Good lord I had to do at least 4 major rewrites of this chapter and the next before I was satisfied with the way it came out. That's the bad news. The good news is that because of this, I'll have the next chapter up shortly. :) After that it's anybody's guess because from here on out I know where I want it to go but I'll have to work to get it - and all of us - there.

I can't thank you enough for your patience and your communications to encourage me to keep going with this story. I had no intention of it going on this long or being so exhaustively detailed, and it's all because of my reviewers.

Disclaimer: the whole initial Predator concept belongs to Fox (or so I last heard) but the characters and the nitty gritty details are mine. Heck, there might even be some bits and pieces I've picked up along the way from reading other stories in this genre, too. It remains a Mature-rated story with all the implied language and themes and concepts that mean it's intended for readers who are into that sort of thing. Enjoy, and thanks again!


Chulonte growled quietly, his blood boiling as he regarded the lou-dte kalei on the chair before him and ignored the prattling and simpering of the Elder Healer. He was, to put it mildly, in a mood, still riding an adrenaline high that had begun with an urgent summons to come to his quarters, and – for the moment – ended with tracking down his missing suckling. The Junior Healer who had been assigned to confine his mate to their quarters had babbled about the pup being safe, but all Chulonte had grasped was that it was in the custody of another female.

Silla had screamed at the sight of him when he'd arrived at his quarters. Physically held back by the Junior, though she'd thrashed in his grasp, intent on getting to the one who had sired her offspring. Something had been broken in her, Chulonte realized, and it had resulted in her defiantly announcing that she wished that she'd killed 'it'.

So what he had been told was true, then. She had attacked his suckling with malicious intention.

When Chulonte asked the Junior if the pup was injured or damaged, he did not know. The Elder had taken the female who had possession of his pup to the clinic, he said, and sent this Healer to remove Silla from the female's common room.

There was blood on her face. Swelling around her eyes and nose. Her tirade had not relented, and she thrashed mindlessly, trying to jerk her arm from the Healer's grasp as she spat obscenities and swung wildly at Chulonte with her free hand, while he stood ominously still just inside the entryway. "What happened to her face?" he growled quietly, feeling himself building toward rage and struggling to hold it back, to project the level-headed coolness expected of him.

The Junior huffed, catching his rising n'dui'se and appropriately unnerved. "She-" he grunted, then almost lost his grip on her, lurching forward to catch her and pull her back again. If he was hurting her, she didn't show it, and if the Firstborn was displeased with his rough handling of his mate right in front of him, he did not say. The Junior chuffed as she reached back and raked at his face with her fingernails, jerking back out of range just in time. "The females intervened," he said, getting a better hold on her as Silla returned to her attempts to get to Chulonte, insanely intent on attacking him for some reason. "She was struck in their efforts to rescue the suckling."

Chulonte grunted, then motioned for the Junior to release her. The Healer hesitated a moment, then let her go. She stumbled forward then surged back upright and charged at the Firstborn with single-minded intensity. He stayed motionless until she was an arm's length away, her hands extended and her fingers curled like claws, then he caught her wrists and spun her as he dropped them both into a crouch. She squealed in rage and arched to free herself as hugged her back against his chest, his hold tight but not brutal, though startling to her by its unaccustomed and unwelcome intimacy. Trapped in his hug, she was unaware as she struggled to free herself that he reached his opposite hand to his calf and tugged his skinning knife from its scabbard. She shrieked in impotent rage and used both hands to try and pry loose from the iron bar of his arm, the sound cut short with a gasp as his free hand came up smoothly with a knife in its grip, as without hesitation he slipped the blade between her ribs beneath her breast and into her heart. He continued to hold her tight and close through her startled cough, feeling the life and fight drain out of her as her mortally wounded heart struggled to beat.

It was more than she deserved, Chulonte thought as he released her to let her slump to the floor, as she issued a few rattling gasps in an attempt to breathe. A quick, merciful death delivered with no warning.

He wiped the sides of the blade on her hide skirt and returned it to its sheath, then rose to his full height and directed his molten attention on the Junior. "Have this cleaned up," he growled dismissively, then whirled away and went to rescue his pup, storming to the clinic in a dangerously black mood that he no longer bothered to try and suppress. It so possessed him that he was consciously unaware that he'd reached his intended destination until his senses alerted his instincts to the warning in the air, bringing him to a cautious halt. He blinked then growled and tuned in to the Elder Healer, locking eyes with the lou-dte kalei reclining on the chair as she glared at him from a few strides away.

"...is fine, no damage done," Vlieg'r was saying, repeating himself over and over as if aware that Chulonte was not in the right frame of mind to hear his reassurances. "Your suckling is unharmed, Firstborn. He was not injured."

Chulonte grunted acknowledgement, still glaring past the Healer as he drew in for the female's scent, seeking the identity of the one in possession of his pup, mentally sorting and sifting through its complexities and nuances before picking up on her mate's distinctive musk with a surprised grunt. This was the female his pup's Bearer had a particular loathing for, he recalled. He had used Silla's constant complaints about this female as a means to keep L'tor in his place, to point out the problems created by overly-coddled ooman females at every opportunity. He'd considered this pair's notoriety and the attention they received as a threat to himself, his position, and to the accolades his own successful mating should have received as Firstborn. Even Etah-dte was keeping an eye on this pair, assigning L'tor to his private council and advising Chulonte that he would do well to consider appointing the Elite as his personal advisor. Though they were close in age they were miles apart when it came to life experience, and L'tor would be an ideal candidate to be his Second or his stand-in. Others would think twice before daring to challenge his authority with such a formidable yautja at his back.

This, though, was not only unacceptable, it was an outrage. L'tor's poorly behaved and overly coddled female had not only taken his pup, but she was sitting there staring defiantly at him instead of scrambling to return it to his custody. She projected not only a startling lack of fear but a definite warning in response to the Firstborn's angry approach, tensing up but maintaining her position, somehow seeming to subtly increase. Her identifying tattoo blazed but there was no acrid fear-scent that usually accompanied such a reaction; instead there was a distinctly feminine but alien scent that parodied a male yautja's aggressive heat musk, though far more subtle. It was a complex aroma that carried female indicators, that assailed his scent organ and warned him that she was guarding her young. While he sampled it she made direct eye contact, flecks and speckles of heightened color becoming prominent as they framed her face, revealed themselves down her arms, and along the outer sides of her legs. This, Chulonte's senses and instincts had warned him the second he'd entered the clinic, was an angry female who was defending her young from the threat he presented. He mentally questioned that instinct until he belatedly recalled hearing that L'tor had successfully produced an heir, which meant that this female was currently in possession of both pups. He ground his tusks together and eased back one wary step, issuing a rough huff of breath in aggravated exasperation.

Then he suddenly tuned in to a soft sound that was building and quickening, causing him to cut off his low growl so he could better hear it. It was, he realized, the sound of his pup nursing, rushed and greedy with occasional soft clicks as in his urgency he lost suction. The female's riling had woken his infant, and the little one hadn't hesitated to take advantage of an opportunity.

It jolted him to see that she was willingly feeding his pup, and there was a distinct lack of complaint or annoyance in her, all her threat and warning still being directed at him. He had become used to his mate's bad behavior escalating in regard to anything having to do with his offspring, and to see a female who didn't react that way was a startling departure, enough to cool his simmering rage. Chulonte deflated a bit more to reassess the situation and reconsider his options, watching the female and just waiting for her to object so he could intervene.

Vlieg'r moved closer, placing himself between them and effectively gaining the Firstborn's attention. Chulonte subtly adjusted his stance to square up and stand straighter, gathering himself, then he met the Elder Healer's eyes. "She is feeding him," he said flatly, his tone imperious.

"Sei-i," Vlieg'r said simply, bracing himself. There was no protocol for this, he was well aware, which meant that this had the potential to be an explosive situation. On one hand, Anya had done an honorable thing, protecting and nurturing a pup. On the other hand, the fact that she herself was the possession of an unrelated yautja meant that Chulonte risked confrontation if he attempted to take his suckling back from her.

"L'tor has been summoned?"

"Sei-i," Vlieg'r nodded, still stiff.

The Firstborn returned his attention to Anya with a low, pensive growl, then quieted as he listened to the rhythm of his pup's feeding, bristling as she stared back at him. He flexed his hands then tightened them into fists, seeing her attention follow his movements, then he watched her eyes narrow as she stared. A slow blink, then several more rapid ones, then she suddenly sat upright and regarded him with increased hostility. He glanced down and saw the cooling droplets of ooman thwei on the clinic's pristine floor. While Silla's death would be considered clean by most, there was some inevitable blood to be expected from the use of a blade.

Her movement caused the sounds of his pup's nursing to cease, and wary of conflict he turned to Vlieg'r and growled, "Bring my suckling here."

"But L'tor-"

Chulonte growled, the sound low and threatening. It made the Elder Healer nod and turn away, toward Anya. She ignored him to continue glaring at the Firstborn, her bearing tense.

"An'eya," Vlieg'r said, his tone deferential. "He wants his pup."

"Where's Silla?" the female asked flatly, directing the question not at the Healer but at the Firstborn.

Vlieg'r chuffed softly. "An'eya..." he rumbled. "Quickly."

She blinked, then finally tore her attention off Chulonte to look at the Healer. "But there's-" she started, lifting a hand to motion toward the Firstborn.

Vlieg'r grunted at her, close to feeling desperate from the tension in the room, sure that at any moment L'tor would appear and the situation would become even more toxic. The best course of action to minimize the potential ire of all parties involved, in his mind, was to remove the pup from Anya and return it to its sire. He was well aware of the blood; he'd suspected that Silla wouldn't last the hour, and he'd smelt her blood on Chulonte the moment he'd stepped into the clinic. "Later. Give me her pup."

Anya huffed, directed another suspicious glare at the Firstborn, then she shifted to retrieve the larger infant tucked up tight and close. Chulonte's bristle intensified as he watched her reach beneath her covering to handle his suckling, as he listened to its garbled sounds of protest. She was, he had to admit, gentle. Even tender toward his offspring, murmuring softly to soothe the pup before drawing it away from her body. Though it vocalized its displeasure, the sounds it emitted weren't indicative of pain or fear. She paused before relinquishing it to Vlieg'r's care, and the second the pup found itself placed in the Healer's open, cupped palms, its cries rose in alarm.

Vlieg'r wasted no time in ferrying the suckling to its sire, who dropped into a crouch as he took possession of it, rumbling steadily as he spread his mandibles and brought it close to his mouth so he could keenly taste its scent. Its wailing quieted, and as Chulonte took note of its distended, full belly, his pale yellow eyes flicked to L'tor's lou-dte kalei. She'd fed him well, then. Better than Silla ever had. His gaze dropped from her eyes to take in her milk glands, then lingered on the sight of her hand opposite the one his heir had gorged himself on. Her fingers were moving slightly, caressing L'tor's suckling, and he watched as she lowered her face to murmur quietly to it.

There were all kinds of Bearers, but the research his clan's scientists had done had proven that the most confident leaders and warriors came from only one kind of Bearer: the most nurturing. Such behavior was directly linked to a youngling's ability to focus on the teachings of their elders, to absorb more information, to endure more hardship, and it lent to a certain strength of mind and will. Those that were diligently attended to as sucklings had the best start in life physically and mentally, giving them an undeniable edge over their less fortunate peers.

There again, Silla had fallen far short of the Firstborn's expectations for her. Perhaps, Chulonte considered, a coddled female resulted in a nurturing lou-dte kalei. He grunted pensively, then redirected his attention to his infant to conduct a thorough examination and ensure himself that the pup was unharmed.


Despite the unflattering stories Silla had told about this yautja's personality, clearly he had some affection for his little one, Anya realized, watching him nuzzle his pup as he emitted a rumbly purr, aware that he was using his powerful sense of smell to explore every inch of his offspring. His attention remained focused as he examined every limb, every millimeter of soft, scaly skin, flipping the pup to check him over from the bottoms of his feet to the buds of hair on his scalp. She'd noticed also that the pup had quieted down and she suspected that he recognized his sire, that there was some sort of instinctive submission from the little one as he silently endured the examination. It wasn't rough or brutal, and the large, bristling yautja was careful in his enthusiastic thoroughness.

Silla's mate was, she noticed, fat. For a yautja. She supposed, as she idly stroked L'tor's pup, that he might be considered 'husky'. Just a little less definition and a little more padding than most, especially if she compared him to L'tor. The comparison was unavoidable; their tresses were the same length, their tusks the same size and their heights fairly well matched, leading her to believe they were of similar age. This one's coloration ranged from an almost purplish-grey to strong black, with mottled markings...except for the bright red blood on his hands. She scowled darkly.

All of what she knew of him came from Silla, an admittedly suspect source. He was temperamental, had a short fuse, and high expectations that she should not only know how to behave at all times, but that she should demonstrate that knowledge no matter the situation. Oh, and Silla's endearing pet name for her yautja was Fuck Face. Supposedly he had some scary high rank to go along with the title of Firstborn, but Anya wasn't aware of any of the facts, and L'tor was consistently dismissive whenever she'd inquired. As far as L'tor was concerned, this yautja wasn't any more of a concern to her than any other so there was no reason for her to know anything about him.

The Firstborn's examination ended with the pup lying on its back in his huge palms while he passed the pad of one thumb back and forth over the little one's hugely distended belly. His sire had a bit of a matching potbelly in his folded-up posture. Chulonte's pale yellow eyes flicked to Anya with a low rumble, then he lifted his attention and said something to Vlieg'r. They went back and forth, the tone and mood much more subdued and conversational now that the pup's sire had assured himself that his offspring was fine. Now that her part in this mess was over, she pulled her attention back where it belonged: on her own pup.

"An'eya," a guttural voice beckoned, and she switched her attention from L'tor's pup to the dark yautja now cradling his pup one-handed. "Chulonte," he said, thumping his fist across his chest as he lowered his head to her. Clearly he knew who she was and he was introducing himself. With the utmost respect, no less. No title, still crouched in an almost submissive posture, adding a huge dip of his fearsome head. She nodded slowly to him in acknowledgement, her fingers absently tracing the contours of the pup at her breast. "My female..." he said, then shook his head and growled, his gaze going molten again.

"Silla?" she asked, then blinked. "Where is she? What happened to her?"

"No more," he said shortly, and her mouth fell open. "Need find surrogate," he told her while she gaped in abject horror at him. "You feed pup," he continued, holding the suckling up. "I speak to L'tor. Will find other female."

Vlieg'r chattered, and Anya sensed his alarm. In response, the dark-skinned yautja rose smoothly to his full height, thick hairs cresting as he tucked his chin and rounded his shoulders, then Anya winced at the volume and baritone of his bark, feeling her own pup flinch against her in reaction to it. The Elder Healer recoiled but rallied, continuing in a more subdued manner, gesturing with a certain kind of desperation. Anya followed some of the gestures, noticing the incubators gathered together on the far side of the room and guessing what he was proposing: that Chulonte give his pup over to the Healer, who would sustain it with artificial heat and formula until a suitable surrogate could be rounded up. From its sire's continued and exaggerated bristling, the mere suggestion either horrified or offended him.

Silla was dead? Anya wondered, watching the argument grow more heated while she was stunned into silence, then shuddering as her imagination began to run wild. Where did it happen? How did it happen? Where was Silla now? And oh god, was it quick or did it take awhile? Did she see it coming? Did she fight back?

She blinked and focused on the small infant cradled in Chulonte's one hand: it had curled itself into a defensive, petrified ball while he bellowed and gestured aggressively at the Elder Healer. The poor little pup had been through hell, in her eyes, and now its mother was 'no more', whatever the hell that meant. The last thing she wanted for him was complete physical separation and total loss of gentle, reassuring contact. In a few decades this would be a six foot tall, three hundred pound killing machine whose view of humankind in general or females in particular might be marred from infancy, let loose to stalk her planet on the hunt for a suitable mate. If Anya could repair whatever some of damage Silla had done, she was willing to try.

"Wait...I, I can take him," she said abruptly, then, seeing Vlieg'r's full-body flinch and horrified expression she added: "...just until you find a replacement, I mean." Steeling herself, she clarified further: "Like today."

"Sei-i," Chulonte nodded, another respectful and exaggerated dip of his massive head, chin tilted to the side. "Will contact L'tor now." He held the pup out to Vlieg'r, making no attempt to come any closer to her. It squalled in terror as the Healer's hands closed on it and pulled it from the thumb it was clinging to, separating it from the safety and security of its sire's scent. Vlieg'r gingerly carried it back to her and handed it over as it arched and kicked and thrashed in distress, and the two yautja watched as, the second Anya's scent registered to it the pup stilled and calmed, grabbing for her fingers even as he was gently placed into her cupped hands. She placed him first on her lap and worked her fingers loose from his pinching grip, then she carefully maneuvered to switch L'tor's pup from her right side to her left. Since he was smaller his milk demand was much less; Chulonte's pup had drained a good amount of the contents of her left breast and she had a feeling that once she reintroduced him he would resume his robust feeding. It touched her that the pup not only recognized her already but that he knew she was safe, that her scent represented safety and security to the infant. It fussed a bit in her lap, emitting mewling noises of protest but not the full-throated squalls of distress it had been producing just a moment ago in the Healer's grasp.

Once she'd securely and comfortably resettled L'tor's pup and felt him calmly take up feeding without a care in the world, she closed her hands on either side of Chulonte's pup, being careful to support his head. There was a moment of hesitation as she saw some blood on him, transferred from his sire's handling, then his mewling ceased and she shook it off and smiled at his tiny fingers reaching and grasping for her. He felt, she realized, much more relaxed. His small spine curved into her palms as he reached out toward her face, his tiny golden eyes bright and fixed on hers as he cooed, miniature tuskless mandibles flaring as his mouth worked and he emitted soft, urgent sounds. She shifted him and carefully tucked him into her retied top, holding him a moment as he squirmed against her breast, seeking her nipple. He found it with tiny pinches, working his way to the tip and taking the whole thing into his mouth to latch on securely. She settled him comfortably as he mouthed at her, flattening his hot, solid little body against the roundness of her swollen breast, then he resumed his strong feeding.

When she felt that, Anya looked up at Chulonte, flexing her shoulders and neck as he remained frozen and staring. As the sound of his pup's nursing became audible he met her eyes, crossed his fist over his chest, and bowed from the waist. It was the most humbled bow she'd ever seen a yautja perform and he held it deliberately for a few heartbeats before easing himself upright. He continued to hold his fist over his heart as he lifted and gave her a nod, then he finally lowered his hand and smoothly turned to leave the infirmary. Vlieg'r, Anya was aware, turned to look at her when the door slid shut behind Chulonte.

"What?" she asked mildly, shifting into a more comfortable position on the chair.

"He pays you highest respect," the Elder Healer said, then cocked his head.

She nodded, feeling weary now that the tension in the clinic had dissipated. "He should," she said simply, and watched Vlieg'r bristle at her.

"Chulonte..." the Healer started to say, then shook his head as his flare faded, sighing in exasperation at her. "Is Firstborn. Will be next Clan Leader." He motioned toward Chulonte's pup at her breast. "Firstborn. Will be Clan Leader after him," he said matter-of-factly, spelling it out for her.

Anya's eyes widened in sudden understanding. She'd been aware of Silla's yautja's title, and somewhere along the line there had been some clarifying discussion, mostly spat in threat from Silla, that her mate would be the next Clan Leader. Anya honestly hadn't paid much attention to that; the hierarchy of the clan was distant and had no bearing in her small corner of the ship. Her world of yautja extended only as far as a warrior, a servant and a healer. The concept of the clan being a dictatorship passed along by birthright hadn't mattered all that much to her personally...until she ended up with the heir apparent in her possession.

She settled her wide eyes on Vlieg'r and said, in all honesty, "I didn't know about all that." No wonder he'd been so deferential to the pup's sire and agitated at the situation. In retrospect, Anya supposed it had been ballsy of him to insist on putting himself in the middle of this and refuse to back down, backed by nothing more than the hope that the Firstborn's mama had raised him right so he would honor proper etiquette. "L'tor's gonna kill me," she suddenly realized, letting out a quiet breath.

Vlieg'r bristled, and Anya mentally reviewed her words and blanched, thinking of Silla and wondering what Chulonte had done to her. "We will remind him of your compassionate nature," the Healer suggested solemnly.

Rescuing the poor little guy hadn't been a thing she'd done with any conscious thought, but she sure as hell was thinking about it now, and worrying about the consequences.


She didn't have long to wait. Shortly after Chulonte's departure, the clinic's door hissed open again to admit L'tor. She tensed up in her chair at the sight of him, as his imperious gaze swept the room until it settled on her. He froze and they regarded each other, Anya taking in the blazing heat of his feral stare and aware by its ferocity that his mood was bordering on outraged. She drew in a deep, quiet breath, held it, then let it ease out of her. He remained unmoved.

She'd suspected he would not respond well to what she'd done. That he would take it as a personal affront instead of seeing it from her point of view. "It's just a baby," she said loudly, defiantly.

He blinked, a startling flash of backlit and heated amber, then he drew himself up, seeming to inflate. He let out a hard chuff instead of speaking, allowing his attention to divert and fix on Vlieg'r, who'd entered the clinic and was heading for him.

Anya subsided, watching as they approached each other and met somewhere in the middle, near an examination table. They spoke in their native tongue in low voices, each occasionally darting a look at her and clueing her in on the subject of their conversation. She remained where she was, sipping at her water as she fought to keep her attention on them instead of letting the infants pull it inward. There was, admittedly, some sort of hypnotic state the tandem nursing put her into. She supposed it was natural, but she resisted it right now, feeling a need to pay attention so she was prepared to provide a defense if the situation called for it.

Chulonte's greedy little pup faded first, no doubt already full before he'd even started. His drifting off and the sensation of pulling at her, along with the quieting of his nursing, allowed her sharper focus. Absently, she stroked L'tor's pup to encourage him to eat, watching Vlieg'r and L'tor.

Their conversation eventually escalated, grew more heated, then L'tor backed the Elder Healer up against his exam table and closed his hand around Vlieg'r's throat. He was in full flare and high temper, bowing the Elder yautja backward over the table and performing a slow, sadistic throttling that Vlieg'r tried to futilely escape.

At that, Anya wrestled herself and the double burden she bore off the chair and got to her feet, then stormed over to intervene. L'tor released Vlieg'r with a low growl and backed away from her like she was toxic, leaving the Healer braced against the exam table and panting. She glared at L'tor, mystified by his behavior. "So...how was your day?" she asked, her tone flat. He widened the flare of his mandibles at her, a decidedly unfriendly expression, then his eyes dropped to her upper covering in silent accusation. "Go ahead," she dared, narrowing her eyes. "Ask me how my day was so far."

No answer, though his eyes did flick up to meet hers.

"So yeah," she said, her voice still loud, "another girl went postal and started thrashing her pup around. Next thing I know I'm across the room, punching her out to stop the thrashing and catching her baby. Vee steered me in here to, I don't know, control the chaos, I suppose. The baby was freaking out, screaming and crying because she was swinging it around by its one leg." Anya blinked, remembering. Off to the side she saw Vlieg'r, recovered from his near-throttling and rising from the table to stand on his own two feet, near enough to provide the impression of support.

"He was okay," she said more quietly, "but scared to death. I took him back. I wanted to comfort him."

At that, L'tor issued a quiet rattle and lowered his head, removing his ferocious gaze from her. He actually stepped back from her and Vlieg'r, closing his hands into fists as he reluctantly gave ground.

"It's just a baby," Anya said again plaintively, quietly.

L'tor lifted his fierce head and glared at her. "An'eya..." he rumbled. "You don't want me to fight for you, but this...you do?" he trilled.

"Fight...?" she asked, shocked.

He motioned at her. "My mate...my pup...cannot touch."

She sensed his anguish, buried beneath his rage. "Only a little while longer," she promised. "Just until Chulonte brings another girl so he's safe."

This time his chuff was more forceful, and in the midst of it he redirected his attention to the Elder Healer, ending in a low, prolonged growl. She had the sense that something passed between them, some knowledge that she was unaware of; then again it could merely have been further accusation from L'tor to Vlieg'r, or a promise of payback for having allowed this to happen. "It's just a baby, L'tor," she pleaded again. "Yours is fine." She covered their pup with her hand and stroked his small back through the thin material of her top. "He's fine," she assured him.

The door to the corridor slid open to admit Chulonte. He hesitated, no doubt picking up on the acrid musk perfuming the air, then he smoothly recovered and let himself in. Anya's eyes switched between him and L'tor as they glared at each other.

"You found a surrogate?" she asked loudly, not liking the way they were eyeing each other.

He emitted a prattling noise, then smoothly turned toward her by deliberately putting his back to L'tor. There was a pause as he looked her over, an uncomfortably appraising perusal that made Anya flare her nostrils, then the moment was extinguished by L'tor's quiet warning growl.

"Sei-i," the Firstborn acknowledged finally. "Female coming."

Another meaningful glance exchanged between L'tor and the Healer that Anya caught but still couldn't interpret, and when the corridor door opened shortly after, a human female caged between two Junior Healers was escorted inside despite her hesitation. Chulonte all but ignored her, choosing to focus on Anya instead. The woman gasped at the sight of L'tor and Chulonte and Anya frowned as she realized that she wasn't familiar or comfortable with yautja-kind.

Ignoring her hesitation, the Junior Healers kept her moving past the males while she twisted her neck to gape at them. Vlieg'r alone was watching Anya from outside the threat and challenge being passed back and forth by Chulonte and L'tor. For her part, Anya was aware of it but ignored it; L'tor would handle this like he did everything else, and if she questioned it he would assure her it that it didn't concern her. What did concern her was the sight of a terrified human woman who was clearly overwhelmed and being muscled into a corner while she tried to take in everything she was seeing and make sense of it. She was draped in a shapeless shift, and when the Juniors tried to divest her of it, she went berserk. They weren't being rough but Anya recognized her terror and switched gears to hurry over there and intervene as it escalated.

She was intercepted by L'tor, who smoothly cut in front of her and closed his hand around her throat to halt her with a low growl, his eyes shooting daggers at her though he had enough self-control to keep his grip gentle. His reaction set off a chain of events as Chulonte bristled and stormed at them while Vlieg'r barked out a sharp "Ki'cte!" and the girl screamed. There was a chorus of horrified gasps and protests from the entryway to the common room where a group of women had gathered to watch as Anya went rigid, clenching her fists and stamping a foot. L'tor, glaring at Chulonte, cocked his head to regard her warily in the sudden stillness that followed, reacting to the rage permeating her scent and to the vibration of her throat against his hand as she growled. He released her and straightened his stance, lifting his chin slowly as he answered her with a quiet, trickling growl of his own. There was a standoff, broken by Chulonte's rumble, and Anya's head snapped around to regard him.

"You," she hissed, lifting her hand to point at him, "need to know that I did not just rescue your pup from his own mother just to let L'tor hurt him."

"And you," she continued, turning, her finger swooping to settle on Vlieg'r, "need to pay attention to how they're handling that girl over there and get it under control."

"You and you," another swift turn as she addressed the Junior Healers, "need to back off of her. She's traumatized enough already."

"You," directed at the women who were watching. "Trish, Deb. Get in here and help me out with her."

"And you..." she snarled, turning her finger and her attention to L'tor. She hesitated as his chin ticked a notch higher and he curled his massive clawed hands into fists, glaring down at her and bracing himself as if she were pointing a gun at him. "...we'll discuss this later..." she decided on an exhalation, backing down. In that brief second she'd realized that he'd been as caught offguard by this unintended chaos as she had, and that his only motive was to protect her and his offspring, even if it meant having to protect both from herself. He rumbled, the sound carrying much less weight and warning and threat than a growl, and relaxed his tension as he lowered his chin.

As if that was the signal the rest had been waiting for, Debra and Trish entered the clinic and went straight to the woman in the corner, who had fallen as silent as the rest in the wake of Anya's outburst. At a head motion from Vlieg'r, the Junior Healers fell back and gave the women some space, releasing the newcomer to their care.

Chulonte remained unmoved, his eyes fixed to Anya and conducting yet another calculating re-appraisal. She ignored him to return L'tor's steady regard, watching as his temper cooled in steady increments as she steeled herself to stand still and keep her focus on him. Doing so, oddly enough, calmed her down too, easing that temperamental rush that had fueled her outburst.

There was some hushed discussion going on among the women and the Junior Healers, and when Anya glanced over at them Trish made a face. "They said she's here for Silla's pup?" Debra said, catching her eye.

"Where's Silla?" Trish demanded.

Anya pressed her lips together and let out a breath, then shot a look at Chulonte, her gaze dropping pointedly to his hands before going back to his eyes. She didn't have an answer to the question but she had a pretty awful guess. His mandibles flexed and he chuffed, and Anya heard her own yautja's low answering growl.

"She's not here," she heard herself saying, finally tearing her attention off the Firstborn. The only reason she didn't say what she was thinking was the new woman who was apparently expected to care for Chulonte's pup. The last thing that woman needed to hear was that he'd just killed the pup's mother.

"Then where's the pup?" Debra asked, surprised.

"I have him."

"You...?" Debra began, then she trailed off and blinked with sudden realization. Trish whispered something to her and Debra nudged her, asking something of one of the Juniors in a quick change of subject.

Vlieg'r, Anya realized, was still standing between Chulonte and L'tor and waiting on her. His assistants were holding something up and showing Debra and Trish...ah, a change of clothes for the new girl, since the pup couldn't be safely contained in the shapeless smock she was currently wearing. This explained why they were trying to get the dress off her, and no doubt in their minds they were doing it the right way and being as gentle as possible about it. But that the new girl would have a different take on what they were doing to her was a certainty; she probably thought she was about to experience some sort of extraterrestrial gang-rape.

Anya's eyes narrowed as she watched what was going on in the corner, and just when she started to shift her body to take the first step, L'tor rumbled and lifted his hand to her throat again. This time Chulonte stood his ground though he did growl in terse warning.

Settling herself, Anya redirected her attention to L'tor, regarding him from along the length of his muscled arm. "Let me help her," she said quietly, not disputing his hand. It was, all things considered, a gentle touch, his fingers resting on her collarbones. It conveyed a certain sense of dominance, and her lack of argument in response spoke volumes to everyone else in the room. His focus was one hundred percent on her now, while her focus was still bouncing all over the clinic.

"An'eya..." he rumbled, the sound of her name delivered with exasperation and warning mixed in.

"Let me just see to this and we'll go. Please."

He growled now, then lifted his head and took a long look around the clinic, then he chuffed and released her. She stepped forward to close the gap between them, then she traced the healed slashes across his chest from the challenge fights, his sworn reminder of how much he valued her and what he was willing to endure to keep her. Her touch stilled him, and he rattled quietly and stepped back, lowering his crest and giving her permission.