Displaced

Displaced

	It is cold. Why is it so cold. Where am I? I can't see. Something is holding me down. I'm laying in something. Oh god, am I in a coffin? Am I dead? Do people think I am dead? I push against the barrier before me. If I am in a coffin, I might be buried under feet of dirt, sealed inside a second box of metal. I might be trapped. But I have to try to escape, while I still have air and energy. I feel panick setting into my chest and I am having trouble controlling myself. It's so cold I'm shaking uncontrollably.
	The door doesn't have any give. I bang and I scream and I pray that maybe someone can hear me, somehow. I'm only just starting to wonder how I came to be in this situation when I hear a voice. It's muffled, but nearby. Too close for me to be buried six feet under. I can't make it out, but it's calm, declarative in tone. I'm too spun up into my own panic to be as confused as the situation warrents, and I bang on the lid again.
	To my surprise, it opens. There's a hiss of air, and warmth immediately creeps in, along with the tail end of a phrase.
	"...genic restoration complete. Please check in with your nearest engineer."
	I try to push the lid the rest of the way open, but it is heavier than I expected. I use both hands and push with effort, and it swings open. To my surprise, I, too, am heavier than I expected. I sit up slowly with far more effort than sitting up should take. I've never been athletic, but I feel like I'm carrying an extra fifty pounds just sitting up.
	The coffin I am in is not really a coffin. It's sitting at roughly a 45 degree angle in a metal room full of metal boxes. There was light pouring in from a crack where some sort of ramp to the outside had been lowered a couple of feet. Everything looked like it had been tossed about, as though the entire room had been picked up and shaken like a snowglobe.
	I climbed out of the metal box I had been in and promptly crashed to the ground. My jeans provided little protection as my knees slammed into the metal floor harder than I expected, and I bit my lower lip, swallowing a yelp of pain. I was sweating, in part due to nerves but also because now that I'd been exposed to the open air for a minute I realized it was swelteringly hot and I was dressed for fall semester. I sat with my back against my former one person cell and pulled my Ohio State hoodie off, using it to wipe my brow before struggling to my feet and tying it around my waist.
	Everything felt heavy. Everything took way more effort than it should have.
	I made my way toward the ramp. It looked like I was in some sort of shipping truck or something, but the areae I was in was far too wide to be the back of an 18-wheeler. Outside all I could see was sand. Had I been kidnapped?
	I stood still, listening to my surroundings. I didn't hear any movement, any voices, or much anything else but a strong breeze outside. I looked around in the shipping container I was in, and spied what remained of a set of metal stairs leading up to a door. An impact from a metal crate had nearly ripped the stairs from the wall, but they hung on and still looked stable enough to climb.
	I made my way up the stairs. They creaked and groaned under my weight, which was more confusing than unnerving. If they gave way I'd only be falling a couple of feet, but I didn't weigh nearly enough to strain these stairs, even in their current state. Could it be that I didn't just *feel* weighed down?
	I got to the door. There wasn't any sort of door knob, but there was a control panel of some sort. I touched it, only to quickly pull back my hand as sparks flew from it. As it did, the door slid ajar slightly. I pulled it further open, and, though heavy, it slid with ease, like it was on ball bearings.
	I had to catch myself on the doorway as I stepped back from what I saw and nearly fell down the stairs behind me. My brain strained to process everything it was seeing. I had only been awake for a few minutes but already everything felt like simply too much happening all at once. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I fought not to gag at the heat, the humidity, the stench, and the faint taste of copper. I was in a strange situation, and self-reliance might very well be the key to my survival.
	I opened my eyes again and dry heaved. I apparently hadn't eaten recently, because if I had it would have been on the floor.
	First observation: There was a dead body. Very dead. Lots of blood. The room stank of sewage and blood. A man sat in a drivers seat. No, more like a cockpit. His head had clearly struck the panel in front of him quite hard, as it had been embedded several inches into his skull. There were straps on his seat, but he had for some reason not seen fit to strap himself into them.
	Second overservation: The panel of buttons, switches, and readouts in front of him were not of any vehicle I was familiar with. The windshield of the vehicle was buried into the sand, and though it had cracked, sand did not seem to be leaking in. There were doors to my left and right that seemed to be similarly ajar to the door I just stepped through.
	Third observation: ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
	My ability to hold it together had passed it's limit. I wandered through the door to my left, forward momentum being the best I could muster at this point. I could either move forward or stop where I stood and have a breakdown there. I pushed the sliding door open. Supplies. Lots of canned food, bottled water, and what looked to be some sort of military rations. I turned around and went through the last remaining door, trying not to think about the fact that I was just casually walking by a dead body. It was a bedroom, spartan, with a toilet and shower not even seperated by a wall or a door. It looked almost like a prison cell, though the bed looked far more like something someone would willingly sleep in.
	Everything was heavy. I was sore. I was tired. I had run through my adrenal fight-or-flight response and, though I'd manage to hold myself together, it still was an exausting sort of panic that now gave way to simple exhaustion. Despite the fact that I hadn't been awake for more than half an hour, I felt like I had just pulled an all nighter.
	I don't think my head hit the pillow before I fell asleep.
———
	Maezra would describe herself as a proud Borealan, and a proud Elysian. Her people were a strong people, raised under the harsh realities of life on Borealis. The only reason she tolerated the "socialization" training on the Pinwheel station was so that she could be afforded the opportunity, along with the rest of her pack, to prove time and time again that Borealans were there for the human's benefit, not the other way around. They were better fighters, better warriors, more rational thinkers, physically dominant, and generally superior to humans, and she wasn't afraid to let those she worked with know it.
	And even she was baffled when she heard that the Borealan fleet had downed a human vessel.
	Maezra tried her best to hide her surprise as her commanding officer, Commander Halloway, briefed her from behind his ostentatiously large desk..
	"It's a complicated and delicate situation. To be frank, it is the exact sort of situation I would normally keep a shock troop like you systems away from, but right now we are strapped for options and short on time. We do not know how badly damaged the smuggler's ship is, but if he's able to make repairs I don't know that the Borealan fleet will catch him twice." He sat at his desk not making eye contact, focusing on the documents in front of him. Maezra had always gotten along better with Halloway than most of her human superiors. She noticed that, though Halloway was her commanding officer, he took consious steps to defer to the Borealans he commanded in tone and posture. He knew his place, and Mezra appreciated that.
	"Why don't you just ask the Borealans in the area to do the pickup. It's just one man, even if he's armed I'd put my money on any given Borealan against a human. Even if he had an XLR he'd also be having to deal with Borealan gravity. Any local he managed to kill would deserve it." Maezra didn't like the sound of this assignment. Her pack was off on assignment. She'd been injured during their last assignment bad enough that, even with her Borealan capacity for healing she was ordered a week's medical leave while her pack continued onto their next patrol.
	She wouldn't be cleared for active duty for another twelve hours, and though her arm, which had been burned to the bone and nearly amputated by a Beatelguisian plasma weapon, was healed now, it still felt stiff. She had only just started really working it in the gym and she felt off balance, like she'd skipped working out that arm for a month. She wanted more time to get back into fighting shape. She REALLY wanted to be reunited with her pack.
	She was not their alpha, but she was nipping on her alpha's heels. She could feel how this time away would affect her standing in the pack.
	"Like I said, Maezra, it's a complicated situation. The ship didn't go down in Elysian territory, and the regent of the nearest population center planetside is not being as forthcomingly helpful as your Lord Patriarch." He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. Usually part of the reason they worked well together is he didn't often tell Maezra and her pack to do anything they didn't already want to do. They liked fighting. It was what they did. That was not what he was asking here. "The local regent, Terka isn't going to be openly defiant, but he's saying that he doesn't have the resources to go search for a downed ship. There's been tensions between him and the Patriarch, so the Patriarch, instead of starting a battle just to march in his men to find this ship, is giving us permission to handle it ourselves. Regent Terka doesn't seem to want to escalate, and has communicated to the Patriarch that he is willing to entertain 'UNN guests on official business.'"
	"Sounds like a job for a diplomat, not a warrior." Maezra was only passingly familiar with Regen Terka and his people. Their region sported a greater than average amount of fauna, which meant that hunting was something everyone did in their area. Hunters from Elysia were a respected but reclusive sort, spending long stretches of time away from civilization. Maezra could only imagine what a whole village full of that sort would be like.
	"Yeah, well," Holloway breathed a tired sigh, "We unfortunately don't have a diplomat handy, let alone a diplomat prepared for a suited to working with Borealans who, for the most part, will never have had contact with a human. Further, if we send you, we hope it will be seen as less invasive and avoid any cross-cultural misunderstandings. You'll have a support ship in orbit. All you have to do is shuttle down to the planet, secure the smuggler, secure the ship, and send your support the coordinates."
	"A task so simple a kitten could do it." Maezra all but scoffed.
	"Think of it as paid away leave. You don't do well cooped up on the station, doubly so without your pack. You don't want to be here right now, but we don't have the resources to send you to join your pack right now, and this is something we really need done." Maezra started to object again but Holloway cut her off. "You have your orders. This is a briefing, not a discussion. You are to report in thirteen hours to the docking bay. Your ride will be waiting."
	Maezra slammed her hands down on his desk, bearing down over him. She knew how much this could get her in trouble but at the moment having this soft spoken ape speak down to her simply because other humans called him "Commander" was frustrating her beyond reason, and at the moment there was no one else around to support his paper authority.
	She could show him what real authority was. It'd only take her a few minutes. Longer, if he was lucky.
	She began to spoke, but was interrupted by a very familiar noise. It was a high pitched, rising electric whine, like the one she associated with her powering up the railgun function of her XLR, but higher pitched. She also realized that one of the commander's hand were under his desk.
	She wondered for how long he'd had his sidearm pointed at her. Right now, with the way she was postured, the pistol's barrel would likely be less than two inches from her midsection, with only a thin layer of polymer between it and her. She was fast, but she would still have to reach him over his desk faster than he pulled the trigger.
	"Just go before this debriefing turns into paperwork. It would be real unfortunate if you pack came back to you back in medical awaiting court marshal." Holloway was staring Maezra down now. He was scared. She could smell it. But he was dangerous in the way only cornered prey could be. Maezra stood up straight, scowling at the commander.
	"Sir." She practically spat at him. She could see the relief play across his features, and he closed his eyes as he sighed.
	It was just the opening she needed.
	She had to carefully gauge the force with which she kicked the desk. Too much force and she could have easilly killed Holloway. His spine would shatter with far less force than the desk, the metal frame of which gave it just enough heft to be dangerous if one applied enough force to send it moving.
	The desk was sent sliding across the floor, carrying Holloway in his rolling office chair with it. It slammed him against the wall, winding him. He raised his pistol at Maezra, but she was ready for him, grabbing him by the wrist and squeezing until he dropped the gun.
	Maezra picked the gun up with her tail and inspected it, ejecting the rail ammo magazine and plasma canister before with her free hand before tossing the gun across the room. Holloway didn't so much as struggle while Maezra discarded his weapon. To her amusement, he did nothing but look down and try to hide his blush.
	Maezra has suspected that he wanted this for some time. Holloway was soft spoken and quick to acquiese(sp?) to authority. It likely took everything in his power to keep her pack reigned in. But he couldn't hide his gaze, his scent, or any of the other dozen minor tells. When her pack pushed him, he desperately wanted to relent, to submit. His job required him to stay in control. That's why he'd never tried a stunt like this before.
	But now it wasn't the pack. Maezra's alpha was nowhere to be seen. Holloway's eyes were fixed on the ground. Maezra had half a mind to deny him what he so clearly wanted just to spite him, but she was too riled up at this point and, if she was being honestwith herself, it had been some time since she'd had someone she didn't have to share with the pack. This would be a treat just for her.
	"You are lucky I'm in a good mood, Holloway." Maezra pulled the desk back into place, dragging Holloway behind her like a poorly cared for doll. "I'll tell you what. I'll *consider* this away mission." She walked over to the chair and laid her free hand on it. "While I do..." she slung Holloway at the desk. He landed with a thud and a roll, ending up under the desk where one would normally pull the chair up to.
	The impact clearly stunned him, as he vocalized a grunt of pain, the first thing he'd said since he'd been disarmed. He took a moment to shake the pain away and focus his eyes, and he gasped.
	Maezra had discarded her skin-tight uniform leggings and was sitting in his chair, nude from the waist down. She sat with her legs slightly parted, and a clear trickle of moisture was already creating a damp stain in the fabric of the office chair.
	"...you can make your case for why I should consider doing this paltry task." She rolled the chair up to the desk. She had to let the chair down in height to as low as it would go for her legs to fit under the desk, which was large for a human but not designed with a borealan in mind. Holloway could only look up in awe as, as she scooted forward, her legs parted and straightend, one coming to rest over each of his shoulders. She didn't put the full wait of them on his shoulders. It wasn't her intention to drive him to the floor. No, it was her intent to drive him elsewhere. She bent her knees as her knees reached her shoulders, and he felt the claws on her feet press firmly into his back through is shirt, not hard enough to pierce, but with a clear goal of driving him forward.
	He looked up at her. She gazed down at him with a salacious glare. It wasn't even the look of a predator on a hunt. It was a self-satisfied look of a hunter after an easy catch. She slowly rolled forward, which had the dual effects of bringing her body flush to the desk, which cut most light from reaching under the desk, and bringing her crotch centimeters from Holloway's face. "You know what to do. If you do well, I may keep this from the rest of my pack. She rolled her hips forward, bumping her sex, which was now sopping with anticipation, against his lips.
	He said not a word. The only noise that came from under the desk was the obscene, soft but wet noises of Holloway servicing Maezra. She had to pause for a moment when he first started to settle herself and keep her composure. Humans and their smooth tongues never ceased to amaze and entertain her. Fortunately, in this position, Holloway couldn't see her expression.
	She picked up the files on her mission and looked over them. She mused to herself that there may actually be some value in doing this. She had never been on a mission alone, never been given the opportunity to excel in the eyes of her superiors. This mission was clearly important, based on what she was reading. Maezra had been worried about losing standing in her pack with her having to stay back and heal while her pack went on patrol. How much better would it look if, when reunited, she was fresh of a solo special operation? Yes, this could work out great.
	A growl escaped her throat. Her tail shot under the desk and wrapped around Holloway's hand, of which two fingers had slid into her and were probing for weakness. It felt good, but she didn't want Holloway taking such initiative. She pulled his hand away.
	"No hands, human. Only mouth." She slid her left hand under the desk and behind his head, running the tips of her claws over his scalp, just gentle enough to not draw blood. She gripped the back of his head and pulled him forward, pressing him roughly into her. He sputtered at first, not expecting his airways to be cut off so suddenly. She didn't care. He could breath when he was done.
	He quickly seemed to get the idea, his mouth and tongue working at her. What he lacked in skill he made up for in ferver, and she bridged the gap by forcing the matter on her end. She was rolling her hips at this point, grinding against him like his face was little more than a sex toy. Her fluids smeared over his face, from chin to forehead as her movements became more erratic. Finally, as she began to feel the mounting pressure in her loins crescendo, she thrust her clit into his mouth, trying to get as much of his human tongue into contact with it as possible. He sucked on the pinky-sized nub of flesh and it drove her over the edge. The her fluids gushed forth, covering Holloway's chin and splashing down onto his shirt.
	There was a wet sucking sound as Maezra pulled away from Holloway, followed by Holloway's desperate gasping. She looked down at him. Several strands of his saliva mixed with her emissions still bridged the gap between the two of them. His face was read and he had begun tearing up at some point, probably while he couldn't breath.
	Maezra noticed his phone on the desk. She picked it up and took a picture of him. He blinked confusedly as the flash nearly blinded him after spending the last few minutes in the relative dark under the desk.
	Maezra looked at the resulting picture. "It's a good look for you. I think I'll consider having you in this position more often." She backed up further, standing and walking over to her discarded clothes. "Normally I'd have you a half-dozen more times to ensure that you understood your position, but I have a flight to catch, and you will be here when I get back." It wasn't a question, it was a thinly veiled order. "You be sure to have your schedule cleared when I do. You are going to be busy."
	Maezra tugged up her leggins and made for the door, a satisfied sway in her hips. Holloway clambered out from under the desk. Maezra had nothing to worry about. Holloway wouldn't tell. He hadn't said as much, but his body was sending signals. He was clearly desperate for more. She didn't know how he had risen so far in the ranks. It was a clear sign of the disfunction of human hierarchies. He was, even moreso than most humans, meant to submit to his betters.
	She left without another word, leaving Holloway alone, shaking, horny, and wondering how he was going to find a clean change of clothes.
———
	I woke with a start. Though I had been exhausted, sleep had not been peaceful. I did not wake thinking it was all a dream. I was not in my bed. I was not at home. It was swelteringly hot, everything was abnormally heavy, and when I left the room there would be a dead body waiting to greet me that I would eventually need to do something about.
	If there was any part of me clinging to the delusion that it had been a dream, it would have been dispelled the moment I sat up. I had wondered, as I laid there, if maybe I just thought I felt heavier because I was tired and in a panic, but no, I was certain that I felt heavier, significantly heavier. I tried to think of a rational explanation as a readied myself to stand up out of bed, but I couldn't come up with anything that was absolute science fiction, and I wasn't quite sure I was ready to accept anything that outlandish yet.
	I slung myself out of bed and onto my feet. My legs screamed like it was the day after leg day at the gym. I stripped unceremoniously from my clothes and made my way over to the shower in the corner of the room. The bathroom/bedroom combo felt odd. It was clearly designed without privacy in mind, but this vehicle was also clearly designed to be operated by one person, like some sort of RV crossed with a shipping truck. I was thankful when I turned the knob and water ran. It was luke warm, but I was just glad to wash the sweat off. It was still cloyingly hot, and the middling temperature of the water was refreshing by comparison. There was some sort of generic brand liquid soap and shampoo on shelves in the shower corner which I availed myself of, figuring they belonged to the dead body outside, who, now that I thought about it, was probably also my kidnapper.
	There were no razors about with which to shave, so I opted to skip it for now. I dug through some storage containers under the bed that, though mostly full of coveralls that were way too big for me, also contained some towels. I dried off, put my clothes back on, and walked out into the... I guess cockpit? Into the cockpit and past the dead body into the pantry, drying my hair and trying to not look at the corpse. I grabbed a can opener, and an armload of cans, military rations, and bottles of water before going back to the bedroom.
	I knew at some point I'd need to do something more than address immediate biological needs and comforts, but right now I wanted food in me before I considered further ramifications of my situation. I started by opening one of the MREs. Inside I found way more than food. There was toilet paper, toothpaste, even matches and a chemical heating packet for warming the food. I made quick work of the spaghetti and green beans in the MRE and added the flavored drink mix to one of my water bottles, turning it the yellow of faux lemonade, before downing the whole bottle in one go.
	I laid back onto the bed and stared at the off white, tilted ceiling of the room I was in. I knew I needed to take inventory of the situation I was in. I knew I needed a plan of action. I knew something very wrong and very weird had happened, and, in the back of my mind, I had begun to suspect some things that my forebrain was not yet willing to take into active consideration because, on some level, I was still desperately grasping at the idea that everything that had occured in the last 24 hours or so had a perfectly rational explanation and someone was going to come by any minute and explain how this was all a big joke or something and apologize for letting things get out of hand.
	It would be much easier for me to fool myself into this comforting mindset if it wasn't for the dead body outside. I hadn't touched the body, let alone done anything to verify that it was, in fact, a human body and that it was, in fact, dead. I saw little point in it. If it turned out to be fake, it wouldn't help explain what was going on. If the guy had been injured, I'm not sure I could have helped him. Also, if he was still alive, it wouldn't change the fact that he is most likely responsible for my kidnapping to some degree.
	To say nothing of the fact that if I checked, and it was indeed a dead body, it would be all the more difficult for me to pretend that this wasn't real. I had gotten through most of my undergrate program despite my tendency to procrastinate. No reason I shouldn't be able to see my way through this situation at the same pace. I was stuck, but I was well supplied, and the stink from the body had begun to die down. I still didn't have an explanation for how weighted down I felt but it made the prospect of going out and exploring my surroundings all the less appealing. I just needed to hold out until someone found me.
	A noise. My blood ran cold. A growl, distant but loud, rang out. From the sound of it, there was a large cat outside somewhere. I hadn't gotten a good look at my surroundings, so I wasn't sure if there were mountains or anything nearby. Presumably a cougar or a bobcat, maybe. Did they even live in deserts? I was an English major, not a Zoology major. I hadn't even been camping since I was 12.
	More roars, and other noises. There was more than one. From the sound of things, they may be fighting. I could make out intermittent hissing. I hoped that maybe they would have their scuffle and move on, but I wasn't going to bank on it. I inspected the door, but found no lock. Made sense, if there was only one person around there would be no need for privacy and a lock would only introduce the possibility of locking yourself out. It made total sense but was highly inconvenient for my situation. In all likelyhood wild animals wouldn't be able to get the door open, with it having to be slid to the side, but this also meant that she couldn't brace anything against it to keep it closed.
	A new sound. Something was forcing the door that seperated the cockpit from the cargo area open even wider than I had when I first came through. How had they gotten so close without me hearing them? I sat up, catching sight of the door through the small window in the bedroom door.
	*Something* stepped through. I had to very quickly reevaluate the parameters for what I considered possible, likely, and crazy.
	This was an alien planet. I was in a spaceship. I had been considering these possibilities since I had woken up, but I didn't want to take them seriously because, honestly, space kidnapping sounded like something that would get me labled delusional and I like to consider myself rational and cool-headed.
	Right now, I couldn't bring myself to logic around what I was seeing. All I could think as the eight foot tall cat people stepped into the cockpit was "Oh no, there are aliens," and "Oh no, they are hot."
	They were huge, dressed sparsely, and each and every one of them looked like they hadn't missed a day at the gym in their lives. They were humanoid, but from the elbows to the hands, or paws, I guess, they were furred, and their paws were tipped with wicked black claws. Their legs were similar, human until the knee, where they became furred and digitigrade. Their faces looked mostly human, save for a feline upturn to their noses and conspicuous ears atop their heads, peering out from human heads of hair. Their clothes were fairly minimal, loinclothes and loose tops that left little to the imagination, revealing tapestries of scars that crisscrossed their bodies. They were carrying rifles the size of small cannons, some in hand, others strapped to their backs.
	One looked my way. and I dove out of the bed. The storage container under the bed left little room for me to hide but I squeezed in the best I could and pulled the blanket on the bed so that it hung off the bed and concealed my position. It was a desperate ploy. I heard the door to the bedroom open. I held my breath and closed my eyes.
———
	Ahzlei's day had not been going terribly well. Her village's population was all out of sorts after a spaceship crashlanded a ways out from the village. She already had her village's best hunters out hunting for food, so the next best option was to send her pack, including her personal guard, to go investigate. She had anticipated that she would need to stay behind lest those in her village eyeing her position of authority might try to plan a coup.
	She also knew that staying behind wouldn't stop the attempts from happening, but it would be easier to answer them head on if she was around to do so. Having her pack gone brought out the spine in those who would seek to topple her. Her pack had only been gone about 8 hours.
	At this time of day she'd normally be enjoying dinner with her pack. Instead she was occupied with fucking into submission the day's third would-be usurper.
	She had scarcely finished cleaning the blood off her claws from the last one when this young welp had attempted to accost her by sneaking in the back. She was unsure if he had picked the lock, lifted the key from one of her pack members. No one in her pack would have let him in willingly without her express permission.
	She almost felt bad for him. He was young and probably put up to the task by his alpha, likely someone more ambitious than himself but not dumb enough to make the attempt on their own. She wanted his alpha's name, but he was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about it, which seemed to verify her suspicions.
	Most in his position would be quick to name their alpha, as in doing so it would make apparent who he belonged to and who she might be offending by damaging him. He wasn't his own alpha, that much was clear. He was a nervous sort when cornered. The kind of Borealan that rarely climbs very high in a pack hierarchy, but cannot tolerate being at the bottom of the pecking order. Often ambitious beyond their reach, especially at his age, uncaring or unscrupulous alphas often scoop up these sorts for their pack and take advantage of their desperation to advance to use and abuse them.
	It was shitty behavior from a leader, and it was why she was going to get his alpha's name out of him, even if it killed him.
	She steadily grinding what would be his fourth orgasm out of him, pounding down on his length both steadily and mercilessly. She had taken him on the floor of her common room, right where he had tried to attack her. After dragging her last two assailants to her room her bed was a mess and she was frankly past formalities at this point.
	There was an ornate, plush rug underneath them that was rapidly being ruined by a concoction of their fluids and his blood, all of which was flowing enough to overcome the rug's ability to absorb them, forming a pool around them. She had torn his chest open pretty badly during their brief fight, but that was nothing compared to the tapestry of lacerations she had put all over his torso as she fucked him senseless. She had quite nearly flayed him clean of skin. He had to be in some major pain, but it didn't stop him from reaching his fourth climax as he cried out in a breathless, mewling moan.
	"That's cute," Ahzlei spoke between thrusts. Some males expected some mercy during their refractory periods, but Ahzlei had long before learned that most males wouldn't go soft on you if you didn't give them the opportunity. "I bet you'd like, ah, a rest, eh?"
	The intruder looked up at her with pleading eyes, wincing at each thrust. He was cut up, bruised, and overstimulated to the point of near delirium. Pain, pleasure, fear, excitement, and confusion were robbing him of upper brain functions at this point.
	Ahzlei leaned forward, pressing down against him, smearing her body with his blood. He winced, his breath hitching as his body screamed contradictory signals at him, the pleasurable warmth of her body against his and the burning ache of his wounds. He wasn't in poor shape, but she had fifty pounds and several inches on him, easy. He couldn't have pushed her away at this point if he tried, but he offered no struggle. She had pinned his arms above his head when she first pinned him to the ground, but now he held them there himself, obedient and submissive.
	Ahzlei brought her gaze down on him and he turned his head to the side, seemingly unable to meet her gaze and, simultaneously, exposing his neck in a show of submission. She was tempted to take the opportunity to give him the mark he was so clearly asking for, but there would be time for that later. She brought each of her hands, massive cat-like paws already soaked in his blood, up to his face, turning him to face her at cupping his cheeks, her claws gently pressing against his skin. He didn't resist her, but his eyes were still squeezed closed. It looked as though he were bracing himself for something.
"Look at me." Ahzlei demanded. She had stopped her thrusting, though he was still fully inside her. Her voice was no longer broken by her thrusts, but there was still a huskey, thirsty undercurrent to her voice.
	None of this, however, interfered with the tone of authority she carried when she spoke. His eyes shot open before he had a chance to really consider the words she had said. He wasn't someone making a choice. He was someone following the orders of his better.
	She could see fear in his eyes, fear and uncertainty. "What is your name?" She asked in a tone that was as much an order as a question, not angry, but with an authority precluded the possibility of being ignored.
	"H... Hrissem," he choked out. His voice was strained. He'd likely been straining not to vocalize since she started questioning him in the beginning.
	"Hrissam..." her claws raked higher, through Hrissam's hair, not quite enough to break skin, just enough to stimulate the scalp and send a shiver down the poor boy's spine. "You won't tell me your alpha's name. You won't tell me," she paused to consider him, her expression thoughtful but predatory, like she was deciding where to take him apart next, "because you're afraid."
	There was a pregnant pause. He couldn't hide much at this point from her. She had opened him up in every sense of the word.
	"You're more afraid of what your alpha is going to do to you than what I am doing to you right..." She pulled back and thrust down on him, causing his head to roll back and his eyes to squeeze shut again. She gripped his head in his hands more tightly, the tips of his claws drawing pinpricks of blood on his scalp as she pulled his head back to face her "now." She began riding him again, rolling her hips while she pinned his body to the floor and stared into his eyes. The gaze was immensely uncomfortable for him, she could tell, moreso than the fifth round of sex or any of his injuries.
	"You have come here on your alpha's orders. You came here to start a fight your alpha wouldn't start theirself." Ahzlei bit her lower lip. She was enjoying herself more than she had all day, but she needed to stay focused and make her point. She was forcing him to lock gaze with her, and it wouldn't do for her to get distracted and break gaze herself. It would read as weak. "And now, you have no confidence that they will come to your aid. You refuse to tell me who they are and let me take my issues with this harebrained plan out on them. That," she brought her face down so close that their foreheads were touching, "is pretty fucked."
	She punctuate her point with a particularly harsh thrust down on him. She could feel him wincing under her with each impact of their hips.
	"You're afraid what's going to happen when you go back to your pack, right?" She leaned forward even more, bringing her mouth to his ear. "But it doesn't have to happen like that. Your alpha should be someone you can rely on. Someone who protects as much as they lead." She bit on his ear, nibbling it between her teeth just hard enough to break the skin. She told herself in the moment it was to make sure that he was paying attention, but in reality she just wanted to make him squirm a bit. She moved herself to his other ear and whispered breathily. "I could be that alpha for you. You just have to accept, and I'll make sure no one from your old pack touches you."
	She leaned back, still grinding up and down his length and holding his face. His expression was shocked, but not in the cornered animal sort of way it had been before. He was seeing a possibility before him he hadn't realized was there.
	"Hrissam, you just have to tell me who sent you here, and I will make the problems go away." Ahzlei's pace was quickening, and not entirely voluntarily. She was approaching her own peak. The physical act was enjoyable enough as it was, but the act of dominating a subordinate of one of her rivals so hard as to make him abandon them for her was an aphrodisiac like no other.
	Hrissam paused for only a moment. "It... it was Harkur, my alpha." He didn't try to look away when he spoke. She had no doubt in her mind that he was telling the truth. His body was screaming that it wanted this. He wanted to give himself to her, both because of what she was and to escape what he thought was facing him.
	Ahzlei fell into him, leaning down and pulling him into a deep, salacious kiss. Her tongue flooded his mouth as she ran her claws down his face. She was careful to avoid his eyes, but left deep, symmetrical claw marks from his temples, across his cheeks, down to his chin. Scars were often a sign of shame or subordination, but marks to the face spoke far louder than any other.
	She broke the kiss, pulling back a bit before withdrawing her long tongue from his mouth, leaving him panting, bleeding, yet wanting. He did not look away, but tilted his head to the side, offering his neck, almost as tribute. Ahzlei took what was rightfully hers, sinking her teeth into him at about the collar bone, breaking skin and drawing blood.
	Of all the marks on his body, this and the scars on his face would speak the loudest. Hrissam was sent to topple her, and now she belonged to her. Those who might be sent against her in the future would see those scars on his face and think twice. Those who would do the sending would think twice about losing their pack members.
	Orgasm swept up into Ahzlei like a breaking dam's water sweeping over a once small creek. She arched her back, running her tongue up Hrissam's cheek, tasting the blood running down it. She gripped his member in her loins, squeezing one more climax from him as well. The floor below them was sopping with bodily fluids at this point, a lurid mix of deep red and milky opalescent white.
	Ahzlei stood, stretching. Hrissam, despite being the most submissive of her assailants that day, had been the hardest to break. He was loyal, and his now-former aplha had taken advantage of that. This also made him the one among her assailants worth keeping. She stepped over to a doorway to her personal chanbers and looked back at Hrissasm. He was sitting up, caked in blood and sexual fluids, and looking around, somewhat lost. "Hrissam do you plan to marinate in our mess all night?"
	"I... I should clean this up." Most of his wounds were already healing. Even the deeper wound to the gut she had given him before she realized how little of a threat he was had mostly closed at this point.
	That said, it would take the night for them to set up and scar properly, and she knew this. "You are in no condition to clean up yourself unattended, let alone that mess. Follow me." She motioned with her head for him to follow her.
	Being Matriarch had it's benefits, if you were willing to put in the work to hold the title, and one of those benefits was having the first personal dwelling in the village with indoor plumbing. Passing through her bedroom, she entered her personal bathroom, a miniature version of the bathhouse the rest of her villagers enjoyed. The bath was circular, set into a square wooden base that had enough room to sit on if you just wanted to soak your feet. Though the bath still needed to be heated by wood fire, she could have water pumped in at any time and enjoy the right to choose if and who she shared her baths with.
	She opened a compartment under the tub, and was pleased to see a member of her pack had done as instructed and prepared the wood and tinder for her earlier. She lit it with a set of flint and steel she kept in the bathroom for just this purpose. Once the fire was started, she closed the compartment, ensuring the smoke went out the chimney and not into the bathroom.
	She could hear Hrissam approach as she stood up, a strangely melodic combination of his clawed feet on the tile floor and the dripping of various bodily fluids onto the floor. The realization that he had probably left a trail through her personal chambers made her grimace in frustration, but he had been following her orders. It wouldn't do to punish him for that. There is no greater sign of a weak, foolish leader than when they punish their subordinates for following directions.
	Ahzlei took a breath before turning to face Hrissam. His gaze was on the floor, one arm across his torso holding the forearm opposite. He was shivering, naked, soiled, and defeated. He was the absolute image of submission.
	His now-former alpha had done him a great disservice putting him up to this. Even if he had somehow managed to topple her, he would not have been quickly toppled or, worse, been made a puppet by Harkur and, by extension, she suspected, Patriarch Elysiedde.
	Her life had become more difficult as the Patriarch of the Elysian territory had begun posturing himself as the one true leader of Borealis. Some in the village felt that her refusal to acknowledge him as leader and accept the title of Regent was foolhardy, but none would say as much to her face. She suspected at least some of these treasonous undercurrents were from villagers in the pocket of the Patriarch himself.
	Ahzlei tested the water to make sure it was sufficiently warm. It sometimes took a bit to reach an acceptable temperature. It would have been more efficient to have a smaller tub, but she wanted somewhere where she could enjoy the company of two or three of her subordinates when the mood struck her.
	She picked up a large wooden bowl sitting on a shelf set into the wall on the far side of the tub and filled it three quarters of the way with the warm bath water before walking over to Hrissam and extending it to him.
	"Here, rinse most of that off so you don't gunk up the water as soon as you sit down. I have had a long day and I intend to enjoy this bath." Hrissam took the bowl gingerly and began slowly pouring the water over himself, the blood and other fluids flowing off of him and into a drain set into the floor. He was still by no means clean, but the water wouldn't bloom red as soon as he sat down in it.
	While Hrissus rinsed himself, Ahzlei stepped into the tub. Wooden slats kept her skin from coming into contact with the hot ceramic that heated the pool. She sat down, facing away from the center of the tub. "That's good enough. Get in, and bring the bowl with you." Hrissus silently nodded, climbing into the tub gingerly. As he sat down, their combined bodies caused the water level to peak over the edge and slosh into the floor.
	Hrissus winced at the sound of the spilling, but Ahzlei just sighed. "That is by design. The floor in this room is designed like the floor in the bathhouse, so that water spilling gets drained away. Now, you are going to wash my back. If you do well, you may be rewarded for your service."
	"Y... yes, my Matriarch." He stammered.
	"You are a member of my pack now, Hrissus. You have the privilage of calling me Alpha."
	"Yes, my... my Alpha."
	She let herself relax as Hrissus took some soap from the shelves next to the bath and began to work it into his back. He was meager, but he was strong enough for his efforts to double as a much appreciated massage. She relaxed, letting the warmth work into her weary body and her mind wander.
	It would not be untrue to say that Elysia was the greatest military power on Borealis. Even before Patriarch Elysiedde began brokering with the Coalition, he commanded one of the wealthiest territories on the planet. Though Elysiedde often touted his naval force of spaceships as the spearhead of his nation's military power, the weapons, armor, and other technologies his trade with the Coalition had brought him were far more impactful on the geopolitical climate of the planet. He never once brought a space ship in to solve a territory dispute, and it was a common suspicion that the theoretical threat posed by those ships was much more daunting than the real possibility of them being brought to bear. Rumors of the ships' poor state of repair had been spreading for some time, and the running theory is that the Patriarch did not want to bring the ships into planetary conflict for fear that a poorly timed malfunction might embarass him.
	In the meantime, Ahzlei benefited from being just tough enough a nut to crack to not make her shows of defiance worth dealing with. If the Patriarch wanted to topple her, he had the military forces necessary, but it would be a costly move. It would tie up enough of his military to make him a possible target for one or more of his Regents to take advantage, and she knew of at least a couple that wouldn't hesitate. Worse, it would highlight to his human allies just how not in control of the situation he was in.
	It was easier to just leave her and her people be. She didn't take the title Regent, and she didn't answer when he called the Regents to gather at his palace, so he could functionally pretend she didn't exist.
	It cut her out of the trade of offworld tech that took place in Elysia, but she was slowly solving that problem, too. A handful of Borealans had managed to find themselves offworld and free of the Coalition, and had taken the bandit traditions they had developed planetside and begun applying them to the stars. Her people had a long history of cooperation with these roaming bandit tribes. It's easy to avoid being raided when you let them operate in your market. Now, a slow trickle of offworld tech, tools, and weapons were finding their way to her. The Patriarch may not realize it, but the longer time went on, the worse any idea of trying to depose her was becoming.
	She chuckled at that thought. She really didn't want to take Elysia from that manchild, but the day might come soon where she might ought to give him a black eye and remind him that Patriarch is not a title he has a monopoly on.
	She paused and sighed as Hrissus poured warm water down her back, rinsing the soap away. She put her hands on the edge of the tub and lifted herself up, sitting on the edge of the tub. Hrissus looked towards her, not making eye contact. Ahzlei brought a hind paw up under Hrissus's chin, raising his gaze to meet hers.
	"You've done quite well so far. Now, I have something else for you to clean." She lifted her other leg and put it over Hrissus's shoulder, taking the hind paw that was under his chin and hooking it behind his head, drawing his face closer as she parted her thighs and leaned back on her palms on the edge of the tub.
	Hrissus's gaze sank down to her loins, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. "And Hrissus..." Ahzlei chimed, just as Hrissus began to bring a hand up to her sex, now clearly dripping with something other than water. "No hands this time." A predatory smile spread across her face as she leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and pressed the heel of her hindpaw into the back of Hrissus's head, pressing his face into her with an audibly wet sound.
	Being Matriarch did have it's advantages.
—-
	It took Maezra far longer than she would have liked to track down the downed craft. Because of the number of ships the Patriarch had in orbit around the planet, it impossible to get an engine signature reading from where the ship crashed, like trying to follow footprints in a busy market. Worse, the captain of the ship that took down the smuggler had been to busy celebrating to make note of where exactly the ship went down, let alone have his ship's scanners track it so that he would have exact latitude and longitude. The best they could give her was the information in the briefing, which was that the ship had gone down in the Artikan territories.
	The Artika had a complicated history. According to the stories, in the olden days, they were one of the last tribes to leave the caves and come to the planet's surface. For ages, while other packs formed tribes and tribes became warring nations, the Artikans quietly existed in what looked from the outside to be the middle of a desert wasteland. It wasn't until the developement of atmospheric craft that their existence became known to the rest of the planet at large, and it wouldnt be until decades after that before it was discovered that the key to their survival, and the reason they had been so slow to leave their caves, was that their territory sported a network of underground waterways.
	In most of Borealis the water table is too low to make digging a well worth the effort, but for the Artikans it not only worked, but provided them with key advantages. Artikans never had to worry about bandits attacking while transporting water, as every village had a well hidden somewhere in town, if not, these days, a full-blown water pump. Secondly, though this was only rumor, there were those that believed the mineral rich spring water the Artikans subsisted on helped them grow stronger bones and sharper claws. It would go a long way to explain why the few attempts warlords had made in Borealis's history on Artika ended in devastating losses.
	Of course, part of that could also be explained by the fact that, though not a bandit territory in and of itself, Artika had a long standing friendly relationship with many of the bandit factions on Borealis. Artika's market looked like the market in any given fishing village at a glance, but it was a commonly held suspicion that if you knew who to talk to and what to say, you would find that Artika was home of Borealis's largest black market for stolen and, these days, illicit offworld goods.