So things in my world have been day by day since early 2019. Hubs is no longer able to work and is now on permanent disability. We are actively engaged in finding a new home in a warmer climate quite a ways south of where we live now, and we are very nervous and excited about this new stage in our lives. I've lost count of how many challenging and frightening and painful and exhausting hurdles we've successfully cleared in the last few years and we're blessed to be in a place now where we are actually looking forward to the future and new hurdles and challenges.

All this to say that I super appreciate the messages and reviews I still receive, despite not having posted much in 2019. You never know...sometimes I'm in a doctor's office or a hospital or struggling at home and I receive a review that either encourages me or details thoughts and opinions into a story or characters or a storyline that hits me right in the feels and takes my breath away. I cannot stress how much that means to me or how very much I appreciate your feedback or attagirls or pokes. I wish I could give you all a hug. Seriously...xxoo!

Finally, I am sure that most of you are hoping for an update to Start of a New Life. I've been playing around with it and I probably have six different versions that are all IMHO piddly and incomplete. I know the big picture of where the story is going, it's just that I need to find the right tone and pace, if that makes any sense. Obviously it's been hard for me to not only concentrate, but to review all the details of the story built to date so I can focus to put together a cohesive chapter that advances the story. Thanks so much for your patience and encouragement. We will get there, I promise!

My gaze had settled on the mildewed side of one of the tents and I watched it swell and pucker in the breeze as I waited to either pass out or die. My face, abdomen and sternum were on fire and my left arm and flank throbbed in time to my heartbeat. I blinked and switched my attention to the jungle as the broad green leaves bounced in the rising wind. Thirsty, I licked my lips, then narrowed my gaze on a stain on the side of the tent that looked suspiciously like one of the guys used it as a night time pee spot, then I idly wondered how long it had been since I'd last peed. I supposed I couldn't properly bleed to death if I was dehydrated...could I?

Damnit.

As soldiers we like to sometimes joke about our deaths, and if mine wasn't going to be in properly dramatic fashion then there was no point in it. Being blown up by my own exploding pulse rifle would have been epic, but apparently I'd failed at that. Being gruesomely bested in such glorious combat against our alien captors that my sacrifice inspired the others to successfully fight their way to freedom would have guaranteed me hero status. They probably would have named an aircraft carrier after me or something. My home town would commission a statue of me looking all badass and every year there would be a remembrance ceremony...

But no.

Instead I was probably sporting Aw Fuck's mocking version of a cock and balls carved into my face and a giant L on my forehead. I couldn't even properly pass out to escape the humiliation and shame of his easy display of dominance and possessive ownership. All I'd been capable of was a little kicking and squirming. I felt like I'd been mauled by a grizzly bear that I'd pissed off enough to ruin my day but that couldn't be bothered to finish the job and put me out of my misery.

Ugh.

Hurt like hell but after a few minutes of lying there feeling sorry for myself I regrouped and rolled to my hands and knees, got my feet under me, and stood unsteadily. My squad-mates were also standing in a cluster, and staring at me. My shirt was hanging open between my breasts, exposing one of the horrific clawmarks that had slashed me from collarbones to belly. The biggest and deepest, the one Aw had pressed his cut palm to, mixing his blood with mine. I reached up numbly and wiped my hand over my cut cheek, wincing, then I looked at my palm and the mingled red and green blood smeared across it.

Distant thunder. Welcome to the rain forest, they don't call it that for nothin'. It was accompanied by a cool breeze that warned of a good-sized storm coming fast and I eased my head back with a pained grimace, lifting my face to the wind. I supposed that even if I hadn't yet, I was going to die, probably sooner rather than later. On one hand I had readily accepted that as a distinct possibility when I'd agreed to be our runner. On the other hand it really pissed me off that ultimately my death would be due to an alien pervert attack, followed by Aw Fuck's psychotic cutting and bleeding torture.

My head straightened and my eyes shifted to find the Sarge and I settled my gaze on him. Today was as good a day as any to die, I supposed. Tomorrow I probably wouldn't be able to move to roll out of my bunk. Day after that I would probably be running a low grade fever as infection set in, then it would be all downhill from there. Better to die on my feet fighting, a soldier's motto.

Sarge shook his head no. Geez, I must be broadcasting my thoughts. Time to consider my options. I was aware of, but ignoring, the verbal argument going on between the keepers and the big blue, my eyes moving in search of a weapon. The only things close at hand were the weapons that Aw Fuck, still standing near me with his back to me, had on him, and my eyes fell to the knife, again in the sheath strapped to his mammoth calf. I actually thought about it as I stared at down at it, finally dismissing the option because I realized that bending over wouldn't be such a good idea right about now. Just another reason to fall flat on my already-damaged face.

Aw Fuck grumbled, sounding annoyed, and shifted to face me. Wonderful. Last thing I wanted was his full attention on me. I flicked my eyes from the knife on his calf to the big blue, who was trudging like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, going to the dropped head.

"Sa-chelna," Aw rumbled quietly, smoothly. I looked at him, blinking blankly. He didn't elaborate, just slowly eased his head into a tilt and gave me the sneaking suspicion that I was being carefully studied and looked over. I didn't know what he was looking at or for, but he purred quietly. Not that full-on hypnotic sound; this one was lighter and softer, a throaty thrumming more reminiscent of my roommate's cat trying to get my attention while it wound around my legs. Like Aw Fuck, my roommate's cat dedicated a lot of time and effort trying to lull me into a false sense of security and I was fairly certain it was trying to kill me so the purring didn't fool me, from either the cat or from Aw.

I brought my chin up another inch and set my jaw, grinding my teeth together at the pain in my cheek and throat. My defiance pained me but I wasn't going to cower or outwardly react to it if I could avoid it. Aw's huge hand came up, the one he'd cut, and he lightly touched the pads of his fingers under my jaw, then he swept the pad of his thumb lightly across my carved-up cheek. "Sssit," he rumbled quietly, the 's' sibilant and drawn out. It took me a minute to realize he was giving me a command and by the time I realized it his hand had gone from a gentle feather-light touch to closing tightly around my jaw and adding pressure to force me back. I stagger-stepped until the backs of my legs hit the front porch of my tent and I collapsed onto it, clutching at his arm. "Releassse," he growled, still holding my face as he moved with me and sank gracefully into a powerful crouch on the ground in front of me as I thumped onto the planks. My right hand was closed around his thick, hot wrist, and my left hand was clamped on the back of the gauntlet that pretty much covered three quarters of his forearm. There were two raised ridges on the back of it that held the sheathed blades it housed, and I could feel numerous small scratches and dings in the metal. While I glared at him across the length of it and refused to comply, his hand simply tightened on my jaw. "Pet now, novio. Obey."

As. If.

I was trained and battle hardened combat soldier, not a pet. Especially not Aw Fuck's pet. He might have done me a solid, taking out that younger hunter and killing him, but that was his job, wasn't it? Where the hell was he when I was ducking and weaving? When I double-tapped the younger one up high on his chest, right next to the edge of the breastplate? When the shots were ignored and my weapon was ripped from my hands and destroyed?

"Obey," he growled again, his voice lower, his pronunciation more deliberate, his thick fingers tightening. I sensed last warning, but really, what the hell was he gonna do about it? Besides, if he took his damn hand off my damn face I'd let go quick enough. What, I was supposed to tolerate his hand clamped around me like a vise, and I didn't get to react or try to defend myself? Oh, hells no.

Thunder again. The second the rolling boom faded to silence, Aw Fuck moved. He shot to his feet, one lifting and banging down onto the planks beside me as he loomed and crouched over me, his free hand coming up like a black blur and fisting in the back of my thick, tangled hair. He jerked my head back so fast and hard I bunched my shoulders to try and keep him from snapping my neck. He froze, holding me like that at an angle that made breathing difficult, my throat fully exposed and the tips of his claws pressing against my skin, his entire being bunched in dangerous tension over and around me, his masked face an inch from mine as he rumbled.

"Obeyyyy," he demanded again, pressing the tips of the claws framing my jaw harder into my skin as added warning. I was wheezing, my eyes rolling as his grip didn't allow me to move my head an inch, pulling my hair painfully at my scalp. It was the awareness that he was amply capable of doing something no doubt more painful and infinitely more humiliating that made the decision for me. I huffed, loosened my grip, then let go and held my palms up. He growled at me until I eased my hands down and gripped the edge of the planks on either side of me and dug my nails in, grinding my molars together to hold back the curses I wanted to spew. I felt Aw Fuck's blazing regard through the eye holes of his mask and he held still and waited until I lifted my gaze before he eased his hold.

His thumb swept over the cuts on my cheek and I winced as he thrummed. I recognized that sound as pleased, the same sound he made every time he found me running the jungle and I immediately submitted and handed over my pulse rifle. He let go of my face and reached back to retrieve his med kit, placing it on the planks beside me with an authoritative thunk that made me flinch. He was crouched uncomfortably close, his coffee smell milder than it had been, no longer clogging my senses. In the past he'd respectfully maintained a distance as a sort of buffer and he seemed to be making up for that now, bracketing me between his wide spread knees, his heat touching my front, the med kit placed right near my left thigh, well within grabbing distance for me. I refrained; I'd had enough for one day, and it looked like I wasn't done yet. Aw Fuck, for all appearances, was going to treat my wounds...then maybe he'd get around to killing me? I blinked, my brow furrowed as my eyes darted, completely out of sorts and confused.

I maintained my tension and my slightly reared-back posture as he produced the metal bowl that automatically unfolded, and began mixing that Static Guard smelling stuff from various vials. He was way too much into my personal space, ignoring me but no doubt well aware of his aggressively close proximity and my anxiety about it, and doing it on purpose.

Unable to stand it anymore, I murmured, "What the hell is going on?"

He scraped the paddle on the bowl and raised it. "Heard the challenge. Explosssion. Came to find Trilliva..." a pause here, and a low growl, "...dissshonoring Fee-lick."

I huh'ed weakly, my head rocking as my eyes narrowed in offended annoyance. "Dis...dishonoring? Is that what you call rape?"

His mask tilted and I sensed he met my gaze. "Sei-i. Sssay-what. Very dissshonorable."

I wasn't sure but I thought he was teasing me. Making a joke to lighten the mood, and I couldn't believe my ears. This shit was so not funny. Of course he would choose the most inappropriate moment imaginable to start working on his stand-up routine. "So you killed him because I asked you to," I continued, my tone flat, "and now the big blue guy is pissed."

Aw Fuck chuffed, then brought the paddle up and ran it deftly between my breasts, so quickly and precisely he gave me no time to react or counter. The stuff felt icy cold and sticky and was stinky as hell, and at its touch I flinched back, looking down in horror as it bubbled painfully in the open claw wound. I was leaning back away from him on my hands, and when I instinctively brought the right one up to wipe the stuff off, Aw Fuck easily blocked me with his free hand, then easily blocked the counter attempt from my left hand. In my own defense my attempts to wipe the goop off were understandably clumsy and feeble, and to his credit, Aw Fuck's blocks were surprisingly gentle.

"Big blue guy," he echoed, even mimicking my voice and tone and the way I'd said the words, and effectively derailing and distracting me. "Pisssed." He chuffed again, going back over his work and more carefully and slowly re-applying the healing gel. I was thinking about disputing this again, since it was only about to get even more intimate; I had scratches in places I didn't want Aw Fuck looking, much less touching. "Big blue guy Bilchak-dta. Want Fee-lick head exchange for Trilliva head. Pisssed, sei-i. Say yes."

It was funny; Aw Fuck spoke english very well, despite leaving out key words. In addition, the subject matter was completely foreign to me, meaning I had to focus whole-heartedly on his voice and each carefully enunciated word to follow and understand what he was telling me. It wasn't hard to do because something about his cadence, his sibilant s's, his steady vocal rumble behind the words and his pacing and enunciation was wholly captivating. Add in his ability to mimic me almost teasingly and I realized suddenly that I was being lulled. And while he was narrating, the initial sharp sting of the blue cream upon application faded, taking the pain of the wound it was covering with it. One down, one hundred to go.

I snapped back to the situation when he shifted one side of my top over to expose the inside of my breast with his free hand, cupping and covering and slightly lifting my boob in a hot, loose grip. He paused and regarded me as I sucked in a short, sharp breath and went rigid, building to an epic freakout, then he lifted the paddle and swiped the blue cream across my cheek and whatever he'd carved there with his knife. The surprise and cold then following burn on my face totally derailed me and made my eyes cross as I sputtered, then he deftly dipped and swiped the slash and claw punctures on my sternum and breast.

The pain was momentarily exquisite and took my breath away. I kicked reflexively with my left leg, the heel of my boot glancing off Aw Fuck's thigh armor, and since he didn't quit it and was going at me mercilessly with the blue stuff I reloaded and kicked again, this time deliberately. The sole of my boot hit something hard enough to jar my entire leg and I grunted and squealed as I tried to either shove him or me back, to separate us so he would stop painting me with that hellish shit. The hard knuckles of the hand that had been clamped around my boob came up under my jaw as he let go and roughly knocked my head up, then he dapped some mystery cut over the bridge of my nose, rapidly switched the paddle to his other hand, and palmed my opposite tata then immediately began Smurfing it up with blue goo.

Overwhelmed and overstimulated I realized I was panting as the torture continued and spread faster than I could cope with it. Acting more on instinct and self-preservation I reached up and shoved at his hand on my breast, my panic only increasing as he didn't budge.

My face throbbed and I was aware of a building chill that was spreading steadily across the burned half of my body. My clock was ticking, winding down, no doubt. I needed to do something that would make a difference for my squad, and soon. Rational me was screaming that I didn't have time to squabble with this psychotic alien bastard while emotional me was building into an oscar-worthy breakdown. Grinding my teeth together I squealed through them as I actually started oonching myself backward away from him by walking the balls of my ass across the planks I was sitting on.

His dreadlocks flared another fraction of an inch and I knew, but didn't understand why, I was pissing him off. Blah-blah dishonor, blah-blah pissed, blah-blah whatever. I was dying in steady increments and he was amusing himself by torturing me, going from cutting one moment to healing the next so fast my head was spinning. At some point he had to either lay off or finish the job, right?

I shoved his hand away as he lifted it toward my opposite breast and his flare, which had started to ease, redoubled. My breathing, I suddenly realized, was way loud. And the second I became aware of the fact that I was open-mouthed panting the anxiety and fear and pain I was battling back increased exponentially. When Aw slightly shifted toward me I flopped backward, using a combination of ass and elbows to scurry and scrabble like a half run-over squirrel panicking in the street. He shoved the paddle into the stinky pot of medicine just as I got my head through the tent flaps and was huffing in preparation of rolling and getting my feet, anxious about how badly that was going to hurt and not sure I could physically do it.

Didn't matter. As I started the turn by rolling my shoulders I felt my captor's hands close behind my knees and he quickly and easily dragged me right back between his thighs while I squealed in rage and kicked out at him, my heavy combat boots landing dull thuds against his massive chest. I sensed him standing over me again, felt the heavy thump of his foot hitting the planks, cringing as he lowered himself and pinned my hands over my head and quickly swiped the medicine paddle to dress my remaining cuts and scrapes, knuckling open the sides of my torn apart uniform shirt. I arched and shrieked, half in rage and half in reaction to the sensation of the spread of white-hot fire across my breasts and down my belly, then he released me and backed off, leaving me laying there panting and gasping. I heard him moving around and felt him leave, but when I finally gathered the strength to work my way back upright, stiff and sore and beyond exhausted, he returned to crouch in front of me, gesturing at the remains of my shirt. "Off."

Yeah, I thought he'd get around to saying something like that eventually. I straightened my spine and leaned back again to give myself some breathing room, letting loose with a shiver from the waist up. The rain had started, I realized, seeing it fall in a steady curtain behind him. When I noticed it was coming down I could suddenly smell it, like ozone and dampness. At least the audience who had stood in silent witness to my humiliation had dissipated, scattering to find shelter from the downpour. My eyes searched but I couldn't even spot my sergeant or any of my fellow female soldiers. It was a relief to not have witnesses to my subjugation, but the awareness that I had no one from my unit standing in support as I was singled out and relentlessly tortured for damage done in the course of taking a risk on all our behalf added a sharp pain beneath my torn open breastbone that no blue cream could touch.

Surrendering, I let out a breath that deflated me enough that I didn't even protest as Aw plucked pointedly and irritatingly at my shirt collar. When he gave a tug that pulled at the burn across my shoulder I recoiled with a sharp hiss and gave up looking for my squad-mates. Aw Fuck's friends had retreated to the far side of the clearing and were huddled under their shelter as their cooking fire battled with the rain. The big angry blue guy had disappeared and taken the head with him. Aw Fuck grunted at me and motioned and I shied away reflexively. No one was waiting with anticipation for me to make a move, to sacrifice myself, to provide a distraction, to inspire them. Hell, no one was even risking their own comfort to even show me support. They'd all ghosted and left me alone with the keeper that everyone collectively feared the most.

"Shit," I sighed, regarding my keeper with building dread. Even my own death was at his discretion, I realized, wondering if it was possible for me to be repaired and healed well enough to be expected to go back to participating in the hunts.

Exhausted and feeling sorry for myself, I eased my fatigue shirt off my right shoulder, trying to leave the split undershirt to maintain some modicum of decency. I was shaking with effort and pain as I started to strip it down my left arm, then I gave up with a gasp and slumped. "Can't," I said weakly. "I can't." I was holding back tears, well aware that I had to get the damned thing off me and that can't wasn't an option, unsure what I dreaded more: my keeper's reaction to my refusal or the blue cream I was sure was coming.

Aw Fuck bristled and though I thought I might be in trouble again, right now I couldn't do anything about it. First I needed a fifth of vodka, hell, a Tylenol, anything. Bare minimum I needed to work my nerve up and just do it. But after the effort I'd exerted to remove the shirt as far as I had, I was trembling and close to either bawling my eyes out or throwing up.

His huge clawed hand lifted and he undocked the lines on the right side of his mask, near the back curve of his jaw. They released with a click and a hiss, then he palmed the face of it and lifted it off. He was ticking quietly, one small upper tusk tapping rapidly against the huge lower tusk, then he set the mask on the deck near the bowl. I watched him spread his lower mandibles, stretching them wide to either side of his face, the upright lower tusks turning inward to face each other like pincers. The motion was soundless and I was unsure of what it meant until he eased them back to the sides of his face and gave his huge head a brisk shake, rustling his fleshy dreadlocks. Apparently the mask was confining and it felt good to have it off.

He directed his fierce gaze to my damaged arm, reaching out to lift it away from my side as I hissed softly in pain and twisted at the waist to try and counteract the pulling of my burned flesh. The fingers of his left hand closed on the fabric of my fatigues and rubbed thoughtfully, then he gently eased my arm back down and retrieved that goddamn motherfucking knife. With brisk, efficient movements and zero hesitation, he lifted in his crouch, spun the knife upright in his hand like a gunslinger and set to work carving through my top like he was skinning me. I went rigid and stayed that way as the blade sliced over my shoulder then under my arm, from pit to wrist. He moved nervewrackingly fast. Recklessly fast, in my humble opinion. He could have been doing that purposely, to encourage me to freeze and keep my mouth shut. Or, conversely, he could just be that goddamn good with a knife. Or both.

Shirt shredded in some complicated way, he flipped and resheathed the knife, then pulled off half my shirt like magic, leaving only the burned-on parts still attached to me. Without warning or explanation, he reared up, leaned over me, and pressed me down on my right side onto the planks, stepping over me to straddle me. I got out, "Hey, whatsis-" and that was it, because the next thing out of my mouth was a shriek as he ripped the worst part of my fatigues off me. In the aftermath I was gasping and retching in agony, shuddering as he began to rapidly and liberally apply the cream to my arm and flank while I wailed and kicked feebly.

Soldiers were running through the pouring rain, coming from every direction, Ka-Bars in hand. They fanned out around the tent's porch, then the flap moved and the Sarge came through from inside. Aw Fuck lowered over me and growled, low and long, one hand on the side of my neck, the other on my hip. I was silently weeping, my legs moving restlessly in nervous, unconscious response to pain and trauma, my nose running and my chest exposed.

"Get off her, you fuck," the Sarge snarled boldly. The rest of my squad moved closer as a single, united team, like a pack of wolves challenging a grizzly bear. Aw chattered, a menacing sound, his attention on the closest threat: my sergeant.

"I think..." I groaned hoarsely, my voice slightly muffled against the damp wooden boards as tears ran freely from my eyes, "...I think he'll kill you, Sarge."

"That's a chance I'm willina take," the big man said gruffly, still locked in a stare-off with Aw.

"Nooo," I moaned, exhausted and feeling it.

"Hang on, Flic, we're getting you outta there," the Sarge grunted. He was ready and I knew it. There was a cold look of determination in his eyes and a complete lack of doubt or fear. And when he took his next breath, Aw was off me just like that. There was a grunt of impact that was human, not alien, and a Ka-Bar banged to the planks dangerously close to my legs. Disarmed and caught, I saw the Sarge's eyes pop wide in fear that came too late as Aw lifted him, turned, and tossed him sideways into the center of the fan the squad had formed around the deck. The throw was brutal, hard enough to take out Sender, TJ, Benson and Patty, all shouting and grunting, then groaning and taking stock as they untangled. Aw stepped back to me, straddled me, then crouched over me with one hand on the side of my neck and the other dangling off the inside of his thigh above me while they sorted themselves out and regrouped. I didn't protest; there was nothing left in me that was capable of doing much more than maintaining consciousness. Despite the aggression he'd just displayed, Aw's touch was actually gentle, and I supposed that his possessive display was more for the rest of my squad than me. On a happier note, his heat was more than welcome; I was shivering for a multitude of reasons, a sensation of cold definitely being one of them.

"Mine..." he growled loudly enough for them to clearly hear it, then made that harsh aggressive-sounding chatter again.

The Sarge got to his feet and surged forward, his eyes enraged, Nubby on one arm, Reece on the other, both straining to hold him back. "She's mine!" he barked. I felt a surge of tension from the massive alien over me, and heard the hide bindings that held some of his armor actually creak in protest as he flexed. Without question, the rest of the squad readied to back the Sarge up on his claim, looking in unison from those still getting to their feet to point their angry glares at my keeper.

The other keepers had materialized through rain that fell so hard and fast it created curtains, all three positioned around my squad-mates who had rearmed themselves with their Ka-Bars. They were going to die, whether they realized it or not. I was fucking broken and burnt and dying, pretty much dead already, and they were all going to throw themselves at Aw Fuck to try and save me regardless.

"Wait," I said weakly. "Goddamn wait." I struggled, feeling Aw's hand come off me to allow me to lift my head, aware of him easing back with a low rumble. "I'm fine," I insisted, getting up on my right elbow and grinding my teeth together at the hot sheet of fire as my burned opposite side protested as I forced it to flex. I held my left arm over my chest, partly to cover myself and partly to protect my damaged limb, wincing and gasping as I scootched myself feebly on the planks. "I'm fine," I said again, my voice hoarse. Surprisingly, Aw Fuck wasn't moving, nor was he disputing my attempt to move, still crouched over me and looking down at me. "Got every...thing...under...control..." I groaned as I shifted. The fire inside me was building and I shivered, then I heard a dull thump and felt a headache coming on strong. I blinked, hard. I was lying on the planks. Thought I was getting up? How'd I end up back down...? Then my world went dark and the pinging disorientation, excruciating pain and overwhelming fear for my squad-mates were no more.

...the end...?

So I'd warned you from the start that this story is incomplete and now we've come to the end of what I had written for Flic and her squad. I think I'd ended it here because I'd felt that Aw Fuck would want to take his prize and bail out on Mahnde and the Youngbloods, since Flic is pretty much the only interesting thing going on as far as Skemte is concerned. Remember, this one is up for grabs for anyone who has a continuing storyline idea! I'm sure some of you have opinions on the next phase of this story and I'm waiting on pins and needles to hear your thoughts... :)