“If you intend to intimidate me, you should know how to use the weapon correctly.”
Acting before she could second guess the wisdom of waving around a plasma flare gun inside a spaceship, she pointed the flare gun at the nearest control panel. Light and smoke burst from the panel. Sparks rained down. The ship’s power surged and flickered as it rerouted itself around the damage.
“Do not,” Ren said. He stretched out a hand, like he could take the flare gun from her.
“I don’t need to incapacitate you. I just need to damage your ship.”
“That is illogical.”
She shrugged. “Momma always said I was stubborn enough to cut off my nose to spite my face. How many more shots before I damage something vital?”
“The plasma flare has a limited energy pack.”
“Hmm. At least two, probably three, depending on how old the battery is. One more shot would knock out life support.”
“There is redundancy built into the life support system,” he said with triumph, like this was some battle of the wits.
“And the seals and gaskets that keep the ship’s atmosphere from venting into space? Got redundancy built into that? How many shots until we find out? Start counting.” She aimed the flare gun at the same panel.
“No! No.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You would injure yourself in a misguided attempt to harm me?” Then, in a softer tone, “You would injure my feline?”
“That thing is not a housecat. It’s a mountain lion or something,” she retorted, then shook her head to refocus. She was in the midst of a mutiny here and needed to stay on task. “Emergency pod. Get moving.”
She kept the plasma flare gun pressed to the back of his head as he punched in a code to unlock the escape pod.
“In you get.” She pressed the barrel to his head to make her point.
“Emmarae, do not do this,” he said, once inside the pod. He had to stoop, as the pod was not quite Mahdfel-sized.
“That’s not my name.” Anger flared once again.
“Emry. I did not tell you a falsehood.”
She wanted to deliver a cutting line, something bitter and clever, but the urge to scream in frustration nearly overwhelmed her. Rather than break down in a sobbing mess, she pulled the release lever and waved goodbye.
Surprise registered on Ren’s face as the pod jettisoned away.
Her shoulders slumped. The level of anger she carried was exhausting, but it was all she had known for so long. She didn’t know what it’d feel like to be something else.
Moisture pricked at the corner of her eyes.
“Shit,” she said, dropping the weapon to wipe away tears. She refused to cry over that asshole.
She didn’t owe Ren anything. Her attraction might have been real, but the affection she felt? Fake. She faked it.
What did it matter? They were strangers, thrown together once four years ago and again by accident. He didn’t even care enough to remember her name.
The only person in the universe who gave a damn about her was Gemma, and she intended to find her sister.
Ren
The computer counted down to launch.
His fists pounded against the hatch. The rational part of his brain told him that the emergency pod was designed to withstand the extreme cold of deep space, the heat of atmospheric reentry, and high-impact collisions. Beating his hands against the hatch would do nothing once the launch sequence had been initiated.
His mate watched him from the other side of the translucent barrier. Her fingers wiggled in a departing gesture.
The clamps released, and the pod jolted. Engines revved for a burst of speed. The computer warned him to utilize the safety harness or he would suffer injury.
Emmarae’s image grew smaller and smaller as the pod sped away.
She bullied and bluffed him into the pod. Her threat to damage the ship and vent the ship’s atmosphere had been reckless enough for him to take seriously, but intriguing.
He had thought his mate a wounded, defeated creature. If not in body, then in spirit. Guilt at having added to her misery piled on top of his numerous regrets. He thought he needed to protect her, to shield her, to help her heal.
But this was not the action of a broken spirit.
She stole his ship.
Ren couldn’t stop grinning.
This was amazing.
Chapter 10
Emry
The creature Ren claimed was a cat stared back at her, perched on top of the helm.
“Nice kitty kitty,” Emry said, easing into the pilot’s chair.
A tawny color, the cat had the sort of brown color that blended perfectly into the undergrowth. Elongated ears ended in black tufts. Black fur dusted the edges of the cat’s muzzle, curling into either a caricature of a mustache or a Jokeresque smile, depending on the cat’s mood for mayhem.
The size of the cat had to be mentioned too. Larger than the average housecat, it was, fortunately, smaller than a leopard. Unfortunately, the cat was all muscle.
And claws. Yup, so many pointy claws.
Emry had the feeling that if this cat crawled onto her chest during the night for snuggles, she’d be crushed.
Clearly, this was not a domestic housecat. This was some wildcat that snuck on board a spaceship and tricked an alien.
Clever and dangerous.
“I just need to adjust our course, which you are sitting on, kitty.” Stress kept her from remembering the cat’s name.
The cat raised a paw, popped her claws, and diligently licked the space between the lethal-looking claws, all the while maintaining eye contact.
Ah, Murder Mittens.
“You look food-motivated. Would you move off the controls for kibble?” Emry pitched her voice high and sweet.
The cat was unimpressed. Murder Mittens continued to clean her claws, the threat as subtle as her name.
“Do you eat kibble? You probably eat babies.”
Miss Murder flicked an elegant black-tipped ear.
“Definitely babies.” Emry looked around, hoping to find a container labeled kibble or monster chow. Now such luck. “Will you please move?”
She stretched out a cautious hand. Murder Mittens’ tail thunked against the console. Lights flashed, and the computer chimed.
“Are you serious? What did you do? Move before you explode the ship or something.”
The cat hissed, baring a mouthful of very sharp and ouchie-looking teeth.
“Fine, not happening. I get it.” Emry sank into her seat, pouting. “Don’t look at me like that. I had to steal the ship.”
Murder Mittens resumed grooming herself, unimpressed.
“My sister is missing—and no one cares! What would you do? I didn’t have a choice.”
The enormous cat’s silence was too much to bear. Emry buckled under the judgmental weight of it.
“I mean, I didn’t ask, but I knew what Ren would say. He’d say it wasn’t his problem, for the record. Like everyone else.” Emry drummed her fingers on the chair’s arm. “He started it.”
Murder Mittens watched Emry with a disappointed gaze.
“He did! False pretenses and all that. Oh, I missed you. I regret sending you away. Please give me another chance,” she said, her voice taking on a gruff and mocking tone. “Lies! He was spying on my boss and rather than get caught, he did this big song and dance about getting back together.”
Not that she had believed him at the time. Not even a little. Nope.
Still, the disappointment of the truth stung.
“She’s my sister! What would you have done?” Emry kicked her feet onto the console, which earned her a swipe of Murder Mittens claws.
Fair enough.
“Fine. Guard the controls. We can coast on autopilot. It’s not like I know how to fly this thing.”
Ren
The emergency pod was not designed for a Mahdfel warrior. Despite being the runt of the clan, Ren needed to hunch his shoulders, or he’d bash hi
s head against the roof. A one-person capsule, the pod did not have much room for a person to make themselves comfortable.
The seat was too narrow. The safety harness was too tight. His tail had no room at all. Environmental controls were locked, and the pod was too cold.
At least he would not have to suffer the conditions for long. Pre-programmed to target the nearest habitable planet or station, the capsule selected Sangrin Station as its destination.
All he could do was wait and replay his mate’s words.
He had lied. His words had been truthful. He regretted sending Emmarae away, even though it had been the logical decision. Logic, experience taught him, had little impact on emotions.
The warlord had been out of control. Remaining in the clan was too dangerous for Emmarae. Ren already had a target on his tail. Add a vulnerable Terran mate to the situation?
No. Reasoning with himself did no good. He had once been furious with Havik for being allowed to keep his Terran mate and then tossing her aside like a spoiled prince—or so Ren erroneously thought. Havik had been as manipulated by the warlord as Ren. The warlord told Havik that his mate had died, and Havik, being a trusting soul, believed his father.
In retrospect, Ren was amazed that Kaos sent Havik’s mate back to Earth. He could have easily killed her, and no one would have questioned it. Such mercy from the warlord was unknown. Perhaps it was lingering sentimentality Kaos held for his son that he allowed the female to flee.
Whatever the reason, Ren did not think the warlord would spare another male’s mate.
He wished he could explain this to Emmarae.
Words. Useless words.
He needed deeds, not words. What had his actions shown her? That he had chosen his clan and his mission before her. Again. That she was, at best, a fortuitous coincidence. But he had not sought her out on Pashaal’s ship. He tried to avoid her because she was a complication to his mission.
Ah. The worst-case scenario.
He would make this right. Somehow.
The pod’s computer chirped, and the lights dimmed.
“I know I repaired the pod,” Ren muttered. Havik would not allow the ship’s emergency pods to be in anything less than top condition with his mate on board. Despite the physical discomfort of the size and the temperature of the pod, it was mechanically sound and more than capable of making a short journey.
Engine failure was impossible.
The pod lurched.
That was not engine failure.
Ren slammed his hand on the control panel. He might not have been able to adjust the pod’s course or environment, but he could check the engine’s readings.
The computer made an angry noise, and the power cut out. Gravity failed. He drifted up, straining against the safety harness.
Another lurch and he understood that the engines had not failed. Another ship intercepted the pod. This was a rescue or a capture.
Ren checked the weapons he kept on his person. The blade in his boot was secure, and the utility blade on his hip looked deadlier than it was. Still, a sharp object to the eye was a sharp object to the eye.
The discarded flashlight drifted by. Ren grabbed it before it could bump into something vital.
Gravity resumed, and he slammed down into the seat.
The pod must have been hauled onto another ship. All he could do was wait to discover if he had been rescued or captured.
He clenched the flashlight, ready to pummel whoever opened the pod.
Chapter 11
Ren
The door opened.
Ren lunged forward, barreling his shoulder into the midsection of the being unfortunate enough to stand in his way. They slammed into a wall. Excessive silver chains tinkled and chimed. The male had paint lining his eyes.
Ren pressed his forearm across the male’s throat. The male’s feet kicked as Ren held him above the floor.
He knew this male.
“You,” he growled, pressing harder.
“Me,” Dovak croaked. He waved a hand to his face, slowly darkening as Ren denied him enough oxygen.
Ren eased up, allowing the male to stand, but kept his forearm in place.
“Your injuries have healed.” Ren had left this male bleeding on the fighting pit’s sandy floor. No ordinary civilian should have recovered so quickly. The male lacked bruising. He also moved as if his ribs were free from fracture, and Ren definitely fractured more than one rib. “Explain,” he ordered.
“I thought you might enjoy being rescued. My mistake.”
“You are too impertinent for a male whose throat I could crush.” Ren applied pressure to prove his point.
Dovak clawed at Ren’s arm. “Sorry, sorry. Let me go.”
“You followed us from Sangrin Station,” Ren said, constructing a chain of events in his mind. Dovak picked up the emergency pod mere minutes after it deployed. Therefore, he had to be directly behind Ren’s ship. He could think of only one reason a male would pursue his ship. “You lost the game. You must quit this obsession you have with my mate.”
“I wasn’t—”
The pressure increased. Perhaps a blade would make the point better.
Dovak coughed, his face a deep plum.
Ren released the male. He crumpled to his knees and rubbed his throat.
“I’m not interested in your mate,” the male said, glaring up at Ren.
“What other reason could you have?”
“Mahdfel. Always so simplistic.” Dovak rose to his feet, leaning against the wall for support. “Many reasons, Ivon Ren. Do you want me to explain them, or are you going to suffocate me again?”
“It is tempting.” Ren’s tail swayed behind him, considering. “My curiosity is too great. I will refrain from strangling you if you explain your intentions satisfactorily.”
Dovak smoothed down the front of his robe and yanked off the ridiculous chains on his horns. “I’d offer you a drink, but you can go fornicate with yourself. I, however, require a drink. Someone mangled my throat.”
He marched down the corridor, as arrogant and irritating as ever, but he moved differently. It was not simply the lack of jewelry rattling or his robes sweeping along the floor. He was less prim and more informal as he led Ren deeper into the ship.
Intriguing, but Ren still felt the need to strangle the male.
“You warriors, always blundering in.” Dovak rummaged through a cabinet, pulling out two cups and a bottle of amber liquid.
“I do not blunder.”
“Oh, you most certainly did.” Dovak poured the amber liquid into a cup and lifted it in a mock salute.
Ren did not understand Sangrin’s obsession with contaminating water. The planet had so much potable, radiation-free water, but they fermented fruit and turned some of it into poison. It made no sense to him.
Dovak finished his drink and refilled his cup. “Oran told you to drop the investigation, but you refused.”
“I do not take orders from that male.”
“Yes, yes. Your warlord. Paax is always causing trouble.” Dovak took a sip. “Since you would not let it go, he pointed you at Nals. You were meant to chase after Nals.”
Ren shrugged a shoulder. He learned the move from Thalia and quite enjoyed the slovenly expression of disrespect. When he was younger, such insolence would have earned him a beating. “Nals is an Academy instructor with little means or connections to move the credits funding Ulrik Shaen’s research. Pashaal is the obvious first choice.”
“Of course she is!” Another sip. “Pashaal is known to keep on the legal side of trade, but barely. She has many questionable deals and several opportunities to scrub credits clean. Did it ever occur to your warlord that the Council is very aware of the funds being sent to Ulrik Shaen and his mate?”
“We suspected treason, yes.”
“And did you suspect that the matter was already being investigated?” Dovak did not wait for Ren to answer. “No. You blunder in, swinging your cocks around because you are Mahdfel an
d that is what you do.”
“My dick-swinging is kept to a minimum,” Ren replied dryly.
“Yes, well, you nearly ruined my investigation.” Dovak tapped his fingers against the cup, the rings clanking. With a disgusted sneer on his face, he pulled the ornaments off. “A year I’ve been developing this persona. Pashaal is wary of newcomers. That is how she avoids detection.”
“If Oran Rhew did not want me to interfere in an active investigation, he should have said.”
“He told Paax to mind his own clan’s business.”
Ren grunted. “Then he should have informed me of the active investigation and not opined about troublesome warlords. Really, it is a simple concept to explain, and our conversation was quite lengthy.”
“Fortunately, Pashaal believed your performance about wanting your mate back.” Dovak drained the cup, swapping it for Ren’s untouched cup.
“If your investigation remains undetected, why did you follow my ship?”
“Because Pashaal might have said she believed your story, but she does not believe you.”
“That makes no sense,” Ren said.
“The human female knows too much, has seen too much of Pashaal’s organization. She needs to know that the human female will remain silent.”
“You intend to take my mate?” A growl rose in warning at the back of his throat. Ren would slaughter the male before he laid a finger on Emmarae.
“I am not interested in your mate.”
“Then why did you try to win her contract? Why would you not admit defeat?”
“Stars.” He tossed his head back, horns catching the light. “For the last time, I was undercover. I needed to pretend to be interested in your mate. Surely even you Mahdfel understand fiction.”
“I understand that I do not appreciate your tone.”
The male sighed. “Warriors. Do not misunderstand. In battle, there is no one I want more to be a meat shield and stand up front. Some tasks require a delicate touch, not brute force. I expected your warlord to understand that.”
First, Ren disliked the male’s condescending tone. He might have been playing a character for Pashaal’s benefit, but Ren suspected Dovak did not stretch his acting abilities. Arrogance rolled off the male in waves.
Ren: Warlord Brides: Warriors of Sangrin #11 Page 11