Page 35 of Ren: Warlord Brides
It seemed he was not the only one holding back.
Finally. A proper fight.
Emry
The fight changed. Twisted, somehow. Emry wasn’t an expert on mixed martial arts or whatever—okay, fine, she knew nothing—but the fight went from Ren punching like he was bored to punching like he was aiming for a manslaughter charge.
Dovak hit the sandy floor hard. As he hauled himself to his feet, a manic grin came over his face.
An excited thrill ran through the crowd as they grew quiet and then exploded into noise. This is what they came for. Blood.
Dovak hit as hard as Ren gave. Scarlet sprayed across Ren’s face from a busted nose. It was horrifying, scarlet clashing with his brick-red complexion. The scene felt surreal becausealien blood shouldn’t be red. Emry’s mind couldn’t move beyond that. Ren’s blood should be blue or green, anything but a human red.
This wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right.
Ren was a Mahdfel, and Dovak was an overdressed, self-important twit. She didn’t even know why Dovak made such a big deal about winning that card game. Spite, maybe, or just a general desire to cause mischief. This fight was not between equals, despite the slugfest happening in the pit.
Emry clutched Ren’s discarded jacket to her chest and looked away, her stomach churning.
Pashaal gently touched her hand. “It will be over soon,” she said.
“Not soon enough.”
She had no stomach for violence. Sure, she never backed down from verbal confrontation, but words were just that—words. Back in the refugee camps, there had been bullies who took their cut of your daily rations or your new winter coat. Confidence and attitude helped, but having a bark worse than your bite and talking a big game only got you so far, especially when it was three against one.
Gemma, though, never hesitated to bring a baseball bat along to even the odds. Anyway, that was how Gemma got back Emry’s stolen coat. Fun story.
Dovak charged at Ren, who skillfully hit the man with his shoulder and flipped him over. Dovak hit the floor hard and lay there stunned, staring up at the lights.
Ren edged away, giving Dovak the space to climb to his feet.
His eyes caught hers, and he moved across the pit to her. Blood, sand, sweat decorated his body. It shouldn’t have been hot. It was gross. Blood was gross. Grown-ass men slugging it out with their fists was gross. But this? Ren stalking toward her, ready to claim his literal prize?
Hot.
So hot.
He stopped in front of her, his chest heaving and tail lashing dangerously behind. The glass partition separated them.
“You are mine!” he shouted, his voice rising above the noise of the crowd. He leaped up, grabbing hold of the top and hauling himself over.
Ren landed at her feet.
“I’m yours,” she agreed, even though she couldn’t explain why. Something about him just short-circuited her brain. Had to be pheromones.
Or all that muscle on display.
He was attractive in an obviously not human and sort of monstrous way.
Unable to resist, she pressed a hand to his chest.
Solid. Like a brick wall.
Her brick wall.
“Send my mate’s belongings to my ship,” Ren told Pashaal.
Without warning, he scooped her up to carry her in his arms, which should have also been gross. He was literally covered in the blood of his enemies.
