Page 56 of Ren: Warlord Brides
“Explain,” he ordered.
“Gemma. My twin. She’s missing, and no one cares and my calls keep being disconnected and that’s why I took your ship and—”
“For how long?”
“A few weeks.”
“Weeks.” His hands dropped away. Instantly, he missed her softness and warmth, but this was important. “A female is missing for weeks and no one will listen? Why did you not tell me immediately?”
A bitter laugh got stuck in her throat. “I’ve been trying. No one cares. I know I said that.”
He guided her over to a built-in sofa, covering her exposed flesh with a lap blanket. She settled against him, her head resting on his shoulder.
“Tell me,” he said. He rubbed her back for comfort. Her breathing eased. Tension unknotted. He enjoyed this, the familiarity of the intimate touch. It struck him as what mates shared after many years together. With envy, he had witnessed such moments between Havik and Thalia, quiet and comfortable.
“Tell me everything,” he repeated.
An entire story spilled out, how Gemma paid off criminals to be erased from the Draft database, and the blackmail. Emmarae took the job with Pashaal because it paid enough to keep the blackmailers off Gemma’s back.
Ren held her the entire time, never interrupting except for clarification.
“If I stayed, I don’t know. I’d be there to annoy the fuck out of the cops, and I’d make them listen.”
No doubt his mate would camp outside buildings for days. She’d make herself an impossible to ignore nuisance.
His chest filled with pride at the thought of his impossible mate harassing Earth authorities.
“If you had remained, you would have been taken as well,” he said.
“Oh.” The sound escaped her in a whoosh. “I hadn’t considered that.”
“We will find your sibling.”
Emmarae pushed herself up to look him directly in the eye. “For real?”
Emotion flickered over her face, but he could not read the expression. Terran faces were so malleable, lips moving this way and that, unimpeded by tusks. Emmarae’s mouth, in particular, appeared almost nude without tusks.
Her hair had worked itself free from the queue. Pale wisps framed her face. Her eyes were an intriguing shade between not quite brown and not quite green. He wondered if Terrans had a word for the color.
“Yes. You have my word,” he said.
A line appeared between her brows.
Ah. An unhappy expression.
“I am aware that my actions have not always supported my words. You may believe that my words and my oath are meaningless. I apologize,” he said. “I meant everything I said. I regret sending you away. I regret choosing my clan above my mate. I regret hurting you. I regret I do not know you well enough to determine if this is helpful or making the situation worse.”
She huffed. “I don’t mind you listing out your flaws. Go on.”
“I knew you were on board the councilor’s ship, and I did not seek you out because I am a coward. In truth, I tracked your location for a long while.”
“Wait, seriously?”
“I conducted surveillance on your bakery for days, whenever my missions took me to Earth.”
“That doesn’t sound creepy or like a stalkerat all.”
The sarcasm gave him hope.
