Service her? Oh, for vaark’s sake. She shoved down the urge to roll her eyes. Yeah… this lot had definitely bought into the take what they wanted thinking of other species.
“One, I’m not in heat,” she said, turning slightly as they fanned out to surround her. That was a bad move, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. They’d chosen this corridor with care. Three were already positioned in the shadows in front of her while three more blocked the way back to the intersection behind.
“And two, how dare you assume I would choose you for my bed?” she demanded, her voice ringing with command and authority.
She might never have ascended the throne, but that didn’t mean she was any less regal. She was the daughter of a queen, who was the daughter of a queen and so on, back to time immemorial. There was even a Brood queen in her lineage. And these fuckers thought they could just rock up and lay claim to her?
Had she been a queen in a hive ship, there would have been a choosing on the sands. Males would have fought to the death for the chance to join her harem or maybe even become her consort. But no male could meet the needs of a queen in heat on his own, so there hadn’t been a consort for years, maybe even generations.
“Not asking,” the male replied, clicking instructions in the back of his throat as he marshalled his small clutch into position to attack. She didn’t tilt her head or give any indication she understood the subvocals. She wasn’t supposed to. Queens did not lower themselves to learn the language of clutch fighters. Unless that queen had been brought up hidden among them.
Her expression hardened as she prepared herself to fight. These assholes were getting on her last nerve. He was correct. Queens did need a harem, but regardless, the choice of who joined that harem was always down to the queen, not the males who wanted her. Especially not males who thought they could just take what they wanted like these assholes.
“Good, because you wouldn’t get permission,” she spat back.
The male behind her launched into an attack, the slight scuff of his clawed foot on the floor warning her a split second before. Spinning in the blink of an eye, she blocked. Her scales rose and his claws skittered across her arm without gaining purchase. Twisting, she slammed a hard fist into his solar plexus. The blow almost caved the center of his chest in as it sent him flying backward, but she didn’t get a chance to either admire her handiwork or regroup.
In the blink of an eye the rest were on her. The world narrowed down to blocking the next kick or punch or raising her scales to avoid claws looking to open her skin.
Her heart sped up as she was forced to dodge and weave, fighting off five at once. The sixth was still down, clutching at his chest and wheezing. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she hadn’t shattered several of his ribs. Krynassis females were generally stronger and faster than the males. Unless of course, they’d been weakened by months of shit rations and sleep deprivation. Fighting five on one didn’t help much either.
Within minutes she was in trouble, gulping air like a deep sea Navarr out of water. Not able to keep up with the rapid-fire hits, she concentrated on keeping her scales flared. Bruises she could deal with but losing blood would take her down quicker than anything else. All she had to do was hold on and look for an opening.
Spinning on her heel, she spotted one and lashed out with a hard leg. Slamming it into the side of the male setting up for a full-on attack, she flipped around him and used the momentum to kick higher. The talons on her toes sliced across the throat of the male behind her. Even though they were smaller and more compact than those on her fingers, they were still razor sharp and tore through the scales and flesh at the front of his throat. Thick blood cascaded down his front, making him look like he was wearing a scarlet bib. He staggered back and the others howled, the sight and scent of blood sending them into a frenzy.
They hammered her with blows, piling on without any regard for their own safety, and she registered the moment they went from wanting to fuck her into pure bloodlust.
Shitshitshit. This was so not good. She pulled her movements closer, trying not to give them any openings, but as hard fists slammed into her ribs, she missed a set of claws. She cried out and stumbled as they raked her thigh. The skin parted in lines of fire across her flesh. She had no chance to recover so she curled up, all her focus on keeping her scales in place. If she could just hold on, they would protect her. At least until someone came along. She just had to hope whoever it was wouldn’t just join the scaled assholes waling on her.
It appeared luck was with her as a bellow of fury filled the corridor. Gunfire spat, and two of her assailants were torn away from her, thudding dead to the sanded floor with gaping holes in the center of their ugly scaled faces. Holy vaark, whoever it was knew what they were about. And if they were armed with assault weaponry, it had to be one of the Warborne.
The mercenary’s arrival and the death of another two of their number distracted her attackers enough for her to slice at one with her claws and scuttle away. Holding her arm against her bruised ribs she tried to catch her breath as her rescuer took on the remaining two Krynassis males.
Her eyes widened as the mercenary stormed into the corridor. It was… the smallest Lathar she’d ever seen. Slender and without the muscle mass she usually associated with the warrior-like species, his expression of fury more than made up for what he lacked in stature. Bellowing incoherent words of rage, he threw himself at the two scale-heads, swinging about himself wildly with an assault weapon that looked entirely too big for him.
For a moment she thought he was one of their berserk warriors, so crazed with blood-rage that his only tactic was to throw himself into the middle of battle. Within seconds though, she realized two things…
He wasn’t a berserker.
And he literally had no clue what he was doing.
The clutch fighters’ surprise at the attack didn’t last long. No sooner had the strange, skinny Lathar swung a clumsy fist at them than they’d recovered and turned on him.
She covered her mouth in horror as they laid into him with fists and claws. Bright red blood splattered over the sands before she could lever herself up. Her gaze met his as a hard fist slammed into his stomach. Surprise dawned in his expression as he doubled over. She had no clue what he’d expected charging at enraged clutch fighters like that, but she had to help him or they were going to kill him. And she couldn’t have that, not when he’d charged to her rescue.
Her movements stealthy, she rose behind the first fighter and slid a hard arm around his throat. He gasped in surprise, jerking back and scrabbling at her arm as she cut off his air. A snarl escaped her, and she held on, wrapping her legs around his waist as she choked him out. The sounds of pain and the scent of blood filled the air as the other fighter beat up on the Lathar, but she couldn’t help him at the moment.
She rode the Krynassis down to the ground as his legs folded beneath him, landing on her back with him on top of her. Still holding on, she arched her tall frame to stretch him out as he gasped and shuddered.
“Vaarking die, would you, you useless piece of shit,” she hissed in his ear.
Finally, his gasps and choking died down and he slumped in her hold. She held on for another thirty seconds, just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had someone pretend to pass out, only to surge back to life the instant she let up on her hold.