First, though, he needed to comfort Nallah and help her feel comfortable in his arms again—as comfortable as she could feel in the arms of a man who had hurt her deeply, that was.
Not for the last time, Reeve cursed his host. What kind of a bastard was Harryx Parokk? And how could Reeve ever get past what he had done to Nallah to win her trust again?
Chapter Thirteen
Nallah couldn’t help freezing up. The sudden penetration, though it wasn’t painful, was frightening because it reminded her of the old Harryx—the man who had done whatever he wanted to her and was never gentle when he did it.
As he held her in his arms and murmured how sorry he was, she tried to push back the old memories. But some things were too hard to forget. Nallah had a loving, forgiving heart but she couldn’t stop the rush of bad thoughts that overcame her, couldn’t help wanting to get away from Harryx.
“Please, my husband,” she murmured when he tried to draw her close. “I…I must use the necessary room. Please forgive and excuse me.”
He let her go at once.
“Of course, sweetheart. Go have some time to yourself—I don’t blame you a bit.”
Nallah’s eyes flicked uneasily to his handsome face. Was he angry with her? But he seemed completely sincere so she dared to get off the bed and belt the robe she still wore tightly around herself before going to the necessary room and shutting the door.
She drew herself a bath, putting some soothing and healing herbs in the water. But that turned out to be a mistake. The herbs were ones she usually used after Harryx had beaten her. They helped bruised muscles heal faster but this time their scent, rising all around her as she sank into the warm water, brought back an awful rush of memories she was helpless to push away or deny.
Harryx hitting her…screaming at her…his cold silences which could erupt any time into towering, red-hot rage. The way he used her, ramming himself inside her and sawing back and forth, heedless of her cries of pain or perhaps even enjoying them. The blood he drew from her and the careless way he had spilled his seed inside her and left her moaning, draped across the couch like a used, dirty thing he had no more use for…
All these memories and more flooded her, making her want to sob with remembered pain and fear.
He’s different now, she tried to tell herself. He’s gentle—he cares. Look at how sweetly he kissed me…tasted me just now. He wants to make up for the past and bring me pleasure.
But she could find no comfort in the events of the past several days. All she could think of was that they only had one more day before they had to go to the temple and perform the Ritual of Procreation. Would Harryx use her roughly again this year?
She ought to be used to it by now—used to having him shove himself inside her and thrust and grunt like a beast, hurting her as much as possible as though her pain as much as his seed spilled inside her consecrated the ritual. She knew some wives who did get used to such things—who claimed they barely noticed when their husbands took them anymore.
But somehow Nallah’s sensitive heart couldn’t get used to being used and hurt—it always broke, every time Harryx bruised or wounded her. There was always a soft, sorrowful voice crying out inside her that this wasn’t right—that this wasn’t how things were supposed to be between a husband and a wife.
It doesn’t matter though, she told herself, sinking further into the tub. It doesn’t matter how things are supposed to be—this is the way they are and I should just get used to it.
She would have to resign herself to another Ritual of Procreation—to another performance of fertility where Harryx pushed her to her hands and knees and took her roughly from behind as the priests at the temple watched through slits in the wall, making certain the Ritual was correctly observed.
It was the way of life here on Hascion Five and nothing would ever change it.
*
Harryx sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath, preparing to do something he had been dreading. He needed to access his host’s memory banks and find some very specific facts—he needed to know exactly what Harryx had done to Nallah in the past. Otherwise, he was going to keep screwing up—keep frightening her and hurting her without meaning to.
There was no way around it—he needed more information.
Closing his eyes, he found himself in the computer room that was a representation of his host’s mind once more. Walking to the keyboard, he typed in, Nallah.
Images of the curvy little female popped up on the viewscreen before him—images taken with a cold eye. In them, Reeve didn’t detect any love or caring. Usually when he took over a host and looked at pictures of their loved ones, he saw a kind of golden glow around the cherished person—a sign that they were special and important to the person of the body he was inhabiting.
There was no glow around Nallah’s image in Harryx’s mind. No indication that she was special at all. She was more of a background feature—a machine he used when he wanted food or sex.
Sex, that’s what you really need to look at and you know it, Reeve told himself. Taking a deep breath, he typed in new search parameters: Nallah, sexual submission. Then, after a moment, remembering her words he added, Punishment and hit enter.
He saw Nallah kneeling at his feet, looking up with pleading golden eyes. Nallah opening her mouth obediently to receive his shaft and doing her best to give him pleasure.
It was jarring and uncomfortable to watch. Because these pictures were taken from Harryx’s point of view—captured through his own eyes—it was as though Reeve was his host in these images, seeing as Harryx would see.
And the memories weren’t just still pictures—some of them were like little movies—little vids with sound and motion. They were snippets of Harryx’s past brought to life in vivid detail.
Then the images got worse. Nallah, thrown over the low couch in the living area, her robes pulled up, her thighs spread as Harryx thrust himself inside her. Her eyes were filled with pain and unshed tears. She was biting her lip to keep from crying, squeezing her hands into fists until her nails bit into her palms and left bloody half-moons. And all the time Harryx was pounding into her with no gentleness at all—using her as hard as he could just because he felt it was his right to do whatever he wanted with his wife.
Gods, the sick bastard! Reeve almost couldn’t go on. He couldn’t bear to see the woman he had come to love being raped by her husband. It was too horrible to watch—too sickening. And yet, Nallah had lived through it for three years.
Hadn’t Harryx ever been kind to her? Even once?
Searching desperately for even one vid where Nallah wasn’t brutalized, Reeve typed in, Nallah, sexual submission, wedding night.
A new vid popped onto the screen. In it, Nallah was wearing the same deep crimson robes and golden veil Reeve had seen in the holo-picture of her wedding day. She was smiling beneath the veil—he could see it in her golden eyes—as Harryx led her into his domicile for the first time.
“Oh my husband,” she said softly as he closed the door behind him. “This is all so lovely! I am so happy I could die! Will you show me your domicile?”
“Later you can see the kitchen, where wives belong,” Harryx grunted. Grabbing her by the arm, he towed her towards the bed chamber. “First you will offer me your sexual submission.”
Nallah’s eyes went wide and Reeve could see her slender throat tremble beneath the bottom edge of her veil as she swallowed nervously.
“Oh…of course, my husband,” she faltered. “I have been…told what I must do. And of course I wish to bring you pleasure.”
Harryx only grunted and thrust her into the bed chamber. Standing over her with legs spread, he forced her to the floor.
“Would…would you not like me to first change into my sex garments?” Nallah asked uncertainly. “I have some special ones for this first night, oh my—”
Harryx cut her off with a sharp slap to the face.
Nallah’s head rocked back and she gasped in pa
in and fear. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were filled with tears and her hand trembled as she reached to touch the cheek he had hit.
“One thing you’ll learn right now, wife,” Harryx told her, his voice cold and angry. “When I tell you to submit, it doesn’t mean I want to stand here listening to you yap all day. It means you’d better submit.” Reaching down, he ripped the delicate golden veil from her face, tearing the lace in the process. “Now open your mouth you little whore.”
Eyes filled with tears, Nallah did as he said. She tried not to choke or gag when he rammed his shaft down her throat but it was clear to the watching Reeve that she had never done this before and hardly knew how to proceed.
Harryx seemed to sense this too—or else he just got tired of using her mouth. With a sound of disgust and impatience, he withdrew.
“Get up,” he grunted. “I don’t have time to teach you how to suck cock right now. Get up on the bed on your hands and knees and raise your robes.”
“Yes…yes, my husband,” Nallah faltered. Scrambling to obey him, she got on the bed, obediently baring herself for her new husband though her eyes were filled with fear.
She was wearing little golden underwear which matched the ruined veil and the gold accents on her scarlet robe. Harryx came up behind her, his shaft hard and eager, and ripped them aside.
“Oh!” Nallah gasped, but he paid no attention.
“Let’s make sure you’re a virgin, wife,” he said, smiling coldly. Lining himself up with her entrance, he thrust himself deeply into her, ripping a muffled scream from Nallah’s slender throat.
“My husband,” she gasped, the tears spilling down her cheeks though she was obviously trying to hold them back. “Oh please, if you could only be a little gentle…that hurts…hurts so much.”
“It’s supposed to hurt, you little idiot. Shut up, you throw off my rhythm.”
Reaching forward, Harryx clapped one big hand over her mouth and gripped her hip with the other, thrusting even harder as though determined to show Nallah her place. Her cries and sobs were muffled but her golden eyes were filled with tears of pain and betrayal. Her body jerked limply in her husband’s grasp as she tried to submit to his brutal penetration.
He’s using her like a whore—I wouldn’t treat the most hardened prostitute in the galaxy like that but this bastard is doing it to his young, inexperienced virgin bride!
Reeve made himself watch although it turned his stomach. Made himself see what she had endured. Harryx had turned what should have been a time of tenderness and an expression of love into a harsh lesson on hatred and debasement. The message was clear—I own you and I’ll do anything I want to you.
He watched until Harryx withdrew, leaving his new wife bloodied and crumpled on the bed, trying to stifle her sobs and then, he too, withdrew from the other male’s memories.
Opening his eyes, Reeve sat forward on the bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands and wept.
Nallah, oh Goddess—what he did to you! What you endured! Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry—so Goddess-damned sorry!
Reeve was a hardened pirate and snatcher. He had seen bad things before through the eyes of his hosts. He had seen envy and intrigue, murder and humiliation, backstabbing and deception, but none of it had affected him quite like seeing what had happened to Nallah. None of it had made him feel that his heart was breaking with rage and pain and sorrow—none of it gave him the pure desire for revenge he felt seething in his chest now.
No wonder his sudden penetration of her had frightened her and shut her down! She had never been penetrated with love in her life—she’d never known anything but pain and rape and torture from the man who called himself her husband. This sweet, innocent little female who wanted nothing but to love and be loved in return had been hurt in ways that turned Reeve’s stomach and made him long to avenge her.
His shoulders shook and hot, salty tears stung his eyes. Watching her being abused had rocked him to the core.
This was why he had instinctively avoided looking too deeply into Harryx Parokk’s memory banks, he now realized. He hadn’t wanted to see the truth of what had been done to Nallah. He’d imagined that his host was gruff and cold—insensitive and uncaring towards his wife. Maybe the kind of asshole who skips foreplay and just goes right for the action. But he’d never guessed that Harryx was some kind of sexual sadist who took pleasure in harming Nallah as much as he could.
And he did take pleasure in it. Reeve had felt it—felt the brutal joy of conquest—Harryx’s savage enjoyment as he took what he wanted and forced the forbidden tears to Nallah’s wide golden eyes. He liked raping her, the evil bastard.
Harryx Parokk was a fucking monster.
A new thought entered Reeve’s head. In a day or two, he was going to have to take Nallah to the temple and perform some kind of ritual of fertility with her. He’d seen enough in his host’s memory banks just now to understand that involved more of the same—forcing her to her hands and knees on a kind of padded golden alter and fucking her while someone—priests maybe?—watched from slits in the wall to make certain the deed was done.
Goddess above, I can’t do that to her! I can’t make love to her in any way at all, not like this—I’m wearing the body of her rapist!
And he especially couldn’t force her and hurt her the way she’d been hurt in the past for some stupid ritual. Reeve ran both hands though his host’s hair in agitation. Maybe there was some way to get out of it. If he’d known what Harryx had done to Nallah in the past, he wouldn’t have tried to get close to her in any way. He would have kept his distance out of respect for her pain.
It amazed him that she’d been able to warm to him at all, thinking as she did that he was her abusive husband. How starved for love she must be to be willing to trust again after all that? Yet it was a delicate trust—as fragile and beautiful as Nallah was herself. Reeve sensed it wouldn’t take much at all to shatter that trust into a thousand pieces and he doubted it could ever be put back together again.
“Goddess,” he groaned softly, his words more than half prayer. “What am I going to do? How can I keep from hurting her? And how can I save her from this fucking place?”
Suddenly he made a decision—he couldn’t keep up this charade any longer. He might have to wear Harryx Parokk’s body at least until this mission was done, but he was going to damn well stop pretending to be the abusive, raping bastard.
Somehow, he had to find a way to tell Nallah who he really was and how he felt about her. But how would she feel when he did? Would she accept him and believe the truth…or would he only frighten her more?
Reeve didn’t know but he felt he had to take a chance—though how and when exactly he was going to tell her, he wasn’t sure. He just knew he didn’t want to be Harryx Parokk—at least not in her eyes—anymore.
Chapter Fourteen
“Nallah, sweetheart, do you remember how I told you that I feel like a completely different person since I, uh, woke up from the coma?” Harryx asked.
“Yes, oh my husband.” Nallah gave him a cautious look from the corner of her eye. Harryx had been quiet all day, almost subdued ever since the abrupt end to their love-making the night before.
Nallah thought it was probably her fault—she had spoiled the beautiful mood her husband had set and she kept waiting for him to turn angry and cold with her again. So far he hadn’t but she couldn’t help thinking that it could happen at any time.
“Well…” He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands, clasped loosely together. They were sitting in the living area and the silence in the room was almost deafening after the latest vid had ended.
After going to the fair the day before, today they had stayed quietly at home. Harryx had asked her if there was anywhere she wanted to go that morning but Nallah hadn’t felt like going out. The upcoming Ritual of Procreation was heavy on her mind and she couldn’t help thinking how awful it was going to be when Harryx placed her on all fo
urs on the padded altar and forced himself inside her as he had for the past three years.
“Well,” Harryx said again and seemed uncertain how to continue. He sighed and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “What if I told you I was a different person?”
Nallah frowned at him. “But…how can you be a different person, my husband? I don’t understand.”
“What if I told you I wasn’t really your husband?” Harryx looked at her intently, his eyes going from pale blue to midnight black. “What if I told you I’m just…just borrowing his body for a while?”
Nallah’s breath caught in her throat and dread filled her like icy water.
“You…you mean like a Hallorook?” she asked, barely able to squeeze the words out of a throat tight with fear.
“A Hallorook?” Harryx—or was it Harryx?—frowned.
“An evil spirit that takes over a person’s body.” Nallah forced the words out, her skin prickling all over with goosebumps. But her husband didn’t seem to notice.
“Evil? No.” He frowned. “But a spirit in someone else’s body, well…”
“Don’t!” Nallah jumped off the couch. Normally she would fear to act so abruptly with her easily-angered husband but now an older fear, a deeper dread had taken over.
The story of the Hallorook was a legend she had read once in a book of old tales as a child and it had given her nightmares so severe she woke up screaming for months. Her older brother, Chanx, had found out it frightened her and had spent years tormenting her, pretending he wasn’t her brother at all but only the shell of her brother, inhabited by the Hallorook.
Nallah could still see him, creeping after her in the darkness, could still hear that weird, creepy voice he spoke in when he cornered her in a shadowy hallway, his eyes glinting with a strange light…
“I’m not Chanx…your brother is dead. I’ve taken his body and soon I’ll take yours. I’m the Hallorook, little girl!”
Her father had finally found out what Chanx was doing and had chastised him, though the fears of girls were usually thought to be beneath anyone’s concern. But in the meantime, she had grown up fearing the awful old legend.
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