Ren: Warlord Brides: Warriors of Sangrin #11

by Nancey Cummings

  Tension crackled in the room. Gemma looked to Emmarae, silently beseeching her for support.

  Ren scrubbed his face. “Apologies. My tone was unnecessary. You have suffered greatly.”

  “Oh, don’t pander to her,” Emmarae said.

  “I do not pander, but thirst, hunger, or exhaustion can impair the senses.”

  “I know what I saw,” Gemma repeated.

  Ren tipped his head in acknowledgment. “You overheard their plans.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you understand them? You do not have an implanted translator.”

  “She’s not lying,” Emmarae snarled.

  “No, it’s fine,” Gemma said. “They stuck one in me. Here.” She touched a spot behind her ear.

  “Can the other females confirm what you heard?”

  “I think I’m the only one they gave the implant to.”

  “Rest. When you are well enough to travel, we will journey to the Judgment. The warlord will want to hear your observations,” he said, trying to choose the most diplomatic terms. “I will return.”

  He escaped into the corridor. He needed a moment to think, to process what Gemma told him. Suhlik trading in female flesh… Such a thing was unprecedented. Did they want the females for reproduction? Surely not. The Suhlik had hatcheries, great complexes dedicated to nothing but the fertilization, care of eggs, and nurseries for their young.

  Terran females were not compatible with Suhlik breeding techniques.

  Emmarae followed him into the corridor. “What was that?”

  Ren pushed her against the wall, his arms planted on either side of her. She stared up at him, her eyes bright and burning. He did not know what to say or how to avoid her displeasure, so he covered her mouth with his.

  She melted into his kiss, nibbling and tugging at his lip. “Don’t think you can distract me so easily.”

  “I love your fire,” he said, full of sincerity. “You burn with the heat of the sun, and you want to stay with me.”

  “Yeah, we never really talked about it. I hope that’s okay.”

  His mate looked uncertain, so he kissed her again.

  “I approve,” he said.

  She huffed with amusement. “As long as you approve.” Then, in a quiet voice, as if sharing a secret, “I love you, too.”

  Delight rose in his chest. “Yes?”

  “Yes.”

  His mate loved him. After his loathsome missteps and bungled attempt at reconciliation, she loved him.

  “I must tell everyone,” he said. He had a duty to share his good fortune.

  “The audacity of you,” she said, grinning, and stretched up for another kiss.

  Slow and sweet, he savored the feel of her against him. They fit well together; a female made just for her male. A male who wanted only to bring his female delight. Daily. Twice daily, stars willing.

  She pushed gently, and he took a step back. “What Gemma said, I believe her.”

  “Suhlik. It is possible. This would be a new pattern.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging in thought. So much of the last year had been reacting to new patterns.

  “What does it mean?” she asked.

  “Nothing good.”

  Chapter 22

  Ren

  By dawn, Councilor Pashaal had been apprehended. His mate updated him about Pashaal’s desperate attempt to intimidate her and retrieve the chip.

  “I understand her desperation,” he said. They sat in uncomfortable chairs in Gemma’s room, pushed side by side. Emmarae slumped against him, her head on his shoulder. “The chip has extensive financial transactions and communications that implicate her and another in funding the illicit research.”

  “What was the research? You never said,” Emmarae said, yawning between words.

  “Experiments on Suhlik eggs. A research vessel was on the fringes of Sangrin territory, hiding, but the Suhlik found them and destroyed everything.” He had not been there, but he read the report. Lorran might exaggerate, but Mylomon was not one to pad words or dramatize events.

  Emmarae shivered. “That’s horrible. That’s—”

  “A war crime,” he said.

  “I worked for her for months. I knew she was shady, but that?” She pulled the thin blanket tighter around her. “I definitely should have poisoned her.”

  Shortly after the sun rose, the medics deemed Gemma fit enough to leave. Other warriors had arrived to process the rescued females and deliver them safely to a destination of their choice.

  Overnight, Havik had moved the ship closer to the hospital. Within an hour, they were ready to leave Tholla and return to the Judgment.

  “You are nervous. Stop it,” Havik said, fastening his safety harness.

  “Your piloting always makes me nervous.”

  He snorted, which was as close to a laugh as Havik got. “You are perspiring, and it is not about my skills. You worry about the warlord.”

  He did but was loath to admit it. Paax was a reasonable male, though part of him worried what if? The warlord knew about Emmarae. Ren had stated facts plainly that one day he would win his mate back.

  What if the warlord decided Emmarae was flawed?

  Impossible. Emmarae had no flaws.

  What if the warlord determined the clan could no longer support all their mates? Some warriors would have to choose between their mates or the clan. All the old fears and worries came back, swirling inside him.

  No. Paax was not Kaos.

  “Paax is a reasonable male,” he said. And if he were not reasonable, Ren knew he would always choose his mate. It was no choice at all.

  “The female cannot stay,” Paax said.

  “What? No!” Emmarae and Gemmarae exclaimed at the same time.

  The warlord, and apparently every available officer plus the warlord’s mate, waited in the hangar for their arrival. Quite the crowd had gathered to greet them. Ren flattered himself that the warlord wanted to congratulate his team on a successful mission of both securing the evidence that led to the arrest of Councilor Pashaal and rescuing nine females from sentient being traffickers.

  He had been very impressive.

  However, he suspected it was pure curiosity that drew the crowd.

  His mate stepped forward, hand already in a fist. “Tell me I did not mishear you,” Emmarae said, her chin raised and her posture screaming that she wanted a fight.

  Ren placed a hand on his mate’s shoulder and pulled her back. “It is unwise to challenge the warlord,” he whispered in her ear.

  “So what? If he thinks I’m not going to fight for my sister, he’s wrong.” Her voice rose in volume. “Does he know I’m a badass? I stole your ship. I’m not afraid of any warlord.”

  Paax watched her posturing, head tilted and amusement in his eyes.

  Gemma stood next to her sister. Despite leaning on a crutch for her fractured ankle, her stance was unmistakably defiant.

  He admired these females. How had he ever mistaken his mate for broken and timid? She and her twin were forces to be reckoned with.

  “I am sympathetic to the female’s plight, but she cannot remain an unmated female on the Judgment,” Paax said.

  “That’s not fair! She’s vulnerable. They’ll take her again,” Emry said.

  “Unlikely.” Paax turned his attention to Havik.

  Before Paax could speak, Ren interrupted. “Sir, the circumstances are extraordinary. I believe they require consideration.”

  Paax focused on Ren, and he resisted the urge to squirm under the warlord’s scrutiny. This was not Kaos. This was not the clan of his youth, measuring him against his father and countless generations, and ultimately—always—finding him deficient.

  He was no longer the runt of the clan or the butt of cruel jokes. He had made his own way, earned his place, completed several successful missions, rescued an abducted female, and won the heart of his mate.

  He was worthy, and for the first time, he believed it.

  “This is a warsh
ip, not a ship built for leisure,” Paax said. “We are facing an invasion. We cannot house and feed strays. We cannot keep everyone safe. Only our mates. Only our sons.”

  “My mate is correct that her twin is vulnerable. She is at high risk of being abducted again,” Ren said. He planted his feet firmly on the ground, ready to dodge a blow for such defiance.

  The blow never came, despite the wrath in the warlord’s eyes. It was difficult to read his body language.

  The warlord’s mate gently touched his arm. “What about my mother? She moved in right after we came to the Judgment. Is she a stray?”

  “That is different,” the warlord said, his tone mild as he addressed his mate.

  “Because I’m the warlord’s mate?”

  “No, because she is too old to be a distraction.”

  The female’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. That’s how it is. Dannel must be thrilled to learn that my mother is too old to be his mate.”

  “You twist my words.”

  “No, Paax, you’re doing that just fine on your own. And what about Vanessa? You let Jaxar drag her on board.”

  “She was a contracted employee, and he was actively courting her.”

  Ren looked toward Havik and silently mouthed, “Your Vanessa?”

  Havik nodded in confirmation. Interesting.

  “I do not know the story of Jaxar’s mate, but exceptions have been made,” Ren said. “Gemmarae was taken because of flaws in Earth’s defense. We cannot allow her to return before the defenses are repaired.”

  Paax leveled a hard glare at Ren, one that clearly said he did not buy Ren’s ludicrous argument.

  Ren held up a hand in surrender. “I have made my case. My mate’s twin must remain.”

  “You tell ’em,” Emmarae whispered, her voice soft enough for only his ears and filled with fury.

  Ah, his sweet, sweet mate.

  The warlord touched his amputated horn, then nodded, as if he came to a decision. “If the female is to remain, she must be matched.”

  “What? No! Gemma will just be sent somewhere else,” Emry protested.

  “It is possible her match is here.”

  Emmarae huffed. “But we just found her! She was stolen. Taken against her will. They were going to sell her. She needs time to recover from her trauma. I need time!” Wetness appeared in her eyes. “I can’t lose her again.”

  Gemma took Emmarae’s hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. What if I pick someone? Can I pick the guy, or does it have to be random?”

  A moment elapsed as the warlord considered this. “If a male would volunteer to be your mate, yes.”

  Gemmarae lifted a shoulder in that Terran gesture of indifference. “Zalis. I want Zalis.”

  The male in question blinked, as if stunned. “Me?”

  “Gemma, you don’t have to do this,” Emmarae protested. She clutched her twin sister’s hand. Side by side, the twins were sunlight and moonlight, vibrant gold and cool radiance.

  “No, I do, and it’s fine.” Gemmarae pulled away. “I like Zalis.”

  “You don’t know him.”

  “He’s sweet. Goofy.”

  Every warrior stared at Zalis, trying to imagine the hulking male as sweet and goofy. The male ran a hand over his horns in a bashful expression, as if trying to hide from scrutiny.

  Huh. Perhaps the male was sweet and goofy.

  “This is stress talking. You don’t mean this. She doesn’t mean this,” Emry said to the warlord.

  “Emry, enough.” Gemma moved to Zalis’ side. “Those assholes sold me. Sold. Me. Like a piece of meat. I’d be lucky if I ended up in a brothel, but we both know I’d likely end up dead. They sold me to the Suhlik.”

  The warlord furrowed his brows. “Suhlik do not purchase females.”

  Gemmarae ignored the warlord and continued to speak to her sister. “I know Zalis. I like him. He won’t hurt me, and this way we’ll get to be together.”

  “Fine,” Emry ground out, “but if he hurts you or scares you or makes you feel bad, I’ll poison him.”

  “Not if I poison him first,” Gemmarae said.

  The females gave each other a warm smile at the promise of homicide. Zalis looked alarmed.

  His love for Emmarae was vast, containing more sand than the desert and stars in the sky. He could see no beginning or end to his love for his mate. It simply was.

  The day would never end. He wanted only to go to his cabin, crawl into bed with his mate, and remain there forever. And pet his feline. That would also be acceptable.

  The females were escorted to Security to be given access to basic ship functions, then Medical for evaluations. The implant given to Gemmarae by the Suhlik would be replaced, for security concerns. Nasty surprises were often bundled together with seemingly harmless items. He feared a micro bomb could have been embedded in the female’s skull.

  “I don’t care. Put a new one in, just get it out of me,” Gemmarae demanded.

  Emmarae squeezed his hand while the medic extracted the chip. She barely breathed until scans confirmed her sister free of embedded explosives. Finally, she relaxed her grip when the medics implanted Mahdfel tech.

  He wanted to be with Emmarae for the entire process—and to satisfy his curiosity about Zalis in his unexpected match—but he had a meeting with the warlord.

  For hours.

  This was punishment. It had to be.

  Ren’s tail twitched, too anxious to remain still.

  Officers surrounded the table in the meeting room. Paax sat at the head. Mylomon tucked himself away in a corner, observing at a distance. Seeran, head of Security, sat at the warlord’s right. Vox, the flight deck manager, sat to the left. Jaxar, the head engineer, sat at the far left. Ren rather felt like he was being examined by a panel of educators there to evaluate his performance.

  “What credibility do you give the female’s claims about the Suhlik purchasing the female?” Paax asked.

  Ren glanced at Havik. They had no shared theories, but he had spent the entire night pondering the question. He said, “The warehouse was a trap. Gemma reports her captors had her send messages to Emmarae. Those messages were easily traced.”

  “They wanted you there,” Paax said.

  “Yes. The nine females were surrounded by explosives. The captors wanted to frighten the females and for us to see their demise. Such cruelty is very much like the Suhlik.”

  “There is evidence that more than nine beings were housed, however briefly, in the building. The Suhlik may have purchased females and left those nine as bait in the trap.”

  “They play with their prey,” Ren added. His feline also played with her prey, but she was not a sentient being capable of interstellar travel. Her play was not cruel, simply instinct.

  “If the Suhlik were on Tholla, they would have breached further into our territory than we suspected,” Paax said. His jaw clenched. “And the Council—”

  “The Council is divided,” Ren said. “Councilor Oran told me as much. The clans are divided, and the Council is reluctant to admit that invasion is imminent.”

  “Councilor Oran also accused me of splitting the clans,” Paax said.

  Ren raised his hands in supplication. “Uniting on this issue is imperative.”

  “Agreed.” The warlord ran a hand over the seared-off end of his missing horn.

  For a long while, Ren had been unnerved at the visible sign of weakness in the warlord. A missing horn. While he did not have horns himself, he imagined it must be like having his tail chopped off. He could not fathom the loss of self, the disruption it would cause to balance, and the warlord did not hide this injury. All could see.

  Paax had more strength than Kaos could ever imagine.

  “Why Terran females?” Havik asked. “We have recovered several abductees, and the majority are Terran females.”

  “Indulge me. I have a hypothesis.” Paax waved a hand over the table, and a projection appeared. “Once the Mahdfel make an alliance, compatibility rates are high.
After a generation, say twenty years, the rate of compatibility declines. This pattern of attrition could simply be that the most compatible females are removed from the general population, they have sons, and the gene pool, as it were, is not replenished.”

  Images and genomic sequences that Ren did not understand flashed through the projection. Ren knew the warlord had been the one to design the genetic match, the test that matched him with his Emmarae. He assumed Paax knew of what he spoke.

  “Compatibility rates with Earth have remained steady. Usually, at this point in an alliance, matches should be falling.”

  “We do have an unusual number of Terran mates,” Vox said. Ren did not know the male well, but recognized him as the officer who kept the fighters, shuttles, other vessels, and pilots in working order.

  “The only other planet that does not have a declining match rate is Rolusdreus,” Paax said. Ren shifted forward in his seat, intrigued. “Rolusdreus actively manipulates the genes of its civilians.”

  “Optimizes,” Havik said. “We all have some degree of genetic engineering. These adaptations are necessary for our survival.”

  “Yes, but there is no such optimization on Earth. A random mutation from time to time, but not an active campaign to manipulate the genetic profile of their people. Terrans are remarkably interesting in this regard. I suspect the Suhlik find them interesting for the same reason.”

  “I doubt that,” Ren said, then realized what he said. If he had ever uttered such words to Kaos, he would have the tusks ripped from his jawbone and left to the mercy of the sands. “That is, I do not believe the Suhlik’s interests are as wholesome as compatibility rates and breeding.”

  Paax waved a dismissive hand. The image changed. “I think they are very interested in breeding.”

  “They can’t breed with Terrans,” Ren said, simultaneously emboldened by the warlord’s tolerance and horrified at his hubris.

  “We will have to ask them, one day.” Paax closed the projection. “Suggestions for a base of operations. The Judgment, as grand as she is, cannot be in all places at once. It’s a big system.”

  Jaxar spoke. “There is Val Mori.”