Facial expressions were different. Gemma bit down on her tongue, the end sticking out of her mouth when she was deep in thought. Emry had more freckles because she was lax about sunscreen. They may have started with the same base model, but experience and choices made them different. Even then, Gemma’s face was like her own. When Emry felt happy or frightened or so full of excitement she might burst, she only had to look over and find her emotions reflected back.
“It’s silly. I’m not explaining it well,” she said.
“No, it is an interesting observation.” Supplies packed away in the kit, he sat on his heels and listened to her.
“You know, after the accident, someone joked that Gemma and I were like a before-and-after photograph.” She shook her head at the maudlin memory. “I had just gotten off shift at a dinner and Gemma was eating at the counter. Long story short, she flipped a table.”
“I do not know this idiom.”
“Not an idiom. She literally flipped the table of the two dickweasels who thought they were hilarious.” The joke had been crass and mean-spirited, but Emry ignored it. Emboldened, the guys at the table kept going, asking her if she understood the joke or was she deaf as well as ugly. “Anyway, we got fired from that job because the manager did not appreciate us causing a scene with the dickweasels.”
“Your sister defended your honor, and you were penalized,” he said, full of outrage. “Unacceptable.”
“It’s in the past. Nothing we can do about it now.”
“Tell me the manager’s name, the place this occurred and when. I will locate the weaseldicks and teach them how to behave.”
She melted at the unexpectedly sweet offer for retribution. Reluctantly, she said, “Yeah, that’s a hard no. I’m not sending you off on a revenge rampage because someone hurt my feelings once.”
“You could. I do not mind.”
“You sweet talker, but the answer is still no.”
“It is not about the emotional damage, though that is important,” he said, and damn if that didn’t make her feel a little fluttery inside. “Scars are trauma. They are experience and growth. They are to be admired, not mocked. The only person in this story to be admired is your Gemma.”
Yup. Fluttery. She was all aflutter.
This had to be bad.
Ren
“I have made a discovery,” Ren said. He tossed the necklace onto the low table in front of the sofa.
His mate set down her tablet and picked up the item. The metal shimmered in the light. “I forgot about this,” she said. “We should return it to Pashaal. What happened to the pendant? Did the gem fall out?”
“It was cut glass, not a gem.”
“I doubt that. Pashaal is always going on about how expensive her jewelry is.”
“The pendant concealed this.” He set down the data chip and black glass fragments on the table, then perched on the edge of the sofa.
“A chip? What’s on it?” Emmarae held up the chip to the light, as if that would reveal its secrets.
That did not work. He already tried.
“I do not know. A skill greater than mine is required to bypass security.”
“Encrypted and secret. Shady as fuck. That’s on-brand for Pashaal.” Emmarae returned the chip to the table. “But it could just be photos.”
“Or secret banking transactions.” Exactly the evidence they needed to bring down a corrupt Council member. It was too easy.
Dovak’s words repeated in Ren’s mind. Emmarae knew too much of Pashaal’s organization, and the devious female needed to insure his mate’s silence.
“Why did she give this to you?” he asked.
Emmarae frowned. “She didn’t give it to me. I borrowed it. She wanted me to wear something nice and told me to pick something from the tray.”
“Did that happen often?”
She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m trying to follow. Pashaal likes her things to be pretty or expensive. Preferably both. Wearing a few of her cheaper pieces wasn’t unusual.”
“And the other selections? How many? Were they suitable? To your taste?”
Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, chewing at the corner in the exact location he could not because of his tusks. It was an entirely human gesture, and he adored it. Adored her.
“I think there were three or four other necklaces, but they were too long. They’d fall forward and get in the way as I worked. The choker was the only option,” she said, touching the base of her throat. Then, “She wanted me to pick that one.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Any number of reasons,” he said. “Blackmail. A tracking device.”
Mittens jumped onto the sofa between them. Emmarae tensed, then relaxed when the feline rubbed her face against her thigh.
“She’s marking her territory, isn’t she?” his mate asked.
“You are part of her pride now.”
“Huh.” She cautiously stroked the feline behind the ears. Mittens rewarded her efforts with a loud purr.
“She is a good feline.” He rubbed the side of Mittens’ face the way she preferred. “An excellent rodent exterminator and the best at napping.”
“The pendant isn’t a tracking device, is it?” Emmarae asked.
“No, but I would not be surprised if Pashaal appears at some point in the future wanting her property returned.”
Emmarae picked up the necklace. “If the gem was glass, I guess this isn’t real silver.” She held it closer and inspected the chain. “The plating is worn at the clasp. Not silver and a fake stone.” She turned to him. “She insisted I wear this after she found me with you. She had to have known I’d be distracted and forget to return it at the end of the night. She wanted me to be caught with this.”
“I believe so. We need to know what’s on that chip.”
“Probably something horrible.” Her fingers curled around the chain. “I think it’s time you told me why you were investigating Pashaal. I’ve tried to be patient, but this has a way of being unignorable. Is that a word? Impossible to ignore.”
Ren leaned back into the soft cushions of the sofa, his hand still on his feline. The steady, even measures of Mittens’ breathing helped focus his thoughts. He explained the illicit research his clan had uncovered, how that research endangered everyone in the system, and the links that implied funding from the Sangrin Council.
“A war crime. You think my boss committed a war crime,” Emry said.
“Financed a war crime.”
She shook her head. “That’s worse. Seems colder. Eviler.”
“It is unpleasant.”
“Pashaal wouldn’t do that. She always says there’s no profit in war. Peace is how you make money.”
“There is profit in weapons.”
“She trades luxury goods. Rare, one-of-a-kind things. She smuggles exoplanet fruits and vegetables. She doesn’t pay taxes or tariffs. She’s not a war criminal.”
“My warlord was not the only one to notice her activities,” he said, avoiding naming Dovak. He would share as much as he safely could of his mission with his mate, but some details were not his to divulge.
“Shady, yes. Absolutely.” She gestured with the hand holding the necklace. The chain clinked, drawing Mittens’ attention. “I’m having a hard time believing war criminal. She gets fussy if her wine isn’t cold enough, though I imagine fussiness about wine has no bearing on horribleness.”
Emmarae’s voice trailed off as she searched her memories for evidence of horribleness. “Huh. She had some guests a month ago. They were odd.” She shook her head. “Pashaal hosted a lot of guests and made a lot of trips. She kept a high profile. What you’re saying is too risky for her.”
“Ego and arrogance make fools of us all.”
“I saw the file. I believe you, but it’s hard to believe you. Does that make sense?”
“You are compassionate. You want to believe the best in people.”
She snorted, an inelegant noise and utte
rly charming. “Man, you are so off base. I am a classic curmudgeon, but that’s sweet of you. I’d like to think I’m a good judge of character and can tell when I’m working for a war criminal, but I guess not.” Then, in a slightly quieter tone, she said, “Gemma is always trusting people she shouldn’t, too.”
His mate inspected the necklace again before fastening it around Mittens’ neck like a collar. “I think Miss Murder here should wear it for safekeeping.”
Emry
“Is it supposed to be that color?” Emry held the filter between her thumb and index fingers. Black and dripping, it stank like stagnant water.
“Yes,” Ren said. Flat on his back, he stuffed half of himself inside an access panel. Occasionally, a hand reached out for a tool or with an item for her to dispose of.
“Gross.”
“If the algae were red, I’d be alarmed.”
Emry tossed the dirty filter into a bucket of sanitizer. The liquid bubbled.
Only a little disturbing.
“How many more?” she asked.
“Several.”
“Awesome.”
“Clean water is awesome,” he said, oblivious to her sarcasm.
Days into their journey, Emry tagged along with Ren while he did basic ship maintenance and repairs. Apparently, the ship’s systems were a fragile ecosystem that required constant work. Well, Ren hadn’t used those words exactly, but she got the idea. Older machines required more upkeep. Her first car had been a pre-invasion two-door coupe with more rust than paint. It always needed fixing, the radio only worked when it felt like it, and the heater could not be turned off. Eventually, parts were hard to find, and she had to let it go.
She loved that beast of a car. It took her months of saving money from her first job to buy the car. It was freedom, sure, but it was always a tangible thing she earned herself. She understood how Ren got sentimental about his falling-apart ship.
Today they cleaned the water filtration system, which involved switching out gross, slimy filters for clean and scrubbing out the water lines. Mostly, Ren did the smelly work, and she handed him tools.
“I need more tubing.” Ren shimmed out from the maintenance hatch. A smear of black crud decorated his forehead.
She enjoyed assisting Ren, especially when he got excited about some hack he used to fix a busted what’s-it. The technical terms didn’t really stick, but she now knew her socket wrench from the vibroblade.
What she liked about following Ren around with a bucket of slimy water filters was how dirty he got. Sweat, dust, and algae clung to him. His hair stuck in the back from scooting into and out of crawl spaces. If he took off his shirt because he got too hot and she was able to appreciate the black ink that curled up his abdomen… well, being Ren’s assistant had its perks.
Mostly, she appreciated how grimy he got working. Odd, true, but Emry’s working life had been spent sweating and feeling generally gross. Kitchen work was hard. Ovens were hot. She had to wear layers to protect herself from burns, which meant that Emry ended her shifts drenched.
Ren’s work had him just as gross as hers, maybe more because she never wrangled algae-clogged filters. It was something they had in common.
“Hold this. I will remove the clogged tube.”
“Don’t you need to drain it?”
“I do not.” Ren handed her a roll of unused tubing and crawled back into place. Two seconds later, she heard a pop and a gush. Black liquid seeped out onto the floor.
Ren pulled himself out, sputtering and wiping black slime from his face. He flicked the slim off his fingers and glowered at her. “It is not amusing.”
“A little.” Maybe she smirked. Maybe. She was only human.
“Because you laugh at the misfortune of others.”
“No, I’m not laughing! We’re bonding,” she said.
“The gasket failed,” he said.
“You forgot to drain the tube.” She dug out a mostly clean rag from the tool cart and mopped up the worst of the goop. “In the spirit of camaraderie, have I ever told you about the time I set a pan on fire?”
He tossed the dirty tubing into the bucket with cleaning solvent. “You have not.”
“Well, I was pretty young. Okay, I was twenty and exhausted from school and work. I made bacon and eggs.” She remembered because the stench of burnt bacon grease haunted her tiny apartment. “I set the lid on the skillet and ate my breakfast. Drank coffee, all that. Eventually, I smell smoke.”
“Did the alarms fail?”
Emry did not want to tell her overly protective alien spouse that her college apartment didn’t have a working smoke detector. “I forgot to turn off the burner, and the pan just got hotter and hotter. Do you know what I did next?”
“No, but I know I will not like it.”
“I lifted the lid. Whoosh!” She tossed her hands in the air. “The grease caught fire. I freaked out and threw the entire skillet out the back door. I had a fire extinguisher right there next to the stove, but no. Chucked it outside.” When the landlord asked about the burn patch on the lawn, Emry played dumb, like it had been there when she moved in.
“I am alarmed at the casual way you tell this story.”
Emry shrugged a shoulder. At the time, her near-mishap rattled her. By now, it had morphed into a funny story. “We all make mistakes when we’re tired. Is it time for dinner?”
“I believe we have done enough for this rotation. Let me complete this one task.” He shimmed back into the crawl space, his legs and tail hanging out the wall.
“This is fun,” she said. “What are we fixing tomorrow?”
Chapter 15
Ren
After a meal, Emmarae selected a film to watch. He barely followed the plot or the actor flickers in the holographic projector’s light. He watched his mate, studying her half-laugh, which sounded more like a swallow-chortle than laughter. When Mittens joined them, Emmarae unfolded her legs to make a lap for the feline. Her fingers stroked Mitten’s fur around the ears the way the feline enjoyed.
Mostly he focused on his mate, waiting for the moment she’d glance his way and smile. Scarring twisted her lips, but that was not her true smile. She smiled with her eyes. The corners wrinkled and her dark eyes shone.
Beautiful.
At some point, she laid her head on his lap. Eventually, she slept.
He let the film run its course, content to listen to his mate breathing.
Emry
A warm, hard body pressed against her. Drifting awake, Emry stretched slowly. Ren crowded her on the sofa, but she didn’t mind. It was nice. Judging from what poked her behind, he enjoyed it, too.
A hand brushed hair away from her neck. “Are you awake?”
“Mmm, getting there. What time is it?”
“We have hours before arrival,” he said. A hand settled on her hip, then drifted under the shirt. The warmth of his palm soaked into her as he explored the contours of her belly.
“Hours, huh? Whatever shall we do?”
“I have a few ideas.”
She leaned back against him as his hand pushed under her waistband. He moved like a champ, like they had years of experience touching each other and making out on the sofa. The black ink on his red skin turned silver, burning a path up his forearms. Before long, his clever fingers brought her to a quick release. He pressed his face into the curve of her neck, growling and digging in with his tusks.
She stumbled off the sofa, half-tripping over her pants as she stripped. Ren watched, legs spread wide and his cock hard.
“Naked. Now,” she said, tossing her shirt to the floor.
“I am enjoying the view.”
She enjoyed the view, too. The sleeveless shirt he wore displayed all his lovely corded, muscular arms. Now the intricate tattoo patterns glowed. It was stunning.
She knelt between his legs and touched an arm. The ink glowed brighter where she touched. “Does this hurt or burn?”
“Tingles, mostly. I do not notice.”
<
br /> “Well, I think it’s very attractive.”
He cupped her face. A thumb rubbed against her bottom lip. “My mate is the loveliest sight I ever beheld.”
Emry looked away. She didn’t know what to do with that. It was easier to focus on the fastener of his trousers. She undid the first fastener, watching him for any sign of reluctance.
His hand covered hers. “I am not like Terran males,” he said.
“I watched an educational video, remember. There were diagrams. I will not freak out.” Rolusdreusian dicks weren’t that weird. They had extra features, sure, but it was still a shaft that went into a sheath. It didn’t have tentacles or lay eggs.
“Then you are an expert.” He removed his hand, amusement in his voice.
She opened his trousers and his cock sprang out. Thick and dark red, nearly purple, it seemed too big. Way too thick.
And spikey.
Like, she knew about the flexible spines that clustered under the head and ran along the shaft, but she didn’t know.
“Wow. The diagrams did not prepare me to see this in person,” she said.
Ren
He did not want his mate to be afraid, so he fisted his cock and ran a hand along the length.
“The spines will bend. They will not harm you,” he said. The spines did just that as he stroked himself.
She licked her lips. “Can I try that? Touch you?”
“You may always touch me.”
Her hand wrapped around the base, firm but not too hard, and stroked up.
He sighed with pleasure and his head lolled back against the seat. His entire being was focused on the sensation of her touch, her fingers, and the way her breath quickened.
“Here.” He motioned for her to straddle his lap.
Her knees landed on either side of his thighs. She rocked her hips, brushing lusciously damp curls against him.
He positioned himself at her entrance. “Slowly,” he said, as she sank onto him.
Her cunt was tight and hot. So, so hot. It gripped him and took all he had not to buck up, driving deep into her. Her fingers clutched at the fabric of his tank.
Ren: Warlord Brides: Warriors of Sangrin #11 Page 14
