by Kacey Ezell
“We have new blood, but it is strong. Strong enough to make a sigiled pet out of the newest mercenary species in the galaxy, a feat as yet unmatched by the worthy clans in this room,” Reow said in an even, respectful tone. She kept her tail and ears from twitching, and only someone as close as Blade would have seen the fine tremor of excitement that stirred the fur on the back of her neck.
“Then perhaps your clan will be ready in ten years, should the contract come open again,” Whispering Fear’s Dama murmured, her eyes half-closed in a not-quite insult. “All very impressive, of course, but the complexity of such a contract can only be understood by a dama with a depth of experience that a larger, ancient clan brings.”
“Dirrys.” The Dama of Blood Plague made the other Hunter’s name sound like a spit of disgust. “Your clan has lost an off-world Hunter and the largest crop of Malluma Songo in your history, so surely you are not nominating yourself.”
“Whispering Fear is the oldest clan in this room, and all growth comes with risk. The Peacemaker contract would be best supported by my clan’s resources.”
“Perhaps that is so,” Reow said smoothly. “But Whispering Fear’s recent losses have hit your bottom line hard, and most of your assets are tied up in your clan’s extensive and valuable territory. Do you mean to say you will liquidate? And would that be wise for one of your years, Dirrys? Should not your resources be better spent on keeping your fertile kitas alive long enough to deliver live young?”
A barely audible hiss of shock at these blunt words. It was well known that Whispering Fear had suffered a rash of bad luck with its fertile females. For years, none but Dirrys, the Dama, had survived bringing a full litter to term. And before that, their infant mortality rate had been higher than most. Some said it meant that the ancient clan’s blood was weakening.
Reow was clearly implying that to be the case.
“We would hardly need to liquidate to take on such a contract.” Dirrys’s derisive laugh carried the faintest edge of a hiss. “And that all you can respond with is the basest of…what is that? Insult? Limp threat? It indicates you have no business representing us outside of Khatash. Keep growing your clan, Dama,” this with the subtlest twist on the word, a hint of mocking, “and perhaps you’ll be ready to go off-world uncloaked someday.”
Faintly, so soft that the sound couldn’t have carried past his dama, Blade snarled.
Reow twitched her tail, a silent command to her offspring to remain calm. Dirrys’s position could only be strengthened by their rising to her bait.
“Dirrys, do not start hurtling insults, lest we be here all day,” the Speaker said, her voice carrying a note of irritation. “Peacemaker Hrusha has recommended Reow of Night Wind by name, citing her abilities, her relative youth and yet wide range of experiences, and her cosmopolitan views which will enable her to better integrate with the alien species in our galaxy. What say you to that?”
“I say Peacemaker Hrusha became Governor without the clans weighing in, and you brought this contract to us to consider.” Dirrys sat more comfortably, her tail settling around her body, expression alert and inquiring. “So, let us consider.”
“There’s no reason to choose against the recommendation,” a damita from Sweet Poison said, her gravid belly giving her the weight she needed to speak in this room despite her youth, her head lowered in deference. “The Peacemaker would understand best who her replacement needs to be.”
Blade flicked an ear back in satisfaction, recognizing the clan as one that had lost out to Night Wind on several contracts. Likely they thought they could be better positioned if Night Wind became more occupied with the Peacemaker contract. His attention remained peripherally fixed on Dirrys of Whispering Fear, unconvinced by the too-obvious easing of her posture.
“I appreciate smaller, successful clans rising to notice,” a deo put forth. “We should recognize the vitality and success that continue to grow our species.”
Several clan heads shifted at that, some in agreement and some discomfited by the reminder their next generation wavered, as ever, on the edge of a claw.
“I agree,” the first deo who had spoken picked up smoothly, “and so nominate Sirrus, Dama of Evening Tide. She has built our clan for nearly twenty years, bearing three litters and raising three adult Hunters, two of whom have had their own first litters. Off-world contracts and Khatash trade are equal anchors, and we have not,” with a brief sideways glance to Dirrys, “made enemies at home or in the galaxy.”
“All Peacemakers make enemies,” Reow said, flicking her ears in respect toward Evening Tide. “I argue that we would want someone with experience dealing with such things in the position. Especially if that experience includes deescalating conflicts, or at least ending them quickly, with a minimum of collateral damage.” Again, she very carefully did not look at Dirrys, but the barb was clear and well thrown.
Dirrys tensed, and Blade saw every one of her claws—she leaned on the edge of launching herself across the room before visibly restraining herself. No one else in the room reacted to the near breach of one of their deepest tenets, and Blade would have missed her loss of control if he hadn’t kept his focus on her. Shock held him still, the idea that a dama would attack another dama, for nothing more than words…
The Speaker let the silence carry for a moment before sitting back comfortably, unaware of what Blade had seen. She looked from dama to dama, and flicked her ear to acknowledge no one else had anything to say.
“In light of these discussions, I hear nothing that outweighs Peacemaker Hrusha’s recommendation. The suggestion carries.” No one flinched, though several pairs of eyes and ears swiveled toward his dama. “Reow, do you accept the contract?”
“Provisionally, Speaker,” Reow said. “I require a ninenight to travel home and consult with my clan before committing fully. But provisionally, yes. I would be happy to accept.”
The Speaker’s sound of acknowledgement was answered by a chorus of small noises from the gathered Hunters, and then with a brisk nod the Speaker turned her gaze from Reow into the general distance in front of her, signaling the matter was closed.
“There are smaller trade agreements to be discussed, for those clans affected. Our general session has ended, if you choose to return to your dens.”
Not quite a dismissal, Blade understood more of the nuance now, where the council did not exactly dictate, but made clear all the same. The experience had given him plenty to consider, and he was glad there was a quiet night at home ahead, where he could give the proper time and attention to reflection.
* * *
When she landed, he was there.
Death taxied in from the runway, satisfaction running through her like a current. She turned off toward the alert hangar and cut the Basreeni’s engines back to idle. With a thought, she coasted to a stop above her launcher, and began the shutdown sequence.
As soon as her canopy hissed open, she saw him approach.
Nine shadows, but her lover moved like poetry! He stalked like the Hunter he was, muscles liquid under his grey fur. Death felt a lick of desire curl through her as she pulled herself out of the Basreeni’s cockpit and leapt lightly down to the hangar floor. He wasn’t in her squadron, of course, but rather a pilot in their sister-squadron next door. And as her lover, he was always welcome here.
“Welcome home, Hunter,” Mhrand said, slow blinking his striking amber eyes. “Eight kills! Impressive.”
“Only one was controlled,” she said. “The others were just drones. They hardly count.”
“Drones are harder to kill than the manned fighter. More maneuverable.”
“Which is why I went for the controller,” she finished, dropping her jaw in a grin. “Take it out, and the drones kill themselves.”
“That’s my deadly love,” Mhrand said, and answered her grin with his own. He leaned in to rub his cheekbone against hers in a quick kiss before turning to face the growing crowd of pilots and support Hunters gathering on the floor
of the alert hangar.
“Eight kills,” he went on, pitching his voice to carry over the noise of the crowd. “Seven of them drones…and on this, her last flight with the squadron before returning home to her Clan.”
A sudden realization dawned on Death. She felt her eyes go wide and turned to look accusingly at her beloved. He merely grinned at her and stepped back.
An instant before the bucket of water upended over her, drenching her in an icy downpour.
Death let out a shrieking yowl and leapt toward Mhrand, who caught her, laughing.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Peace, beloved, I yield!” he cried out amid the audible laughter of the squadron. Death swatted him handily on the head, then the body, then the head again before relenting and swiping her rough tongue over the side of his face.
“That was a dirty trick,” she purred in his ear.
“I know. The tradition for final flights is that we tackle you and carry you to be doused…but be reasonable, love. None of us can take you. Subterfuge was the only way. The bucket has been rigged for the last ninenight, just waiting for you to get a launch. We disguised it as part of the fire-suppression system.”
“Well. I see some of my training has taken root,” she said, stepping back from Mhrand to address the members of her squadron. “I am satisfied. A clean kill to all of you.”
The assembled Hunters let out a cacophony of celebratory yowls that made the rafters echo. Someone, somewhere, started playing music, and before Death could say otherwise, a fully-fledged party broke out right there in the middle of the hangar. She thought about trying to rein in the revelry…but it was her last alert shift, her last flight, and she’d just scored an impressive kill. They could afford to let loose a little bit.
“My squadron has picked up the alert,” Mhrand murmured in her ear as he wrapped her up in an embrace. “I worked it all out with Asash. You did it, my love. You’re all done.”
Like many who chose to hunt in the sky, Death’s contract had been for a period of four years, not including the required training time to learn to fly the Basreeni. Through her skill and determination, she’d been chosen by the elder dama in charge of the sky hunt to command a squadron for the last two of those years. It had been the hardest contract she’d ever completed. And the one she’d loved the most. She loved each of these Hunters as if they were her own littermates, and she knew they felt the same about her.
And Mhrand…the desire that always accompanied the thought of her lover curled deliciously through her body. They’d met in training, become lovers their first year on the contract, and had been inseparable since. She’d never met another being who moved her, who cared for her as well as he did, with his muscular strength and nurturing tenderness. Death had taken lovers before Mhrand…but none had captivated her as he did. And no other had caught her attention since.
“I wish to be alone with you,” she whispered in his ear. “Now.”
“Yes? All right,” he said, giving her a wicked grin. “Let us sneak away, they can party without us.”
* * *
“I want you to come home with me.”
Death’s words rolled out in the darkness of the space they’d found together, an unused alert sleeping alcove. Their bodies lay entangled, replete with love and satiated desire.
“When, beloved?” Mhrand asked.
“I will leave immediately. Your contract is nearly at an end as well. I wish you to come to my Den and meet my clan.”
Mhrand’s tail had been lazily twining with her own, but he went very still with that last statement.
“Death, what—”
“I love you, Mhrand,” she said, cutting him off. “I do not wish to think of living without you by my side.”
“Beloved,” he said, his voice a low purr. “I will be yours for as long as you will have me, you know that.”
“Yes…but I want more.”
She shifted enough to come to a seated position. The darkness of the alcove was no barrier to sight. When they joined, so too did their quintessence fields. She could feel him, solid and strong, nearly as deadly as herself. A fitting mate. A fitting addition to the clan.
“My dama will approve of you,” Death said. “Your kill record speaks for itself. You have chosen to hunt exclusively in the air, which is different, but not dishonorable. You come from an established clan of successful Hunters…and you have shown yourself capable of siring a litter of kittens.”
“I have…what?”
Death slow blinked a smile, and with a wave of her right front paw, brought the lights in the room up enough for him to see her face baryonically.
“I feel them move within me already. At least three, but I suspect one or two more.”
Mhrand’s eyes went wide, and he scrambled up to a seated position opposite Death.
“Beloved…a litter? Kits?”
“Indeed. Does this please you? For if it does not, I will, of course, release you from our association.” She managed to keep her voice steady as she spoke, though the thought of losing him sent a spike of icy dread through her.
Mhrand just stared at her, then dropped his jaw in the largest grin she’d yet seen from him.
“Don’t you dare think about it, my beloved, beautiful, crazy love! Kittens! You are certain?”
Death slow blinked again, and she found herself grinning openly as well.
“I am. I expect they will arrive later this year. Perhaps a season from now.”
“Have the healers been consulted?”
“Not yet,” she said calmly. She must step carefully here, for males got touchy at times when their females were carrying young. “I would see my clan’s healer for something with so much import as this. This litter will be the first of its generation in my clan.”
Mhrand drew in a deep breath and reached out to stroke her ears with his fingerpads.
“Beloved, was that wise? You flew…today even. In combat! What if something—”
Death reached out and laid her own fingerpads on his lips, quieting him.
“Nothing happened,” she said. “I am as well as I ever have been, and now my contract is finished. I will return to my clan and see our healer, and I will tell my dama and littermates the happy news. But…There is more that I would like to tell them.”
“What?” Mhrand asked, eyes going wide again. A private corner of Death’s mind wondered dryly if he would survive too many more revelations. He looked completely poleaxed.
“I would like to tell them we have formed a life-bond. That you will join our clan, and help me raise our kits. That you will stay beside me and be my partner when I, eventually, become the head of the family.”
“Head—”
“I am the first to bear,” Death said softly. “I will be Dama after my own is gone.”
Mhrand’s tail twitched, and his ears flicked back and forth as he processed this. Death watched him, her face and ears carefully expressionless, though she thought her heart might pound its way out of her chest.
“You, who will be the Dama, and could have any male you choose to sire future young…you want to form a life-bond with me?” His voice was low, his words precise.
“Yes.”
“Beloved…” Mhrand trailed off, and simply reached out to caress her face. “I cannot…I have done nothing to deserve such fortune as smiles on me. I will happily go home with you. I would love you for nine times ninety and nine lives. I would love you forever.”
Death slow blinked a smile, and reached to rub her face against his.
“Then forever it shall be.”
* * *
Deluge closed his eyes and let the taste of spiced Khava explode over the inside of his mouth. It burned its way over his tongue and down into his belly, filling him with heat from the inside.
“You like it?” the Besquith trader growled. Deluge opened his eyes and looked up at the hairy alien. Besquith were not known for their charm, and this one seemed a representative member of his race in that departme
nt. It had somewhat beady eyes that glared at Deluge as he sat on the trading counter. Doubtless, the trader would have preferred for Deluge to remain on the floor in his bipedal stance. However, that didn’t make sense in the Hunter’s mind, given the immense difference between their two heights. Far better that he should spring to the counter and sit like a civilized being.
It wasn’t his problem if his movements were too quick for the Besquith to track. Nor was it his problem if that fact made the other being nervous. Though Deluge had to admit it was amusing.
“I do like it,” the Hunter said. “Your batch has a very good flavor.”
“I have more,” the Besquith said. “Five credits gets you the whole fish.”
Deluge slow blinked at the outrageous price, and let his mouth fall open in his Human smile.
“And what would I do with a whole fish?” he asked. “Especially at that larcenous rate?”
“Larcenous?” the Besquith growled, its voice dropping lower. “Are you calling me a cheat?”
“Larceny means theft. Technically I’m calling you a thief,” Deluge said. “But I suppose your language may not have such subtleties.”
He didn’t, truly, mean it as an insult. The Besquith didn’t seem to care. It let out a low snarl and bared its teeth, then lunged at Deluge, snapping his teeth a hair’s breadth from where the Hunter sat.
Or more accurately, where the Hunter had been sitting.
Because, of course, Deluge was in motion as soon as the Besquith started his lunge. He drove his powerful hind legs against the firm surface of the trading counter and leapt up into the air. A quick twist of his body allowed his front claws access to the large, pointed ears that sat atop the Besquith’s head. He dug his claws into those sensitive ears and used them as a pivot point to anchor his leap. His lower body flipped up and around to the point where his back claws could grab on. One caught the alien’s throat, just above the jugular, and the other hovered scant millimeters from the being’s vulnerable eye.
