Marked by the Predator

by Milana Jacks

  “You’ve allowed the Ra tribe’s Alpha to compete,” he says.

  “I have.”

  “You broke our tribal laws. The enemy can’t compete.”

  “We signed a treaty with them, or did you forget?”

  He thumps his chest. “I forget nothing.” He points. “You forgot they slaughtered our villages, took everything from us.”

  Old wounds die hard. “I made a decision, and you can either fall in line or leave the tribe.” I turn my back to him, confident he won’t attack. It is cowardly, and he’s not a coward. None of them are. My heart breaks that they’ve chosen to rally against me instead of against the Ra Alpha, but I see the logic. I have the best chance of winning, and so I must be eliminated.

  The three males standing in my way part for me, and I make sure I brush Sor’s shoulder as I walk past him, whispering, “Leave the game.”

  “Aimea will come for you,” he says. Aimea is a divine bringer of doom.

  I stop beside him to look him in the eye. “You’re wrong. Aimea will come for us all if we war with the Ra again.” That said, I go about my gift hunt, alert for the ambush I know is coming, wondering if they want to wound me or kill me.

  I stand before two trees, debating which of the two types of wood would make a sturdy and aesthetically pleasing bowl. The aged bark of the oke tree indicates it had matured and the wood would last long, but it’s also almost impossible to carve and paint, which means I can’t do either. It would make a plain, boring bowl.

  The fila tree’s wood retains ink better, but it’s less sturdy than the oke tree. Hmm.

  Somewhere behind me, the subtribe is closing in. They’ve been following me. Turning, I snarl, my hunter pushing against my skin, wanting to tear them all to pieces. But I can’t. The Ra Alpha entered the competition, and if he decides to raise hell, I want more of my males with me and after him and whomever he brought with him.

  Fucking treaties. I hate peace. But I hate the wars that have killed my males and all our females more. Making bowls, competing, and courting females is more fun. If only I knew how to make bowls and court females. I don’t, but I have to learn while fending off the pack.

  I glance up into the branches of the fila tree. I leap and jab my claws into the tree trunk, then hop over a thick branch. Before I take out my ax, I survey the grounds and spot a brown paw hiding behind the bush not too far from me. I can’t tell who it is, but he’s a bold male to come this close alone. Maybe he wants to die. I lick my lips, already feeling his blood on my tongue, my hunter clawing at my brain. No, no, can’t do that. Pain shoots up my spine as I rein in the killer instincts.

  Back to courting, gifting, competing. I test the thick branch I’m standing on to make sure it’s gonna hold me and walk over to a thinner branch, then chop it off and walk back. Sitting down, I lean back on the trunk, alert to my surroundings while reshaping the wood with a dagger. When I have a nice round piece, all I have to do is dig a hole in it. I jab the dagger into the core and twist. A tiny piece chips off. I keep jabbing, digging, twisting the dagger in the wood.

  At this rate, I’ll take a span and another span to polish it, paint it, carve it, make it beautiful. I don’t have that kind of time, but I do what I can with the time I have. I keep digging, chipped pieces falling to the ground.

  Night approaches, and the forest comes alive with hoots and warbles of nocturnal creatures. I’m still at it, progressing, but slowly, and the deadline looms. She could’ve already accepted a gift from someone else. Someone could’ve stolen her and run off. Mas could’ve tried to double-cross me. Where is my brother? Did he snag her just to spite me? Maybe she ran off.

  Paranoia about my female raises the hair at the back of my neck, makes my lip curl up. Why did I leave Mas around her while I’m not? The thought of losing her grips me and won’t let go. Snarling, I holster the dagger and toss the ugly bowl. I’m out of time and out my of mind.

  A branch cracks. The pack decided to close in.

  “I’m in the foulest of moods,” I say. “Stay back.”

  I drop from the branch and land lightly on the ground, trying to think of what else I could bring her that she would accept over all other things two hundred males will bring her. Why, oh why can’t I kill every male on the planet? It would be so much easier than carving bowls.

  I stare at the wet ground, then up the fila tree, where beautiful flowers in every color in the land hang from the branches, their petals shy and cute. Submissive. They remind me of her. My female collects them because looking at them makes her happy. Why make a bowl, pick flowers, and do all that when I can bring her the entire tree? Brilliant.

  On all fours, in hunter, I flex my claws, and get to digging around the base of the trunk, my claws ripping through roots, throwing dirt everywhere, sinking deeper and deeper into the hole I dig up around the tree, so when they jump me, I’m in a bad position.

  Five pack males land on me, biting, clawing, tearing off chunks of my flesh and snapping their teeth near my jugular. Jugular targeting is intended to kill. None of them are playing a game. They’re not gonna wound me, they’re trying kill me. So be it.

  I bite Sor’s belly. His blood spills over my tongue, his squeak making me tear into him with my claws. Once a hunter tastes blood, it’s over. Sparing them is no longer an option. They’ve cornered me down here, attacking me on all sides, aiming solely for my throat. I’m biting back while guarding my neck and belly when I see a white-and-gray hunter with bright silver eyes jump into the fray.

  It’s the Ra Alpha, and we lock eyes and, as hunters, an understanding passes between us. He wants to kill. I want to kill. And so we do. He takes two in the back. I take three in the front and chew through them, crushing bones, ripping flesh, severing jugulars, tearing their cheeks from their faces. It’s over in a matter of minutes, and I pant, surveying the carnage, eyeing the Alpha hunter across from me.

  He shakes his head.

  He knows what I’m thinking. I want to continue. I want to tear into him.

  I lean forward, growling, readying to spring at him when he surprises me and lowers his head, showing my hunter submission.

  Before I risk a war, I force myself to change back into a male. As my brain returns to a more rational state, I take account of the carnage. Inside my chest, my heart hurts. When the taste of blood lands on our hunters’ tongues, my people go into a frenzy, a berserk state of mind, and until all challengers have been killed, we don’t come out of it. At least not easily. My knees fold, and I kneel beside Sor’s torn body.

  All our lives, we train to rein in our killer instincts and repress them so we can take control of our senses, and most times, we succeed. It has taken a single alien female to turn my world upside down and send me into a frenzy.

  Ark sits on the other side, his hunter’s gaze on me. From his chest, he growls low, and I know he’s trying to rein in his hunter. Once neatly braided gray-and-white hair curtains his face, blood dripping onto his lap as he shuffles his feet, preparing to pounce.

  I growl a warning, and speak, my words mangled as they rumble from my chest. “I’m hanging on to sanity by a thread here, Ark. Relax.”

  He wipes his mouth, then his hands on a black ierto, the one-piece leather garment the Ra wear. “I had nothing to do with this,” he says and leans back against the tree.

  I snort. “I don’t believe you, and I didn’t need your help.”

  He smirks. “But I stepped in anyway. Show of solidarity, yeah?”

  “Fuck you. I owe you nothing, and you enjoyed killing my males.”

  Ark smiles. “I followed some of these males here. They traveled for the games from my borders.”

  “So?”

  He picks up the hem of his ierto to wipe his face. “They were on patrol and met with some of my males, including Gur. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

  “The one who wouldn’t sign the treaty?” Ark forced Gur’s hand on the treaty. Feeling my hunter settle, my chest hurts, and I mourn my kaiens, th
ese five tribal warriors under my protection who swore loyalty to me but then attacked me.

  “That’s the one.”

  “What’s he doing on my border?”

  “I promised him land so he’d sign the treaty.”

  While Ark is an Alpha hunter of the Ra tribe, he’s not a Rai. The Ra have no one leader. Each earl decides for himself and his earliens, the warriors under his protection. “You made him an earl,” I conclude. “And is that the land he wanted, or is it the land you gave him?”

  “I need my tribe united like yours is.”

  He evaded my question. I don’t press. “You’re the least united tribe on the planet.”

  He chuckles. “I’m not the one being targeted.”

  “True.” I nod. “Go on. You’re in a chatty mood.”

  “Gur must’ve turned them and sent them after you. The games were just an excuse, an opportunity to kill with no consequences. You did the right thing.”

  “Killing my males is never the right thing. Certainly not when I’m not in a position to easily replace them.” He knows our numbers, and there’s no sense in lying. I wipe my bloody face on my arm. “Besides, I don’t think it was Gur.”

  He points at my dead hunters. “I’ve been watching Gur, and I tracked these two males from the borders.”

  “Maybe they really want the female,” I say. “You can’t presume breeding isn’t motivation to kill.”

  Ark snorts. “She’s cute, but not that cute.”

  I rise. “Watch your mouth.”

  He wags his eyebrows, his hunter still watching me with cruel silver eyes. “Don’t you want to hear how she got here?”

  I tilt my head. “Your warbird had something to do with it.”

  “Mmhm.”

  “Something went wrong, then?”

  “On the contrary. Everything is going just right.”

  I narrow my eyes. He’s up to something.

  He lifts his palms. “I’m innocent.”

  Rolling my eyes, I hop out of the hole I dug and stare down at the mangled bodies.

  Ark leaps out too, landing across from me. “Gur will compromise the treaty.”

  “How?”

  “He has a human female, and when he announces the games and your males come, he’ll kill them all.”

  “Not if one of them wins.”

  “He has no intention to play fair or hand over the female. He’ll kill her before he lets your tribe breed her.”

  “This is why you came for my games. To see if I’d let you compete and win. To see if I’d try to kill you.”

  Another nod.

  I run my hand through my hair. It comes away bloody, and I go to wipe on my kilt, but it’s bloody too. As are my chest and thighs. I’m covered in the red blood of my males. “He’s not my male. Take care of him.”

  Ark scrubs his jaw. “I was hoping you’d take care of Gur for me.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because I can deliver more human females.”

  “I only need the one I’m competing for, and she’s already here.”

  “Why only one when there’re billions of them.”

  Billions. Billions! He’s promising my tribe breeders, which means survival, greater numbers of hunters, stronger armies, stronger tribe. “Can they give us young?” I ask. Young that lives and breathes, but I don’t say that. I don’t have to. He knows the stakes. He knows we’re all gonna die if we keep doing what we’ve been doing.

  “That’s what you’re gonna find out. Unless you want me to find out.” He winks.

  I grit my teeth.

  “I have to ask,” he says. “What the fuck were you doing down there?”

  “Digging up a tree.”

  He blinks. “Why?”

  “Because the tree will make her happy.” I smile. “Bet you didn’t think of that.”

  “Only because I am sane.” Ark spins on his heel and walks away.

  “Wait. I can’t carry a tree on my own and make it there on time.”

  He’s walking back to the portal exit.

  “Hey!”

  Ark disappears into the forest. I look down into the pit of flesh and bone. If I can’t deliver the gift I wanted to deliver to her, the very least I can do is give my males a warning. I dive back in there and pick up a piece of Sor.

  Chapter Ten

  Stephanie

  The males returned in fewer numbers than when they started, but still, they returned with gifts they laid on the steps of the throne. Most of them came back unscathed, but some sport gashes on their bodies. More than half, obviously, didn’t come back at all.

  They’ve retreated into groups. Some linger inside the hall, some outside on the bridge. Hart hasn’t returned, and in order to make the first night of the games count, he has to present me with a gift before nightfall.

  I stand at the window, glancing at the setting sun, wanting to chew my nails again. Meanwhile, Mas is building a fire in the middle of the hall. The rising smoke draws the males, and they seem content inhaling it. It seems to relax them.

  I’m hungry, thirsty, and tired, but most of all apprehensive. Their Kai is running late, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to be late. I worry something happened to him, and he’ll get replaced. Better the monster I know. At least Hart kept me warm at night and didn’t let me sleep on the freezing floor. He didn’t violate me or kill me.

  A commotion draws my attention. A male appears at the entrance holding something in his hand. It’s another gift. Mas asked that I honor their traditions and show each of them respect upon completion of the task. I walk back to the throne to stand before it again as I have countless times tonight so that Ark, the Alpha of a rival tribe, Ra, can present his gift. Mas briefed me on some of the brutal history as well as told me this is not just any hall, it is the Hall of the Fallen, equivalent to a cathedral, a place of worship where no violence is allowed.

  Blood stains Ark’s kilt, and before he presents a gift, he picks a bit of flesh from between his teeth and spits it on the floor. The other Ka males crowd him, growling, their hunter bodies moving under their skin, signaling impending violence. My heart beats wildly.

  Mas steps next to me. “Ark, get on with it, then step outside.”

  Ark watches me as he reaches for a sack tied to his kilt and drops it on top of the pile of other gifts.

  “Take a look, female,” he says. “You will be most pleased.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll have to open it and see.”

  Mas bends to whisper in my ear. “You touch it, and you accept it.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m honored.”

  In approval, Mas nods.

  But not Ark. He won’t give in. He picks up the sack and pulls out a lavish blue silk dress, the kind worn in the eighteen hundreds on Earth, with a large opening at the chest and shoulders. It’s beautiful, completely out of place around here, and I’m upset that he’s staining it with his bloody hands. “Where did you find this?”

  “On an alien ship.”

  I hitch a breath then shake my head. “We don’t wear these fashions anymore.” It could be a costume for a play or the newest throwback fashion from Mars. They’d done the 2020s throwbacks last year and wore decorative masks.

  Mas snaps his head up at the same time Ark turns. Several males start walking toward the door, crowding around it so I can’t see what they’re looking at. I rise on my toes, but that’s no help, so I climb to stand on the throne and see over their heads.

  Hart is walking up the bridge. Blood seeps from the many gashes covering his body. Even his kilt is torn, his ax is missing, and in his hand, he carries a piece of meat on the bone. I smile. My caveman. He fought a mighty beast of some sort and brought back food. It’s mad and endearing, and I hop off the throne.

  Mas steps in front of me. “Stay here.”

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  Mas walks to the window as the males part for Hart. As he app
roaches, I walk down the steps, hearing Mas shouting behind me. Reaching Hart, I look up into his unreadable eyes. On Earth, we underestimate the power of looking into each other’s eyes. Another’s gaze subconsciously tells us so much, and I didn’t realize how much until I faced a male with no gaze. White eyes stare at me, and I don’t know how to interpret them. I feel I should say something.

  “Thank you,” I say and put my hand on his, trying to get the bone. When he doesn’t give it to me, I try to wrestle it from him because I’m starving, and he brought food. Saliva pools in my mouth at the prospect of finally eating.

  Hart tilts his head and lets go of the bone. I take it along with the dagger from his kilt’s weapon collection, then go to sit on the floor by the fire. “Thank you so much. I’m starving, and I was starting to think I’d have to eat the flowers just to keep from dying.” I smile up at him and see more males gathering around the fire.

  I hate to have to eat like an animal, but I can’t be bothered with finesse in a place where guys walk around in kilts and compete for the right to spend a night with a female. I’m sure they won’t find my manners upsetting. With that in mind, I slice off a piece of meat and, with the dagger, bring it over the fire, figuring the dagger will heat up, and it’ll be like a barbecue. “If I had a wooden stick, I’d make a kebab. There’s a lot of meat here. You want some?” I ask Hart.

  All heads turn his way.

  He seems bewildered, mouth slightly agape.

  “You’re hungry too, huh?” I continue. “Never had a kebab, I bet. At home, I’d put some spices on it and stuff, but whatever, I’m not picky.”

  Hart crouches, and his other pair of eyes lurks behind the white. It’s a little scary, so I avoid looking.

  “You want a wooden stick?” he asks.

  “Only if you have one. Thank you. I really appreciate the meal.” My belly growls, and the males, as one, step away from me.

  I look around and frown. Weird.

  The meat on the dagger looks seared enough. I eat my steak medium rare, so I blow on it a few times and pick it up between my fingertips. Gonna ruin my manicure, but whatever. I pop the slice in my mouth and chew. A strong, tangy taste, but really good. There’s no fat on the meat. It reminds me of filet mignon. Not chewy at all. Practically melts in my mouth. “Mmmm,” I moan. “Delicious.” I nod at Hart, who puts a hand over his mouth.