Loving a Stranger Read online

  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 pain 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