Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Amazon & Saiyan ❯ A Saiyan Offer ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: This is a two-chapter wonder that wouldn't leave me alone, bringing me to write my first Dragonball fanfic. I'm an avid Goku/Chichi fan, but this was just too tempting. It stemmed from a conversation about `wrong' relationships while Dragonball Z happened to be on, although I've taken certain liberties with the storyline (sorry). Please review!

(No archiving without asking me first, either-not that it's good enough to do that…)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything used in this story, don't make profit, don't intend any copyright infringements…etc.

Amazon & Saiyan

Nadia Rose

Nadiarose3@hotmail.com

"The question of her decision is one not to be lightly considered, and it is not for me to presume to set myself up as the one person able to answer it. And so I leave it with all of you." Frank Stockton

The small foot connected with the side of Vegeta's head hard enough to make him blink. She had never lashed out so quickly before; he usually attacked first. Before he could react, the foot had retracted, taking the long slender leg with it, and she closed in, trying to slam her hands into his ribcage. Her hardest hits wouldn't even bruise him, but the constant rain of light blows always annoyed him.

Even after these months, he had yet to discover how she circumvented his guard. Even her husband, the strongest of this planet's measly defense team, had to work to hit Vegeta. Yet this mere slip of a woman could sneak through his defenses without effort and beat dance rhythms on his chest.

The almighty Prince of Saiyans had never expected his most challenging opponent here to be a human female, and most certainly not this one. He never would have connected the loud and abrasive female he'd first met with the slim fighter he was facing now. It was only by chance that he had discovered she knew how to fight; the woman had drug him to one of her little reunions, where Yamcha and Krillen had persuaded Kakarot's mate to fill in the last spot in a miniature tournament that Master Roshi's island was hosting.

Her first step into the arena was when this had all begun; when she had become a true contender.

She had wiped the floor with every opponent she faced, including the short monk that Kakarot had been so fond of, and the weakling thief the woman was attached to. The triclops, Tien, had been the one to finally defeat her, but only because she had tired enough to let a ki attack knock her out of the ring.

What had surprised Vegeta was the vigor with which she fought, the unrelenting determination to succeed. What bothered him was the fact that during the length of the entire tournament she had not raised her ki. Even when Krillin and Yamcha had lifted theirs to fight her, the woman's had remained unchanged while she had been able to easily match them. The rudimentary laws of fighting stated that a ki must be level or greater for a defeat, never weaker; especially with the ease that she dispatched them.

Son Chichi was a woman who defied one of the basic rules of his universe, which meant she had to be either understood or destroyed.

The next morning he had flown to her home and demanded an explanation. She had simply dropped her firewood and launched a full frontal attack, telling him he'd have to figure it out for himself.

Months later he still hadn't discovered her secret-which was why he still toyed with her; why they were sparring here in a grassy clearing of Mount Patzou now.

He lifted his hand and stopped the fist that was flying towards his face just before it connected with his nose. Skin collided with a resounding smack, and he was startled at the stinging that tingled up his wrist. She had actually hit him hard enough to draw a sensation, something very rare indeed.

Floating her fist away, he countered with a light punch of his own. When fighting with Son Chichi, speed and skill were his goals, not sheer power. He could snap her neck or send her flying through the nearest tree without effort, but then he wouldn't have the opportunity to learn her fighting secrets.

She blocked his punch easily. He hadn't been paying attention to the fight, and she had taken advantage of it. She smirked at him, taunting her momentary superiority.

The woman was an entertaining spar.

With a growl of anger, he lunged at her and she stepped out of the way, catching him lightly in the knee with her foot as he passed. When he whirled and punched out she countered again with surprising force-and their ritual spar had truly begun.

For almost two hours they fought viciously, Chichi leaving no holds barred while Vegeta struggled to control his strength against her attacks. His power had been increasing steadily for days, and it would not do for him to injure the body that would shortly be nurturing his heir.

The thought so surprised Vegeta that he failed to deflect the incoming punch that landed full on his nose with a dull thud.

It was happening.

He was loosing his control.

He thought he could handle himself; he had experienced no problems before. But now was different. For if he had been on his home planet of Vegeta, this would have been the week that the full moon occurred, and even when the day wasn't upon them, his strength and instincts increased to the point of no return. After all of these years, he still hadn't learned how to deal with his body's attunement to the demolished planet's lunar cycle. The last few times it had happened he had still had a tail, and had gone oozaru, which he could control; but his tail was gone now, which meant he had to deal with his primitive thoughts and desires in this form, something that he had never done before.

And almost every cell in his body was screaming to take the woman before him as his own.

He blankly realized that her fist was still against his face, and he lashed out with a foot, catching her by one ankle and sweeping that leg out from beneath her.

She refused to go down completely and planted her hands in the grass, pulling her body and legs over them to land feet down, facing the other direction. Whirling to face him again, she bent one knee and lifted her hands into position, stationing one at her side and the other in front of her, two fingers erect, and waited for him to make the next move.

The Prince of Saiyans looked at her, hearing nothing but the blood rushing through his ears. She was going to fight back.

He shouldn't have come; he should have stayed at Capsule Corps like the interfering Namek had warned, but he couldn't take the bubbliness of the blonde any longer. He would have killed her if he had to hear one more word about her daughter, the woman, who had gone with her father on a business trip. So he had gone to his second-favorite haunt, the house of his sworn enemy, to spar with the Princess that lived there. They had been doing so for several months now on a regular basis, and Vegeta had come to see the woman in front of him as a fellow warrior.

And lately, as a potential mate as well.

In account of the summer heat her normal conservative fighting clothes had been replaced by something that resembled Saiyan battle armor, although there wasn't enough of it there to be armor. Just enough to barely cover the necessities, leaving far too much pale skin exposed for his hungry eyes to devour while she flaunted her womanly curves to the sexually driven Saiyan.

It was a bad choice for the Princess to wear on this particular day, when Vegeta's hormones were thick and his control thin.

He really should have listened to the Namek and stayed at Capsule, but he had been sure he was able to control himself and come anyway. The woman was strong, yes, but still weak; and she belonged to another Saiyan, a fact that his Saiyan honor could not ignore.

Her dark hair had come loose from its restraint and was cascading down her back in glossy dark waves. Poised to fight, wearing the purplish armor, he could almost see a furry tail waving behind her, especially with her temper. She would have been the most beautiful Saiyan female he had ever laid eyes upon, had she really possessed a tail.

Before he could suppress his thoughts, the dark-haired woman closed for another attack, taking advantage of Vegeta's lack of attention. As she approached, Vegeta got a good whiff of her scent-the pong of sweat combined with her own earthy smell, and his tenuous control wavered. He grabbed her arms, swung her around, and pinned her against a nearby tree, standing close enough to her to breathe in the scent that was driving him wild. She was very close to the peak of her cycle, which only enhanced her attractiveness to the Sayian. He was so close to her that she filled all of his senses, driving all memories of the exotic blue-haired woman who drove him insane from his mind. The Princess was here, in front of him, filling his very soul with her erotic scent.

Something in the back of Vegeta's mind wondered if she tasted as good as she smelled.

He tightened his grip on her arms to the point where if she had been a normal human, he would have shattered the bones in several places. But Chichi was not a normal human, and she looked at him from her position against the tree, eyes fiery with the song of battle. She was completely unafraid of him; unafraid of the way he pressed his body against hers. He could hear each deep breath she took and see the way her pulse quickened at her throat, covered in a light sheen of sweat.

She was attracted to him.

This woman was worthy of him; she was unafraid to spar with a man several times more powerful than she, and most importantly, she was of royal blood. If he were to take her now, she would give him an heir. An heir with his Saiyan strength combined with the peculiar mix of her blood that did not, apparently, impede the most desired of Saiyan traits. He wanted an heir desperately; he desired the security to know that his bloodline, that of the Royal House, would not disappear from the galaxy should he die again. This Princess was the strongest this world had to offer him, the best candidate to bear his heir as well as stand by him as consort.

For to take her now, when she was ripe, would require bonding with her. Due to the influence of Planet Vegeta's moon, he would give his soul to any woman with whom he mated in the next few days. And the woman who he currently held pinned between him and the trees already bore the mark of another male Saiyan at her throat.

The mark of a third-class Saiyan who had mated far above his class, breaking the carefully constructed caste of his culture to marry the warrior Princess. He had also left his mate alone with a young son and almost no way to support him. Their funds would not last forever, and then she would be in trouble. That was not Vegeta's problem, but Kakarot had left his mate alone for so long that she had been forced to look elsewhere for satisfaction, and he knew she wanted him. He could see it in her eyes, smell it in her skin, and feel it in the trembling muscles beneath his hands.

This delectable female was not a Saiyan's mate, he reminded himself, if other Saiyans still found her attractive. If Kakarot had truly bonded with her, then she could have disrobed in front of him and he would have thought nothing of it.

If she did so now he wouldn't be able to control himself.

Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, tilted his head to one side, and slowly touched his tongue to her ear. As her essence drove his desire to its peak, he stared into her eyes. His taking her without her consent wasn't a question; even during the full moon, the female always made the first move.

The question was if she would.