Sorry for the wait, everyone! I'm still working on this story but the next few updates will likely be more spread out (I don't have any chapters in reserve any longer and I'm fairly busy). I hope you all can be patient and that you're continuing to enjoy!
Her training resumed with caution. Riot taught her techniques with the focus of building up her speed and stamina, which he seemed to believe were key traits for her in battle. She was small, he explained, and would not be capable of overpowering most of her prey. She needed to strike fast and retreat even faster, to not take hits which she could not afford to due to her more delicate constitution. She had to be agile, to anticipate threats and avoid them, and to know when to press her advantage and when to hold back.
Who trained you? she signed curiously during a break one day, aware of the gazes of the other Yautja sparring in the kehrite, but better able to ignore them at this point. One she was keeping an eye on, however, was the male who'd suckerpunched her previously. He occupied a ring on the far side of the circular room and thus far seemed to be patently disregarding her.
Continuing to spin the combistick he was wielding, which she perceived was more restless habit than any means of impressing her, Riot didn't respond. She thought he might refuse to, but upon closer inspection she noticed his tusks ticking consideringly, and she realized she'd created somewhat of a conundrum for him. He was trying to figure out how to answer her since he couldn't exactly tell her the name of the Yautja. How to describe someone who looked much the same as all others on the ship with the limited sign language?
"His name's Thwo-stba," Lola piped up from the doorway.
Pheist looked over, having not noticed the other woman enter. It was the first she'd seen of her unlikely saviour since returning to Riot's quarters.
"He's Clan Leader," she went on, feeling generous with her information that day it seemed. "You look good for someone who was half-dead last week."
"And you look as cagey as ever. What's your secret? Is it just that you're old and cranky? Wait, nevermind - I forgot you only tell someone what suits you at the time, even if it's a fucking lie," Pheist said, reigning in her temper before she stalked over and throttled the other woman.
"Cranky? You're one to talk. He keeping you up at night?" Lola glanced to Riot, who was observing their interaction with interest, the combistick now still in his hand. "They usually only get randy when the females come into season, but they're pretty insatiable at that point. Can breed with five, six - maybe a dozen or more, if they've proven themselves and the gals think they'd sire strong pups. Vechaath's got probably close to a hundred-fifty offspring to his name. He's in high demand every year."
Pheist's brow furrowed as she tried to reason out why she was being told all this. "Good for him."
"Gotta think a seed of his whose got a trophy wall like O-T'ih'ka's will start catching the female's interest pretty soon, too."
Ah, so that was her game. "You're trying to make me jealous? Really?" It seemed a weak play.
Lola shrugged as she turned her attention back Pheist. "Just giving you a head's up. That's what these guys live for. That's what the hunt's all about. Building themselves up, all the bragging rights, all the glory - it's so they can pass on their DNA to the next generation. To create stronger Yautja. Better Hunters. And so on, and so forth."
"Fascinating. Why didn't you tell me he was there? While I was out cold? He waited. Until you told him I'd be fine."
"Never said he didn't."
"You fucking knew I assumed he didn't give a shit," Pheist pointed out, grip on her canteen tightening.
Riot rumbled softly as he moved to her side. He couldn't understand the words they were saying, but understood her mood had soured in a hurry. We train.
"Tell him. Tell him you lied about what he did."
"I didn't lie, you just said yourself you jumped to conclusions," Lola insisted. "And I'm not telling him shit. Whatever's going on between you two's got nothin' to do with me."
Pheist threw down the canteen, too miffed to care that the clatter called even more attention to their little dispute than there already had been. Tell him.
Lola rolled her eyes.
Tell him what you did. She looked to Riot to ensure he was following the exchange and saw that his gaze had hardened somewhat.
"You don't know what you're doing," Lola snapped, her facade of nonchalance slipping. Healed her. Helped. Did nothing.
Before either she or Riot could respond, something came sailing across the kehrite, striking her injured arm and earning a curse. The canteen hit the floor and wobbled between her feet. Her focus shot across the room, locking onto the tawny Yautja who'd taken issue with her before. Had the container rolled all the way over there for his convenient use as a projectile?
A thunderous growl erupted from Riot, but before he could intervene on her behalf again Pheist hefted her combistick and launched it at her antagonizer. The large male jerked sideways to avoid the weapon and it plunged into the padded floor in the place he'd been standing an instant before. His eyes travelled from the quavering shaft to her, mandibles flared, but not fully, the one which Riot had broken now crooked. He seemed to be counting up his odds as he looked between the two of them. His sparring partner stood back, wanting no part of it, and the tawny Yautja turned his head away, breaking eye contact and ending the confrontation.
When she turned back to the doorway, Lola was gone.
Shocker.
Glancing up to Riot, she sighed. He nodded for her to retrieve her combistick, a glint of approval in his eye, and she made her way across the kehrite to calmly collect her weapon.
They returned to his quarters and showered together, which of course led to other activities. The truth was that Lola hadn't been wrong. Not about the interruptions to her sleeping routine or a male Yautja's voracious sexual appetite. It was difficult to keep up with his libido, but also impossible to refuse him when time and time again he left her a trembling bundle of nerves.
There were worse complaints to have, she supposed, as coherent thought returned to her later that night. Confined beneath the prison of his lax body, she trailed her fingers up and down his back, marveling at his self-control. Even in the throes passion, or now - afterwards - when all strength seemed to momentarily drain from his limbs, he remained aware enough not to hurt her by allowing too much of his considerable weight to rest on her. He supported himself over her with quivering muscles, head dropped to the furs as he heaved in and out great breaths of air.
Pressing soft kisses to his shoulder, she waited while he slowly came down from the high of his orgasm. This was the only time she got to see him like this, entirely at the mercy of raw nerve endings and incapable of calculating his actions in advance. So she didn't rush it. Rather, she relished that she seemed quicker to recover her faculties, and enjoyed the feel of his uncharacteristically pliant frame. Sliding her flesh and blood hand around to his front, she laid it over the two hearts pounding behind his ribcage, feeling their staccato beats slow.
He shifted above her and Pheist wrinkled her nose at the unpleasantness which leaked out along with his withdrawal. She'd need another shower. Alone, this time. Before she could voice this intention, he buried his face into her hair, his mandibles tangling in the tresses as he released a lethargic trill. He'd repositioned himself so that his weight bore down on his side and his arm still draped across her abdomen.
"You're taking this cuddling business seriously, huh?"
That hadn't been the case the first few times. And while she'd guessed it was a foreign concept to him, and she'd never been the type herself before, it had stung to have him passionately embracing her one moment and severing all physical contact the next. Attempting to explain that to him had gone predictably unwell. But he'd been amenable enough to staying close to her when she'd presented it as a demand. Demands were Riot's language, after all. And while she wished he understood why it was important to her, it would just have to be good enough that he obliged her.
"Hey." She touched his jaw to get his attention and he exhaled in what she knew was mimicry of her own sighs of exasperation as he pulled back to see what it was she wanted. Tell me about human healer. Tell me what you know. She trusted he would understand she referred to Lola.
He grunted, unimpressed with the topic evidently. Came here many time ago.
How?
Yautja who train me bring her.
Lola had said Thwo'stba was the Clan Leader. Why would he have brought her onto the ship? It didn't seem like Lola hunted, granted she would probably be on the tail end of such a career even if she did. This Yautja train her?
Riot chittered at this, apparently finding the notion highly entertaining.
Why then? Why bring her here? Pheist felt she was on the cusp of learning something integral, something that could unravel the mystery of Lola Jameson and whether or not she could be trusted.
Came with different human. He sat up suddenly and got off the bed, heading into the wet room.
Pheist followed him, undeterred by his obvious desire to be done with the discussion. Tell me about human.
Hitting the panel to engage the shower, he ignored her.
"Riot." She stepped beneath the spray as well, fixing him with a stare which she was sure imparted she had no intentions of dropping the subject. Tell me.
Human hunted with Young Blood. Killed hard meat. Killed queen.
Did that mean this had happened on Earth? Where else would a human have encountered Xenomorphs? And Yautja?
Where human now? Still here? Was there someone besides Lola? She knew she'd only seen a very small portion of the cruiser. Another human like her. Who hunted. Her mind raced.
No. Dead. Riot's attention returned to cleaning himself, though she got the sense it was a forced distraction. He was avoiding this conversation and she didn't understand why.
Dead how? What killed human? Had he known this second human? Had this been who had taught him to read? Given him the books and cellular device?
A cold shiver hit her as the possibility he was the Young Blood who'd hunted with this human formed. Had he done this before? Taken a human, trained them? To hunt? Was she not the first? And how did she feel about that?
A chime rang out from the bedroom. It was a noise Pheist had never heard before, but one she knew the cause of nonetheless. Someone was outside Riot's quarters.
Turning back, he clicked slowly, finding the door chime as foreign as she did, it seemed. He left the shower and she hurriedly shut the water off and snatched her robe from the peg, pulling it on before he let whoever it was in. He'd donned a loincloth by the time she stepped into the bedroom and was striding to the door, water droplets still rolling off of his shoulders from his dreads. He passed his hand before the panel and the door slid open, revealing not one, but three large Yautja. Her tawny nemesis stood at the forefront of the trio and his hateful gaze darted to her immediately.
Riot rumbled a warning, which had the intended effect, bringing the Hunter's focus back onto him.
What was this about? No one ever came down here. No one sought out Riot.
The tawny male was obviously communicating something with great relish, and it made her skin crawl. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good. When he finished, the two behind him shifted carefully, their full attention on Riot. Waiting for his reaction. They were anticipating a bad one, from what she could tell.
She couldn't see his face, but his posture had become much more rigid, more alert. He made to step into the hall with them and Pheist crossed the room swiftly, not meaning to be left behind, but the tawny male was already snarling and gesturing in her direction.
Riot growled and flexed his talons. Come, he signed after a few tense moments without looking back to her.