Page 63 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“And the other selections? How many? Were they suitable? To your taste?”
Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, chewing at the corner in the exact location he could not because of his tusks. It was an entirely human gesture, and he adored it. Adored her.
“I think there were three or four other necklaces, but they were too long. They’d fall forward and get in the way as I worked. The choker was the only option,” she said, touching the base of her throat. Then, “She wanted me to pick that one.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Any number of reasons,” he said. “Blackmail. A tracking device.”
Mittens jumped onto the sofa between them. Emmarae tensed, then relaxed when the feline rubbed her face against her thigh.
“She’s marking her territory, isn’t she?” his mate asked.
“You are part of her pride now.”
“Huh.” She cautiously stroked the feline behind the ears. Mittens rewarded her efforts with a loud purr.
“She is a good feline.” He rubbed the side of Mittens’ face the way she preferred. “An excellent rodent exterminator and the best at napping.”
“The pendant isn’t a tracking device, is it?” Emmarae asked.
“No, but I would not be surprised if Pashaal appears at some point in the future wanting her property returned.”
Emmarae picked up the necklace. “If the gem was glass, I guess this isn’t real silver.” She held it closer and inspected the chain. “The plating is worn at the clasp. Not silver and a fake stone.” She turned to him. “She insisted I wear this after she found me with you. She had to have known I’d be distracted and forget to return it at the end of the night. She wanted me to be caught with this.”
“I believe so. We need to know what’s on that chip.”
“Probably something horrible.” Her fingers curled around the chain. “I think it’s time you told me why you were investigating Pashaal. I’ve tried to be patient, but this has a way of being unignorable. Is that a word? Impossible to ignore.”
Ren leaned back into the soft cushions of the sofa, his hand still on his feline. The steady, even measures of Mittens’ breathing helped focus his thoughts. He explained the illicit research his clan had uncovered, how that research endangered everyone in the system, and the links that implied funding from the Sangrin Council.
“A war crime. You think my boss committed a war crime,” Emry said.
“Financed a war crime.”
She shook her head. “That’s worse. Seems colder. Eviler.”
“It is unpleasant.”
“Pashaal wouldn’t do that. She always says there’s no profit in war. Peace is how you make money.”
“There is profit in weapons.”
“She trades luxury goods. Rare, one-of-a-kind things. She smuggles exoplanet fruits and vegetables. She doesn’t pay taxes or tariffs. She’s not a war criminal.”
“My warlord was not the only one to notice her activities,” he said, avoiding naming Dovak. He would share as much as he safely could of his mission with his mate, but some details were not his to divulge.
“Shady, yes. Absolutely.” She gestured with the hand holding the necklace. The chain clinked, drawing Mittens’ attention. “I’m having a hard time believingwar criminal. She gets fussy if her wine isn’t cold enough, though I imagine fussiness about wine has no bearing on horribleness.”
Emmarae’s voice trailed off as she searched her memories for evidence of horribleness. “Huh. She had some guests a month ago. They were odd.” She shook her head. “Pashaal hosted a lot of guests and made a lot of trips. She kept a high profile. What you’re saying is too risky for her.”
“Ego and arrogance make fools of us all.”
“I saw the file. I believe you, but it’s hard to believe you. Does that make sense?”
“You are compassionate. You want to believe the best in people.”
