Page 1 of Ren: Warlord Brides
Chapter 1
Ren
Before
The vehicle rolled to a stop outside the departure terminal. The female shifted on the seat, clutching her rucksack like a shield.
He turned off the vehicle. The engine ticked as it cooled. “I will accompany you inside,” he said.
“No, that’s fine,” Emmarae said, her voice stiff and her eyes forward. From this angle, he studied her profile. She was Terran. There was no way to avoid noticing, with her pale beige skin that seemed like no color at all and could not be healthy, the speckles of sun damage scattered across her nose and cheeks, and her hair so pale it was nearly white, like a shimmer of a mirage on the horizon.
Her narrow, thin blade of a nose kept drawing his eye. How could anyone draw enough air with such a feature? Rolusdreus would never produce someone so obviously ill-adapted for survival.
Ren hated this, every moment of this.
“Look at me, female.”
“My name is Emmarae.”
“Look at me, Emmarae.”
She sighed, turning to face him. A jagged scar pulled at the corner of her mouth, turning it into a ludicrous grin. “Why? Is eye contact going to change anything?”
“No,” he admitted. “This is for the best. The warlord—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what your warlord has to say. This is between you and me, and right now, big shocker, you suck,” she snapped.
“This is for the best,” he repeated. The planet had high levels of radiation. His Mahdfel physiology was designed to thrive in the harsh environment, but her fragile Terran body could not survive. When the first Terran females arrived to be mated to the warriors of the clan, many were skeptical of their value. They could not venture outside the domes without wearing protective armor or tolerate the extreme temperature fluctuations. Even the sun was too harsh and burned delicate skin.
When the warlord forbade any more Terran females, Ren reluctantly agreed. His closest friend and his Terran mate suffered the loss of their unborn son. He would not wish that suffering on anyone, even if he thought it dishonorable the way his friend Havik sent the female back to Earth.
Then the warlord put an ultimatum to his warriors that anyone with a Terran mate had to refuse the female or leave the clan. Ren kept his opinion to himself as good warriors left the clan, choosing their mates over an egomaniacal warlord. He admired those males, doing what was correct and honorable.
He never imagined what he would do in that situation. Why would he? Everyone knew Ren was inferior. He was small, the runt of the clan, and obviously defective. Generations of genetic engineering and adaptation crafted the perfect warrior to thrive on the harsh planet, and all of that failed to manifest in Ren.
No female would be matched to him; if they were, the hubris he would need to claim her, to defy the scorn of his clan and his warlord. He could not imagine their sons.
“You deserve to be where you will thrive,” he said.
Perhaps if the warlord’s son, Havik, had kept his mate instead of sending her back to Earth, then other warriors in the clan would have resisted the warlord’s push to remove Terran females. Ren grew angry at the way his friend had been fortunate enough to be matched to a mate and then reject her, angry at the way he, himself, had been pressured to refuse his own Terran mate, and even angrier at himself for not resisting that pressure.
He was a failure in every way conceivable.
“You may file for a divorce. I will not contest your decision. It is for the best,” he said.
“You keep saying that, but I don’t think you know what that means.”
He understood. Every moment of this day irritated him like sand in the joints of his tail, but he could see no other way. Faced with only poor choices—keep his female and be outcast from the clan while the very planet slowly poisoned her or reject his mate to keep her safe and healthy—he chose the wrong action for the correct reasons. He hated it, but he would have to learn to live with the consequences of his actions. Her well-being was more important than his ego.
“I understand,” he said, even if she did not.
“Do you?” She turned to face him, the scar lifting her top lip in an exaggerated grin, but that was the only thing about her face that appeared amused. “How much humiliation do you think I deserve? I go back to whoever’s in charge, the alien bureau, and I explain that I didn’t cut it. They match me again. I get rejected again. For fuck’s sake, how pretty do you need me to be?” She pressed a finger to the corner of her eyes.
Ren realized with alarm that she had grown emotional. “Do not cry,” he said, unable to stop the female’s tears.
The tears he caused.
“Oh, fuck you. I’ll cry if I want to. I mean, I know what I look like.” She waved a hand to her face. “I get it, but I also figured that all cats are gray in the dark, so it didn’t matter much. Butter face. Put a bag on my head. Ha-ha. Well, the joke’s on me.”
