31. AHANE

The Hunter’s ship was full of interesting items. Basic medical supplies, food rations, weapons. The blood-soaked emblem had gained him entrance. It had also set the ship’s computer to brick itself.

So there went that half-formed plan to scour it for a flight path back to the beacon field.

“He said there was a signature in my head,” Thalia said as they filtered through everything in the ship. “From Him.”

“77Ω are psys, like I said. They operate off a psychic signature.” Ahane pulled down a stack of blankets. The 77Ω had not been a stranger to staking out his prey.

“So like a scent. How a cat hunts.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yes. Like a cat.”

Why did him saying cat please her so much? It caused a little flicker of happiness to illuminate her otherwise steady face.

“You do not care about that Hunter,” he said finally.

She shrugged in a defeated way.

“If I had not killed him, he would never have broken off his hunt,” Ahane said. “He had a contract on you. I could not escalate. I had to strike quickly before he was able to figure out who I am and what training I may have.”

She picked through a few things. “I know what he was. I know exactly how few shits he gave about doing business with the Greys and taking a Human. He was in it for the thrill.”

She suddenly stopped and scowled, her face drawing inward. “It was gross. He was thrilled to be hunting Human. And he also thought I was pathetic. Fuck that guy. Live by the sword, die by the sword.”

Good. She didn’t need to care about the Hunter. There was something glittering and fierce in her expression that made his blood warm, but she would not find kissing appropriate in this moment.

Had he ended their arrangement with this violence?

His tail swished with worry. He could have been tidier about killing the Hunter. He could have abandoned protocol and simply been more tidy. Death was death to a Human, and according to Thalia, while they had concepts of a peaceful death, most Humans did not praise technique unless the victim had committed especially heinous crimes, and even then most Humans seemed to agree that a swift, cold strike was the appropriate method.

Brutal. What an absolutely brutal and desolate species to reduce death to its most base mechanics.

Death in the Gestalt should be worthy of witnessing. Ugly, gruesome, gritty deaths were last resorts and necessity. Delivering an artful death was as worthy of praise as the triumph. Keiron, according to Taidc, was not nearly as refined as a Prime Scion should be in such matters. Keiron was ruthlessly effective—probably in a way Humans would find appropriate. Then again, Keiron had the skills to avoid situations rising to such outcomes.

Keiron would have neatly snapped the Hunter’s neck without spilling a drop of blood. No spectacle. No art. Just a cold-blooded efficiency. Taidc would have been furious at the lack of artistry.

There was nowhere to store their newfound supplies except their own shuttle. Ahane undertook loading things into the small cargo bay, and when he returned, Thalia was sorting dishes from the washer while the Site Master and several hungry patrons waited in the diner.

The Site Master gestured with his feelers. “The Hunter, Cook.”

“What about him?” Ahane gave zero fucks about the Hunter.

“He appears to have gone missing.”

“Are you asking if he’s the next special?”

“Is he?”

“No.”

“Do you happen to know where he is?”

“No.”

“Because you were seen in his ship. Removing items.”

“I was.”

“I see.” The Site Master swished his feelers back and forth. “I presume you do not know his coordinates.”

“Exactly. He put his hands on my assistant. I have a very strict rule you do not touch my assistant.”

“Which begs the question, why would an elite 77Ω Hunter touch your assistant?”

“I didn’t bother to ask. And we both know the 77Ω Guild will not bother to ask either. They’re already going to have to refund the client triple the fee.”

The Site Master”s legs swirled and twisted. His eyes blinked. He shifted one way, then the next, his movements elegant and thoughtful.

“Do not act like you don’t have hunted people come through here,” Ahane said darkly. “You may not like it, Graceful Male, but it’s your lot. You ended up here, either because you serve a female’s pleasure or her anger, but you need me to stay on the right side of things.”

“Do not,” the Site Master hissed, “speak of the court I serve.”

Ahane stepped right up to the articulated. “Do not tell me to let anyone touch her. I touch her. No one else.”

“You humiliate her,” the Site Master hissed, “and the only reason I tolerate it is your value. Which you are quickly exceeding, especially if she has enemies willing and able to pay for elite 77Ω Hunters. There will be another. Individuals who can hire such Hunters can afford to hire as many as necessary.”

Ahane didn’t flinch a single scale. “So don’t get involved and you won’t be involved. The Hunters aren’t your clients. In fact, I was going to propose you pay me half the salvage of his vessel and I won’t claim it. This could be a very profitable mutual arrangement.”

“I could claim it without you. It’s abandoned on my dock.”

“A graceful court male degrading himself that way? You are turning into a scavenger out here. Your female would not even recognize you.”

The Site Master”s carapace hummed.

“So offended,” Ahane whispered, “those markings of yours are fainter and fainter. She won’t paint you, will she.”

He reached out and hooked one claw through the holes on the SiteMaster’s top plate.

The SiteMaster’s feelers whipped across his face, burning and searing and melting slight depressions in his scales. “There are standards of behavior, even here, High House. And if I toss you off this asteroid, you will fall forever.”

Ahane was not impressed.

“A third of the value, and my best guess as to what that is,” the Site Master clacked through twitching mandibles.

“Fine. A third. I’ll forget I ever saw it.”

The Site Master brushed a small pad held by one of his staff, transferring a third of the shuttle’s estimated salvage value to Ahane’s register before he tap-tap’ed off.