Page 2 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“I have excellent night vision.”
She tossed him a sharp look. “Really? That’s what you have to say?”
“I have miscalculated—”
A bitter laugh tore from her throat.
“If you believe your appearance is the cause of my rejection, you are mistaken.” He liked the scarring and the sun damage. It was interesting in a way he was not used to seeing. Mahdfel healing prevented skin from being marked in such a manner, barring severe damage was caused by a poison or some other caustic agent.
She leveled a flat stare at him, full of challenge and resentment.
“This planet is not suitable for Terrans,” he added.
“Whatever. Is this going to take long? Because it’s boiling in here.”
He turned the engine over. Cool air rushed out of the vehicle’s vents.
“I’m not doing the test again. Going through this once is enough,” she said.
He disliked the idea of her being matched to another. He had no right to feel possessive, but Emmarae was his match. His mate. No one else should have her, even if he could not keep her.
He disliked himself even more for his greedy, grasping thoughts.
“Some males send their mates to a safe location when the environment is unsuitable or an active battlefield,” he said, a proposition half-formed in his mind. The wide collar of her tunic slipped off her shoulder. His gaze lingered on the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder.
There. His mark would go in that patch of unblemished, sallow beige skin. The thought pleased him immensely.
“It is not unusual. No one will remark on your return to Earth if they believe you are mated,” he said.
She gathered the fabric of the shirt in one hand, pulled it to her throat, and covered that intriguing location. “What do we have to do to make that happen? Consummate the marriage?”
Consummate. Such an interesting Terran word, combiningconsumeandmate.
Yes, he would very much like to consume Emmarae, but he said, “A bite mark would suffice.”
“Here?” She looked around the cabin of the vehicle.
“Here.” He reached for her shoulder but halted when she flinched. When she relaxed and gave a slight nod, he lightly touched where her neck joined her shoulder. “And here.”
“Will it hurt?”
Undoubtedly. Usually, the bite happened mid-mating, when the female would be too euphoric to notice—if he did his job correctly.
A tapping at the window interrupted his thoughts.
“Not now,” he barked at the figure on the other side of the vehicle’s window.
“You can’t park here. You’re blocking traffic,” the person said.
Ren looked at the empty road and gestured broadly. The spaceport had no traffic. Rolusdreus was not a tourist destination and had few exports.
“Either drop off your passenger or move your vehicle,” the person said.
Grumbling, Ren pulled the vehicle into a lot on the other side of the road. They were only a few meters from their original location.
“What do we have to do for the bite? I don’t want an infection,” Emmarae said. Despite her stern tone, her hands twisting in her lap gave away her nervousness.
Ren produced a med kit from under the seat. “I will clean the skin and apply a numbing agent. Your discomfort will be minimal.”
