Page 41 of Ren: Warlord Brides
Emry’s head fell back down to the pillow. Thankfully, the dark hid her furious blush. She had been beyond exhausted when she fell into bed. “I went to the wrong room and made you sleep on the floor.”
“I do not mind. My mate’s place is in my bed. I will not deny you.”
Oh. That should not have sounded as hot as it did. And why am I smiling like a loon?
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She threw an arm over her face to hide her grin. Talk about mixed signals. She threw herself at him yesterday, crawled into his bed, and then said she didn’t mean it. “Sorry, I was tired.”
Not making it better.
“The cabins look very similar. Do not concern yourself.”
“My missing luggage should have been a clue.” Seriously. Emry had stripped off her pants, shirt, and bra and climbed into bed. At least she still wore her panties.
Mostly naked and in the wrong bed. That scenario could have ended badly in so many ways. She was always getting on Gemma’s case for being too trusting. The least she could do was be more self-aware.
“Thanks for letting me have the bed and sorry for making you sleep on the floor,” she said.
Ren made a disgusted noise. “It is not a concern.”
“You know, this reminds me of the medical bay after I arrived on Rolusdreus,” she said in an unexpected fit of nostalgia. She hardly ever thought about the brief hours she spent on an alien planet—only how that trip ended—but the memory came back with clarity.
“You were ill.”
“The teleporting made me sick. Well, that and nerves. I spent the morning puking my guts out before they sent me. I was dehydrated.”
Ren’s posture stiffened. “Earth teleported you when you were ill? That is a treaty violation.”
“I was puking because I was nervous, not ill.”
Every birthday, the Earth authorities scooped up Emry and Gemma for testing. Every year, she skipped breakfast because her stomach wouldn’t settle, not until she had negative results and they released her. Only she had a match on her twenty-fifth birthday. The nurse wore such a disappointed face when she informed Emry that her life was being upended. Soldiers arrived to whisk her away, all without saying goodbye to Gemma.
“I remember arriving and you waiting for me. Then I fainted and woke up in a hospital bed. You were right there, sitting on the floor next to the bed.” Emry’s initial reaction to Ren’s appearance—devil red, tusks, that tail clearly meant for gouging out eyes—shocked her, but that apprehension vanished when he sat next to her bed. This fierce-looking alien appeared vulnerable, nervous even, as he sprang to his feet to fetch water.
She waited for him to share his recollections of their meeting, but Ren remained silent.
Okay, so this isn’t a trip down memory lane. Fine.
The cat woke, decided that she was done with Emry, and used Emry’s stomach like a springboard.
“Ow,” she said, rolling to the side.
“Did her claws injure you?” Ren pushed away the blanket to inspect her abdomen.
“Fine. Just took me by surprise.” She held the blanket over her chest while Ren’s fingers skated over her stomach. Tickled muscles jumped and twitched as she resisted the urge to laugh. “See? Fine.”
He huffed and sat back down on the floor.
“That is not a housecat. I don’t care what you say.”
“Murder Mittens is a caracal hybrid.”
“Is that some sort of wildcat? Is that legal? How did you get a wildcat off the planet?”
“A domestic and wildcat hybrid. Yes, legal. I found her in a rescue shelter. No one would adopt her. She was, apparently,too much.” He made a scoffing noise.
Emry could imagine the stress the animal shelter dealt with regarding Murder Mittens. Probably bullied the staff and ate the smaller animals.
And she probably shouldn’t say that.
