Page 40 of Ren: Warlord Brides
The door to his cabin opened silently. Light spilled into the darkened room, picking out the curves of his mate on his bed.
His mate.
In his bed.
A strange sensation coiled in his chest. Possessive, yes, but also humbled. He had shown his mate the empty cabin so she would not feel pressured. Of her own accord, she climbed into his bed.
Had the stars finally aligned for an unlucky male? His mate had been pleased to see him, even though they parted on unpleasant terms, and did not know how to explain such a phenomenon. Emmarae should not have been happy to see him. She had every right to curse and denounce him. Instead, she kissed him and slept in his bed.
Ren grabbed an extra pillow and made himself as comfortable as possible on the floor next to the bed. Sleep proved elusive. His mind contained too much. Each moment of the day had to be considered. His mission had been derailed, but he still learned much to report to the warlord.
Still, his thought returned to his mate and that kiss.
He had never been kissed by a female who was not his mother, and certainly not on the mouth. His lips tingled as he recalled how she felt pressed against him with her arms thrown around his neck.
To press mouths together was a human gesture, a publicly acceptable expression of affection. He had observed it in film and had witnessed Thalia kiss Havik several times. He could not recall a single instance of his parents expressing affection, in public or otherwise. Perhaps it was not the Rolusdreus way. Or perhaps it was something in particular about his parents.
Ivon Del had not been an easy male to please. He held a position of authority within the clan. Much was demanded of him, and he demanded much from his family. Ren’s smaller stature had been a source of disappointment, so Ren worked harder. His successes had not received praise but the expectation to do better. Always better.
Ren suspected that even if he won every foot race, bested the fiercest warriors in hand-to-hand combat, Ivon Del would still have a disappointed look on his face. The only thing that Ren ever did that seemed to earn his father’s respect was leaving the clan and forging his own way.
At some point in his musing, Murder Mittens climbed on his chest. She butted him in the head and accepted chin scritches, as was her due, before leaving for the comfort of the bed. She curled up next to Emmarae.
He quite enjoyed observing his mate and his feline sleeping peacefully. It settled the disruptive thoughts racing through his head.
He refused to let an old wound ruin his second chance with his mate. He was no longer the inexperienced male who allowed himself to be persuaded to give up his mate.
He would prove it to Emmarae, and he would prove it to himself.
Emry
Emry woke up with a killer staring her down.
Dead black eyes regarded her, the pupils a narrow slit.
She jerked awake, kicking and thrashing under the blanket. Murder Mittens remained on Emry’s chest, blinking sleepily.
“Oh my god, it’s trying to eat me,” Emry said.
“The feline is sleeping,” a voice said next to the bed.
She turned to find Ren sitting on the floor. His rumpled hair stood up at the back.
“Why does she have to sleep on me? Why is she so heavy?” Actually, Emry knew. Pure muscle. The “cat”was a killing machine.
She toyed with the idea of pushing the cat off her, but the murder machine yawned, revealing a vicious set of teeth.
No thanks. Emry wanted to keep all her fingers, so the cat got to sit where she pleased.
“You are in her territory,” Ren said. “From what I understand of feline behavior, the entire ship is Murder Mittens’ territory, but the bed, specifically, is hers.”
“Why is the guest room the cat’s room?”
“This is my cabin. I am her person,” Ren explained in a slow tone.
She examined the room. Even in the dark, she made out the signs of habitation. A partially opened drawer. Discarded shoes.
“This is your room,” she said.
