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A Union of Convenience (Formerly ‘Alone’)	By : Keen Category: M through R > Predator Views: 13010 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Predator movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
            Completely revised and reedited as of 28/01/2008,
voice your opinions and criticisms at will.
-Cam

            Isis
burst awake to sit upright, thrashing in the sheets of her pallet. Her hands
covered her eyes as if to blot out the images of her mind. The nightmares had
been ongoing ever since A’rah died but they reached a new low tonight. Touching
her forehead she felt the slick of perspiration; she could taste the salt on
her lips. Anxiously she crawled to the edge of the bed and rummaged through her
bag, her hand trembling as she loaded the syringe pen and then jabbed it hotly
into her thigh.
            She sat in silence, catching her
breath as the serum flit through her in a cool rush. She wasn’t supposed to
sweat and if she did, it spelled trouble. It meant the drugs were wearing off
and Buddy, the name both she and A’rah jokingly gave to the hard meat spawn in
her chest, was close to waking up and bursting through. In all the confusion of
these few days, she had forgotten take it so in an odd way the nightmare was a
blessing-although it sure as hell didn’t seem like one.
            If it wasn’t enough she saw her
brother being torn apart by those black creatures, she saw A’rah now, vibrant
green blood pouring from her nose and sharpened teeth, her body jumping stiffly
as Su’hir stabbed her again and again. The stranger forced
her to walk him through the event in painstaking detail and now they haunted
her when she slept.
            Walking from her makeshift room in
the hull, she padded on bare feet through the ship’s halls. She started exploring
the vessel during these wee hours when the stranger was asleep or otherwise
occupied. Wandering kept her mind off of more pressing issues, like where they
were going and what they would do once they got there, so she readily went and
often.
            Isis
stole a glance over her shoulder and then opened a door. It was a trophy room
and by smell alone she knew it had not known a living thing in a long while. Everything
including the floor wore a fine layer of grey dust, nothing inside had been tended
to, like most of his ship. Old and dusty, full of antique fixtures, the ship
was a time capsule constructed in the old style that was more functional than
aesthetically pleasing. The walls to the floors were black, the natural colour
of the metal used to make them. The seats, tables and fixtures were shades of
grey and black as well, hard polished and sharp. It looked and felt like a neat
stone cave. It was nothing like she was used to with A’rah, there was no warmth or light anywhere. Everything was cold and dark,
very much like its owner.
            He kept her like the rest of the
loose objects, stacked away in the hull to be ignored, but Isis
was not complaining. The stranger made her nervous. He kept odd hours, spent a
great deal of time closed up in his room in quiet meditation or in deafening
chaos in the gym. It was probably for the best they didn’t see each other,
especially considering she hadn’t really gotten over him trying to kill her. Isis was the
lone survivor of the HMS Whistler. Like her, every crew member found themselves
host to the thing she learned to call ‘hard meat’. She did not know how they
came to be on the ship or the yautja that hunted
them. Isis simply woke to the chaos and only
she and a single yatuja would escape.
            At first, she feared her fate would
be one worse than death. She awoke again to find herself in the thick of
trouble, stripped naked and strapped to a metal incline. Her legs and arms were
spread wide, leaving everything exposed. She twisted and strained against the
shiny metal cuffs, agitating her healing wounds, until the door hissed open.
            She dared look her captor in the
eyes once. He growled at her for it, seeing her as unfit to meet his gaze. Isis didn’t understand that then but she knew to return
her head to the floor. She could see his long green feet move closer, stepping
between her open legs. Large hands, with long spindly fingers reached for
her. They slowly crept closer and Isis backed against the metal support. She didn’t want
him touching her but it was inevitable. There was no where for her to go and no
way for her to stop him and he grabbed her neck to prove this.
            He squeezed her throat, tightening
his fingers around her neck, harder and harder. So hard she felt the pressure
beating from behind her eyes. She felt herself slipping into unconsciousness
when he released her, leaving her to cough and gag. His hand brushed against
her neck again. He watched her tense but she didn’t move away. It impressed him that she was such a quick
learner. Isis felt his hand slide down over
her collar bones and over her breasts. She was certain he would rape her and so
she closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.
            But it didn’t.
            He continued to massage her, rubbing
up and down between her breasts, his focus specifically on that spot. He would
come in every day, many times a day and stare at her down on her as he stroked
the centre of her chest.
            It took a moment for her to
understand his fascination. Plenty of time had passed, enough for her wounds to
turn into scars, becoming dark lines across her shoulders and thighs. Curiously
enough, not once, during all that time, did she hunger or thirst. Not even the
slightest inkling to take a piss. It was
like every process in her body was halted. She suspected it had something to do
with the colourless fluid he’d inject into her hip but then it became a
question of why. The realisation frightened her.
            He kept her for the thing in her
chest. She was a glorified tank for a really nasty fish. Isis never
understood what he was waiting for. Her death and its birth were in his control
and yet he visited everyday with apparent expectation, looking for a new
development until one day he didn’t. It
made her nervous at first. Not that she enjoyed it or wanted to be felt up. It was
just the anxiety that came with suddenly being without something that was an
everyday, a constant. His absence filled her with an uncertainty that gnawed at
her at first but then faded into a peaceful acceptance. Until the door hissed
open again.
            Isis
returned her head to the floor, her heart racing, wondering if it was time for
harvest. Wondering if he was finally going to take his
property from her chest. He moved closer and her breath was caught. The
feet that moved closer weren’t her captor’s. They weren’t even green but a dark
indigo blue. Still she made no move when he reached for her, not wanting find
out if this exacted the same punishment as the first for it.
            Ali’shir thought she was blind. He
stepped into the room and expected to hear that piercing howl so trademark of
the females of her kind. Quick scans with his machinery told him her eyes were
fully functional but raised a far more interesting question. He lifted his
mask, setting it to the side as he scented her.
                        “Yash’in,” he grit angrily.
            The adolescent’s scent was almost
ingrained on the human’s skin, especially across her chest. It explained why
she was so at ease with him being so close. He reached for her, as he knew
Yash’in had, sliding his palm over her breast. She stiffed as his hand fell on
her but kept her composure, despite her racing heart. Ali’shir could feel what
endeared her to young warrior jump under palm.
            Ali’shir’s
hands travelled down the curves of her, his nails carefully tracing the arching
scars of her shoulders and the darkened lines of her hips. She was strong
enough to survive the hot sting of hardmeat blood but
she was not strong enough to bear this new burden. This would be her undoing. Ali’shir
flicked his wrist, releasing the claws of his wrist blades. The creature deserved
a better death than this and he would see to it she’d have one.
            Isis
felt his hand slide away from her. He was done inspecting her now, so she
expected him to leave like the other one. She was surprised when he cut away
the cuffs. Even more so, when he tossed a weapon at her.
He let her stand with the blade in hand before he attacked her. His arm was
blur and came down with so much force, the bones in her arm broke with an
audible snap. Had it been her neck, which she suspected was what he was aiming
for, she would have been dead.
            Isis
scrambled away on hands and knees behind the table, but the stranger thundered
just behind her. He tore the damn thing off its base and reached for her again.
Isis shrieked and did the only thing she could
think. His ankle gave the most satisfying crunch as she kicked at it. He fell
to a knee and roared in her direction as if to call her back, but she was gone,
running for all she was worth down the corridor.
            Isis
knew she could never hope to fight him, so she sought to out run him, sliding
and crawling through tight spaces inside the ship, making him bumble in the
process. Each time he fell, each time he smacked his head, his rage heightened.
By the time A’rah found them he was practically foaming at the mouth to taste
her blood. Isis could only guess why he
eventually walked away, what it was that A’rah said exactly, but in any event she
was thankful he did. It set her in the hands of the closest thing she ever knew
as a sister. All eight-alien-feet of her.
            Never
would have seen that comin’, Isis
chuckled closing the trophy room door.
            Thinking of A’rah made Isis want the female’s tablet. It was the only thing not
auctioned off by Del’uan and that was because the
female always asked Isis keep it near to her. She
helped A’rah in that way, keeping the Arbitrator’s itinerary in order, plotting
navigation for her missions. She often thought it was A’rah’s
way of keeping her busy but she realised the female saw something in her she
did not. Isis had a knack for it. It was
almost an unsurprising discovery as Isis
already knew ships inside and out as an engineer, tending to its navigation and
orientation only seemed the next natural step.
            Her love for ships and flight was
probably what drew her to the helm controls in these late night hours now.
Bathed in the red light of the auxiliary lights, she moved around the dimly lit
space, running her hands over the blinking controls, checking after her silent
escort. Not that she needed to. They had not changed since they left the Shao’re Clan. The ship was set in a circular path,
essentially travelling round and round until he decided otherwise.
                        “Whenever the hell that
is,” she muttered.
            Isis
took a seat in the high back chair, propping her legs onto the console nearest
to her. Her eyes glanced to the passing starry landscape as she tooled with the
tablet. She was careful to hide it, holding it under the tarp she used as a
blanket as she tapped at the screen.
            Having the time to play with it now,
Isis realised it had many uses besides as an
organiser. Through public transmissions, she learned more about yautja culture and history and current affairs amongst
clans. The most interesting
of the current affairs being the attack on several excursion cruisers from the Had’een clan.
            Several of its warriors had
disappeared into thin air. The clan was beginning to suspect foul play but not
from a rival clan. The clan accused Isis’s
former employers and the fastest growing threat to all alien species, United
Federation. UF was blamed for a rash of mysterious alien abductions, or at
least the ones who did not enter into treaty with them. Had’een
was pleading for other clans to join them in the fight to get their warriors
back or at the very least, deter UF from taking any more. They also were
calling for something else, but Isis’s reading
was interrupted by a noise. Discreetly she wrapped the tablet in the tarp and
twisted in the seat to face him.
            The stranger loomed over her
shoulder. Isis realised early he made it a
point to keep his face covered at all times, even inside the ship. It was now, but not by his faceplate but by a
knit mask with the eyes cut out. His eyes were frightening light and narrowed
at her.
            Roughly he tossed her feet from the
console, spinning her in the chair. “Get out!”
            Isis
got up wordlessly, glaring at him as he rechecked the console settings,
cursing.
            He used the translator to
communicate with her but when he was angry, like now, he spoke in his native
tongue, “…propping your feet on complex machinery your tiny human mind couldn’t
possibly comprehend.”
            “I know more than you
think, jackass,” she muttered.
            He stopped turning dials and looked
at her from the side of his eyes, “Come again?” he said, the translator
clicking.
            With look alone he dared her to
challenge him but Isis continued to walk the
hall like she didn’t hear him. She wanted to say something back but she had
already said too much. All she had to do was bide her time until they landed
and then she’d be home free. In the meantime, she’d have to work harder on
holding her tongue.
            She reached the door, leaving the
stranger to obsess over his controls when the tablet sounded, loudly. Isis kept moving, walking faster, praying
he didn’t hear it but he did, barking at her to halt. He thundered toward her, spinning
her with one hand and ripping at the source of the noise with the other.
Snatching the device, she could see his anger billowing as he roughly gripped
its edges.
            Ali’shir had been looking for it for
some time and it was baffling to him why she- of all people- would even have such a thing when there was no way
she could hope to understand it. His rage was interrupted when the tablet
sounded again. Ali’shir turned it over in his hands, his attention on its
blinking corner which meant a message had been received.
            Isis
heard him rumble with irritation as he read on. When he discarded it, leaving
it to take a seat in the pilot’s seat, she understood why. Leaning casually
over the table, she could see there was not just one message but two, both were
follow ups from jobs A’rah had accepted before her untimely demise. The first
was from her contacts at Had’een. They were making
sure she was en route to the rendezvous point. Since the recent disappearances
were happening more close to their mainstay, they were hoping to move their
base but in order to do so they would have to pilot through Reegan,
a territory notorious for Scorn pirates. They needed the protection of an
escort, which is where A’rah was supposed to come in. The second message was
more routine, a simple live capture of a badblood.
Watching the stranger assume the controls, Isis
wondered if it would be so simple for him.
            In accepting her, he had assumed A’rah’s debts and now had to complete these missions-but
was he up to the task? His dark muscled neck was bare of trophies, his upper
body untouched by scars. He wasn’t terribly unfit but he was no where near the
physical condition he needed to be to play arbitrator. A’rah was slender, lithe
like a swimmer, her body made hard by centuries of conditioning. The male
before her had a slight belly, his arms were muscled but they were hidden by
flesh. Once upon a time, he worked out and trained hard, but that was
definitely a while ago. Isis wondered if he
was even trained to fly as he fumbled with the controls, sending the ship
lurching and bucking like a novice. She knew firsthand what a Scorn warrior
could do with his bare hands, she shivered to think what one could do behind
the massive artillery and shields of a cruiser. And if they
found themselves in the path of such fury?
            We
are so fucked…
            Isis
held tight to the wall as the ship bounded again, sputtering and shaking with a
pitiful groan. He roared at the controls, kicking at the machine he just roared
at her for gently propping her feet on. The idea that the device was only as
good as its user was universal and the sooner he realised that, the sooner he’d
discover he was going off to battle with the auto pilot still on.
            Isis
thought to tell him and then decided against it. After all her tiny human mind
couldn’t hope to understand why one would fly with it on.

                  “We are so
fucked!” she screamed, careening on her bottom toward some sparking consoles.
            Another explosion rocked the already
damaged ship, knocking Isis off her feet and
into the useless machinery. Sitting up, jostling with the aftershocks, she
watched Ali’shir roar in defiance at the ship in front of him. He tugged at his
safety belts as he gripped the controls, forcing his damaged body upright. To
her astonishment he proved himself a crazy but competent pilot. They were first
in the v-formation, the absolute tip of the arrow made by a fleet of vessels
placed to protect the ship that followed in their smoking wake. The clanship
was battered and damaged too but far better off than its escorts. Isis watched in abject horror as fire quickly and
instantly gutted one ship directly next to them. She felt the vibrations from
the explosion and then realised she should not have.
                        “Where are our shields?”
she asked herself.
            Struggling to her feet she could
plainly see on the monitors what Ali’shir was choosing to ignore. The ship was
being taxed too hard. It was haemorrhaging energy from every possible outlet
and it was only aggravated by Ali’shir’s unrelenting
use of the cannons, thrusters and shields. As leader of the formation, he was
supposed to keep a speed everyone could maintain but instead he barrelled
headlong into danger, leaving the other slower and antiquated ships in his dust
and draining the shield of protection. His reckless charge was driving his ship
head first into danger, making them easy marks. Once the energy was depleted,
they would be dead in the air, sitting targets for any pirate worth his salt to
easily pick off.
                        “We should fall back in
formation and hug closer to the ship.” She suggested, trying to appear calm.
            Ali’shir growled irritably. It
angered him that even she could see he was out of practice. He tapped at the
translator around his neck,
                        “I know what this ship
is capable of.”
            With his attention drawn away, he
narrowly avoided another shell. It exploded near them and Isis
had to stop herself from reaching for the controls to steer them away.
Fortunately he turned in time and sailed around the mess.
            Isis
let out a breath she did not know she was holding, “Perhaps things have changed
since the last time you flew it.” She said.
                        “Again you show how
ignorant you are to our technology.”
                        “So you don’t hear all these alarms?”
            He looked at his sides and the truth
in her sarcasm dawned on him. All the
bridge’s devices were flashing their warnings and sounding off. The deafening
chorus drowned out everything around them which was why they were screaming at
one another.
                        “The ship will hold.”
                        “Can you at least slow
down? Give the others a chance to kill some? Give a little time for the core to
recharge?”
            He turned and looked at her then,
unsure if he heard her correctly. Isis bit her
lip and cursed inwardly. She was an ornament, a pet,
she was not supposed to know about the inner workings of their ships.
                        “A’rah said that once,”
she offered in explanation, hoping to halt his train of thought. It worked and he
turned back to centre, focusing on piloting again.
                        “There is no time, human.
Find somewhere to sit and shut up.”
            She sat in the seat next to him,
tightening the restraints around her. “There would be plenty of time if you’d
rejoin the formation.”
                        “…and shut up.” He roared.
            Isis
pursed her lips and thought a moment. Whatever his bond was with A’rah it was
tight. The mere mention of her name made him so snippy and rude so she dare not
to say it often, but she was glad it slipped out now. Watching him become more
intense and fire needlessly at an already destroyed pirate ship, she figured
she was the reason why he was so reckless. He wanted to join the fallen Arbitrator.
                        “Are you trying to kill
us?” she asked, fearsome of his answer.
            After a long moment of silence,
Ali’shir spoke with unsettling calm, “Death in battle is honourable human. Do
not fear it.”
            Ali’shir slammed his foot onto the
accelerator and an overwhelming chill twisted her flesh. He did want to die.
            Isis
whipped off her restraints and ran back to the hull. Snapping up her bag she
darted through the halls until she found the hatch for the engine room.
Flipping the door back, the narrow chasm spit smoke and sparks at her face. The
wires and broken pieces of machinery clanged and swayed as another explosion
rocked the ship. She wanted to leap right in but her mind warred with her
instinct.
            Once
I’m in, I’m in.
            The stranger would know she wasn’t
the absent minded pet A’rah tried to pass her off as. From that moment on, it
would not be too far a stretch to think the Arbitrator had broken yet more laws
and perhaps taught her more than just how to fix the ship. In their all but
brief conversations, she learned that the idea of A’rah being a lawbreaker was
something he simply could not stand. But he would be forced to.
            Another explosion rocked the ship
and this time it was terrible enough to make the warrior roar. He was going to
run them into the ground and then there would be no need for pretending because
they would both be dead. Covering her eyes with her arm, Isis
slid a curvy leg down onto the first step, venturing down the breaking
staircase.
            Seated at the ship’s helm Ali’shir
rubbed his brow with the back of his hand and stilled when it came back wet.
Watching his blood glisten in his palm, he felt his buried rage claw its way to
the surface. Gripping the controls he blasted at the first thing that came into
his view cracking it in two neat halves. He roared triumphantly, the anger over
his bruised head all but disappeared as he scanned the landscape anxiously for
his next kill.
            He forgot how good battle felt and
how good he was at it but in that instant it all came back to him. In one big
rush his body suddenly felt alive again. He was in tune with the machine and
despite what the human thought it was attuned to his demands. Looking at the
monitor he could see they were almost free leaving seventy percent of the unregulated
territory in their wake, but he could also see the pirates had joined and
created a barrier ahead. Clicking over communication with remaining ships in
the fleet he warned them of the danger.
                        “Eight of us remain.
Slow down and allow us to make a tighter formation. We’ll all stand a better
chance that way,” their leader said.        Ali’shir
refused, “They are tightening formation as we speak. I will go forward and do
as much damage as I can. You must take the lead.”
                        “That is suicide. Your
ship is damaged, I doubt you have enough energy to
make it at the speeds yo-”
            Ali’shir terminated the
communication. A straggler to the pirate formation quickly turned at seeing
him. The guns snapped in his direction but Ali’shir evaded quickly, racing
straight up until the ship shook violently. Too violently.
As if the machinery itself was heaving. Tapping the systems screen, he growled
at the information there. Energy levels were dangerously low, in fact
everything was low. He had no energy, no shields and no more acceleration but
the Scorn pirate was still hot on his tail. He roared at the ship to keep going
but it stalled, silencing all its laboured and grinding sounds. With a silent
click, the lights flickered and suddenly he was draped in dark.
            In the eerie silence, he could hear
the pirate ship screaming in the distance towards him. Sitting back in his
chair, he recognised what would be his final moments with composed dignity.
There would be no one to mourn him now that A’rah was gone, not his sons or his
mate, so it was just as well he die like this. Flipping open his arm computer,
he punched in the self destruct sequence and waited. Ali’shir closed his eyes,
bracing himself for death, hoping the bomb was timed
right to take the pirate with him when another soft click drew his attention.
            The auxiliary lights flickered on.
            Power was back and the ship was
alive and seemingly better than ever. Aborting the destruct sequence Ali’shir
readied himself at the controls again. The engines
rumbled his seat and the ship screamed as the quick thinking warrior turned it
in a full loop, blowing the Scorn ship to bits as he doubled back behind it.
Sailing away from the charred mess, he checked the systems screen and was
surprised by what he found. All the remaining resources had been pooled to the
cockpit and engines. While his lights were completely out and the air ceased to
circulate, the shields were fully up again and the ship moved again.
            The fact his lights were gone
actually worked to his advantage as he raced toward the tightening formation.
None of the ships recognised him until it was too late. Effectively caged, the
rag tag barricade was fired upon by both sides and obliterated. Ali’shir
returned to formation as the mother ship sailed majestically through the field of
debris, parting the smouldering bits with its sweeping curves.
            The serene moment of calm
overwhelmed him then. He felt he had been witness to a miracle of some sort.
Even from beyond, A’rah tried to protect him. Muttering his thanks, he started
to move away from the controls when the communicator beeped for his attention
again. Groaning, he pressed the button. Cheering roars could be heard over the
crackle of the transmission. Ali’shir was surprised when the ship’s elder Zi’dan, introduced himself and lauded him for his efforts.
            The elder was all too eager to have
the warrior join him in the celebration festivities as a guest of honour but
Ali’shir refused. He was not up to hearing about how sorry they were to hear of
the Arbitrator’s passing and how thankful they were he managed to claw his way
out of depression to come to their aid. Besides, he would probably have the
human to deal with. He hadn’t heard her nagging in a long while and thought she
may have found herself under something heavy.
            If
only, he chuckled to himself.
            Terminating communication, Ali’shir
set the ship in cruise and started to move. He walked through the devastated
bridge, overturning battered machines in search of the woman. While everything
still smoked, the alarms were silent now, all save one that blinked quietly on
the engine status console.

            Isis
opened her eyes and twisted in the pile of rubble. Sitting up hurt her sides
but she managed. Pushing the downed steel off her, she stumbled on bruised legs
to peer up into the open hatch high above her. In all the commotion the
staircase was knocked free and looking around her, she realised her only way
out was to hoist herself up. Jumping from the highest pile of remains, she
leapt for the edges of the open entrance. Her legs swung uselessly as she
caught hold, scratching her nails against metal. She gasped as a hand grabbed
hold of her. The stranger curled his giant arm and hurled her up the curtain of
smoke, setting her gingerly on her feet before screaming at her.
                        “What…do-in!”
            She scrunched her nose. Was she
supposed to understand that? “What the hell are you saying?”
            Ali’shir tried again but it came out
a sputtered mess still. Angrily he flicked the device in his neck,
he could barely understand her as well. In the mêlée, when a piece of the
bridge hit him, the translator had been damaged. Unconcerned, he ripped it from
his throat, confident he could do with out. He had been practicing on and off
since he acquired her, anticipating a moment just like this.
                        “Why you there?” he
barked pointing to the pit.
                        “I fell in?” she winced.
                        “Lie!”
            Why did that have to be one of the
words he knew? With a sigh, Isis crossed her
arms and confessed it was she who rerouted all the energy in the ship. Ali’shir
paced angrily at that, his pride somewhat bent. He had won that fight because
she, a kept oddity, had fixed the ship in time? And to think he actually
thought he had the protection of the Arbitrator.
                        “Not your place!” he
raged.
                        “It’s not your place to
decide whether or not I should die!” she countered. “If you don’t like your
life, that is your problem but I shouldn’t have to suffer because you have
issues.”
                        “Do not understand Yautja.” Her sighed with
aggravation.
                        “I understand enough.
Suicide is not honourable.”
                        “Death
in battle honour.”
                        “Not when you intentionally
set yourself up to die you ass!”
            Ass? Ali’shir was struggling with
the conversation until that point. He knew that word well. She had just
insulted him. “Stupid undisciplined bitch you know nothing. My people were
charting new galaxies when yours were just learning to use their thumbs.” He
rattled in his native tongue.
                        “I know you did not just say that,” she said,
wagging her finger.
                        “I did.” He challenged
her, his chin in the air.
                        “If it wasn’t for this
‘stupid undisciplined bitch’, we’d all be scattered in that territory. Me and
my thumbs saved your raggedy ass, you ass,”
she shouted.
            Hearing that word again gave
Ali’shir an unsettling moment of clarity. “You understand what I said,” he said
to himself.
            Isis
rolled her eyes, Aww shit…
                        “…And you can speak it as well?”
            She didn’t respond but she didn’t
need to. He knew the answer to that too. She had called him an ‘ass’ twice. Once in her
language and once in Yautja. Replaying their
conversation in his head he realised that she not only spoke Yautja but the language of the elders. Something
that had to be taught by one who already knew it…someone like A’rah.
            Slowly he backed away from her in
total disbelief. If A’rah could break such a fundamental law like teaching a
foreigner the most sacred language, she could have done all the other things
they accused her of, including having an affair with a mated male. She was a law breaker, a badblood
and disgrace.
            Isis
watched him go and then kicked the hatch shut. Tossing her kit against the wall
and falling to the floor she again cursed her hot temper for putting her on the
spot. She was more than at his mercy now. The male’s reaction told her he
understood everything and was not pleased. Lying down on the floor, she closed
her eyes listening to him roar and rage as he cleaned the hull. Her body itched
to do something, run, scream, join him in fighting but now all that was left
for her to do was wait. Wait for the moment when he offered her for execution
or she was given an opportunity to escape.
            Which
ever comes first…

A/N:
Thanks to MuseofScrolls
for betain’ this and thanks to everybody who left a
comment (LovyDovy,
Ar’shiya, chancelor22, Redorange, Jennie, Sagikamikazi,
aquamum, blucatdevil, LadyPred and Talene) I really
appreciate the reassurance while I make these necessary changes! A thousand
apologies to Chance, hopefully I will be able to crank the next few chapters
out in a more timely fashion, lol.
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A Union of Convenience (Formerly ‘Alone’)