do to a sixty pound pitbull. That your idea of fun?"
Trey looked stricken, suddenly getting it. "That would suck," he announced, horrified.
"Shotz. Sit," she said firmly. He vocalized, making a show of licking his chops, then he grunted and sat down as she refused to back off her stare. "G'boy Shotz. Stay." Trey muttered under his breath. Apparently Shotsy hadn't responded to commands in awhile, maybe since she'd been gone. "Trey. Keep him away from L'tor. I don't care if you have to put him on a leash or take him outta here to make that happen," she said flatly.
"Yeah, I hear ya. He has a thing, doesn't like certain yautja for some reason," Trey admitted, not happy about that. Shotsy used to be a fixture around the bar.
"I'm warning you now, if he charges another yautja everybody in the bar's gonna see what his guts look like." She was aware of Shotsy and L'tor both staring at her. L'tor was perfectly still but Shotsy was getting antsy, shifting on the floor like he was going to change his mind about sitting at any second. Trey noticed, too, and he slid off the bar stool and unbuckled his belt with a sigh. The move caused L'tor to shift his attention and square up behind Trey, though he was fifteen feet away.
Trey pulled his belt from its loops and made a makeshift leash, looping it around Shotsy's thick neck while the dog licked his face. "We'll try this, see how it goes," he decided.
"Your call," Anya agreed, backing down. Had she known this was going to be a problem she wouldn't have asked Trey to bring him in. "Hang on to him cuz I'm gonna go take care of the boss," she warned, then gave the dog a pat on his solid head and stepped around him to head to the back. She ignored the woof and the scrabble of claws on the hardwood behind her as Shotsy tried to follow and Trey held him back. Though she loved the dog and didn't want to see him hurt, especially not by L'tor, Trey had to take control of him and the situation. This wasn't her world anymore; she was just visiting.
He reached out to her as she approached and she moved right to his hand, aware that most everyone's attention was on her. L'tor wasn't showing off; it was a common enough gesture, him reaching out to her with affectionate welcome. The only difference was that he was more careful about it than usual, since he was partially kitted and armored, wearing greaves, gauntlets and spaulders, and knuckleduster rings on each finger. Usually he brushed the backs of his fingers across her face; this time when he touched her face with the flat of his hand she turned her cheek into his palm and reached up to close her hand around his wrist below the gauntlet. It was as big around as her ankle, and her thumb and forefingers didn't meet.
"Sorry about that. Big dope doesn't like yautja," she said quietly, of Shotsy. "Do me a favor and try not to kill him, kay?" she implored.
L'tor grunted. "Keep your face and fingers out of its mouth and I will consider letting it live," he rumbled. She winced then nodded, rubbing her cheek against his palm, knowing it would pacify him. He seemed to consider, rumbling low in his throat, then he turned and headed for the rearmost back corner table. Anya moved with him, feeling the full weight of his hand on the back of her neck.
The table was already occupied with a full complement of youngBloods. When they realized that L'tor was bearing down on their table with intent they wordlessly took their drinks and got up to move to another table without complaint, objection or hesitation. There weren't enough chairs at the next table and L'tor made a motion that gave them permission to retrieve the unneeded yautja-sized chairs at the back corner table, leaving only one. He paused to remove his mask, affixing it to a holder on his belt.
"Any preference for a drink?" Anya offered him as he settled in the chair.
"You pick," he said indifferently. "Thar'n." Strong.
Yautja, Anya knew, could drink paint thinner, so strong went without saying. Seemed to her that they fermented damned near anything and drank it. In his language it was called a generic term, c'ntlip, a name they used for any intoxicating beverage. She tried a sip every time he got a glass, finding it different tasting each time but always borderline lethal. Beer to them would be the same thing as water.
"BRB," she said breezily, her mind already working as she turned away and headed for the bar again.
Again, she ducked behind the bar, moving around Benny as he hustled to fill orders, greeting and joking and chatting with her friends as her eyes roved the bottles. She settled on an oldie but goodie and retrieved a yautja cup and the largest shaker as she set about pouring a generous amount of alcohol from multiple bottles. The reason she could do this and that Benny wasn't objecting to her being behind the bar was because she used to play back-up bartender to him, and she was the one he'd initially tapped to help him serve the first group of yautja who'd appeared at the bar one day. She added a splash of sours and just the barest shot of Coke from the tap, measuring everything out by eye.
Knowing L'tor preferred his drinks at room temperature she didn't bother with the ice as she capped the shaker and mixed the concoction before pouring it. Once giant-sized and brutally strong Long Island iced tea, coming right up. She did a sip-test and took it like a punch to the face, slapping her hand on the bar as she swallowed it down. Pure burn. She reconsidered and added another half-shot of vodka to top it off, then carried the cup with her as she ducked back under the bar and headed for the corner table with it, ignoring Shotsy's insistent and demanding whining as she passed him.
Since he'd seen her mix the drink herself, L'tor dispensed with his usual investigatory huff as he took the cup and drank deep while she watched. The heavy, spiny brow over his eyes raised as he tasted it and looked at her.
"You said thar'n," she reminded him, aware of the youngBloods watching with interest.
"Sei-i," he agreed. "N'got."
She beamed at the 'good', pleased he liked it. If anyone lit a match within ten feet he was going to go up like a roman candle, what with all the hard liquor in the drink.
Touching a hand to his chest for balance, Anya lifted her left foot, bending her knee and sliding some of her weight onto L'tor's massive unarmored thigh. He reached up with his left hand, settling it on her hip around her waist while his right hand lifted the cup so he could drink some more. "So...what exactly are the rules here?" she asked quietly, unsure of what she could do and couldn't do on her home turf, hoping he wasn't expecting her to spend her visit sitting on his lap in the corner.
"Go. Stay where I can see you. Make sure my cup is not empty," L'tor grunted. Translation: have fun, don't lose sight of me, keep checking in.
"Time limit?"
"You will know when I am done," he assured her.
Anya smirked. "I bet."
He let go of her with a gentle slide of his hand along her lower back. It reassured her that so far, so good. He was relaxed and pleased with her, comfortable enough to stick around for awhile. Thinking, she asked, "Mind if I pull the party this way, or do you want to keep it at a distance?" He regarded her with a head cock, a thing she'd come to understand as a 'say what?' gesture. It always made her smile and now was no exception. "What I mean is, is it okay to settle here at your table with everyone when I'm ready to sit down or should I pick another table?"
L'tor rumbled, translating her question and mulling it over. She was on her best behavior and that pleased him immensely. She seemed to slide quite comfortably into a position of deferring to him, something that went without saying where he'd taken her but that was carrying over nicely on her home turf. It told him that she had settled into her place and accepted it, that she understood he was to be dominant and she wanted to please him. As far as he was concerned, this trip was already worth the aggravation to have proven this fact to both of them.
Curious to learn more and to watch her interaction with these other oomans who knew her so well, he made his decision. "Settle here," he told her. It would have the added benefit of allowing him to keep a close eye on her. She might trust these others but he had no reason to. His tolerance and instincts were being tested to their limits with all the crowding and touching around his female and he had to counsel himself that their behavior had been similar before he'd claimed her. Observing their physical interaction while he had courted her had put him on notice that Anya's nature was to be far more accepting of physical contact than he was. He'd come to learn that nothing would still her and reassure her more effectively than an affectionate touch or a gentle caress.
"Okay," she said agreeably. "Might want to play some pool first, though."
Pool, the game with the sticks and the balls on the table. He nodded that he understood, then she eased back, sliding her folded leg off his thigh and removing her weight from his lap. He let her go, watching as she made her way back to her friends on the far side of the bar where the lights were brighter and the volume was louder, remembering sitting here patiently while he courted her and waiting for her to deign to acknowledge him. Now she strode across the same bar with his marks of possession clearly stamped on her, deferring to him willingly.
He glanced at the youngBloods at the next table, aware of them looking at him, and received dipped mandibles in respectful acknowledgement. Comfortable in his position of dominance, L'tor settled on his seat and raised the cup to his mouth, sampling again the surprisingly strong drink she'd made him as he watched her. He chirred softly as he wondered how long his feisty mate expected him to sit here while she visited. By his figuring, this trip was over when he finished his drink.
Anya made it to the pool tables, specifically the one that Mickey had claimed, but a never-ending stream of visitors made it impossible for her to do more than select a pool cue and chalk it for an hour. She was deliberately vague regarding any questions about where she'd been and what she'd seen, deflecting with inquiries of her own. She'd managed to find out that her best friend Helen had moved into her house and wasn't here because she doing a residency at a hospital thirty miles away, that her job had been taken over by a girl that Kiki disgustedly referred to as an asshole slut who would probably show up later because Burke had something going on with her, that TJ was applying to the police academy, and Sammy, her old brother in law, had shacked up with someone else but was rumored to be down a nut since her kick to his crotch. Tracy had gotten back together again with his ex, Asia's mom, and had scored a role in a movie and was currently filming on the East Coast, and his daughter was now in first grade. At that last bit she actually backed up and collapsed onto a stool, still clutching the pool cue.
"School?" she asked weakly. "Shit. I've been gone longer than a day!"
"A day?" TJ echoed. "Try six months."
"Seven, actually. Plus a week and a half," a new voice chimed in, and Anya lifted her head to see Ivy pushing her way in front of her. "And you still haven't called me back."
Anya stared and went white, then red, then burst out laughing, incredulous at the sight of her. Ivy had been the one the police department had sent to her house when she'd come home from work to find a giant pair of skulls on either side of her front door, and what she'd stupidly thought was a gang symbol carved into her door. As far as Anya was concerned, the end of her old life and the beginning of her new one had been heralded by crisp matter-of-fact Ivy and her horrifically unhelpful advice.
At least she still looked exactly the same, with that short, glossy black bob and perfectly tailored pantsuit. Anya supposed she had a closet full of expensive pantsuits, sensible heels and silk blouses. "My phone died," she informed Ivy. "Please tell me that when Benny finishes charging it I'm not going to receive a thousand texts from you."
Ivy's lips pressed into a flat line. "There might be a few," she admitted.
"Godamnit...do me a favor, Mick, and tell Benny to switch it on. Probably burn out my battery just receiving all the shit you sent me," she muttered.
"You're looking well," Ivy said, choosing to ignore Anya's annoyance. "Though I have to admit to being surprised to see you back. Did you finally succeed in getting your yautja to reject you?"
Anya smirked and lifted her hand up. "Scout's honor, I tried. He's a stubborn sumbitch."
She smiled, tightly at first but gradually relaxing. "Apparently. I assume he's the same one who took possession of the back corner table?"
"The very same. He's a possession taker," Anya smiled.
"Yes. The dominant ones do have that tendency."
"Wow. Still a bureaucratic robot, huh? What're you doing here, anyway?"
Ivy's eyes flicked beyond her, then back. Astounded, Anya swiveled to look and settled on Carter, standing by the pool table between Kiki and Caryn. "What?" he demanded defensively.
"What, what'd I miss?" Mickey asked breathlessly, just returning from telling Ben to turn Anya's phone on while it charged.
"Carter's with Ivy now?" Anya asked. "Why did nobody tell me this?" she whined.
"I'm not with anyone, Anya," Ivy said, some ice in her tone. Carter scowled and Anya gave him a dirty look. "Do you mind if I have a word with your yautja?"
Like she'd been one-two punched, Anya blinked and roughly shook her head, then snorted. "Sure. Maybe you'll irritate him enough that he'll pull that stick out of your ass for you."
Ivy momentarily narrowed her eyes, then her expression smoothed. "I don't know why you seem to think I'm your enemy," she said, softening her tone.
"Because your advice sucks," Anya reminded her. There was shuffling from her friends around her, as if in avid anticipation of a girl fight. Like that was gonna happen.
"Look at you," Ivy said, her tone still gentle. "Didn't work out so bad for you, did it?"
"Oh my god are you patronizing me now?" Anya demanded, becoming angry.
"No." There was a pause and Ivy glanced around at their audience, then sighed. "I'm relieved, actually. Have you...have you seen any of the other girls?"
And just like that Anya's anger deflated, as if Ivy had thrown a bucket of ice water on her. She was being confrontational, she realized. Something about Ivy had the ability to get her that way, and she was irritated that the woman was here in the middle of her reunion with her friends, sucking up her time. Now, however, everyone's attention was glued to her and waiting on her answer.
"I have," she admitted, huffing out a sigh. "Met a bunch of them. They're fine."
Ivy's stiff posture eased and a look of relief melted her usual professionally blank expression. "Why..." she asked, then cleared her throat, "...why haven't any of them come back to visit, like you?"
Careful, Anya told herself, schooling herself to avoid saying or doing the wrong thing here. "You'll have to ask their yautja that question, not me," she said lightly. "Maybe I was the only one smart enough to ask for a visit before I was taken? Maybe my yautja's the only one with enough balls to bring me back here?" She shrugged. "I really don't know." Her eyes flicked over to the back table in the far corner, then to the next table over. "They're mostly much younger. The girls are all kept together in the same place. Looked like a party."
Ivy deflated even more, actually smiling slightly. "If I give you some names, can you tell them hello from me?" she asked.
Anya forcibly cut off her glare, holding back from asking Ivy if she'd sent any of them to Siberia or wherever, to that cozy little cabin in the woods she'd recommended Anya go to so she could be more 'accessible' to L'tor. Instead Anya had made it her business to actively avoid him at all costs and force him to have to find her. Fat lotta good that did her.
Such a tricky business. She'd only spent a couple hours with the other girls, at most. While she was under the impression that some were unhappy, she wouldn't know for sure until she was immersed in their world with them. There were a few who were vocal about their gripes, but many more who didn't pipe in to add to them. As far as she could tell, none were abused or mistreated. No doubt Ivy was concerned because of whatever she'd told some of them when they'd found themselves being courted. She'd probably painted a ridiculously unrealistic picture of their future with the yautja that led them to believe they'd won the lottery and were about to live like rock stars. If Anya hadn't experienced the tragedy and misfortune in her life that she had, she too might have fallen for the lure of exotic notoriety. Instead, she'd been smart enough to ask the right questions and she'd resented the idea of having her personal choices and freedoms taken away.
"I can do that," she finally agreed, and Ivy whispered a quiet thank you, making direct eye contact and nodding.
When she turned away and Mickey hollered to her back that she could just send another text, Anya suddenly realized that she was drained. She hadn't taken in so much information from so many sources at once in as long as she could remember, and the barrage of questions and everyone talking over everyone else was taxing. She glanced at the far corner table and met L'tor's steady, bright amber gaze, then was uncomfortably aware that her time was almost up. No doubt he was bored. No doubt he'd had enough of watching her lavish her attention on everyone but him. She was suddenly aware of just how bizarre this was, to belong to a yautja and have only him for company for months, forced to be totally dependent on him, then to be returned to a familiar place and sitting across the room from him while she caught up with her friends.
"Lemme go check in with the boss," she said abruptly, then shoved her pool stick at Trey as she got off her stool and crossed the bar. He watched her come, then greeted her with a baritone rumble that was more sensation than sound as it thrummed under her breastbone. "What?" she asked him boldly. "You're not done already, are you? I spent longer being interrogated by an Arbitrator than visiting home," she reminded him. Not entirely true, but if he objected to the accuracy of her statement she had another dozen examples of unpleasantness she had been forced to submit to, that no doubt combined had lasted longer than her homecoming. When his rumble cut off and he cocked his head and stared steadily at her, she realized she was behaving like a disrespectful asshole with zero provocation. In front of an audience of other, younger yautja, no less. "I'm sorry," she deflated. "I'm not ready to go yet; just checking on you."
He blinked finally, a predatory flash of backlit amber over sizable tusks. "Ivy's here," Anya said meekly. "She pissed me off." L'tor stared, the rise and fall of his massive chest barely perceptible as he continued to hold himself still. "She wants to talk to you. Do me a favor and beat her with one of her shoes."
At that she finally got a mild response, a low, slow trill of amusement. She wondered if she should say more, if she should try to explain that she was all out of sorts, so happy to see her friends and at the same time miserable because she was afraid she'd never see them again. That there was part of her that wanted to run right the hell out the door and find someplace to hide from him despite knowing full well that attempting to do so would shatter the trust and affection between them. The urge was stupid and she knew it, but it was still there. And the longer he sat there in silence, drilling her with a stare that practically bored into her skull, the more she considered it.
"Could you...I don't know...ease off on the lethal stink-eye you're killing me with?" she asked carefully. "Else I'm gonna run screaming out of here and then you'll really have something to be pissed off about." She was relieved to hear another trill, this one less restrained.
"Stink-eye is like pissy?" he rumbled, then followed up with a questioning trill.
"Sei-i," she smiled. "Pissy usually leads to stink-eye." Of course he had not forgotten that word she'd stopped him from saying however long ago, and he'd eventually gotten around to asking her for its meaning. Now he took particular delight in mocking her with it while sparring with her every time her frustration got the better of her. She didn't doubt that stink-eye would now become a regularly used word in his vocabulary. "Can I sit?" she requested, motioning at his lap.
"Sei-i," he growled, and the gruffness in his tone put her on notice that he'd been waiting for her to do so. He made no move to touch or hold her, leaving it to her to settle herself comfortably, realizing just now that this was probably the reason he'd chosen to go without thigh armor or his belt with the front and rear drapes. It would sure as hell make sitting on him out of the question. Idly rocking his cup on the table, he trilled, "You would run?"
"Depends," she said, sitting sideways across his massive thighs and resting her back against the table. "Could I get away with it?"
L'tor studied her up close and personal, then grunted hard enough to rock her and lifted his eyes to look across the bar. His gaze wandered a moment, flicking between the exit doors and the one that led to the kitchen behind the bar, then the one that led to the bathrooms and Benny's office beyond. Anya watched his fierce gaze tick to each and settle a few seconds before he finally returned his attention to her. "H'ko," he firmly answered, and she had to actually giggle, releasing the last remnants of her tension. What he had just done was scary amazing, a quick assessment of the bar's layout combined with a calculation including how fast she could move overlaid with an innate awareness of his own speed. She didn't doubt that he'd accounted for her starting off from pretty much any spot in the place and took the areas outside into consideration, too. This is what you get what you combine scary intelligence with an instinctive predator.
"That," she drawled, lifting her elbows onto the table, "sounds like a challenge. Now you're just daring me to go ahead and try it, you know."
He slipped his cup from behind her and raised it to his mouth, spreading his lower mandibles and lifting the upper. "Would be the end of your visit," he warned, after swallowing.
"Only if you could catch me," she retorted boldly. It was, after all, a variation of a game she'd played with him on his ship, a combination of hide-and-seek and tag. On a certain level he sucked as an opponent because he could usually find her within minutes, then he would become amped up at the tag part and overdo it, predatory nature coming to the fore and causing him to grab and capture her instead of tagging her. It was a damn good thing he was the one supplying her clothes or else she'd be down a few wardrobes, especially since an aggressive victory snog was sure to follow. Anya frowned and wondered if the other girls on the clan ship ever played that exhilarating game with their yautja. Doubted it.
His low rumble drew her back to the present and she smiled as she met his heated gaze. She'd successfully diverted his former anger at her insolence and pushed his thoughts in other directions. "You could let me win, for once," she suggested. He chuffed gently. "Then can I stay here awhile longer?"
He met her stare, then blinked. "My drink is finished."
"Oh my. Let me take care of that for you, then," she purred, and sat up then slid to her feet. She took his cup and sashayed her way back to the bar, aware that he was staring at her and doubtlessly not even blinking, ready and waiting for her to dart toward one of the exits. Damn...the game was even exhilarating when she wasn't actually playing it...