Momentum, time and muse are all in rare alignment so I'm taking advantage of this special occasion to post another chapter.
I wanted to thank each of you for reviewing, and for your encouragement and support for not only this story but for my family! It's such a blessing for me to be able to just re-appear here after such a long absence and receive such a warm welcome back. I am endlessly, honestly shocked by the following this story has gained, and I'm humbled by the number of people who have signed on and become invested in its characters. Thanks bunches to so many of you for your well wishes, it's been a rough year!
Mature rating, remember. And I don't own Predator but I do claim ownership of my characters. I worked hard on them, dang it!
A'ni-de's minions delivered the news of Lar'nix'va's arrival with the next food cart, two of them chittering with muted high excitement as A'ni-de rumbled and chuffed, his vocalizations quietly menacing and aggressive. When the eta left, Anya asked him what that had been about.
"L'tor mei'hswei on ship," he snarled.
"Larnixva. Yes," she nodded, her tone neutral. "They let him see me." Based on Lar'nix'va's reaction to hearing that A'ni-de was her aseigan, she had made the executive decision not to tell Limpy about Lar'nix'va. She hadn't thought far enough to recall his army of informers that seemed to know about everything that happened on the clan ship.
A'ni-de had gone perfectly still at her admission, regarding her steadily, and Anya worked to maintain her calm under his suspicious scrutiny. He was risking his life to protect her, after all. It wasn't very noble of her to withhold information from him.
"Lar'nix'va," he finally corrected her, his automatic habit in response to her butchering every single word of his native tongue, names included. He chuffed, then shook his head in irritation. "Nasty to ooman. Very nasty."
Anya stilled. "To me?" Now she wondered if she'd been played by L'tor's hunt brother, and after their meeting he'd run around mocking the naive trust she'd put in him.
"Hunting," he clarified. "Favorite trophy."
Anya considered, remembering L'tor's reluctance in letting her know that lovely little tidbit about the yautja he'd willed her to. "Lah-tor told me he hunted my kind, and that he was good at it," she admitted, with a small, disapproving frown. "But he offered Larnixva right of succession. I feel like...like I have to honor what Lah-tor arranged for me," she said quietly. She hadn't known when she'd made the decision to pursue L'tor's arrangements for her that Lar'nix'va and A'ni-de even knew each other, much less that they loathed each other.
A'ni-de reared his head back and hissed, doing his mutilated half-bristle. He cocked his head as he subsided, seeming to consider her words. "Lar'nix'va and me..." he shook his head. "Not like."
Anya mulled over his clipped statement, aware that it could mean any of several things. Needing clarification and going with the assumption she'd made based on each of their reactions to the other's name, she asked: "You don't like him?"
He shook his head. "Bad fight. L'tor broke up." He paused and spread his crooked mandibles in a smile. "Was winning."
Anya smiled. A'ni-de must have been something, then, if he had once been capable of taking Lar'nix'va on and winning. He definitely had the height advantage on Lar'nix'va, but whatever musculature he'd once carried had faded with time and inactivity. No longer able to train, hunt and spar, he was slim and wasted, with only the slightest hint of definition.
He shook his head again. "Was long time ago," he admitted, as if reading her thoughts. "Was drunk."
His admission made Anya smile again and snort softly. Things weren't always the way they were now. L'tor and Lar'nix'va had been as close as brothers, hunting often on earth. A'ni-de had been a promising warrior in his own right, brimming with confidence and ability. Now he was crippled, L'tor was dead, and Lar'nix'va was here to take her.
Her smile faded quickly. L'tor was not dead, she told herself; L'tor was missing. She would refuse to believe he was gone until she saw the proof for herself.
Anya waited at least another full day before venturing out of her quarters again. A'ni-de had carefully rationed the meat she'd brought for him from the common room, and she had the sense that he might eat more if she proved she could get him more.
This time she wasn't lucky enough to slip past the common room without notice. As she passed its large entryway she distinctly heard a loud "Yo!' that made her cringe as the chatter of the women in the room fell silent. She paused, sighed, then turned back as she heard the rustling of movement.
Trish approached, followed by Debra, both of them clutching infants and hurrying to intercept her in case she tried to pass by. Trish looked her over with a frown as Debra came up next to her. "What's the deal, sista?" Trish demanded. "Where've you been?"
Anya looked past them. Some of the newer women in the far back corner of the room had gone back to their conversations, oblivious to and uncaring of the drama happening in the doorway, but many other women were staring at her, their eyes filled with questions.
"Hiding," she answered honestly, her voice low, then she shrugged, uncertain of what to say and unwilling to show emotion. "My guy's gone missing," she said.
"Prince Charming is missing?" Brenda gasped from further back, overhearing. Her words spread through the group like wildfire; L'tor had a bit of rockstar celebrity status for the more established females in the Breeding section, the ones who had witnessed Anya's trials and tribulations and her interactions with him. Many of their mates had requested and been granted one on one time with him to seek L'tor's advice and insight into dealing with and understanding their human females, no matter their rank. He'd solidified his title and become the females' champion when he didn't hesitate to intervene and correct any interaction he felt was unjust or abusive; once he'd even performed an awesomely entertaining takedown right in the doorway on a fellow Elite whose human mate was showing up to the common room bruised often enough for L'tor to take notice. And, of course, there was the endless spectacle and drama of his relationship with Anya and all of its often salacious, sometimes amusing, and always entertaining details. Trish had started referring to him as Prince Charming and the name had stuck until it had become his monicker.
Anya pressed her lips together and lifted her chin, steeling herself. L'tor hadn't known the nickname they called him, and if he'd heard it...she wondered if she would be capable of explaining it to him. What it meant. The sort-of-big-brotherly warmth they viewed him with, mixed with the awe and respect they held for him. The trust they had in his nobility and honor, the high regard they put on his actions and opinions. She felt a threatening shimmering behind her eyes as a chorus of horrified gasps sounded around the common room as word of their Prince Charming's disappearance spread. She had been selfish not to tell them earlier; L'tor's loss wasn't hers alone. He was as integral a part of the Breeder's section as she was, and it took the horrified expressions of many of the others to remind her of that fact.
"They tell me his ship crashed," she continued, raising her voice so they could hear it directly from her.
"Oh my god..." Debra breathed, staring at her as she reached out to touch her shoulder, her hand hovering as if she didn't dare.
Trish looked at Anya, then Debra, then back at Anya. "So what happens now?" she asked, her tone low.
"Trish," Donna hissed at her, scowling, and several of the others joined in with low, rebuking hisses at Trish's back.
Something large moved beyond the group gathered in front of her, and Anya's eyes flicked to see Chulonte entering the common room from the clinic door. He spotted her and rumbled, then advanced.
"Guys..." Anya said quietly, shutting down emotionally and steeling herself as she watched him close in on her, "give me a minute, would you?"
"Don't Trish me," Trish was snapping. "This is why I ask what the gameplan is!" she said loudly, flinging a hand toward Chulonte who was advancing behind her. Turning toward Anya as the others cleared a path and pulled her away, she warned, "He's been hanging around here for days, waiting for you!"
Chulonte chuffed at Trish, the sound borderline aggressive as he eyed her menacingly while the others pulled her away.
"Don't mind them," Anya said mildly, staring at him. "They're afraid that if you get your way, I might end up like Silla."
Her words successfully pulled his attention off of Trish and distracted him as he planted himself too close, fisted his hands, and glared at her. They had a stand-off, until Chulonte chuffed again, the sound more dismissive than aggressive this time.
"L'tor mei'hswei left the ship," he drawled in his deep baritone, staring hard at her face.
She couldn't help it; she blinked, unsure of what to say in answer to that. His upper mandibles lifted a bit, his expression self-satisfied and smug. Lar'nix'va, she assumed, had gone to investigate L'tor's crash site. If Chulonte was unaware of the details, she wasn't about to fill him in.
"Is the Arbitrator here yet?" she asked, affecting a continued mild tone. His smugness faded and his dangerously heated gaze narrowed.
"Lar'nix'va left ship," he repeated stubbornly. Anya blinked at him again; though her expression never changed, her thoughts did as she wondered if Chulonte was an utter and complete dullard. She let out a quiet breath. Maybe he was putting her to the test and wanting to hear what she had to say.
The girls in the common room had clustered at the far end of it and fallen quiet to watch. Chulonte seemed either oblivious to their audience or uncaring that they had one. Looking at them, Anya couldn't help but remember how many times and how many ways she'd tried to tell them that females were not without power in this alien society. It had been so easy to say those things when L'tor had her back, she realized now. He had been the one to teach her this truth, explaining it and proving it when she'd dared to exercise her power.
Vlieg'r had backed down to her more than once, she reminded herself now. Lar'nix'va had been enthralled with her every action and display of temper and backbone.
She lifted her eyes to meet Chulonte's again, and this time he blinked, his hard gaze easing as he sensed a change in her mood. "If..." she purred, her voice now low and lilting as she lowered her gaze and began a slow perusing circle of him, "...I was your female..." He stayed still but drew in a deep breath and held it, adjusting his stance as he posed. "...and, gods forbid, something happened to you..." Anya continued slowly, her tone light and girlish and slow. "...I would think..." she stressed, pausing alongside him as if she was regarding some detail. Her hesitation caused him to tense and contract even more, then she moved on. "...that you would want me to stick with the plan you'd laid out for me," she ended, coming around in front of him again. "Wouldn't you?" she asked, letting her voice hum and hang in imitation of a yautja question. "I honor my mate by following the plans he set in place for me," she murmured, her eyes fixed on Chulonte's potbelly before sliding higher. "I would be a dishonorable female if I didn't...no?" she purred, drawing the question out.
Chulonte scowled at her but didn't answer.
"As...impressive...as you are," Anya whispered, pausing to give him another leisurely once-over that made him bristle, "I know you killed your first mate, and rejected the female who nursed your suckling." She leaned just a bit closer, and made a private, intimate show of drawing in a deep, slow breath of his scent, then she hummed. "I'm just an ooman female," she breathed, easing higher on her tiptoes to direct her words and her breath toward his face, watching him draw in her scent. He stared into her eyes and for a second, just a second, she faltered mentally as his pupils dilated and a low, liquid rumble bubbled out of him. This was a massive creature. Tall and strong and powerful, vacillating between emotions and instincts and desires as she enticed him while holding him at metaphorical arm's length. He reeked of musk and heat, the kind that indicated a mixture of aggression and attraction, that warned he was teetering between two potential reactions. Then she covered her hesitation and settled back on her heels. "I need to honor my yautja mate's wishes for me," she finally finished. "I will accept an Arbitrator's ruling. Summon Elder Arbitrator Warkha," she added, the second she thought of it. "He knew my mate. He has this clan's best interests at heart," she enticed, reaching out to run her fingertip down the face of the Firstborn's left gauntlet, daring to touch him, but not contacting his skin to avoid blatant invitation, implying instead. Lifting her eyes, she purred, "Your Sire summoned him to visit Lah-tor and I and order us back here, after all."
Chulonte was in full bristle, almost vibrating as he loomed over her. He rumbled again, the sound low and throbbing, then he nodded to her and moved past her into the corridor, then down the hallway in the direction of the doors that exited from the Breeder's section. Anya watched him go as she physically deflated and slumped, mulling over whether or not she'd done the right thing and wondering whether it had had the effect on the Firstborn that she'd hoped for.
"Day-um, ya sneaky bitch," Aisha snorted, approaching Anya to look down the corridor and catching a glimpse of Chulonte's back as he rounded a corner before disappearing. "I hope you know what you're doing," she breathed, echoing Anya's thoughts.
Later that evening, safely ensconced in L'tor's quarters with A'ni-de, an eta delivered a food cart and gave Limpy a rapid report.
"Any news?" Anya asked after the eta left. A'ni-de chuffed and rattled, his disgusted, irritated, dismissive sound. He regarded her fiercely, his green eyes bright.
"Lar'nix'va very bad drunk last night," he informed her. "Had big crowd. Said many things. Means to have you for hims."
Anya steeled herself to show no reaction, able to pick up on A'ni-de's subtle told-ya-so. "I asked him to go look for Lah-tor," she said quietly, and Limpy stiffened, his eyes widening. "I asked him to bring back proof, either way." She stared off into the distance, mulling, then she looked at her protector. "Did I fuck up, Annie?"
She sensed that she had, and the mournful tone in her question was evidence of her awareness that she'd placed her trust catastrophically poorly. A'ni-de bristled at her, then blatted and stormed off to close himself in the armory. She stared after him and felt the carefully nurtured flame inside her flicker and start to die. Her house of cards was shaky, and she couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Just one miscalculation, one instance of poor judgment, and she could find herself in a living hell.
Hours later, in the lonely darkness of L'tor's quarters, the food cart untouched and Anya curled up mournfully in the armchair nearest the window, bathed in the cold illumination of the clan ship's outer lights, A'ni-de approached her.
"Lar'nix'va a strong warrior," he rumbled from behind her, aware that she was awake. "L'tor trusted him. Called him mei'hswei. L'tor believed that Lar'nix'va was closest yautja to his equal."
Anya opened her eyes without moving, staring out the window at the section of ship she could see, the lights and windows, distant enough that she couldn't see inside. There was a pause, and Anya waited with her breathing shallow and quiet, dangling on the precipice of tension. A'ni-de's thoughts and opinions mattered to her, so much. She needed his input and guidance and support. Already, she'd thought and wondered long and hard what to do if Lar'nix'va knocked on her door and insisted on his right to take possession of her. She had only gotten as far as: if he thought he was getting rid of A'ni-de, he had another think coming.
"L'tor's lou-dte-kalei honors Lar'nix'va with her trust," A'ni-de continued. "He does not deserve this. He did not earn this. If Lar'nix'va fails to honor his mei'hswei and his mei'hswei female, is not your fault," A'ni-de rumbled now, his tone lower and deeper as he dared to speak bare truth, which was no longer his place to do. He had been a lifelong warrior before he'd been reduced to aseigan. Anya didn't care about his title; she had long since learned to rely on his honor and wisdom.
"You honor him, female, by putting your trust in him and asking him to honor his bond with his mei'hswei, and to honor the commitment he made to protect and provide for you," A'ni-de intoned. "We will wait and see what he does with his honor."
He limped back to the exit door and returned to stand sentry, and Anya spent the rest of the long night reassuring herself that she hadn't made a catastrophic mistake by choosing to trust Lar'nix'va.
Another full day passed, and Anya's silent brooding stare out the window in L'tor's quarters was interrupted by A'ni-de's low growl by the door, then the sound of the tone as someone on the other side of it requested an audience. She scowled and hurried up from the chair she'd cocooned herself on, shooing Limpy as she went to the door. He flared his half bristle and soundlessly widened the gape of his huge mandibles at her, his bright green eyes flashing with temper and disagreement. Anya stood her ground and glared back at him until he retreated from the door, placing his shoulder up against the wall a few feet away. Unless their visitor entered the room, he wouldn't be seen.
Anya took in a slow, deep breath and let it ease out of her as she pressed the door mechanism and let it slide open, positioning herself right in the entranceway. One of Vlieg'r's Junior Healers was standing on the other side of it, tall and slender. He chirred in greeting and nodded his crest to her as she regarded him.
"Firstborn asked me to escort you," he burbled, coming off agitated and unsure.
"Escort me where?" she demanded, aware of A'ni-de's rigid posturing in her peripheral vision.
"Clinic. He wants you eat with him," the Healer informed her, then he shifted on his feet. "He say I not come back without you."
A'ni-de's mandibles were outright gaping at her, though he was remaining impressively silent. Anya closed her eyes for a moment, then drew herself together. "Let's not keep the Firstborn waiting, then," she said breezily, and stepped out into the corridor.
The Junior Healer kept a respectful distance from her, pacing her as she strolled to the clinic. She was silently brooding and he made no effort to engage her, immediately stepping away from her as they entered the clinic where Chulonte, sitting at a table, shifted his mandibles and purred an overly warm greeting to her. He remained seated and watched her approach, her gaze sweeping the clinic then taking in the two food-filled trays on the table.
"Female. Sit," the Firstborn said, and she regarded him and tried to decide if that sounded like invitation or order. His mandibles clenched more tightly on his face and his tresses lifted slightly as she wordlessly stood there and thought it over, then she relented and sat across from him.
"Male," she finally said, choosing to greet him in the same way he'd greeted her. His eyes flashed, widening then narrowing. He rumbled rhythmically and Anya recognized it as a low, masculine chuckle as he decided not to take insult.
She did not know all the etiquette, the proper approach, the right responses and manners, most especially not when it came to dealing with the clan's royalty. L'tor had kept her sheltered from all of that, and he had instead conversely endeavored to learn and adopt her ways. Therefore there were no known customs for eating or conversing or interacting between them, ooman to yautja, and the longer Chulonte sat there staring at her, the more uncomfortable she was becoming.
Desperate to regain her composure and some measure of control, Anya said, "Thank you for inviting me to dine with you. The food smells delicious." And it did, actually, stirring a surprising appetite she hadn't been aware of while she'd been mired in brooding depression.
"Eat," Chulonte grunted, and gestured abruptly at her enough that she flinched. He caught her reaction and narrowed his eyes, then applied himself to eating.
Clearly the Firstborn did not trouble himself to display any sort of table manners, and Anya actually sneered at his lowered crest as he positioned himself over his tray and used both hands. Though she recalled L'tor initially displaying similar food aggression behavior, she didn't remember it ever being this obnoxious. Chulonte vocalized with a low, rhythmic hum through chewing something before moving on to loudly slurp at something else, his massive head cocking left and right as his hands systematically shoved food into his maw.
In sharp contrast, Anya remained leaning against the tall seat's backrest as she delicately lifted a piece of bread from her tray and brought it to her mouth to nibble at it, her appetite dulled by the Firstborn's disgusting behavior. He wasn't starving, there was no rush, and no other to challenge him for the contents of his tray.
This, Anya decided as she observed, was more an indication of Chulonte's overall personality, of his sense of entitlement, his selfishness and his greed. Even in their earliest days together, before L'tor had adapted any of his habits to hers, he had never behaved like this. His focus, conversely, had been to encourage her to eat, to show her, to cut it for her, to set his own appetite aside until he was satisfied that she had been acceptably nourished.
Anya warmed inside as she recalled memories of her first trip off of Earth, sitting in the kitchen in L'tor's ship, mimicking the order and the way he prepared, seasoned, garnished, cut and dipped what was on his tray, remembering how he'd moved slowly and kept to the pace of her eating in order to patiently teach her. Later, after she was familiar with alien food items and comfortable with how to eat them, he had gone back into the habit of hunching and scarfing whatever food was in front of him, which had eventually led to her stealing off his tray.
She smirked as she studied the Firstborn. She did not suppose he had the patient capacity or playfulness or humor to learn to tease her with food, to learn to develop gentle games to encourage her to not fear his aggression, to not become defensive whenever he displayed his naturally belligerent behaviors. Too bad for him. If he had a single iota of humor or playfulness he could learn how quickly a shared meal between a food-aggressive yautja and an agreeable human female could turn into food theft that led to keep away, a chase, hide and seek, then a mutually satisfying bout of sex that meant both parties walked away well-fed and satisfied.
Sopping up the dregs and bits left on his tray with a hard bit of bread, Chulonte tucked it between his mandibles and finally settled his attention on her as he methodically fed the roll into his mouth. Finished, each mandible neatly dipped each tusk into his mouth to be sucked clean, then he belched and finally relaxed the busy movements of his mouthparts.
"L'tor gone," he announced, and Anya's hand froze half-way to conveying a soft bit of fruit to her lips. "Lar'nix'va gone," he continued, and she subtly unclenched and finally got the food into her mouth. "You move to my sleeping chamber."
She stopped chewing and stared at him, her mind working as her emotions went into a tailspin, unsure if he was now telling her that L'tor and Lar'nix'va were both confirmed 'gone', as in permanently, or if he was simply taking advantage of their absences. Then she remembered that she couldn't trust him any further than she could physically pick him up and throw him.
She sucked the juice out of the fruit in her mouth and narrowed her eyes on the Firstborn, her instincts at all-out war with each other. Part of her was unrelentingly terrified of him, of the thought of belonging to him for the rest of her life. Of the awareness that he, quite possibly, had her proud and honorable L'tor killed, and was going to get away with it. Part of her was bristling with outrage at his forwardness, his presumptuousness. He perceived Lar'nix'va and L'tor to be the only obstacles to his getting what he wanted, and he showed her blatant disrespect by dismissing her wants and needs.
She steeled herself; it was time to push more buttons.
"Was this Elder Arbitrator Warkha's final decision?" she asked, keeping her voice level.
Chulonte glared at her, his tresses tightening and flaring slowly to a full, impressive crown. Then, faster than her eye could track, his hand fisted and slammed down onto the metal table between them, hard enough to dent it and flip his empty food tray. The sound was startlingly loud, and Anya's blood turned to ice as she dared to continue to meet his stare and hold her position. Her untouched goblet had tipped and dumped its contents across the table and onto the floor, and as it dripped and tapped, she dared to let one corner of her lips curl into the faintest of smiles. In the art of war, diplomacy and negotiation between yautja, she was well aware that the first one to lose self control was the one who lost.
"No need for such a temperamental display, Firstborn," she purred, then blinked lazily and reached out to set her goblet upright. "An Arbitrator's decision is what's needed here," she soothed, meeting his eyes and imploring him as if this was a hardship they both must endure. "I must honor my mate's wishes," she reminded him, "and the warrior he chose for me insists that I must tell you that he forbids me to agree to any of your demands."
At that, Chulonte's eyes popped wider than she'd ever seen them, and he shoved himself up from the table, knocking his chair over. "What did you say?" he hissed, looming over the table toward her.
Her nerve endings were shooting flames while her blood froze as she filled with a mixture of fear, dread, excitement and indignation. The Firstborn's upper tusks twitched as he drew in a breath, scenting her, his eyes shifting to look her over.
Slowly, she rose to stand, painfully aware of the tremendous difference in their heights and mass. She placed her hands on the table and leaned toward him, mimicking his posture. "The warrior forbids it," she said quietly but firmly. "For any demand you make of me. He decreed that you take your demands to him."
Chulonte blinked, then his head reared back with a hiss and he swatted her tray right off the table and across the clinic. Food went everywhere as he jerked himself upright, balled his fists, and roared in anger, pausing one more second to bake her with scathing regard before he stormed off and left the clinic.
It took Anya a moment to let out the breath she'd taken and held, her entire body vibrating with tension in the aftermath. The Firstborn was a bully. A temperamental time bomb. He was brutish and dangerous, and though she had escaped this exchange unscathed, she wondered how much longer he would restrain his hair-trigger temper. He'd already struck the Healer. He'd wanted very much to fight with L'tor, and with Lar'nix'va when he felt that both disrespected him, when neither allowed him to have his way. It seemed to her that she was very likely next on his list.
"Female..." A male's gentle chirr roused her from her thoughts: Vlieg'r, moving cautiously closer to her while his Juniors kept their distance. When she turned her head to look at him, he hunched his broad shoulders and lowered his crest, turning the palms of his hands to her. Showing her respect and deference by minimizing his size and threat level. His display caused an instinctive calming reaction in Anya, and as she eased her tension and rigidity she realized how amped-up she'd been.
Vlieg'r moved cautiously closer to her, watching her, and eventually the Juniors relaxed and started moving freely about the clinic again, attending to their duties. An eta entered, then left, and returned in a few minutes with three others that set about cleaning the mess Chulonte had made. Anya hesitated, her eyes narrowing as she recognized the odd-eyed eta, who hunched and scrubbed faster under her scrutiny.
"Well," she finally sighed as she returned her attention to Vlieg'r, then she frowned. "That went well."
The Elder Healer chittered in nervous amusement as he eased to close the distance between them. "Shameful," he murmured in a deep, low voice, then shook his great head, his tresses rustling over his shoulders. "Firstborn embarrasses himself with this display."
Anya shook herself, a slight shudder/shiver as she released the last of her tension. It was hard for her to remember the last time she'd felt such sustained threat. It wasn't just Chulonte, and it wasn't just this encounter, either. Since L'tor's disappearance she'd been made painfully aware of how utterly frail and physically helpless her kind were amongst his. It was only his teachings and the benefit of the alien instincts manifesting inside her that allowed her to dare to stand her ground and assert herself.
"Come," Vlieg'r beckoned, his tone soothing as he got her moving to follow him to the more private area off the main clinic. "You are feeling well?" he trilled.
She scowled. "As well as can be expected," she supposed, assuming he was inquiring about her pregnancy.
"The pup is active?" he trilled, wanting further clarification.
"He is."
"N'got." He moved down the counter and retrieved a vial then brought it to her. "Add to water. Two drops every meal."
"What is it?"
"Supplement," he answered, after a momentary pause to find the right word.
Anya stared hard at him, then pushed it back and set it on the counter. "Hukko." She saw his surprise as he blinked, looking at it, then he looked at her. She hadn't been given any kind of supplement for the last pup, and right now she felt very on edge and distrustful of the intentions of everyone around her. With no one to protect her and keep the others in check, it was up to her to do the best she could to protect herself and L'tor's pup.
The Healer sighed and picked up the vial. "Is mild sedative," he admitted, turning the small ampule between his fingers. "Help you rest. Help you relax. Will not harm pup."
She believed him and relaxed her tension a bit, satisfied with his answer but still annoyed that he'd tried to slip her drugs. "Thank you, but still no." If she needed to relax, she still had access to L'tor's extensive liquor cabinet. She wouldn't overindulge for fear of causing harm to L'tor's pup, but a few sips here and there worked wonders for her strung-out nerves.
When she turned to walk away, the Healer quietly said her name, making her stop and turn. He motioned at her, ampule still clutched between his thumb and forefinger, his other three fingers stretched toward her. "The pup," he said. "They might order me to end it."
She did a slow blink, frozen in place for a moment before stiffly moving close to him. "What."
He glanced past her, his eyes doing a slow inventory of the room and its inhabitants, the Junior Healers attending to their duties in the clinic, the eta finishing cleaning up Chulonte's mess. "Males not want raise another male's pup. Not want female to waste energy gestating," he rumbled quietly.
"No one," she said flatly and clearly, "is hurting this pup."
He shifted and glanced around again, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. "Might not have choice."
She glared at him hotly, aware that it wouldn't be his decision to make, but that if it came to it, he would do the deed. "This pup's sire is missing," she said, hearing the weight and authority of her voice and surprised at how even it sounded. "If he's not dead and he returns to find that his pup was murdered..." she trailed off and pressed her lips together. "You tell them that, if they order you to do it. If I am taken by another, Lah-tor can get me back. If his pup is murdered, no one can fix that. Not even you."
"Can have others," he rumbled, as if this one life was insignificant.
"No. The pup stays. Six months and it will be gone on its own. I'll need at least that long to be convinced that Lah-tor is dead. I will refuse to breed with any other before that time," she said defiantly.
The Healer seemed to deflate, letting out a low rumble and taking another cautious glance around before resettling his attention on her. "Female," he said, his voice even lower, almost apologetic, "might not have choice. Refusal can be overcome."
She bristled, not nearly as intensively or impressively as a yautja but her own version of it. "Both of them would prefer me to be willing," she was sure. Both of them had seen her with L'tor. Part of their fascination with her was because they saw the possibilities and the attraction in a female that was willing and agreeable. She could be forced but she would not be willing until she was ready to be.
Forcing a female to mate, she was well aware, went against a yautja's hard-wired instincts and was a dark mark against their all-important honor. For a tried and true warrior like L'tor, honor was an integral part of him, coloring his every thought and action. His physical need for sexual release and his biological drive to reproduce had driven him to seek her out and take her from her home. His honor had demanded that he extend himself in ways not initially natural or comfortable to him, to change his attitude and his behavior in order to secure her compliance and willing participation.
What was true for him was true for other warriors, as well, proven by the sheer number of Blooded who sought him out. Not to challenge for rank and standing, but to humble themselves to request his advice, to ask for his input and his guidance in their own pairings. Their honor had driven them to find a more mutually agreeable arrangement between them and the alien females they had chosen, to learn how to avoid the use of force, to find ways to earn their trust, build a connection, and develop a relationship.
And Chulonte and Lar'nix'va? Anya scowled. The Firstborn clearly felt no shame or guilt, no twinge in his honor for taking Silla, for killing her when his utter failure and indifference to meeting any of her emotional needs led to the loss of her sanity. If yautja honor was something similar to human morality and conscience, Chulonte had proven himself to be a narcissistic sociopath. He wouldn't hesitate to order the pup ripped from her womb and destroyed, she knew. He would glory in eliminating all traces of L'tor's existence, in taking her as a trophy to be conquered, in owning her and forcing his own offspring on her, benefitting from the excellent genetics L'tor had given her for her transformation.
Lar'nix'va, on the other hand, was not Chulonte, and neither was he anything like L'tor. He was, in Anya's eyes, potentially even scarier than both of them. Not as stupid as Chulonte, not as honorable as L'tor. Willing to, and unafraid to, stand in the way of the Clan Leader and the Firstborn, to deny the demands they made, to adamantly refuse to break or even bend. She sensed that on some level Lar'nix'va had even gotten off on the conflict, that that level of tension and potential explosiveness was his comfort zone and he'd thrived in that confrontation. This whole crazy situation didn't leave him frightened or anxious; he'd gone out and gotten drunk afterward, apparently, and told everyone who would listen that he was here to take possession of her.
Then she remembered him asking about her pregnancy, wanting confirmation that the unborn suckling was L'tor's offspring.
N'got. My mei'hswei not a total loss, Lar'nix'va had said, clearly pleased.
He was no threat to the infant. He was not the reason Vlieg'r had felt compelled to warn her that there was a threat.
She looked at the Elder Healer and he stiffened in response to the ferocity in her eyes and the angry hue of her spots. "Chulonte can go fuck himself," she said hotly, and Vlieg'r grunted and recoiled, his expression alarmed, then angry.
"Female," he said, his tone harder, "do not say."
"I saved his pup's life!"
Vlieg'r was slowly backing away, and Anya was dimly aware that she was advancing as she spoke, her voice loud. "My mate and I honored him in his time of need," she hissed, glaring. "Nurtured his firstborn. Assisted his surrogate."
"Female..." the Elder Healer rumbled, purring to try and soothe her. The Junior Healers had stopped their work, and the eta had scrambled and gathered nearer the exit. All were staring.
"Lah-tor is missing," she continued, her voice getting louder and more strident. "I will not accept another mate until I know for sure that he's gone. Until this pup," she put a hand over the swell of her abdomen, "is weaned and sent to training. I have his blood brother to assist me. I have his hunt brother to provide for me."
Some the women gathered in the doorway, attracted by the yelling. Others pushed their way through the clot to stand in the clinic and watch.
"I am a Bearer for this clan," she announced, "and I call on this Clan to honor their commitment to provide for and protect me and my pup in the absence of my mate."
"That's the deal!" a woman called out, shattering the one-on-one standoff. Anya looked over and saw that Carol, Ivy's sister, had stepped forward. "This clan has sworn an oath to protect its human Bearers!" Her sheer boldness caused a stir among the females, and many added their voices in support. Anya met Carol's eyes and gave her a nod.
"We have proven our honor and value to this clan," she said to Vlieg'r, who was still purring in an anxious, rapid staccato. "We will not be disrespected. We will not be treated as property to be used, traded, or discarded," she intoned, gesturing at the females, then she drew in a breath and straightened, holding herself rigid, aware that the Elder Healer's purring had faded out. "Tell that to the Clan Leader and his son the next time they suggest something stupid," she added, her tone lower and threatening and scathing, but still loud enough to be heard by their audience.
"Sei-i," he nodded. "I will do."
Word had spread, and Anya started hearing rumblings almost immediately. Before she'd exited the clinic she'd paused long enough to sweep and acknowledge everyone present with her eyes. Four eta, three Junior Healers, dozens of females. She'd deliberately created a scene because she needed an audience. L'tor was a respected and high-ranking member of this Clan, and she believed that she would have more support if only others were made aware of her situation.
The threat to L'tor's pup had been the catalyst that had pushed her over the edge. She would not suffer and endure in silence, allowing Chulonte to do as he wished without fear of being exposed. In her hours of brooding before being summoned to dine with Chulonte, A'ni-de's eta were bringing in information at a furious pace. Lar'nix'va, it turned out, hadn't been drunk at all the night before he'd left the Clan ship. He'd gone to several bars on the ship, it was true. That he'd been drinking was also true. But while he'd made the rounds at the bars he was also feverishly coordinating preparations to leave, hiring eta and vendors to stock his ship, prepaying for a docking bay to hold a guaranteed place for his return, upgrading his equipment by having a signal booster and new sensor array installed on his ship. All while he methodically bar-hopped, working his way with calculating brilliance from one gathering place to the next, from those for lower-ranked unBlooded to those for higher-ranked Elite warriors and all in between. Ordering a drink at each and behaving brashly, obnoxious enough that those he met believed he was inebriated. There were a few fistfights and minor skirmishes but no outright challenges; there was no honor in winning a fight against a drunk, after all. He stayed long enough in each pub to loudly announce that his mei'hswei was missing and presumed dead, and that he, Lar'nix'va, was on the Clan ship to take possession of L'tor's female. Some believed he was drinking to celebrate. Others had heard that he was going to search for his mei'hswei. The one thing they all could agree on was that they saw him, they knew he was on the ship, and they knew why.
It was A'ni-de who had taken in all the information from multiple sources and put together the shocking brilliance of Lar'nix'va's activities. As he'd walked from bar to pub he'd made calls in between to check on the status of the arrangements being made, his thinking sharp and clear until the moment he'd believably staggered into one gathering place after another and called for a celebration, offered to buy a round, or announced he was looking for a fight. Making a scene anywhere and everywhere. By the time he slipped from the Clan ship word had spread like wildfire about L'tor's disappearance and Lar'nix'va's intention to either find him and return him, or claim his female.
So Anya had taken a page from Lar'nix'va's playbook and publicized her loss and made her position crystal clear. No more shady dealings, no more secret disappearances. If those in charge could not be trusted to act honorably then she, too, would campaign to get the word out and raise the interest and awareness of others. The eta had spread the story of her brazen proclamations in the clinic; so had the Healers. The females had told their mates, who in turn had spoken to others. Word, Anya was sure, had reached Chulonte, and she had a reprieve for awhile. Food carts were delivered to her quarters with no interruption and with noticeably more generous portions and selections. A'ni-de was able to eat more, and she was no longer driven to steal meat from the common room. She stayed safe and quiet and calm under the watchful eye of her protector, going through the motions of eating and grooming as she remained in limbo, waiting for word from Lar'nix'va.
Until the day the door signal chimed, and she opened it to see the massive, imposing presence of Elder Arbitrator Warkha standing expectantly in the corridor outside her quarters.