Long time no post! It's been a brutal year but hubby and mom are on the mend as cancer survivors. Both came away with scars and missing pieces like the warriors they are, and both are on long-term hormone therapies but the good news is that life goes on!
Mature-rated story, characters in particular are mine, Predator/yautja in general are not. I think we're long past due to advance this story...I just wanted to say I've missed this part of my life and so many of you, and I'm hopeful that you're still out there. I told you I'm not done with this story until it's done...let's keep going, shall we?
Hugs and kisses and hoping you're all hanging in there! ...Stupe
"Annie-dee...I can't hide in here forever," Anya said, keeping her tone gentle though she was exasperated. A'ni-de had cautioned her against leaving L'tor's quarters for a full day now, aware that he couldn't very well parade himself around in the armor of a Blooded warrior, and adamantly unwilling to let her out of his sight. "I have to go to the clinic and find out if there's any news about L'tor," she continued. "Maybe they've heard from him."
He growled, then lifted the gauntlet he'd 'borrowed'. "Have reached out. Not receive response," he told her. She blinked, staring at the bracer, unaware that he'd been able to use it to try and contact L'tor. For a moment her heart leapt with hope at the awareness she had a way to communicate with her lost yautja, then A'ni-de's words sunk in and muffled her excitement.
"Maybe someone else has," she protested, regrouping. "You keep trying, and I'll go find out what's happening." He narrowed his eyes on her, unmoved. "You don't want Chulonte coming here and knocking on the door, do you?" she sighed, then shifted her stance. "I won't hide here and force a confrontation, Annie. Stay here and wait for me, please...you're the only reason I got any sleep last night," she added, gentling her voice. She'd spent the night in the armchair, dozing off and on. She was unable to get in the bed; when she'd stood in the doorway of their sleeping quarters all she could smell was L'tor, and the faintest whiff of her firstborn. It had been enough to drive her back out into the living area where she'd crumbled into the armchair and cried herself into an exhausted sleep. When she'd woken up and opened her eyes throughout the long night, A'ni-de was standing rigidly by the entry door, facing it as he guarded her.
He grumbled now but finally relented, backing down and turning away from her. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she assured him, then she stepped from L'tor's quarters and into the corridor.
She couldn't help but feel vulnerable, and she was tempted to go back to the protection of A'ni-de, to sleep while he stood watch over her. But that was only a temporary solution and she knew it. So far only the uncertainty over L'tor's fate was keeping Chulonte at bay; had he been certain that L'tor was dead Anya didn't doubt that A'ni-de would be back belowdecks and she wouldn't be able to hide in the familiar comfort and safety of L'tor's quarters.
She passed a yautja in the corridor, who stopped walking to stare at her and watch her pass. She met his eyes and nodded to him; he gave her a respectful dip of his chin. Word of L'tor's disappearance had spread, she supposed, then she continued to try and brace herself for what she was about to walk into.
She skirted the common room via the corridor without incident and went directly into the clinic, relieved to not run into any of the other females. She had no idea if any of them were aware of her current drama, and she was currently feeling too fragile to be the center of attention right now. Vlieg'r spotted her and glanced around the clinic before approaching her, chittering with what she'd come to learn was excited agitation.
"Lar'nix'va arrive on ship," he said quietly, his eyes sparkling with amusement before darting around to make sure they weren't overheard by his Junior Healers. Bristling slightly, he moved her to a more private nook in the clinic.
"Larnixva?" she hissed loudly once he had her alone, dumbfounded. Of all the things she'd prepared herself to hear, this news rated at about the bottom of the list. The Elder Healer hushed her by raising his blunt-clawed hand.
"Very big arrival," Vlieg'r said hurriedly, eager to share the news. "Demanded to meet with Clan Leader. Firstborn was called to attend also," he said. "Lar'nix'va wants to see you. Firstborn would not allow him access to you, said he did not want Lar'nix'va allowed into breeding area. Lar'nix'va demanded you be brought to him. He will not back down on his right to have access to you." An amused rumble slipped out of him as he filled her in, apparently delighted by this bizarre turn of events.
Anya shook her head, still stunned. "How the hell...?" she started to ask as her mind furiously tried to figure it out, then she blinked, suddenly remembering. L'tor wanting to go hunting so long ago...her pointing out that if anything happened to him she'd be left to die on his ship...him bringing Lar'nix'va to meet her, appointing the Statue of Liberty as his backup in case anything happened to him...the button on the ship...the failsafe in L'tor's gauntlet... "Holy fucking shit," she gushed now, then collapsed onto a nearby stool. Lifting her teary eyes to Vlieg'r, she asked, "Larnixva asked to see me?"
The Elder Healer rattled. "Not ask. Demand. Tell everyone that L'tor picked him as successor for you." He studied her, then tilted his head and asked: "Is true?" with a suppressed trill.
"It is," she admitted sourly, "but I'd completely forgotten all about it." Looking at Vlieg'r with a stricken expression she said: "I don't even know if that agreement is still valid!"
The Healer rumbled, taking a moment to consider, his demeanor more serious. "If is true, L'tor would make record of it. They will check."
"Holy shit," Anya breathed again. "I don't know which would be worse for me. Chulonte is bad enough, but Larnixva?" she moaned. "He hates me!"
Vlieg'r bristled strongly, a sight that was rare enough to startle her. "Hates you?" he trilled. "He is mei'hswei to L'tor. L'tor would not choose you to go to him if danger to you."
"Larnixva's an asshole, Vee," she insisted. At that, the Healer chortled, relaxing his stance as his tresses and tension eased.
"Sei-i," he agreed, familiar with the human slur she'd used, aware in his experience that in yautja it conversely seemed to define the best warrior traits. "Would have to be, to stand against Firstborn."
Anya barked out a surprised, cynical laugh that sort of erupted without warning, and it was followed by hiccups that dissolved into tears as she broke down and started to cry.
"H'ko, female, not yet," Vlieg'r chided her, his voice as gentle as she'd ever heard him make it, his tresses lifting in alarm as Anya lost her self control. "L'tor mei'hswei is very high ranked and powerful warrior, able to stand for you in his place. L'tor chose him for you for a reason. Trust your mate, An'eya," he urged her.
She took a few deep and shuddering breaths then wiped her face and forcibly regained her composure after a moment. "You're right, Vee. Thanks. I'm...I guess I'm getting overwhelmed," she murmured, straightening and gathering herself.
"Understand," he purred. "Come into the clinic." He turned away and exited the small room, and she slid off the stool to follow him. He motioned her toward the table as he retrieved his biohelm and she boosted herself up and settled in for a routine exam, stroking a hand over her belly to soothe herself.
He returned to her with his mask in hand and set it on the table beside her. "Warriors," he chirred, lightly touching the sides of her neck, "very superstitious. I, too. Sometimes Cetanu leads and Paya follows, sometimes opposite." The pads of his thumbs traced down either side of her neck and he grunted satisfaction as he tipped her chin higher, then started a visual once-over.
Anya huffed. "I think you mean religious, not superstitious," she said, mulling his words over and vaguely aware of the yautja deities.
"Sei-i, that too," he agreed, his tone lighter and more cheerful.
"L'tor never struck me as the religious type. Or the superstitious type," she said, after a moment of consideration.
"H'ko?" Vlieg'r trilled, then turned her to lie on her back so he could palpate her abdomen. "Did he never talk of the Path he had been given? Of being watched by Cetanu or led by Paya?" he inquired.
"I might have heard some things like that here and there," she admitted, remembering. Cetanu especially. The god that L'tor had claimed to have tested her when she'd been given the injections meant to alter her into something more compatible with yautja, that had almost ended up killing her. Vlieg'r grunted. "It's not like he prayed to them or worshiped them that I know of," she said, a bit defensively.
"Did he not hunt and display trophies? Did he not find a female worthy of him and breed with her?" the Healer asked.
Anya hesitated and blinked on the 'female worthy of him' comment, momentarily flashing on the thought of her partying in her basement while L'tor pitted himself against the most dangerous creatures in the known universe, her own kind included. She scowled, searching for the mocking that had to be behind the Elder Healer's example question, but unable to detect it. "So?"
Vlieg'r huffed and made a crickety sound of exasperation. "So. He was following the Path he was given, honoring the gods. Taking life and giving life. Showing respect to their strongest creatures, testing himself against them to prove himself. Finding a worthy mate."
There it was, that 'worthy' comment again. Anya kept silent and listened, reviewing her life with L'tor, discarding her human definitions of religion, superstition, prayer and worship, and thinking about the way yautja viewed those terms. It was sort of...poetically easy, to imagine that just living your life and doing your thing was a form of worship and a way of honoring the deities you believed in. Then again, the yautja were constantly telling her that humans made everything too hard, too complicated, too complex. She recalled one alien planet excursion when L'tor had suggested that they should cross a wide jungle-filled valley to get to the tall peaks on the other side. She'd taken in the view from their treetop perch and started ticking off objections: it was too far, too hot, too dangerous, too unknown...too everything. L'tor had touched the pads of his fingers to her lips with a low, amused trill, just as she'd started warming up to get into her exhaustive list of what-if objections.
'An'eya,' he'd purred. 'We walk. We explore. Then we reach the mountains.'
Remembering that, she smiled now as she lay on Vlieg'r's examination table. The Healer had donned his biohelm as he checked on her unborn baby, chirring again as he used his strong fingers to apply pressure and encourage response. "N'got," he purred, his tone and cadence pleased. He lingered a bit longer, and Anya wondered if he was taking images of L'tor's almost-secondborn and sending them to him. Hoping they reached him and reminded him and inspired him, to fight, to live, to persevere and come back to her.
After her examination, Vlieg'r closed off the door to the common room and had the eta bring her a mixture of treats, most of them healthy. K'lukswe, the flower-petal-looking sweets that L'tor had gotten her addicted to, succulent and exotic fruits, choice vegetables to dip in savory, tangy sauces. Anya was touched by his clever tactic to get her to eat, and by the time he was devoting to her to help ease her simmering anxiety. He spoke of his recent visit with Lilith, now far away from the breeder's quarters. She was assisting another Healer in another part of the ship, helping to acclimate new arrivals, traumatized females like she had been. She'd taken what she'd learned from Anya and her experience with the clan's Bearers and was teaching females who had been poached by other clans and intercepted enroute. The clan was negotiating a trade for her, he said. Since this clan's Bearers did such an excellent job with their pups there was no great need for a good surrogate. Other clans were not so fortunate, Vlieg'r confided, keeping Anya distracted from her own problems with interesting conversation.
Ivy's sister Carol was settling in exceptionally well...
Birthrates were historically high and outpacing all other clans...
There were plans to add onto the Breeder's section to make room for all the new additions...
More Healers were being added and needed to be trained...
Anya eventually started tuning Vlieg'r out, catching every third word or so as her thoughts unavoidably turned inward. A'ni-de, she supposed, had to be wondering where the hell she was about now, and she was starting to sweat a bit at the thought of him leaving their quarters and coming to find her, dressed in warrior's armor. Then she realized she needed to go into the common room and somehow avoid getting tangled in conversation while attempting to grab as much rjet as she could smuggle back to her room. Her guardian needed to be fed before he keeled over; it hadn't passed her notice that the quantity of her rations had dropped. One of A'ni-de's eta minions had told them that the news of L'tor's absence had reached the kitchens, resulting in food carts three quarters empty as they responded by providing only enough food for her. The same eta had advised A'ni-de not to leave the Breeder's section, telling him that the number of guards around it had increased and others were asking questions about L'tor's aseigan.
Her situation was tenuous and becoming more dire with every hour that passed with no sign of L'tor. Chulonte, it seemed, had exercised the patience and cunning to force her into his hands. She and L'tor had both underestimated him.
"Vee," she said abruptly, rudely speaking right over whatever the Elder Healer was saying. He stilled and she could actually see him suppressing an insulted bristle. "I need your help," she plowed on, and he smoothly recovered, easing more weight onto his elbows across the table from her as he leaned closer and his mottled patterning faded back. "Can you send one of your guys into the common room to grab me a bunch of meat?" she asked flatly, and his bristle and subtle patterning reflared minutely.
"Bunch of meat?" he echoed, his heavy brow furrowing as he loosed a lengthy questioning trill.
"The, the strips," she said quietly, urgently, drawing imaginary parallel lines on the table between them by pulling the thumbs and forefingers of both hands apart repeatedly. He stared at her hands before his pale eyes lifted to meet hers. She sensed his questions, and her eyes darted to each door before meeting his gaze again. "Rjet," she clarified. "As much as you can give me."
His eyes widened and he eased himself back from her, regarding her appraisingly before letting out a rough huff "H'ko."
She blinked, then scowled at him. "Fine. I'll do it myself." She shoved herself back from the table and stood at the same time the main door that led to the corridor slid open and the Clan Leader swept in, followed by Chulonte and then Lar'nix'va. Anya froze, for one confused second feeling guilty, caught just as she'd made up her mind to do something she was fairly certain was a no-no.
Etah'-dte swept the clinic with an imperious gaze, and as Vlieg'r shot to his feet the Clan Leader approached them. This was the powerful Elder who led this clan, laid down the law, determined the course of the ship, bestowed honors and led ceremonies, his cape sweeping imperiously in his wake while Anya steeled herself and watched him come. He'd been present at her tattooing and the test that had followed. He had greeted L'tor upon their return to the clan ship when L'tor had decided it was time to settle down. She had stood with him multiple times in this very room during weaning ceremonies, her own firstborn's included, listening as he encouraged and praised and congratulated. This time, however, his attention was not focused on L'tor or a newly weaned pup but on her. It took all her willpower not to back away from him.
He was hulking and grey, not particularly tall for a yautja but at least L'tor's height. His eyes, like Elder Arbitrator Warkha's, were putty-colored and intelligent, and his powerful body was criss-crossed with scars. Beneath the cape draping down his back he wore a pair of huge swords, their pommels crossing behind his upper back and protruding well above the level of his shoulders through the cape's wide upper drape.
"An'eya," he purred to her in greeting. She'd long since resolved herself to the fact that no yautja could properly pronounce her name and she'd learned to respond just as quickly to An'eya as Anya. She inclined her head in a mute nod of acknowledgement, admittedly cowed by this yautja and filled with nervous anxiety. His eyes flicked to the Elder Healer, and he curtly said, "Go." The Healer bowed submissively and smoothly made his leave.
Prickling with apprehension, Anya waited while the Clan Leader stepped closer to her, linked his hands behind his back, and turned to admire the view outside the nearby window. She took the opportunity to pull her attention off him for a second to sneak a peak at Chulonte and Lar'nix'va, and found that both were in full bristle and staring at her, giving her more reasons to feel the need to run and hide.
"This warrior," the Clan Leader rumbled without moving or looking at her, "say your n'yaka-de promise you to him. Is not true?" he trilled, then turned his head and fixed his alien gaze on her. He pinned her in a place for a long moment before his eyes flicked and his attention moved over her head and past her, settling on Lar'nix'va.
Anya blinked. N'yaka-de was the yautja term for master, a word that conveyed dominance and authority. A n'yaka-de was not a friend or a mate, and the Clan Leader's decision to use that word to define her relationship with L'tor put her on notice because it minimized her and belittled her standing. His use of the word was an insult, and it triggered an instinctive, compulsive reaction inside her that made her anxiety recede as it reminded her that she was not as powerless as he was trying to make her feel. Her temper surged with a wash of heat that strengthened and invigorated her, causing her to subtly straighten her posture and stance.
The second thing to strike her wrong was Etah'-dte's assuredness that Lar'nix'va was not telling the truth, and his brusque attempt to secure her quick agreement. To do anything other than whisper a meek agreement that it wasn't true was to risk the Clan Leader's -and Firstborn's- potent wrath and put herself in a position where she would have to explain. No doubt this was the reason he'd dismissed Vlieg'r, leaving her standing alone with no support.
She glanced at Lar'nix'va and saw that he was openly glaring at Etah'-dte's back with enough heat that the Clan Leader should be feeling the burn, though he ignored it. She hesitated, daring to take Lar'nix'va in, interpreting his expression to mean that he found Etah'-dte's statement and question as offensive as she had. His thick tresses were fixed to spike upward around his prominent crown like the Statue of Liberty, and the hourglass pattern adorning his crest was bold. He was clearly angry, his potent n'dui'se perfuming the clinic.
Chulonte, on the other hand, was staring intensely at her, projecting expectation as he awaited her response. His chin and mandibles tipped up slightly when he caught her eye, an almost encouraging motion that broadcast his desire for her to capitulate and put an end to Lar'nix'va's bid.
"Sigh-ee," she finally responded, drawing herself a bit more upright and rigid. "My mate told me that I will go to Larnixva if anything happened to him."
Etah'-dte's alien gaze slowly narrowed on her in a way that felt predatorily dangerous. Like he was thinking about consuming her. The glare was complemented by a quiet, steady sound: a low, throbbing growl that came across rough and gravelly and threatening.
Then another growl, this one louder and challenging but just as deep and beefy. It came from the chest, starting as a low, rising rumble that grew, building rapidly to project throatily through an open mouth. The sound was alarming enough to cause Anya to turn from the peril in front of her to see what was happening behind her. The answering growl came from Lar'nix'va, his eyes gleaming scarlet behind the orange, his pupils dilated and fixed over her head on Etah'-dte as he boldly responded and drew the Clan Leader's attention and threat away from her.
Whirling suddenly from the window with a low roar, his cape billowing, Etah'-dte faced the other two. "Terra'dto asun-ma!" he barked abruptly: You will abdicate!
Lar'nix'va, his yellow-orange-red eyes incandescent with anger, lowered his chin and very quietly but flatly and clearly said, "H'ko." This, apparently, had been an ongoing argument, and Lar'nix'va was boldly insisting on holding his ground.
Still growling, the Clan Leader turned back to the window, bristling and radiating menace as he re-linked his hands behind his back. Clearly, Anya thought, he'd intended that she would refuse or deny Lar'nix'va, and he'd dragged him here to prove to him that he had no claim. Since she didn't know what to do or which of two apparently horrible options to pick, Chulonte or Lar'nix'va, she followed Vlieg'r's advice to stick with the plan that L'tor had come up with, following his wishes and trusting his judgment.
A long, tense silence followed, and Anya's eyes switched between the three of them. She couldn't decide which was the angriest, and the musk in the room was strong enough to make her eyes water. Chulonte had gone from a confident and expectant stare to shooting daggers at her with his eyes, between anxious glances at his sire's broad back. Lar'nix'va's fierce gaze switched from the Clan Leader's back to hers when she looked at him, swept her length, then returned to Etah'-dte. She followed their lead and stayed quiet, waiting on the Clan Leader's decree.
"Ka'rik'na shan," Lar'nix'va growled shortly, into the tense, crackling silence. He'd had enough of the delays and resistance and refusal to honor his claim, so he'd finally voiced what had been on his mind for some hours now: Summon an Arbitrator. It was a potentially risky request, but the only way of breaking the stalemate, short of the Clan Leader and the Firstborn killing him. Since Etah'-dte and Chulonte weren't outright denying his right to Anya he was certain that L'tor had never rescinded his right of succession. He was confident they wouldn't dare make a move against him for now; he'd been purposely dramatic and vocal upon his arrival here to ensure word of his presence and his intentions on the clan ship would spread like wildfire. Too many were aware he was here and why for them to hide his disappearance, if that's what they'd been planning.
The Clan Leader grunted rudely, still staring pensively out the window and keeping his back to Lar'nix'va. After awhile he spoke more, his tone low and growling as he kept his back to all of them: You will be assigned quarters while you wait. You will not be given permission to enter here.
Lar'nix'va switched his attention to Anya, standing stiffly and silently beside Etah'-dte, and caught the widening of her eyes. He was unsure if she was fluent enough to follow the Clan Leader's word for word but apparently she understood enough to know they were stonewalling him.
"I will have access to the female," Lar'nix'va said quietly, in english. The female he was referring to and addressing blinked and narrowed her newly feral gaze on him, and he suppressed a shiver of anticipation and kept his expression neutral. The Clan Leader and the Firstborn weren't his only challenges here; L'tor's female, despite displaying proper behavior in this situation for an ooman, was still not entirely tamed. She'd displayed a promising show of female yautja confidence and boldness in countering and correcting Etah'-dte earlier.
"H'ko," Chulonte spat, finally speaking up.
"It is my right," Lar'nix'va stated calmly, still in english. His eyes flicked to Anya and settled, his stare direct and unblinking as he projected dismissive disinterest in anything else the Firstborn might have to say to him.
The Clan Leader turned, more slowly this time. "Will stay here only. Healer will escort you out when done," he decreed, then stormed off. Chulonte stayed beside Lar'nix'va until his sire barked for him when he reached the door. Still the Firstborn hesitated, long enough to flare his mandibles wide and loose a low, rattling growl that Lar'nix'va continued to ignore. Chulonte hissed in irritation then retreated to follow Etah'-dte, stung by Lar'nix'va's utter lack of reaction.
Finally left alone with the female, Lar'nix'va indulged himself in a moment of observation, breathing her in, applying rarely-used self discipline to release his temper and anger on every exhalation. Her coloration was bolder, displaying a healthier looking hue in his eyes, due to her higher body temperature. She showed attractive patterning, spots that arranged themselves into lines and patterns that pleasingly complimented her physique.
Her scent too, was luscious and ripe, properly seasoned with information instead of the typical ooman mixture of unclearly defined and jumbled and masked odors. She was anxious, openly staring at him. Gravid, no doubt gestating L'tor's pup. His hunt-brother's scent was faint and fading from her, and there was evidence of another yautja that shared space with her.
Such an enticing mixture of ooman and yautja, boldly standing her ground, patiently waiting for him to make the first move. L'tor had not misspoken when he'd said that she'd come through her change well. Seeing her standing there so sleek, so enticing, made Lar'nix'va aware of what was lacking in himself. After having spent so long by himself in the self-imposed solitude of his ship he knew his already-limited social skills were rusty, especially after having spent so many confrontational hours in a verbal battle with the Clan Leader and the Firstborn.
With a decisive grunt, Lar'nix'va did a slow flare to full tension, then gave himself a brisk, shuddering shake to scatter the last of his aggravation. The female didn't flinch. Drawing himself fully and proudly erect, he stalked toward her, his steps measured, deliberately spaced, and utterly silent, a combination of a prowl and a strut he'd long since perfected in hopeful anticipation of showing it off to the females. Ooman females, he'd learned, were intimidated by this display. Anya, on the other hand, let her eyes do a curious sweep down his length as she watched him close in on her.
Unable to resist, he prowled a slow circle around her, huffing in her scent, being delicate and cautious thanks of his instinct to demonstrate respect and not challenge to a female, but making no attempt to be sly. Another, tighter circle that tested her and communicated a proprietary right to her personal space. She stayed still, making no attempt to move away from him. No fear in her scent, no biting words, no movement to retreat from his proximity.
"Female," he finally greeted her, pausing in front of her and just a shade too close. He stared down into her eyes from above the impressive swell of his pectoral muscles, unable to help but pose for her as she showed him her undivided attention and interest.
"Larnixva," she replied, her voice even. He flared a bit automatically for myriad reasons: a female's acknowledgement, her use of his name, and her faulty pronunciation. He tamped his reaction down and noted the slightest upward curving of the corners of her lips that made him wonder if she knew why he'd tensed.
"Lar'nix'va," he corrected her mildly, adding the clicks between syllables, knowing she couldn't correctly pronounce his name, just like she could never properly say L'tor's name. Her lips curved a bit more. In his experience, this response to his greeting was as good as an outright invitation from any normal ooman female. She wasn't a normal ooman, though, and there was a persistent flavor to her scent that kept him from any thoughts of courtship. "You are Bearing," he continued. "L'tor?" he trilled.
He stared at L'tor's female and waited for her to speak, steeling himself to assume nothing. He was aware of her hesitation and watched her furrowing brows, alert and wary and on edge as he replayed the events that had led up to now in his mind, wondering who here - if anyone - could be trusted.
This entire endeavor so far had been filled with unpleasant and aggravating surprises, so if L'tor's female wasn't carrying L'tor's suckling Lar'nix'va would be further aggravated but not very surprised. And with the way Chulonte had a proprietary interest in the female it would be Lar'nix'va's next guess that the suckling was sired by the Firstborn. If that was the case he would bow out of this mess with no further argument.
While he waited for her response, he reflected on the reason he was here...the alarms that had sounded in response to L'tor's failsafe being tripped had woken him from a sound sleep. Annoyed, he'd reached out to his mei'hswei, expecting an immediate and hopefully jocular response, despite their parting of ways. At first he'd thought that L'tor was ignoring him by not answering, punishing him for the dishonorable way they'd parted company. The access codes he'd been given had still worked when he'd entered them, but all had returned with fail messages, not only to L'tor's drop ship but to his personal communications equipment. His mei'hswei's mate's transponder was still transmitting and showing that she was on the clan ship so he'd immediately set course and headed there.
Enroute, he'd reached out to his contacts on the clan ship and his fears had been confirmed. L'tor had gone out to do reconnaissance on an unmapped planet and all contact with his ship had been lost. A probe had been sent that had transmitted images of the wreckage, no life forms found. Lar'nix'va had taken the chance that L'tor had never gone through with rescinding his right of succession to Anya and he continued to the clan ship to take possession of her and fulfill his hunt brother's wishes...and from the moment he'd landed he'd been stonewalled. The Firstborn had laid claim to her for some reason.
When he'd arrived and been granted an audience, Etah'-dte had at first tried to appeal to Lar'nix'va's well-established cynical pragmatism, telling him that L'tor's female would be well cared for and there was no need for him to take his mei'hswei's place. Did he not loathe to be tied down or settle in one place? There was no need for him to change his lifestyle, no reason, Etah'-dte had insisted.
The Clan Leader's reasoning and reassurance had tempted him. Tested his resolve. And the moment Lar'nix'va made his decision, lifted his chin and murmured, "I must honor my mei'hswei's request," Etah'-dte's demeanor and approach had changed.
What did he care for this clan? For this female? Did he think his genetics were as valuable to the clan as L'tor's? What did he know of providing for a breeding female? She was accustomed to the generous accommodations that L'tor's status as former Master and current Advisor had earned him...quarters that Lar'nix'va was not entitled to.
When the Firstborn had arrived to the meeting, disgustedly providing the proof that Lar'nix'va was indeed logged as Anya's second by L'tor, his head was reeling. Past habits, long entrenched, were roaring for him to just leave. This was too much aggravation. Etah'-dte's points were valid: he was not an acceptable replacement for L'tor. He had done nothing commendable or noteworthy with his life.
There was another voice in his head, though, the one he used to follow when he'd had ideals and aspirations, the one he'd ignored and shut out for centuries in favor of laziness, cynicism and apathy, the quiet voice that he'd been paying attention to again of late. That voice told him that he'd made a promise to his mei'hswei and had sworn to take possession of this female if anything happened to him. That L'tor had entrusted him and none other with this responsibility.
No one had the right to decide what was best for Anya in L'tor's absence. No one but him.
He had rallied as Chulonte had built on what his sire was saying, his judgments and attacks even more scathing, his behavior more possessive. Lar'nix'va had held his ground and insisted on his rights. If they had so much respect for L'tor, why were they resisting following his directive regarding his female?
Eventually they had agreed to allow him to see L'tor's female. Proof, they'd said, that she was well and healthy and being cared for in L'tor's absence. Proof that there was no need for him to take responsibility for her, no need for him to be concerned. Proof that there was no need for him at all.
Wary, Lar'nix'va had followed the Clan Leader to the breeder's section of the clan ship, Chulonte pacing alongside him. He had sensed the Firstborn's calculating evaluation, well aware he was being sized up, but he kept silent and endured it. By the time Etah'-dte had confronted Anya and attempted to intimidate her into denying Lar'nix'va's intended role, he had had enough.
"Sigh-ee," Anya answered flatly in response to his inquiry of whether the pregnancy he could smell was L'tor's progeny, her expression morphing into something harder, her tone dropping to a lower register and sounding clipped. Lar'nix'va gathered his thoughts and attention and regarded her, reading the annoyance and insult she was projecting loud and clear. "This is Lah-tor's pup," she said, her voice still flat and hard as she rested a hand on her midsection.
He grunted, still standing well within her personal space, close enough for them to feel each other's heat, intimate enough for them to breathe in each other's scent. It was one of Lar'nix'va's deliberately offputting tactics, to put his opponent into a position of potential weakness, to force them to have to back away from him.
Anya, however, was bold and confident enough to own the tactic and use it for her own devises. To challenge his stance and test his scent as she stood her ground and proved she had nothing to hide from him in return.
Lar'nix'va grunted. If the pup was L'tor's, then what was the reason for the Firstborn's almost desperate interest in her? This was not an available female; she was gestating the offspring of another male, one who, as Lar'nix'va understood it, was missing and presumed dead but not proven to be dead, and her mate had a documented successor.
"What did they tell you, female?" Lar'nix'va asked gruffly.
The question seemed to catch her off-guard and for the first time she reacted, with a blink and a flinch. Something to hide? Or evidence that she did not trust him?
"They told me La-tor's ship crashed. That he's not responding. That they think he's gone," she said, her tone much more subdued, her sentences yautja-short and clipped.
"Rjet-c'jit," Lar'nix'va barked angrily, having heard the same story and already deciding it was bullshit. "L'tor not careless. His equipment not faulty."
Anya gasped audibly and regarded him with wider eyes and a more open expression. "You think he's still alive?" she breathed, her voice soft enough to be a whisper.
He cut his angry eyes to her with a glare and she stilled. "Did not say that, female," he grunted. He had her full attention now. "Why does Firstborn think he has right to you?" he demanded, and watched her blink and deflate, her expression closing and darkening as her eyes moved away from his.
"Long story. I don't have the yautja for it," she muttered, unsure of how fluent his english was.
"In ooman, then," Lar'nix'va demanded. "I will hear it." His ooman-speak was excellent enough that he was fluent in several languages, in understanding more than speaking. Hunting ooman females for pleasure had its benefits, one of them being a rapid understanding of the mechanics of whatever language they spoke. Abrasive and combative as Lar'nix'va tended to be with his own kind, he'd learned to cultivate a gentler side when 'hunting' ooman females. One that picked up on their fears and learned to reassure, one that was quick to learn the languages they spoke and be capable of communicating the right words back to earn their compliance, whatever the role their upbringing and culture assigned to him. God, monster, boogeyman, trickster, redeemer, pathway to maturity or adulthood, devil or demon, one night stand or walk on the wild side, Lar'nix'va filled all roles. Just enough safe, just enough scary. He knew ooman females like few other yautja did, took advantage of every ooman loophole, played all necessary roles.
This one ooman female, however, did not require him to play a strange part or fulfill an alien role. This one required him to be what he had always intended to be, a Blooded yautja warrior. To display honor and nobility, to use his skills and his cunning, to protect and to provide.
She huffed at him, eyeing him shrewdly, calculating his worthiness. He automatically straightened and rumbled, momentarily forgetting that the scary alien monster act would not work on this female. She knew his kind intimately, thanks to his hunt brother.
"Chulonte had a female," she said slowly, and Lar'nix'va took note that she used the Firstborn's name. "She had a pup. She tried to kill the pup. He killed her."
He huffed, his eyes widening, then he gestured with his chin that she should continue. She picked up on the prompt, still maintaining her close proximity to him, forcing an implied intimacy.
"I took the pup," she continued, then her face softened a bit and she blinked. "Lah-tor wasn't too happy about that."
Lar'nix'va growled and bristled at her. "Where is it?"
"The pup?" Anya asked, thrown off and unsure. "Chulonte brought in a surrogate. She finished nursing him and he was sent off to his training. Then she was sent to another part of the ship."
Females in general and oomans in particular, Lar'nix'va had long since learned, did not respond to direct questions with direct answers, and it seemed that Anya was no different. "Why does Firstborn think he has right to you?" he asked again, his tone lower and heavier as his suspicion and aggravation increased.
"He killed his first female," Anya replied, glaring at him. "He rejected the surrogate for his pup. He told Lah-tor the surrogate and I should trade pups. He told me that I belonged to Lah-tor for now, like that could change..."
Her accusations trailed off as Lar'nix'va's growing outrage manifested in an intimidating physical display of tension, bristle, color and growl. "L'tor did not back him off?" he demanded, hands fisted, shoulders rounded.
"He did," Anya insisted, then made a face. "At least, I thought he did. Shit, he thought he did," she muttered, wondering now how they'd both made such a terrible error in judgment.
The closed door to the common room slid open and Vlieg'r entered, alone and with a bundle clasped in his hands. He paused to look them over, then he growled and stormed closer, displaying a slight flare. Lar'nix'va growled back and moved to smoothly place himself between Anya and the approaching Healer.
Though L'tor's mei'hswei recognized Vlieg'r's garb as that of a Healer, a position he held in high regard after so many instances of needing a Healer's intervention, he didn't know him personally and he didn't trust anyone here, with the possible exception of Anya. He was willing to give her the opportunity to be considered trustworthy simply because L'tor had.
"Warrior," the Healer greeted him, with an impressive snarl worthy of a fighter. The attempted effect of trying to look menacing and spoiling for a fight was ruined by the anxious darting of his gaze toward Anya, and Lar'nix'va remained unmoved, not even returning his greeting.
"Is that...did you get me...?" Anya asked cryptically, peering around Lar'nix'va's impressive width, then stepping out from behind him.
"Sei-i," the Healer grunted, cutting her off and holding up the wrapped bundle in his hands.
"I thought you said no?"
Another grunt, this one edged in amusement. "You asked me to send another. Did not want to put another at risk," he answered, then Lar'nix'va growled dully, irritated with their cryptic conversation.
"An'eya," he rumbled, "you trust this male?" he trilled, eyeing the Healer and his mysterious bundle.
"Yes," she responded without hesitation, then she looked at Vlieg'r and smiled.
Lar'nix'va questioned the Healer in their native tongue, a rapid no-nonsense grilling that was forward, rude, and demanding. He did not know how much time he had before he was separated from Anya, and he needed to understand what had happened here that had resulted in L'tor's possible assassination, and the bizarre involvement and refusal of the Clan Leader and the Firstborn to allow him to step in and fulfill his mei'hswei's wishes for his ooman mate.
Without hesitation, the Healer not only confirmed but further clarified the odd relationship between Chulonte and Anya. She had rescued the suckling, Lar'nix'va learned, and nursed it with her own. She had tried to properly train the surrogate. She had tried to encourage Chulonte to focus his attention on the other female. Then he heard the hilarious-to-him story of L'tor and Anya's post-coital confrontation with Chulonte, knowing without a doubt that it was L'tor's signature subtle way of making a point and forcing a confrontation. The tension in the clinic was broken by his bellowing, braying, haughty laughter as Vlieg'r filled in the details, himself amused by the retelling as Anya displayed a healthy, alluring flush of color in embarrassment.
Warming to the female and the Healer, Lar'nix'va asked what was in the bundle the Healer had procured for her. Meat. For her aseigan: A'ni-de.
At that his good humor evaporated and he wheeled to confront Anya on this 'servant'. This was the other male who's scent was on her, he realized. L'tor's older brother, who'd very nearly killed Lar'nix'va in a drunken confrontation after Lar'nix'va and L'tor's chiva.
"No!" Anya was shouting, putting herself between him and the door to the corridor and aggressively shoving him back as he advanced. Her scent was rank with feminine anger, pulling him back to his senses. Rage blocked all logic and common sense for Lar'nix'va, and the only thing that broke through and registered to him was the scent and sound of pissed-off female. "He is my friend," she insisted vehemently. "The only thing here that protected me, that dared to stand between me and Chulonte."
The Healer bowed his crest, shamed acknowledgement that if push came to shove, he would have no choice but to cede to the wishes of the Clan's leaders. While he would do what he could for her, he was not her champion, and would not stand between her and the leadership of the clan. Lar'nix'va re-regarded Anya, impressed. She seemed to have a good handle on the capabilities and limits of her allies. Then, Lar'nix'va had to concede, that meant that she believed that A'ni-de would die to protect her from Chulonte or any other that threatened her.
He rattled, watching Vlieg'r hand off the bundle of meat strips to her, the two of them exchanging quick words of promise to look out for and check in with each other at the next available opportunity. Then the Healer dipped his chin respectfully to them both and retreated back out the door he'd come in through, leaving them alone.
"Female," Lar'nix'va drawled, drawing her attention from the Healer's retreat back to him. "The Firstborn has no right to you."
She blinked and frowned. "I know that. Even you know that. For some reason he doesn't know that," she countered, drawing herself upright. "Why are you here, Larnixva?"
He loosed a low, masculine rumble and shifted into a pose for her. "L'tor my hunt brother. He chose me for you if he thei-de."
Anya cocked her head and regarded him, taking him in, mulling it over. The hourglass on his crest had faded but his mottling, his overall patterns and colors, were stark. He was, she realized, displaying for her, whether he was aware of it or not. "And you intend to follow through with it?" she asked, not bothering to disguise her surprise. He stood still while she prowled a slow circle around him to take him in and test him. "To stand off with the Clan Leader and the Firstborn?" She came to a stop in front of him and made direct eye contact with his molten, possibly crazy stare. "I thought you hated me," she admitted quietly, and his feral eyes blinked as he chuffed, the sound lightly mocking and tinged with amusement.
"Intend to follow through, sei-i," he rumbled, his tone almost gentle. "To stand off with Clan Leader and Firstborn for you, sei-i. Hate?" he trilled, the sound still gentle and amused. "Have much to teach you, female."
Anya scowled, then blushed furiously as she realized this was yet another yautja whose intentions she'd apparently hugely misread. "I'm pregnant," she said, her tone low and flat.
"Sei-i," he agreed again easily. "N'got. My mei'hswei not a total loss."
Anya blinked at him, his words reassuring even as they landed like daggers in her heart. L'tor had trusted him, she reminded herself. Referred to this yaujta as his best friend and worst enemy, the two of them sharing a complicated history and a complex relationship that was ultimately summed up by her mate as the only one he trusted with both of their lives. He was foul tempered and exquisitely dangerous, clearly threat enough that the Firstborn and the Clan Leader danced carefully around him and were ultimately unable to intimidate him, even two-on-one. Though she'd come to loathe Lar'nix'va through her limited encounters with him, Anya drew in a deep breath of him as he stood still and allowed her to circle him again. She moved slowly, recalling the testing of her tattoo when she'd stood her ground in that bar so long ago and endured this male's leisurely assessment. This time he stood and not only endured but thrived under her appraisal, drawing in a slow, deep breath to swell his impressive chest, squaring his shoulders, shifting his stance, and allowing himself just enough bristle to accentuate his definition and size. Showing her he had nothing to hide, that he was healthy and in his prime and comfortable under her scrutiny.
He'd arrived on the Clan ship with and was still adorned in his best armor and weaponry. Nothing ornamental but all in top shape and functional, all battle tested and showing the wear and tear of combat and use to prove it. He was clean, Anya noted. His tresses, hide and claws clean and oiled, not a thing out of place. Nothing for show, unlike Chulonte. Not an ounce of fat, no embellishments or accessories to broadcast his his status, beyond his scars. She took him in, then circled to look again, contrasting and comparing and thinking.
Lar'nix'va chuffed. "The Firstborn has no right to you," he repeated, his tone lower and rougher. "The warrior forbids it. Tell him, if he tries to approach."
A bold, strong line drawn, one of denial and challenge. Lar'nix'va was staking a clear claim; Anya bit her lip and shifted nervously, her eyes darting even as her brows furrowed in annoyance. She finally sighed and met his gaze, saying, "It's not like I have much choice here, Larnixva," her tone irritated. He chuffed again, lighter this time.
"You will tell him the warrior forbids it. For any demand he makes of you. Let him come to me," he growled, his deep tone lower.
She nodded slowly. "I will try that," she agreed, subsiding as she mulled over the idea of throwing Lar'nix'va under the bus that was Chulonte. She had to admit it was an appealing option, and she looked into his bright, angry eyes with a measure of respect.
"H'ko. You will tell him. If he dares come to me I will confirm it for him," he said. Flat, direct command. "The warrior forbids it. Say it," he ordered, his heavy, dark brow drawn low over his eerie eyes.
"The warrior forbids it," she parroted.
"N'got. He will know who you speak of. The only one who has any right to you," he growled. "They will summon an Arbitrator," he continued. "I will not be allowed access to you before he arrives."
Anya blinked, horrified as her momentary veil of protection disappeared in an instant. She wondered how long Chulonte would leave her alone, how long A'ni-de would be able to hide in her quarters and stand guard over her, how long Vlieg'r would be willing to steal meat from the female rations to feed her guardian. And then, when all was said and done, what the chances were that this Arbitrator would side against a Clan Leader and his Firstborn and back Lar'nix'va's claim. And honestly...she didn't know whether Chulonte or Lar'nix'va would be the better mate for her.
"What will you do, in the meantime?" she demanded. "Before the Arbitrator arrives and makes his decision? Where will you be?" she wanted to know.
Lar'nix'va chuffed, then rattled and gave himself a shake. "I will wait," he assured her, then stilled as she regarded him hawkishly.
"I need you to do me a favor..." she said quietly.
Affronted, he looked at her, his eyes flashing a warning, but she plowed ahead, staring into his eyes and daring to step closer as she clutched her bundle. "Go to the planet where Lah-tor crashed. See if you can find any evidence. Any..." she hesitated, and frowned. "...any proof," she finished.
Lar'nix'va rumbled, considering her request.
"Bring me that proof," she requested, "either way, that Lah-tor is alive or dead. Will you do that for me?" she asked, taking another, closer step, putting herself almost within touching distance. He regarded her, cocking his head.
It was an excellent suggestion, though it carried a measure of risk. Leaving the clan ship might put him in danger first of all, and he would take the risk of not being able to return. He was unsure how deep the conspiracy, if there was one, went. How many were involved, and how far they would go to cover up whatever they had done. It was risky enough to stand here as a male with questionable honor and demand that his mei'hswei's wishes regarding his female were honored. Leaving the ship to investigate L'tor's crash site would only increase the risk.
On the other hand, it would answer the questions and concerns that were nagging him as well, and would give him the opportunity to do something constructive instead of biding his time drinking and looking for fights. If L'tor was stranded, he could bring him back. If there was evidence of sabotage, he could find it.
The female sidled closer until she was almost brushing against him and Lar'nix'va drew himself upright a bit more in reaction as she boldly stared into his eyes. "Lah-tor trusted you and not Chulonte or anyone else. He was your friend," she said quietly. "Go and look for him. If he's dead I will be your mate. I will honor you and bear your young. If he's alive and you bring him back to me you can name your price," she swore.
Lar'nix'va rumbled quietly, his decision made but his contrary nature guiding him to hold back and milk the moment for all it could be worth to him. "If I do not want pups...?" he purled, leaving the question open-ended and waiting for her to fill in the blank.
Anya let out a breath, her eyes falling shut. "Let me raise and wean this one until he goes to his training," she requested, opening her eyes on him. "Then, whatever you want."
He regarded her. "Will take you from here after," he growled, easing closer to crowd her, his voice low as he tested her.
She met his gaze and blinked, quiet for a moment, before she whispered, "Good."