Ren: Warlord Brides: Warriors of Sangrin #11

by Nancey Cummings

  “Fine, when you say it like that, I’ll wait.” Not that Emry had any useful skills to bring to a rescue mission unless they planned to bomb the bad guys with cupcakes. She didn’t like being left behind, but she’d only get in the way.

  “There are many good shops on the surface. You will purchase whatever pleases you,” he said. He pressed a credit stick into her hands. “Use my account. Do not be concerned about the cost.”

  “You want me to go and spend all your money while you find my sister? That doesn’t seem fair.”

  Ren’s tail swayed behind him. “Purchase what you require for the kitchen. I know you are unsatisfied with it.”

  Right there. That moment. Emry felt herself go all soft and fluttery again. Ren saw her, he really did.

  She squeezed the credit stick in her hand. Not a token of bribery, it was a symbol of how he understood her needs—with a pinch of bribery. “Trying to woo me with a new set of pots and pans?”

  He leaned in, his mouth to her ear. “Is it working?”

  “Mmm, trying to distract me is sweet, but I’m going to worry about you. New pots and pans won’t stop that.”

  “I will return to you, Emmarae. I swear it.”

  Emry grabbed his hand and tugged him forward into a kiss. “Come to bed,” she whispered, her lips nearly touching his.

  Chapter 18

  Ren

  The shuttle left Tholla’s atmosphere and joined the congestion orbiting the planet. While the moon was a close destination, navigating a collision-free path through the shipping lanes was slow going. Once clear, Havik brought the shuttle into the moon’s orbit.

  As the shuttle settled into a stable holding pattern, Havik unfastened his safety harness. He swiveled his chair to face Ren, a foolish grin on his face. “That female—”

  “Do not,” Ren warned.

  Havik appeared positively gleeful. “Your mate.”

  “Yes.”

  “That female is your mate,” Havik said.

  “The obvious has been stated. Thank you.”

  “That female has been your mate for several years.”

  Ren growled with a warning because Havik did not have to appear so damn happy about it. “What of it?”

  “I find it interesting.”

  “I do not,” Zalis said. “I am working. Go have your dramatics elsewhere.” He placed a set of noise-dampening headphones over his ears and turned his back on them.

  Havik gestured to the back of the shuttle, which housed the sleeping berths. He closed the partition and activated the sound dampening. “Does the warlord know, or do you intend to arrive on the Judgment with an abandoned mission and a heretofore unknown mate?”

  Ren ground his teeth in irritation. “Yes, I informed the warlord of my situation when we joined the clan, and I did not abandon our mission.”

  “We possess irrefutable evidence, yet we are chasing a phantom instead of taking a corrupt Council member into custody,” Havik said, speaking rapidly. “And you informed the warlord but never mentioned your mate to me.”

  “I did.” Ren’s tail lashed behind him.

  “No. Impossible. I would remember such a thing.” Havik folded his arms over his chest, stubborn and obstinate.

  This fool.

  “You would not have listened,” Ren snapped.

  “You are my friend. I will always listen.”

  Havik’s words sounded correct, but Ren knew them to be false.

  “The night you returned from your sojourn,” Ren said. “I told you then.”

  “You did not.”

  The utter confidence in Havik’s voice infuriated Ren. “I told you how the clan believed you sent your mate away for her Terran frailty. Other males felt pressured to do the same.”

  The clan had not treated Vanessa well. While not cruel, they failed to embrace her. She had grown ill. A difficult pregnancy threatened her life. The warlord told her she was being sent back to Earth, and she believed him. In the same breath, Kaos told his son that his Terran female had died. Havik never questioned his father.

  Ren knew he was to blame. Not for the entire lie, but for the years’ worth of behavior that made Kaos’ lie so easy to believe. No one in the clan had been her friend. No one cared enough to visit her in the hospital.

  Havik frowned. “When we met with the Terran agent, you asked about a female. Lorene Ball. That is not your mate.”

  “Another female who was sent away. I told Geral that I would investigate. I had a list.”

  “You did not tell me.”

  “You did not ask.” Ren tossed his hands in the air. “This! This is why I am your only friend. You are a selfish and short-sighted male, Havik. You only care about your pain and your losses. You do not ask, ‘What has happened to you, my friend, while I was away?’”

  Havik pressed a hand to the roof of the shuttle, tall enough to block the light. His tail swayed behind him, moving in a slow, soothing manner. “What has happened to you, my friend, while I was away? Tell me now.” A moment passed. Almost as an afterthought, he said, “Please.”

  The night Havik returned, Ren found his friend in a courtyard, drinking wine from a bottle. Havik was a changed male, utterly gutted, and that despair pushed Ren into a rage.

  How dare Havik wallow in pity when he sent his mate away?

  How dare Havik not see that his actions set off a cascade within the clan?

  How dare Havik not see how his friend hurt?

  “I understand now that Kaos lied to you about the death of your mate,” Ren said. “The clan, however, saw that the warlord would not tolerate a weak female, not even the mate of his spoiled son.”

  “Vanessa was not weak.”

  Ren held up a hand in surrender. “Please. I know this now, but at the time I loathed you. I hated that I had to choose between my Emmarae or my clan.”

  “You chose poorly.”

  “Yes.” At the time, it seemed as if he had no choice. She could not stay. He could not go. “I was wrong, and I was angry at you.”

  “Are you still?”

  “You have your moments. Mostly your head is full of sand, so I forgive you.”

  Havik huffed with amusement, breaking the tension.

  “You did not laugh. Before,” Ren added.

  “I had no reason.”

  “Your mate is good for you.”

  “Fortunately, she does not mind that my head is full of sand.”

  “Ah, that one is a viper. I like her very much.”

  “You have a bad habit of keeping secrets, Ivon Ren.”

  He could not deny it.

  “What other surprises do you have for me?”

  “I believe the Council is already investigating Pashaal. When my mate hijacked our ship, the Council’s agent retrieved my emergency pod. I was told to stop interfering or he would have my tail.”

  Havik rubbed his chain. “Those words? Exactly?”

  “More or less.”

  “Did she truly hijack our ship?”

  “She used a plasma flare gun.”

  A belly-busting laugh boomed out of Havik.

  “It is not amusing,” Ren said.

  “It is very amusing.”

  “She was very reckless. I complied so that she would avoid injuring herself.”

  Havik continued to laugh.

  “You’re a selfish brat,” Ren muttered with affection. Old hurts might continue to linger between them, but the sting had been removed from the guilt and resentment Ren felt. They had both suffered at the hands of the warlord. Havik had a second chance to do right with a new mate. Ren had a second chance to make amends with his mate.

  He would not fail Emmarae. Not again.

  “If you two are done being dramatic, I found something,” Zalis called from the front.

  Emry

  “So, you and Ren.” Thalia practically vibrated with excitement. For such a small person, she took up a lot of space. “Give me the dirty details.”

  “No.” Emry shifted through
a display of kitchen knives, testing the handles and the weight. Sangrins were human-sized, broadly speaking, so the tools were the correct size. She was just fussy, especially about knives. A knife needed to feel good on her hand, to have a balanced weight, and a blade sharp enough to slice cleanly. Dull blades caused accidents.

  “But years. Years! Ren is my friend, and he’s never mentioned you, not once. Not even a hint about his secret human mate.”

  Emry turned to face the chattering woman, still holding the chef’s knife. Thalia’s eyes went wide.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Emry set the knife down. “His home planet wasn’t safe, so I went back to Earth.”

  Thalia made a knowing noise. “Right, right. That makes sense. Take it from my firsthand experience: their old warlord was a bag of dicks. When we’re done here, and don’t take this as my trying to rush you, I’d like to check out the clothing shops.”

  “Not a problem.” Emry selected two new pots, a skillet, a set of mixing bowls, a variety of utensils, and dishcloths.

  “Do we really need all this?” Thalia asked as the purchases were packed into a delivery drone.

  “You have one medium-sized pot. One. Who lives like that?”

  “When all you eat is instant noodles, it’s fine.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Nutritionally adequate noodles. I despair for you,” Emry said. For a moment, she feared she’d gone too far.

  Thalia laughed. “Our eating habits are pretty atrocious.”

  Emry schooled her expression to be neutral and not at all the judgey face of a food snob. Thalia noticed her struggle, which earned more laughter.

  They left the cool shade of the shop for the bright sunshine of the open-air market. Various shops lined two roads, intersecting at a plaza dotted with café tables and sun umbrellas.

  “Sorry, I don’t want to be rude,” Emry said with sincerity. “Food is important to me. I’m very much a food-is-love person.”

  “You’re a chef, right? I’d expect nothing less.” Thalia pointed to a shop down the street. “Let’s go in there. I don’t know how you’re situated for underthings. The fabric replicator on the Judgment is fine, but your choices are gray and light gray. If you want something pretty or,” she made a purring noise, “best grab it now.”

  Emry had seven perfectly functional pairs of underwear she rotated through. “A little variety won’t kill me.”

  At the shop, Emry picked up a sleep set, the fabric so soft it felt like holding a cloud. She had clothes. Functional clothes, practically the instant noodle of clothing. Who did she have to impress, anyway? She packed light for her two-year contract, bringing half a dozen new chef’s coats and maybe as many tank tops to wear underneath. No one cared what she wore other than the chef’s coat.

  “That’s a good color on you,” Thalia said.

  “I shouldn’t.” Emry hesitated to return the sleep set to the display table. She wanted more than the instant noodle of wardrobes, but it was an expense she couldn’t afford. New pots and pans. Yes. That was a necessity. Clothes? What she had was fine, if boring.

  Then again, Ren told her to get whatever she pleased. She hadn’t thought twice about outfitting the kitchen with equipment that wouldn’t bring her to tears, so why not other stuff?

  Emry picked out a few pairs of panties in a soft fabric that felt like water in her hands. Bras, camisoles, socks, pajama bottoms, and sleep tanks were added to the cart. At another shop, she selected a sensible pair of trousers and a knit top. Thalia convinced her to try on a pale blue A-line dress. Emry never bothered with dresses. Her work uniform was strictly comfy pants, long-sleeved shirts, and things she didn’t care if they got sweaty and forever smelled like garlic and grease. When would she wear a dress?

  She twisted in front of the mirror to inspect her reflection, unable to say no.

  Maybe someday.

  The thought felt too much like planning for the future and plans never worked out for her. Still, she purchased the dress.

  Another delivery drone packed, they stopped at a café for lunch.

  “Do you ever wonder about the Mahdfel economy?” Emry asked. “It doesn’t seem sustainable. All those ships and weapons, not to mention just the sheer amount of money needed to feed everyone.” Let alone keep them in clothes, houses, with clean water, medical care, and education. The list kept growing in her mind.

  “Oh, they license off tech. Mostly medical, I think,” Thalia said. “The military tech they give away, but you pay through the nose for advanced meds.”

  “Huh.” She remembered the car accident and her stay in the hospital. How much of her treatment had been thanks to Mahdfel tech?

  “But not the stasis chamber. Those they keep under strict control.” Thalia frowned like she remembered something distasteful. “Which is short-sighted because that only means the black market is flooded with knockoffs and old, broken stasis chambers, which is dangerous.”

  “I never thought of that. Why would—” She broke off her question as a grim-faced security officer approached their table.

  “Emmarae LeBeaux?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Emry said.

  “We have a warrant to search your ship.”

  Chapter 19

  Ren

  “I located the source of the call. Here.” Zalis brought up an image of a warehouse. The dilapidated condition suggested the building was abandoned. Holes in the roof gaped open.

  “Can we get a better image through the roof?” Ren asked.

  The image enlarged on the screen, but details blurred with the increased magnification.

  “Land. We will investigate,” Ren said. He needed to see the property in person. Perhaps the traffickers left some clue to their destination.

  “We are to wait for reinforcements,” Havik replied.

  “We are to use our discretion,” he said. “You have terrible judgment, but I do not.”

  Havik snorted. “If it is a trap? If a dozen males wait for us, ready to end our lives?”

  “Do we have a count on life forms?” Ren asked Zalis.

  “Less than a dozen,” the male answered.

  “Easy enough for three Mahdfel warriors,” Ren said. “Will you land the shuttle, or shall I?”

  Havik pushed by him, knocking his shoulders into Ren, grumbling about hot-headed warriors.

  Perhaps he was overly eager to investigate. Ren wanted to prove himself to Emmarae and retrieving her sister had grown in importance. Gemma was more than a promise. If he returned Gemma to his mate, then he could atone for the hurt he caused his mate.

  Rescue the sister. Win his mate’s affection. The two were inextricably tied together.

  Impatient to complete the mission, Ren suited up in armor and checked the function of his weapons. All were operating within guidelines. He had performed a safety check twice before Havik finally put on his boots.

  “Hurry. A female’s life depends on us,” Ren said.

  “We do not know that the female is in the warehouse,” Zalis said, securing the fasteners on his armor. “All we know is that fewer than twelve individuals are inside the building.”

  “An abandoned building,” Ren said.

  “They could be repairing the structure.”

  “No. Drone footage caught no hint of repairs.” Nothing appeared on screen to suggest anyone used the building.

  After an eternity, they finally departed the shuttle. Night had fallen. The air held a chill.

  Reconnaissance drones broadcast a live feed of the warehouse to their helmets. Inside, the life forms remained stationary. Conversation, if they spoke at all, was quiet enough to avoid being detected by the drone’s microphones.

  “I do not enjoy going in blind,” Havik grumbled.

  Neither did Ren, but waiting was not an option. “We are too close to hesitate. Remember your mate. She was pulled from a stasis chamber.”

  “Yes.” Anger seethed in Havik’s voice. Long ago, Thalia had been abducted from Earth, sold at auction, and hastily sealed in a stasi
s chamber. She was lucky to have survived, as several of the chambers failed.

  Traffickers relied on old, broken tech because stasis chambers made transporting sentient cargo easy. They did not care if the cargo survived because lives were cheap. The chambers allowed them to transport more beings without having to worry about food, oxygen, maintaining their health, or the threat of rebellion.

  “We will be stealthy. Remain silent. I know it is a struggle for you,” Havik told Ren.

  “Go pull your tail. I am the embodiment of silence.”

  The warehouse sat apart from the other buildings, at the fringe, and separated with tumble-down fencing. Weeds poked through the broken pavement. Shattered glass glinted on the ground.

  The building remained dark.

  Images of the life forms flickered across the screen of his helmet. Ren dismissed the feed, not needing the distraction.

  “It is connected to the power supply, correct?” Ren asked for clarification. Being the embodiment of silence, he kept his voice at a whisper, even though he spoke over the comm link in his helmet.

  “Yes,” Zalis answered over the comms.

  Keeping in the shadows, they approached the warehouse. The lack of noise disturbed him. No vehicles. No hum of electronics. No people communicating over comms. Silence.

  “There should be guards,” Havik said. “Remain here.”

  He picked up a chunk of broken pavement and threw it at the side of the building. Glass shattered.

  So much for stealth.

  No alarm was raised. No guards rushed out. No lights flickered on.

  Absolutely no response.

  The building had been abandoned by the traffickers. The life forms inside were captives. He’d bet his tusks on it.

  “Enough with caution,” Ren said, rushing for the door. He threw his weight against it, the old wood splintering and giving way.

  Overhead lights flickered, casting a sickly glow.

  Cages.

  Stacked high, cages created a maze through the building. Filth, soured water, and rotten food lined the bottom of the cages. They varied in sizes, some for small animals and some large enough for a person if you did not particularly care about the person’s comfort. Occasionally, a scrap of fabric caught Ren’s eye, a rare splotch of color in the gloom. Worse still, a child’s toy.