Page 30 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“It is not for polite conversation.”
“Sounds scandalous. Even better.”
The female did not want to hear the sordid details, but something in her smug expression irritated him.
“The last time I was invited to a banquet, I had to mutilate a male.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and he spat them out as quickly as possible.
The table fell silent. Emmarae held a tray of bite-sized morsels, her eyes wide with surprise.
Ren took a long swallow of the wine, the acidic flavor chasing away some of his disgust. He much preferred water, even though he did not worry about keeping a clear head. His metabolism processed alcohol too quickly to feel any effects. He simply disliked the taste.
“You must explain yourself,” Pashaal said, her words slurring slightly. “That sounds like too good a story to miss.”
“My past is not a story for your entertainment.” Ren stood from the table, no longer remembering why this dinner was necessary. He planted the device. He contacted his mate, despite efforts to avoid that complication. He could carry Emmarae off, and no one could stop him.
Yes. Do that, the feral part of his mind whispered. Then he would not need to wear uncomfortable garments, even if his mate said it made him look like James Bond.
His mate appeared behind his shoulder. “Is that why you sent me away?” She whispered her question, soft enough for only his ears.
Moving unconsciously, his tail knocked against her shins.
He twisted in his seat to face his mate. If he shared this tale, he would only share it with her.
“A male in the clan, a younger warrior, committed an offense. I do not recall the specifics. The warlord was capricious, orders changing on a whim. It was too easy for a warrior to find himself on the wrong side of the warlord’s ire.” Ren took another drink, aware of the eyes on him. He focused on his mate. “I am the only son of the warlord’s most trusted warrior, but I was a source of disappointment. The warlord declared the clan did not have the resources to support two disappointments.”
Another drink. There was not enough wine in the sector to banish the sound of dishes rattling, of glasses knocked to the ground, and a table crashing under the weight of two males fighting for their lives.
“His two worst warriors were commanded to fight. The survivor won his right to remain in the clan.”
His audience sat in stunned silence.
“I don’t understand,” Emmarae said, her face pale. The melanin dots on the bridge of her nose stood in stark contrast. “Why not just leave? Why didn’t you both leave?”
“Running away is not honorable. A warrior must face his challenges,” he said, knowing his words were inadequate. He reached for her. She stepped back, evading his touch, and his gut lurched.
“Did you kill him? You must have. You were the survivor,” she said.
“I broke his tusks.” Ren had tossed the bloodied bone fragments onto the warlord’s plate. The male had not even paused in his feasting to watch the struggle. The broken tusks were swept aside as worthless because Ren used a shell cracker to pry them out of his opponent’s jaw instead of using his bare hands.
“What the fucking hell?” Emmarae muttered. “That’s why I couldn’t stay?”
“I did leave. I have told you this.” He held out a hand. She shuffled forward, like a timid creature, uncertain of his intentions. “It was not safe for you there.”
She nodded as she finally understood. His actions had been a necessary cruelty to spare her greater harm.
“Where did you say you’re from again?” The question cut across the room, shattering the fragile connection he had with his mate. The ridiculous male in the ornate decorations leaned forward on his elbows, intrigued.
Emmarae stepped back and busied herself collecting an empty tray. “The dessert course is coming up. We have fresh strawberries and cream.”
“Sounds delicious,” Pashaal said.
More wine. More sweet morsels.
Ren did not understand how anyone could consume food in such quantities without making themselves ill. Every guest at the table gorged themselves like it was their final meal before a battle. They devoured not to nourish their bodies but to experience the pleasure of it while they could.
“I’ve been thinking about your… your story. So sad.” Her words slurred. “But I can’t give you Emmarae’s contract.”
“I offered to purchase the balance,” Ren said.
