Page 28 of Ren: Warlord Brides
When had she become so crass and selfish? She couldn’t pretend she had a change or heart or reached a new level of personal enlightenment. She only cared now because Pashaal couldn’t give Emry the thing she needed. She was bad as Pashaal.
Alcohol. It had to be booze.
Disgusted with herself, Emry sliced fruit to go in a light, summery mixed drink. She’d pour pitchers of the stuff down Pashaal’s throat if necessary and then…
Fine, the plan got fuzzy at that point. Appeal to Pashaal’s sentiment?
Because that went so well earlier.
Emry dumped the fruit into a pitcher. The details didn’t matter. She’d think of something. She was leaving with Ren, and they would find Gemma.
There was no other option.
Ren
Ren wore a white suit with a ribbon of black fabric tied around his neck. He felt ridiculous. The vented back of the jacket allowed room for his tail, but that was the only positive thing to say about the outfit. The shoulders were too tight. Fabric strained, the seams fit to burst at any moment.
Murder Mittens sniffed the hem of the trousers, then hissed.
“I concur. This is an injustice, but formal attire is required.”
If the feline had opinions about his sacrifice, she kept them to herself.
He scratched under her chin and behind her ears. “Kill many rodents while I am away. You will not even notice my absence.”
* * *
All eyes watchedhim when he arrived on the ship. Ren recognized faces from his reports—Pashaal’s business contacts. Some were more legitimate than others. Some strayed into questionable territory but stayed on the side of legality. Barely. Each held extraordinary wealth. Each was known for excess.
Ren found the best position to monitor the location. The crowd murmured with gossip.
“Is this him? A real Mahdfel?”
“I don’t know what I was expecting. Someone more impressive?”
“I thought they were fed growth enhancements as children? He seems ordinary.”
They said nothing he had not heard before. Their words were only words. He refused to allow overindulgent magnates to rattle him.
Still, he did not enjoy being the center of attention. It went against the mandate of the mission. He was meant to place the device and leave before detection.
No contacting his mate.
No dinner parties with the pampered elite.
No drawing unnecessary attention.
The mission could be salvaged if Pashaal believed he sought his mate, nothing else. Taking Emmarae from the older female had to happen, and not simply because of the mission. He couldn’t let his mate go a second time. The first time had been an unpleasant necessity. He’d make Emmarae understand.
Somehow.
His mate signaled him from a doorway.
“Hey,” she said as he approached. She peered over his shoulder. He did not need to know they were being observed.
“Very nice. Very James Bond.” Emmarae’s voice had an appreciative tone as she ran her hand along the jacket collar.
He frowned.
