Ren: Warlord Brides: Warriors of Sangrin #11

by Nancey Cummings

  Second, he was Mahdfel.

  “And what would your warlord have done?” Ren asked.

  “Ah, figured that out. Good.” The male poured himself another drink. “When I heard that the cook’s Mahdfel mate came back from the dead—we all presumed you were dead, don’t growl at me—I feared you would recognize me. Fortunately, you are from a completely different system.”

  “How have you disguised your clan markings?”

  “How are you so small?”

  “An anomaly. Your words hit as hard as your punches.” Ren paused, then added, “Which means they barely register. Almost like a tickle, which makes sense because I was very amused and laughing during our farce of a fight.”

  Dovak’s bored expression barely wavered, but Ren saw how his nostrils flared.

  Not so impassive after all.

  “Really? Well, I’m afraid I have my trade secrets and you won’t rouse my anger so easily with lazy insults.”

  “I think it was a rather good insult, on the fact that I, an anomalously small warrior, defeated you.”

  “I let you win.”

  “At the start, yes, but battle lust is a hard song to resist, is it not? There is joy in a good fight, pushing yourself, and outwitting your challenger. We were made for it.”

  “I was made for a different purpose,” Dovak said, his voice growing hard.

  Ren’s words rattled the male. Good. Dovak deserved to be rattled, and Ren would happily provide that service.

  “Mmm, perhaps. We were designed to be perfect, obedient killing machines. Individually, we excel in different areas. Mechanics,” he said, pointing to himself. “General asshattery,” he said, pointing to Dovak. “But we are all made for the fight, made for battle. And the battle lust caught you. I saw the spark ignite in your eyes, the moment you went from pretending to be this pompous fool of a male to being the warrior you were made to be. You tried, you really did, to draw blood and break my bones.”

  “I did! You bled.”

  “Trying as hard as you could, you still lost to a defective male. The runt. The one who doesn’t even look like a Mahdfel.” He imitated Dovak’s accent, twisting it into a mocking tone.

  Ren walked the room, picking up items and inspecting them. The ship appeared to be nothing more than private transportation, but he suspected that underneath, he’d find military-grade bones.

  “On Rolusdreus, our ecosystem is a delicate balance.”

  “Another story? Goodie.”

  “It is a harsh climate. Many were forced to adapt or go extinct. This applies to the people as well as the animals and plants. But I am thinking of bacteria.”

  “I do not have time for stories about radioactive bacteria.” Dovak moved toward the helm.

  Ren grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him to a chair. He loomed over Dovak. “Sit. This will not take long. This bacterium is often found in an oasis or water hole. It is flesh-eating and brings death to anything that ingests it. Except for the water lizard.”

  “Such a unique name. Let me hazard a guess and say that it lives in these water holes.”

  “Yes. They mostly consume algae and insects.”

  “And bacteria?”

  “Huge clumps of it. The bacterium grows in the algae, the water lizards consume the algae, they develop necrotic flesh, and shed their scales.”

  “Delightful.”

  “And the needlebeeks eat the necrotic flesh. Every water lizard has a needlebeek. They have a partnership.” Ren laced his fingers together.

  “Circle of life. How inspiring. I have a ship to catch.” Dovak tried to stand, but Ren pushed him back down again.

  “The water lizard’s scales grow back thicker and more durable. The plague that killed so many makes them stronger. Can you see the point of the story now?”

  “You’re the water lizard. Tougher. Stronger.”

  “And you are the needlebeek, pecking away at what you think are my wounds. Peck. Peck. Peck.” Ren jabbed a finger into the male’s chest to emphasize each word. “Call me a runt. Call me a weakling and an outcast. Know that I have had a lifetime of needlebeeks pecking away and they have made me stronger than your spiteful.”

  Jab.

  “Little.”

  Jab.

  “Words.”

  Dovak pushed Ren’s hand away and surged to his feet. For a moment, he clenched his fist, and Ren wondered if he had pushed too far.

  “I should have left you in the pod.”

  “It was rather cramped. Thank you for my retrieval.”

  “Your mate has not altered your ship’s flight path, so I assume she does not know how to pilot a craft. Therefore, docking with your ship will be easy.”

  “She would need a code to access the controls or have the ability to break the code.” Emmarae might have had such skills. He would not put it past her.

  “Good. I want you off my ship.”

  Emry

  The alarm just wouldn’t shut off.

  “Proximity alert!” The computer droned the same message again and again.

  “I know! Just shut up.” Emry tried to shoosh away the cat from the control panel but earned a hiss and a narrowly avoided claw swipe for her troubles.

  “If we get boarded by space pirates, it’s your fault,” she said, backing away from the very annoyed not-a-housecat. “I should let you handle the pirates. That’ll teach ’em.”

  Unknown space pirates versus an irritated wildcat. She pitied the fools who got on Murder Mittens’ bad side.

  The volume on the alarm increased, and flashing lights joined the party because why not? Just when she was sure she’d never get rid of this noise and light-induced headache, the ship jolted.

  The lights cut out.

  “Not ominous at all,” she whispered. She sank back into the pilot’s seat, not quite defeated, but damn close. She had two charges left on the plasma flare and regretted not grabbing the stunner before the lights went out.

  Or, you know, grabbing a flashlight.

  For whatever reason, Murder Mittens decided that was the moment to jump into Emry’s lap.

  Emry froze, holding her breath lest the cat freak out and claw her up.

  “Nice kitty?”

  Murderous golden eyes blinked. A rumble filled the cabin, and Emry was 100% sure it was the ship breaking spontaneously breaking apart.

  “Are you… are you purring?”

  The cat stretched up, planted paws on her chest, and bumped her head to Emry’s chin.

  It was adorably terrifying.

  “Now? You get cute now?”

  The cat sprang away, digging her back claws in to use Emry’s thighs as a springboard.

  The cat stood in the door and looked over her shoulder at Emry, tail wagging aggressively.

  “Oh, you weren’t being nice. You’re escorting me to my doom.” Still, Emry followed the cat, because that made as much sense as anything.

  The cat led her to the airlock. Flashing red lights indicated it was in use. Numbers counted down as it cycled through pressurization.

  Emry tightened her grip on the plasma rifle.

  The doors slid open.

  Ren stepped through.

  “You,” he growled. Displeasure rolled off him. The barbed tip of his tail hit the wall, tapping menacingly. Between the tail, the tusks, and the general air of annoyance… yeah, not good.

  “I can explain,” she said, backing up slowly.

  “Do not tell me your excuses.”

  Ren prowled forward.

  This would not end well.

  Chapter 12

  Emry

  Their bodies slammed against the wall. Thick arms caged her in.

  Ren stared down at her with a fevered intensity. His eyes burned like twin suns.

  “You,” he growled.

  Oh boy.

  His mouth captured hers. Hard and demanding, he claimed possession of her. The tusks pressed into her lips, a strange—but not altogether unpleasant—sensation.


  He pulled back, just far enough to speak, but their breath still mingled.

  “Are.”

  Another hard kiss.

  “Impossible.”

  The punishing kiss eased, drifting into teasing.

  “I will keep you too intoxicated on pleasure to get into trouble,” he whispered, nibbling at her ears. He kept his voice low and rumbling, making her shiver at the sensation.

  His mouth drifted down her neck as his tusks scraped against her skin. At the curve of her neck, he licked and teased the mark he left on her four years ago. His fangs pressed down but did not break the skin.

  He captured her mouth again, and her treacherous body melted against him.

  Emry chased after his lips when he pulled away. A cocky grin spread across his face, drawing his lips back around his tusks. She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, glaring.

  His grin grew broader.

  “If that’s negative reinforcement, it’s not going to work the way you want,” she said.

  “And what do I want, Emmarae?”

  His arms were still planted on either side of her. Somehow, his tail got into the mix and brushed up and down her thigh. She could duck down and slip away, but right here, right now, felt like the place to be.

  “You’re angry about the, you know, grand theft spaceship,” she guessed.

  “Hmm. Those were not my words.”

  “And holding you at gunpoint, um, flare point, and forcing you into a pod.”

  “No. Incorrect.”

  Well, hell. What else had she done?

  “Getting Pashaal drunk?”

  “No.”

  “Not cheering loud enough at the fighting pit? I think your cat is plotting to eat me.”

  He pressed his forehead to hers. His body trembled with fury. Emry felt him quake, and she knew she was moments from the end. Technically mates, nothing bound them to each other beyond a bite mark and a genetic test. He could stage a tragic accident and try his luck with a new mate, someone better. Someone who didn’t steal ships.

  Ren gasped, and laughter spilled out.

  He was laughing.

  Relief mixed with outrage swelled in her. “It’s not funny.”

  “The situation is very amusing,” he said.

  She planted both hands on his chest and pushed. Nothing happened except for him watching her struggle. “Get off me,” she grumbled.

  He stepped back, though he kept his hold on her hips. His thumb worked its way under the waistband of her leggings, brushing her skin in small circles. She felt certain that she knew what he wanted and she was on board.

  “You are a stone in my boot, Emmarae,” he said.

  Okay, not what she expected.

  “You are with me every step of my journey. You are forever in my thoughts,” he said.

  His words were unexpectedly sweet. Tension uncoiled in her gut, replaced by something else. Longing.

  Want.

  His fingers hooked over the legging waistband. Carefully, his eyes on her as if watching for her reaction, he tugged down the fabric. “I want to taste my mate. I have waited four years, Emmarae.”

  Cloth slid down her thighs, pooling at her feet, and dammit, she wanted to be tasted. So bad. Her hand pressed flat against the wall and her hips lifted.

  Next, he worked down the cotton of her panties. She was bare before him. He kneeled before her, staring at her exposed flesh.

  Before she could worry about her bush or the last time she shaved above her knees, he leaned in and inhaled. He moaned like he caught the aroma of something delicious.

  Of her.

  He refrained from touching her, instead caressing her with his eyes.

  “Is something wrong? I know our anatomy is different.” Had to be the bush. Or the pudge in her stomach. Emry never gave much thought to the weight she carried in her middle because no one trusted a thin chef. She indulged enough in her creations that she always had extra cushioning on her tush.

  Ren skated his fingers down her abdomen. His journey paused at her navel.

  Looking up, she was struck by the inhuman features. Not just the tusks or the red complexion, but the broad nose, heavy brow, and thick jaw.

  He glanced at his hand, still covering her navel, and looked up at her. The white streak flopped over one eye. “Yes?”

  She nodded.

  “We are similar enough, but now I am curious,” he said.

  “I read some articles.”

  “Is that what they call it now?” His fingers brushed her damp curls.

  Emry gasped at the touch. “And a few videos.”

  “Ah, strictly for educational purposes, I presume.” He parted her folds, gliding a finger along her slick, hot flesh.

  She moved to spread her legs as far apart as possible but was hampered by the clothing still around her ankles.

  “Tell me how we are different,” he said.

  Heaven help her, rational thought fled, and she did.

  “Your, um, is internal.”

  “My um. That is not what it is called.” He brushed against her sensitive bundle of nerves, setting her alight. “Tell me.”

  “Your…” Thinking was too damn hard when he kept circling her clit. He grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Your cock.”

  “Mmm, yes. I like the way my cock sounds on your lips. I am eager to witness how it looks with your lips wrapped around it.”

  The pressure increased as he circled and teased. Her knees wobbled. His fingers sank into her, and she felt herself squeeze and tighten.

  “Oh. Ren, I’m close.”

  “I am eager to show you how my cock is built to bring you pleasure.” His fingers hooked, hitting a secret spot inside. The heel of his hand dug in, adding pressure. “Spines and nodes. My venom heightens sensation. I want to share this with you.”

  He reduced Emry to a trembling, panting mess. She grabbed his head, unable to stand on her own.

  “I want… to see…” she managed to say.

  “You will,” he promised.

  “All talk and no action.” She gulped between words.

  He leaned in, nuzzling a kiss to her hip. Twin points of his tusks dug in, and her climax broke.

  Her fingers twisted into his head, pulling until her thighs stopped quivering.

  Ren breathed deep, then withdrew his fingers. Slowly, as if savoring a fine meal, he licked his fingers clean. The entire time, his eyes never left her, watching her.

  “Step up.” He freed her feet from the tangle of clothes.

  Did she just get down and dirty with her estranged alien husband? A small part of her thought she should be embarrassed for being so greedy, but that part was sent packing by the majority of her that floated with blissful contentment.

  “Your too-blissed-out-to-cause-trouble plan is very effective.”

  He grinned that monstrous grimace of tooth and tusks, and Emry found it sweet. Winsome, even.

  Then she remembered.

  “My sister is missing!”

  Ren

  Emry blinked, as if unsure of the words that came out of her mouth. “I feel so guilty. I can’t believe we were… doing that—”

  “What mates do.” An activity he wanted to continue, but his mate was in distress. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

  “While Gemma is in serious trouble,” she said.

  “Explain,” he ordered.

  “Gemma. My twin. She’s missing, and no one cares and my calls keep being disconnected and that’s why I took your ship and—”

  “For how long?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “Weeks.” His hands dropped away. Instantly, he missed her softness and warmth, but this was important. “A female is missing for weeks and no one will listen? Why did you not tell me immediately?”

  A bitter laugh got stuck in her throat. “I’ve been trying. No one cares. I know I said that.”

  He guided her over to a built-in sofa, covering her exposed flesh with a lap blanket. She
settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

  “Tell me,” he said. He rubbed her back for comfort. Her breathing eased. Tension unknotted. He enjoyed this, the familiarity of the intimate touch. It struck him as what mates shared after many years together. With envy, he had witnessed such moments between Havik and Thalia, quiet and comfortable.

  “Tell me everything,” he repeated.

  An entire story spilled out, how Gemma paid off criminals to be erased from the Draft database, and the blackmail. Emmarae took the job with Pashaal because it paid enough to keep the blackmailers off Gemma’s back.

  Ren held her the entire time, never interrupting except for clarification.

  “If I stayed, I don’t know. I’d be there to annoy the fuck out of the cops, and I’d make them listen.”

  No doubt his mate would camp outside buildings for days. She’d make herself an impossible to ignore nuisance.

  His chest filled with pride at the thought of his impossible mate harassing Earth authorities.

  “If you had remained, you would have been taken as well,” he said.

  “Oh.” The sound escaped her in a whoosh. “I hadn’t considered that.”

  “We will find your sibling.”

  Emmarae pushed herself up to look him directly in the eye. “For real?”

  Emotion flickered over her face, but he could not read the expression. Terran faces were so malleable, lips moving this way and that, unimpeded by tusks. Emmarae’s mouth, in particular, appeared almost nude without tusks.

  Her hair had worked itself free from the queue. Pale wisps framed her face. Her eyes were an intriguing shade between not quite brown and not quite green. He wondered if Terrans had a word for the color.

  “Yes. You have my word,” he said.

  A line appeared between her brows.

  Ah. An unhappy expression.

  “I am aware that my actions have not always supported my words. You may believe that my words and my oath are meaningless. I apologize,” he said. “I meant everything I said. I regret sending you away. I regret choosing my clan above my mate. I regret hurting you. I regret I do not know you well enough to determine if this is helpful or making the situation worse.”