Ren

by Starr Huntress

  Jaxar spoke. “There is Val Mori.”

  Paax frowned. “The atmosphere was toxic.”

  “Low levels that could be easily mitigated,” Jaxar said. He pulled up maps and schematics, projecting the images over the table. “There are existing structures in place. The base is no longer used for research, so we do not have to worry about displacing civilians. Abandoned mine shafts can be used for shelters. It’s a good choice.”

  “The atmosphere is toxic,” Havik said, as if no one gave that enough credence. Ren had to agree. He grew up on a toxic planet. Too much could go wrong with a broken seal.

  “Bring me other options,” Paax said. “I want a location close enough to the core planets that we will not arrive four days after a raid and far enough away that the Council will not cry foul. We’re digging in. The Suhlik left us a message on Tholla. They are already knocking on our airlock.”

  The second Invasion had begun.

  Emry

  The computer’s AI lit a path along the corridor, subtle green arrows leading her to Ren’s cabin. She needn’t have bothered. Mittens knew the way and took the lead, trotting off in her harness and practically dragging Emry through the ship. When she was too slow, Mittens looked over her shoulder with grumpy disdain.

  The stop at the dining hall was tolerated only because half a dozen warriors showered Mittens with pets and treats, as was her due.

  Eventually, Mittens diverged from the green arrows. Emry figured the cat knew a shortcut and tried not to question the wisdom of following a barely domesticated cat’s direction.

  When they arrived at a nondescript cabin door, it slid open. Any doubts as to if this was the correct place vanished. An enormous cat tree dominated the room. Designed to look like an actual tree, the trunk twisted, and leafy fronds decorated carpeted platforms.

  Emry unhooked the harness and Mitten dashed for the tree, scrabbling up and vanishing into a cocoon-type… bed? Cat cave? Emry wasn’t up on the cat jargon.

  “Ren is such a cat daddy,” she muttered and refilled the water and food dishes.

  Cat toys lay scattered across the floor, and a liberal amount of fur decorated the furniture. It was homey. Comfortable. She easily pictured Ren sprawled on the sofa, Mittens perched on his chest, lazily watching some program, and she wanted to be part of that. That contentment. That ease.

  The rest of the cabin was clean-ish, even if the neglected air of bachelorhood hung about. She wiped down the table and the surfaces in the tiny kitchenette, then set out plates and cups for dinner. Unpacked, the meal she picked up from the dining hall took up most of the counter space. She plated the meal, made that horrible tea Ren liked, and waited.

  Before the food had a chance to cool, Ren arrived, looking harangued. A smile broke across his face, and he strode across the room. He pulled her to her feet for a bone-shattering hug and kiss.

  “Tough day at the office?” she asked.

  “It is improving. You are in the wrong cabin.”

  “I knew it! Mittens, you did me dirty.” Emry wagged a playful finger at the cat. Mittens blinked and yawned.

  “Ah, this is the home she knows. We have been assigned a family suite.”

  “Does that mean a larger cabin?” The current cabin was not generous, but the cleansing room was enormous. Much better than the facility on Ren’s ship.

  “Yes. More than enough space for two,” he said.

  “But enough space for Mitten’s cat tree?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Unknown.”

  Emry laughed and motioned for Ren to sit at the table. “Eat before it gets cold.”

  “You should not be preparing meals. You need to rest. The last day has been stressful.”

  Lots of stuff to unpack there, but she ignored it for the moment. “Sit. Eat. I picked this up from the dining hall. Imagine my surprise that it’s Taco Tuesday.”

  Mittens chose that moment to emerge from her cat cave and sauntered over to Ren. She climbed up his legs, into his arms, and gave their meals an inquisitive sniff.

  “I refilled her food dish,” Emry said.

  “Yes, but I owe her treats because she is a good feline.” The look on his face was embarrassing. She loved him so much.

  Mittens meowed in agreement. He placed a few treats in her dish, and she promptly ignored them both in favor of scarfing down her kibble.

  “Thalia made the medic examine Mittens,” she said. “No lasting harm from the sedatives, but, and I quote, he deals exclusively with bipedal patients. Which I think is rather limited, because there are all sorts in the universe, not just people on two legs. What’s he going to do when an octopus person from Octagon 24 comes in because they have a rash on their tentacles?”

  “There is no such place.”

  “Could be. It’s a big universe. How boring would it be if everyone had the same basic blueprint?”

  Ren sat at the table. “This is good,” he said, shoving a fish taco into his mouth and swallowing it whole. “But not as good as yours,” he added.

  Emry shook her head, laughing lightly. “It is good. I expected it to be… I dunno, awful. Institution food usually is.”

  “The warlord has cooks to prepare foods that please his Terran mate, I have been told.”

  “Lucky us.” She took a bite of her fish taco. Baked, the fish had a nice texture. She did not recognize the chopped vegetables, something shredded and red like cabbage, but with a bite like an onion. Interesting. “I spoke with the warlord’s wife, while we were in Medical. She seems nice.”

  “I have only met the warlord’s mate twice,” he said.

  “She was very excited about me and Gemma having a bakery on Earth. In fact,” Emry said, dipping her taco into a small dish of salsa verde, “she made us an offer. The space, supplies, and funding to open our bakery on the ship.”

  She took a bite. Hmm. Sweet with a slow burn. Not salsa verde. Still good, though. Emry dipped her taco in again.

  “That is exciting. I regret that I did not sample your bakery’s wares,” Ren said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I need to talk about it with Gemma, but she’s got stuff on her plate now and I’d like a chance to settle.”

  “Do or do not. I only care for your happiness.”

  The near-Star Wars quote tickled her. “I mean, not having to worry about overhead and expenses is a pretty great deal. Those were the worst parts of running a business for me. But I also got pretty bored making the same recipes day after day. I’d like to learn new stuff. Experiment.” An idea struck her. Excitement rushed through her. “In fact, I’d like to convince the guy running the dining hall into taking me on as an apprentice. I need hands-on experience with Sangrin cuisine. Books and videos can only take me so far.”

  “I approve of this plan.”

  “I’d also like to learn about Rolusdreus food. Especially those dumplings you told me about,” she added. “I tried to find some ingredients when Thalia and I were shopping before, well, before everything went sideways, but there’s nothing. No exports.”

  It had stumped her at first, but when she considered that everything exported from Rolusdreus would require decontamination, the answer was obvious. Cost, pure and simple. Why spend a fortune decontaminating a crate of goods when the same thing could be acquired elsewhere for a fraction of the price? Plus, radiation. Even if the label promised the goods were decontaminated, unscrupulous sorts always cut corners. Too many people played fast and loose with safety regulations.

  “No, Rolusdreus does not export foodstuffs,” he said. “I travel there once a year to restock on jars of nutritional yeast.”

  Emry understood craving the taste of home. “Thankfully, Earth exports coffee and chocolate. I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

  “Send your mate to fill the cargo hold with crates and crates,” he said, shrugging his shoulders like that was no big thing.

  As they ate, Ren filled her in on the details of Pashaal’s arrest. Havik and Zalis apprehended her mer
e moments before her ship had clearance to depart. Emry didn’t think Pashaal was suited to a life on the run, but apparently, she was going to try.

  As the conversation continued, he told her what he could about the warehouse raid and the other captive women. Emry absently pushed the salsa containers across the table as she listened. The normalcy of it, like they had dinner every night and shared their days, settled about her like a comfy sweater. She could see this play out day after day, him coming home and spoiling the cat. Maybe one day spoiling their kids. She’d stuff him full of her latest experiment and keep feeding him until he knew she loved him completely.

  It was so damn cozy, and she had never wanted a thing like this before. Is this what it would have been like if he’d defied his warlord four years ago? If he had chosen her?

  No, probably not. They were different people back then.

  “I am boring you,” he said. At some point, Mittens climbed into his lap and curled up for a nap. He stroked her head while she purred.

  “No, I’m listening,” she protested. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

  He leaned back in the chair, tail thumping against the chair legs. “Yes.”

  “While I was in the holding cell, there wasn’t much to do but think,” she said.

  He growled. “That was a cowardly act done in desperation. I am sorry you had to suffer that alone.”

  “Well, all’s well that ends well, and it made me think about where we were four years ago.”

  “On Rolusdreus.” His tone implied it was obvious, and he did not understand.

  “Emotionally. Pashaal wanted to rattle my cage—”

  “You were in a cage!” He surged to his feet, knocking the chair back. Mittens hissed and dashed away to the safety of her cat cave. He tossed a distressed look in Mittens’ direction but remained in place.

  “A metaphorical cage. I know my temper is not the best. She wanted to get me angry, so I’d blab about the chip or say something to really get myself in trouble. All I had to do was stay calm, and it was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done, but I did it.” Emry grinned. “I couldn’t have done that four years ago. Do you know how many good jobs I’ve lost because I couldn’t keep a lid on my temper? So many.”

  He picked up the chair and sat back down. “That is good. Many warriors must learn to control their tempers and remain calm in the heat of battle. Acting rashly can lead to misfortune.” His face flushed, as if remembering an embarrassing detail. “This is something I must learn to master myself.”

  “So I thought about where we were four years ago—metaphorically. This is me,” she pushed a container of spicy salsa to her right. “And this is you.” She pushed the container of the sweet not-salsa verde to the left.

  “Incorrect. I am red. I am this one.” He pointed to the red salsa.

  “It’s not about color. Fine.” She swapped out the green salsa for a mild red salsa. “This is you, red, but not spicy. And this is me, full of heat and anger.” She tapped the spicy salsa.

  “Another metaphor.”

  She questioned the impulse that prompted her to share this, but she was committed. “So here I am, four years ago, all full of anger. Too angry to talk with you and work out a solution. And there you are, no anger in you, not willing to fight for me.” She paused, worried that she offended him, but he leaned closer, intrigued. “You had to make hard choices back then. It was an impossible situation.”

  “I could have fought for you.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. You made the right call, even though I was too angry to see it. But here’s the thing.” She pushed the containers closer together. “You got angry, and you got out. And I mellowed, I guess. I learned to listen and not let my mouth run away from me.”

  Another push and the containers were together in the center of the table. “And now we’re here, in the middle. Together. I like being here. I like you.”

  He looked up, delight on his face. “Yes? My memory may be faulty, but I recall that you love me.”

  “I love you,” she said with no quip, no sarcasm, no roll of the eyes. She loved him.

  “That is fortunate because I love you and I am happy to be in the middle with you.”

  “Well, it took us long enough to get here.”

  Chapter 23

  Ren

  He enjoyed lingering over the meal with his mate and the easy conversation they shared, but his eyes kept straying to the bed. While he had been alone with his mate in their cabin on his ship, he had been aware of their lack of privacy. The soundproofing in the cabins left much to be desired, so he merely slept with Emry tucked up next to him.

  He was not interested in sleeping.

  “Tired? I see you eying the bed,” Emry said, then yawned. “It’s been a long day.”

  “You should have a shower.”

  Her nose wrinkled. Adorable. “You saying I stink?”

  “I am saying that the Judgment has an unlimited water supply.”

  “Water?” She perked with interest. “A real water shower? Not a sonic or steam thingy?”

  “A shameful amount of water.” At first, the unrestricted use of water shocked him. Water was so precious where he came from. Life depended on it. To use it for waste or cleansing seemed decadent and depraved.

  “The stall is big enough for two,” he added.

  “Sold.” Emmarae left a trail of clothing on the way to the cleansing room.

  She moaned as hot water cascaded from overhead. Ren quickly stripped and joined her. He lathered and washed her back, letting the suds drip and pool in all her intriguing curves. The fullness of her ass held a particular appeal, glossy and round.

  With her hands braced against the wall, she spread her legs and pushed back against him.

  “Is this what you want?” he murmured in her ear.

  “Yes. So much.”

  Rinsing the soap from his hands, he then squeezed and parted the generous globes. Delving deeper, he found her curls wet and her folds slick. She moaned, pushing back against his hand.

  “Patience.”

  He turned her around and diligently cleaned every inch of flesh. Perhaps he gave her breasts more attention than necessary, but he needed to be thorough. He ran a cloth over the scars along her clavicle, the old scar faded and pale against her skin. He glanced down to find her watching him. Water clung to her lashes.

  “I could have lost you before I even found you,” he said. He pressed a kiss to the scar. The fragility of her physical body frightened him, but her resilience filled him with awe.

  Then he followed the shape of his bite, the scar he left on her shoulder. The marks were an angry red, even after all these years. It was not given in good faith and protested the insult.

  Like his Emmarae.

  “I am a selfish male,” he said, his finger skating across the mate mark. “I could not let you stay but I could not let you go.”

  How she loved him, he did not understand. He was only thankful that she did.

  “No more of that.” She rocked up on her toes and kissed him. While distracted, she took the soapy cloth from him. “My turn.”

  With careful diligence, she lathered and washed him. Her hand slipped along his tail, pulling and tugging like she wanted him to spend. Perhaps she did. His mate had a wicked streak that made him wild. His cock was hard, but not yet emerged. It ached for release.

  The cloth worked lower, caressing his abdomen, then his hips. Eventually, she sank to her knees and tossed the cloth aside.

  Her tongue licked the seam of his genital pouch, the sensation running through him like an electrical current.

  His cock emerged fully.

  Without hesitation, his mate grasped it by the root and licked up the underside. His tail curled, then lashed violently, hitting the tiled walls. She dragged her tongue, impossibly soft and velvety, along the spines that clustered under the head. Nothing had a right to feel this good.

  Then she wrapped her lips arou
nd his cock, swallowing as deeply as she could.

  Her mouth was hot. Scorching. The overwhelming heat nearly undid him. Textures clashed. Her teeth were hard. Her tongue was velvet. Everything was warm and enveloped him until he couldn’t think.

  She worked her mouth and hand together, sending more electrical charges up his spine.

  He shielded her from the downpour of water, but enough fell to form rivulets down her face. Wet hair plastered against her skull. She looked up at him, her lips stretched wide around his cock.

  Perfect.

  She took his breath away.

  He placed a gentle hand on her head, rubbing his thumb over her brow.

  “Emmarae,” he whispered. His perfect mate.

  This was too much. He wouldn’t last.

  Ren pulled away and dragged her to her feet. “My turn.”

  He sank to his knees, pressing his face to the juncture of her thighs. Despite the soap and the cascade of the shower, her scent was strongest here. He needed a taste. No. He needed to feast.

  Ren slung a thigh over his shoulder, opening her.

  Her flesh was hot and slick here. Delicious. His tongue worked her sensitive nerve cluster, circling and lapping until her thighs trembled. Water poured over him. This was decadent, wasting precious water and feasting on his glorious mate, making her moan and beg and more.

  His mate tugged on his tail. The urge to sting her overwhelmed him.

  Ren lifted her, pressing her back to the wall. Her legs parted, welcoming him into the cradle of her hips. Water cascaded over his head. Her lips claimed his, hungry and consuming.

  “Tell me you want my venom,” he said.

  Emry

  Emry drew back. “What’s it like? Will I be tripping balls? Not a fan of that, to be honest.”

  “It heightens pleasure for the female. There are no psychedelic properties.” His mouth pressed against her ear, allowing her to hear him above the drumming of the shower.