Page 21 of Ren: Warlord Brides
Ren suspected Zalis uncovered that piece of information easily, but neglected to put it in the brief for reasons only he understood. To spare Ren the shock of seeing his mate after years of separation? Or to spare him the difficulty of admitting that his mate might be a participant in a criminal conspiracy?
He had always known the location of his mate. From the moment he forced her off Rolusdreus, he tracked her. Twice he had been to Earth, and twice he had stood outside her place of residence. Not once did he ever find the courage to make his presence known. He knew when she left Earth. He knew when her ID chip pinged in a new port or station.
Finding her in the employ of a corrupt councilor…
Now was not the right time for reconciliation. When the right time would be, he could not say. He would know when he found it.
Until then, he needed to keep his head clear. He needed to focus on the mission.
Infiltrate the ship.
Plant the device.
Avoiding one Terran female would be easy enough.
Ren nodded, pleased with the soundness of the plan. He would not be distracted.
The warlord granted Ren a place in his clan because he was useful. If Ren went off-mission, he would no longer be useful and would become a liability.
He repeated this until he convinced himself it was true.
The comm unit blinked.
It was time.
Emry
A second option presented itself in a most unexpected manner.
The red guy. Ren.
Recognition struck Emry like a bolt of lightning.
Well, that was one mystery solved. She had wondered if she would even recognize her red alien, considering that she had only known him for two days before he booted her off his planet. His look was unique—a garnet red complexion, tusks like an orc, and a segmented scorpion-like tail—but time made her question her mental image of him. Was his nose that sharp? Did his hair always have a white streak, or was he graying at the temples? Did he resemble a cartoon devil, or had time and hurt feelings morphed him into a caricature?
Now here he was, strolling down the corridor of Pashaal’s ship like he belonged. All the pieces snapped into place and it was Ren—herRen—with his sharp nose and white streak. No question about it.
He glanced at her as he passed, but his expression remained blank. If he recognized her, nothing showed.
That stung more than she expected.
She almost called out his name but ducked into the galley kitchen at the last moment. Her hand slammed against the control panel to close the door.
What the fuck was her Ren doing on Pashaal’s ship—and since when was heherRen?
They barely knew each other. They were acquaintances at best. Strangers who were technically married but hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in years and that was the way they liked it.
A recent delivery cluttered the floor and counters. Emry picked her way through the packages and tossed her chef’s coat on the workbench. Sweat pooled in the small of her back. The kitchen was boiling for no good reason. Something had to be wrong with the ship.
Yeah, like red aliens from your past invading.
Gemma would march over there and demand to know what was going on in that red head of his. They had an agreement, and that agreement meant they would never see each other again. They’d stay on their respective sides of the galaxy.
This could be… good?
Yes, this could be good. She could use this. Appealing to Pashaal had gone nowhere, which left her only option to contact Caldar. He’d do it, she was certain, for a favor, and she felt even more certain that Caldar wasn’t the type of alien you wanted to owe favors.
Shelving the supplies helped drain away the worst of her fury and let her calm down enough to think. Dry goods could be tossed around, but the fresh berries she planned to turn into pie were delicate. Bruising turned the berries sour, and they’d only be good enough for jam.
