Alien Mercenary’s Destiny by Mina Carter

1

Zad’s destiny was to be a Krynassis hive queen. She was born to be a warrior queen with a ship full of clutch fighters to command. With her word as law, she would have been a goddess in the flesh, living among her subjects.

She was not destined to die alone in the dark, especially not in a corridor under some grubby slave pits where she’d fought for her life on a regular basis. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not any day.

She ducked under a power lance aiming to separate her head from her neck and slid up in the gap between it and the heavy-set male wielding it. A look of surprise flowed over his face when she didn’t hit the sand-covered floor in two pieces as he’d expected but drove vicious claws up under his jaw. He stiffened, the grisly crunch of bone reaching her ears as her claws punched through the roof of his mouth en route to his brain. Blood cascaded over her fingers, rolling down to coat her wrist as his feet did a little jig.

“Asssssshole,” she hissed as she dropped him to the sand floor, leaving him to twitch his last without remorse. He, like every other vaarking guard in this place, had bullied and beaten countless slaves while trading in their misery. He didn’t deserve pity. In fact, she wouldn’t have pissed on him if he was on fire.

Stepping over the body, she continued down the corridor.

The lower levels of the Tarviisan fight pits, the corridors and cages where they kept the slave-fighters, had become a brutal, bloody battlefield. As breakouts went, Zad had to admit the Warborne did it with style. And chaos. Mostly just chaos with guns and explosions for shits and giggles.

“‘You’ll know when it happens.’ No shit. Understatement of the vaarking century,” she muttered, ducking into a side corridor to catch her breath and plan her next move.

With the defenses breached and the perimeter security systems offline, most fighters were taking the opportunity to get a little payback… be that on the guards or on each other. Most didn’t seem to care which.

Twin roars echoing through the corridors said that Guntas and Vasko had decided on the latter. She wasn’t surprised. The two Devarians had hated each other’s guts from the moment they’d met. It had been all the guards could do to keep them apart and from killing each other. Today’s truce had lasted only long enough to secure the success of the breakout, and now they were back at each other’s throats.

A bellow nearby got all her attention, and she forgot about the two Devarians in favor of scooting to the side. A guard sailed through the air and hit the stone wall behind her, his last breath rattling from his chest in a groan.

She raised an eyebrow. He’d been one of the crueler assholes down here and very fond of his energis-prod. Taking it from his hand, she looked up at the fighter who’d thrown him.

“I’d have made him suffer longer,” she said, spitting on the corpse in contempt and handing the energis-prod over. Not only was the dead male fond of the crude control device, but he also liked to prey on the T3s—beings who couldn’t fight back, either because they were physically incapable or because they’d been completely and utterly broken by the pits.

“Thought about it,” the other fighter said, nodding his thanks as he took the prod. He was a short, stout Enaxis. His neck frills rattled in agitation, flared out and scarlet with bloodlust. “But I got more than a few assholes down here I want payback from.”

“I hear ya.” She nodded. “Happy hunting.”

“You too!” he called over his shoulder as he barreled off down the corridor in search of new prey.

Zad turned in the other direction, heading deeper into the corridors. Most of the fighting was dying down, leaving just a few hotspots she skirted around the edges of. A guard, battered and bloody, raced out from a side corridor and skidded to a halt in front of her.

He took one look at her still in her pit clothes with her hand sheathed in blood to the wrist, and his eyes widened. For a moment she watched the cognitive dissonance fight it out behind his eyes as he tried to make the visual of a slender, nonthreatening female vibe with the fact that his instincts were screaming at him to run away. She helped, letting her claws descend slowly.

Fear flooded his scent as the fight or flight reaction kicked in. He turned tail and ran.

“Good choice,” she muttered to the empty air. She could have dealt with him. He was only an Llaroxi, and no match for even a normal Krynassis, never mind a female. But… she had places to be.

Sliding her claws back with a snick-snick-snick in time with her footfalls she carried on. Her path took her deeper into the corridors, heading for the T3 cells. A few had been on the sands when this all kicked off, but most would still be down there. Helpless.

Her lips compressed into a hard line. The problem was, they wouldn’t be alone for long. Entirely too many predators lurked down here for her to be comfortable leaving them alone and unprotected.

She turned left at an intersection, plunging into the darkness of one of the smaller corridors. Before she’d taken ten steps, the hairs on the back of her neck rose in warning. Her steps slowed to a stop, her claws punching free as she balanced her weight.

“Come on out if you think you’ve got the stones,” she said, her voice even and calm. “But, just so you know, I’ve had a vaarking shit day, and I’m in a shittier mood. That does not bode well for your long- or even short-term survival prospects.”

“Female…”

A sibilant hiss and familiar dry scent filled the corridor. She closed her eyes with a sigh. Great, just vaarking great. She could have done without these assholes today.

“Well done, you can correctly identify the female of the species,” she said as she turned to face the small group of males.

They were pure-blooded Krynassis, just like her, but one look at their thick-set builds and heavy brows told her they were Snassi. Disposable troops used as cannon fodder, they were bred for strength and endurance, but intelligence was an optional extra.

One that had obviously not been considered in their hatch-group. It looked like they barely had a couple of brain cells between them. Which clutch ship had these been hatched from? Her mother would never have suffered Snassi so stupid to live. Because facing down a full-blooded Krynassis female was a bad idea, especially one like her.

“Feeeeemale…” one of the others whispered, and her eyebrow shot up.

“Yes, we already established that. Now how about you lot fuck the hell off before I get annoyed.” She huffed out a breath. She was already pissed off. “Okay, more annoyed.”

“Feeeemalessssss need males,” the one in the front, obviously the scale-head in charge, said.

“Not thissss female,” she snarled, bringing her fists up.

The fact that these males were even questioning the word of a full-blooded Krynassis female proved they were defective in the brains and shouldn’t have been allowed to live to adulthood. Either that or they’d allowed the more… progressive thinking of other species to corrupt their instincts and had begun to see females as weaker. They thought they could take what they wanted, in this case… her.

Not. Vaarking. Happening.

“Females need males,” the leader repeated, his black eyes flicking over her with obvious lust as his tongue snaked out to flicker over his lips. “For the heat. Female needs us to service her.”

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.

She shoved him off her, and he flopped lifelessly to the ground. Dead then. Thank vaark. Rolling to her feet, she was across the dimly lit corridor in a heartbeat. The last Krynassis had the mercenary pinned up against the wall, fist pulled back to deliver the final blow. She winced at the state the Lathar was in. Even if the scale-head didn’t finish him off, she doubted he’d last long. He was done for.

“How about you pick on someone your own size, asshole?” she snarled, lashing out before the clutch fighter could launch the blow.

Her claws sliced up and under, ravaging the soft flesh on the underside of his wrist and forearm. He hadn’t even had time to raise scales. His howl of pain filled the corridor as he dropped his victim and turned on her. The arm with the sliced wrist was useless, so he lashed out with the other and tried to force her back. But she was having none of it. Even bloody and bruised, she was still more than a match for him.

“Not so much fun when it’s one on one. Is it?” she demanded, circling him like the predator she was. Out of the corner of her eye, the mercenary slid to a little heap at the bottom of the wall.

The scale-head just hissed in rage and charged her. No tactics, just brute force. Waiting until the last moment, she stepped to the side and clotheslined him with a hard, armored arm. He went down like a sack of potatoes, a look of stunned astonishment on his face as he scrabbled at the ruins of his throat. The flesh was punctured and mangled, huge holes pouring blood onto the sands below.

Surprised, Zad looked at her arm. Her scale armor was still raised, but where the scales had been smooth before, now they weren’t. The battle spikes of a queen decorated the ridges, gobbets of flesh from the dying scale-head at her feet still impaled.

The only time a female—no a queen—displayed spikes was when she met a male who was compatible as a consort. And with a consort at her side, a queen’s power was magnified a hundred-fold. She blinked and looked at the Lathar bleeding out against the wall. He was a consort?

“Vaark, no you fucking don’t. You will not die on me. You hear me?” she murmured, slamming her hands down over the worst of his wounds as she shouted, hoping to get the attention of other fighters in the corridors. “Hey! Some help here!”