Loving a Stranger, Page 3

  It was a mystery to him but this wasn’t the first time he had seen it and it probably wouldn’t be the last. For right now, he had to concentrate on meeting Nallah for the first time…while not letting on that it was, in fact, his first time greeting her.

  “Nallah,” he said to her, sitting up. “Hello.”

  Her eyes, which had been downcast as she stared at her hands twisting in her lap, suddenly jerked up at the sound of his host’s voice—which was a deep baritone, not that different in tone and timbre than Reeve’s own.

  Reeve’s own eyes widened—or the eyes of his host did anyway—when he saw her. Her eyes were like honey—golden and sweet and almond-shaped. They tilted up exotically and that, combined with her river of gold and silver hair, made her fucking gorgeous.

  He wondered briefly if the rest of her face could possibly be as lovely as the eyes and hair. What was behind that opaque white veil which hid her from the nose down? Did all women on Hascion Five hide their faces this way or was it some kind of mourning ritual she’d been doing because she thought her husband was dead or dying?

  “Nallah?” he asked again, wanting to be certain she was who he thought she was.

  “My…my husband,” she faltered at last, her soft, sweet voice sounding breathless and surprised. “I didn’t expect…that is, they—the doctors and the sister-nurses said—they…” She trailed off, obviously uncertain of what to say.

  “They probably said I was never coming back, huh?” Harryx asked, giving her a wink. “Well, looks like they were wrong. How about if we call one now so I can get the hell out of here?”

  From her blank stare, he gathered that he might have overplayed his part a bit. But he was trying to talk to her in an easy, casual way as any husband might speak to a beloved wife. Maybe he should tone it down a little?

  Just then a woman dressed all in black, as Nallah was dressed in white, came bustling into the room. She was carrying a tall, fluted glass with a delicate china handle on the side. Steam was rising from the blue liquid inside.

  “Now, dearie,” she said to Nallah. “I thought maybe some hot bubo tea might help you feel better so I—” She stopped with a gasp when she noticed Reeve sitting up in bed. The glass in her hand fell and shattered on the floor spilling blue liquid and glass shards everywhere.

  There was a breathless silence and then both women sprang into action.

  “Forgive me, General Parokk!” the older woman in black exclaimed. “Please forgive this worthless old woman!”

  “Yes, please forgive her,” Nallah echoed, her golden eyes going wide with fright. “I’ll help her clean it up—it won’t take a moment, my husband!” She turned to the old woman. “Quickly, sister—where are your cleaning supplies?”

  “I…I will bring some at once.” Nervously the old woman hobbled out of the room while Nallah grabbed a piece of cloth from the bed and bent to soak up as much of the spreading blue liquid as she could.

  Goddess, Reeve thought, watching uneasily. They’re acting like they just committed some unforgivable offense. Was it something to do with the med center policy or were they genuinely afraid he had been offended?

  “It’s all right,” he said to Nallah, not liking her panicked response to such a minor incident. “It’s just a spill.”

  It seemed to take a moment for his words to sink in but when they did, Nallah looked up at him with wide, uncertain eyes.

  “Just…just a spill?” she said, her voice wavering.

  Reeve shrugged. “It happens. It’s okay, sweetheart.”

  “Sweet…sweetheart?” Nallah was looking at him as though he was speaking a different language. Did her husband not call her loving nicknames? Reeve knew if he had been blessed to have a mate he would certainly have said sweet things to her. But no female of repute wanted to be mated to a “snatcher” so he’d ruled that possibility out long ago.

  Just then an important looking male wearing a long white and red striped jacket came into the room.

  “What’s this!” he exclaimed. “I thought old Sister Yerga was having a brain blot but it seems you really are awake.”

  “You must be my doctor, er—healer,” Reeve said, giving the other man a hearty smile.

  “Yes, yes—Head Healer Gormox at your service, General Parokk. How are you feeling?”

  “Perfectly fine.” Reeve declared, sitting up straight and throwing out his shoulders. “Thank you for taking such good care of me after my injury.”

  “Well, it’s no trouble at all—especially seeing that you’re so high in the rankings. We’re always honored to treat those in the Inner Circle.” Head Healer Gormox inclined his head graciously. “Now we have several tests we’d like to run just to be certain—”

  “No testing necessary, thank you, Healer,” Reeve interrupted him. The less scrutiny he received the better. He didn’t want anyone taking too close a look at his host and realizing it wasn’t really Harryx Parokk doing the talking.

  “But—” The Healer looked confused.

  “I feel perfectly fine and I’ve wasted too much time already being sick,” Reeve declared. “I need to get back to work at once.”

  He slid off the bed, being careful not to step in the puddle of blue tea which Nallah was still working industriously to mop up and held out his hand to the healer.

  “Thank you so much again for all your care, Head Healer Gormox. But now I think Nallah and I should be getting home.” He looked down at himself—he was wearing a blue hospital gown. Well that wouldn’t do. He scanned the room. “Can someone please get me my clothes? I don’t want to wear patient garb outside the Healing House.”

  “Oh, of course, my husband!” Nallah swept the last of the glass shards together with the blue-soaked towel and jumped up as though she’d been stung. Quickly, she went to rummage in a storage locker at the side of the room and came back with a severely cut green uniform jacket, some long black trousers that flared at the knees, and tall black boots encrusted with semiprecious stones.

  Reeve stared at the outfit doubtfully. Was his host some kind of a dandy or was this kind of sparkling footwear a part of the Hascion uniform? Well, whichever it was, he had no choice but to put it on.

  “Wait,” the Head Healer blustered, as Reeve took the clothes from Nallah. “Please, General Parokk! We must be certain that you’re all right. Now there are several mandatory tests which I must insist—”

  “I feel fine,” Reeve said heartily. “I cannot be bothered with tests when I have important matters to attend to for the Inner Circle.” He frowned at the healer. “Or do you wish me to call some members of the Circle to talk to you about your, uh, bedside manner?”

  The threat worked as he had hoped it would. Head Healer Gormox backed off in a hurry.

  “Oh…no, no,” he exclaimed. “I think…you seem to be perfectly fine. I’m sure you can return to your duties with no trouble—no trouble at all.”

  “Thank you.” Reeve nodded his head graciously. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish dressing in private.” He took the boots and the bundle of clothes Nallah had provided and swept into what he hoped was the fresher before closing the door firmly behind him.

  * * * * *

  Nallah stared after her husband, not sure what to think. What was going on with Harryx? He had woken up so suddenly, just as she had been praying that he would never wake up. She had been certain it was some kind of punishment from the God-King for her disrespectful and blasphemous thoughts. But then, instead of beating or berating her or simply just ignoring her—as he often did—Harryx was…nice. Actually nice.

  He hadn’t even gotten upset when the old sister-nurse had spilled the bubo tea and broken the glass. Normally such an instance of female clumsiness would have sent him into a towering rage. Instead, he had passed it off as an accident. And he had called her “sweetheart.” Sweetheart!

  Harryx had never called her any kind of sweet endearment before, such as some men used for their wives. Even on their wedding day, he h
ad simply taken her hand and stared hard at her and said, “You’re mine now, wife. I expect you to do as I say with no complaints.” Not once had he said he loved or cared for her or called her anything but “wife.”

  So what in the Heavens was going on?

  Nallah had no answers—she felt as stunned as the Head Healer looked. Harryx had certainly had no problem putting him in his place so it wasn’t as though her husband had forgotten how to be threatening. Just for some reason, he wasn’t extending that threat to her.

  What was happening?

  Probably nothing, she told herself uneasily. Harryx is probably just disoriented from being in a coma for so long. Once he wakes up fully and becomes more himself, things will revert to the way they were.

  The way they were… the words echoed in her heart like the tolling of a great bell, filling her with dread. The beatings and abuse…the chronic anger and cold silences…and most of all the submissions. She would have to submit to him tonight, as she always did. Hopefully he would just use her mouth which wasn’t so bad. But in a few days from now…

  The Ritual of Procreation! We’ll have to go to the temple—we’ll be forced to perform!

  Nallah put her head in her hands. It was the one day a year she dreaded the most. The time when all married couples—from those of the highest, most exalted status to the lowest of the low had to go to the temple of the God-King and give an offering of sex before the priests to prove they were doing their best to add workers for the glory of the Father Land.

  Of course, since Harryx was in the Inner Circle, they would at least be given a private room and the priests would watch from behind slits in the walls but still, it was going to be awful. It always was. Harryx was especially rough and harsh with her during the ritual, as though proving that he was doing his very best to impregnate her.

  Nallah had been through the Ritual of Procreation three times already, since she and Harryx had been married for three years, and she knew from experience that it would be humiliating and painful and she would ache inwardly for days afterwards.

  Why? she thought despairingly as she stared at the closed door of the necessary room Harryx had gone into to change. Why couldn’t he have stayed in the coma for just a few more days? Why did he have to wake up in time for this year’s ritual?

  Again she had no answers. With a heavy heart, she finished cleaning up the mess from the spilled and shattered cup and dumped the glass shards and the stained towel into the trash receptacle.

  There was nothing she could do but get on with her life. Nothing she could do but submit and hope her husband wouldn’t hurt her too much the next time he got angry.

  Chapter Four

  Reeve stared at himself in the mirror, looking over his host body before he dressed it in the flashy uniform Nallah had given him.

  Harryx Parokk was almost Kindred tall—around 6’6” Reeve estimated, which was only a few inches shorter than he was himself. He had dark blond hair which he wore short, pale blue eyes, and tan skin several shades lighter than Reeve’s own bronze color. His body was heavily muscled and felt strong, as though he worked out regularly which was also nice. It was good to be inside a host who took care of himself.

  For a moment he pressed all the way forward and watched as his eyes changed from the pale blue of Harryx Parokk to his own midnight black. Someone had once said the eyes were the windows to the soul and they had been correct. The only way to tell if someone had been taken over by a snatcher was to study the eyes—if and when he chose to come all the way forward, their color would change to the one of the soul controlling the body. But for now, Reeve decided, he needed to keep a low profile.

  He took a step back and nodded at himself in the mirror, watching as his host’s head nodded back.

  Not bad. Not bad at all.

  Compared with some of the hosts he’d inhabited in the past, Harryx Parokk was in pretty good shape. And the fact that he was still deep asleep in the back of his own mind and not bothering Reeve a bit was an added bonus. This job was going to be both easy and enjoyable, he was certain. As well as much shorter than Commander Sylvan had seemed to think.

  Wonder what time it is? Maybe I can get over to the Hascion military headquarters and get this done today—right away.

  But a glance at the chronometer on the wall revealed it was past six in the evening. So much for that, unless the Hascions had the kind of culture that worked until it got dark or something like that.

  Also, wouldn’t it look suspicious for him to go running straight from the med unit right to work? Even the most hard core officer might be expected to take at least one night at home after being in a coma before heading back to the office.

  Reluctantly, Reeve decided he had better do just that. Go home with Nallah—he hoped he could find the directions in Harryx’s memory banks—get a good night’s sleep, and go to work bright and early tomorrow morning.

  All right—one night spent on this planet wouldn’t kill him. As long as Harryx didn’t wake up—which seemed unlikely—he could stay as long as he wanted to. He would just have to deal with the mission tomorrow. Tonight, he could spend establishing himself and getting comfortable in his host’s skin.

  With that goal in mind, he finished putting on the fancy uniform—ending with the ridiculous gem-encrusted boots—and went out to find his “wife.”

  Nallah was sitting quietly in the same chair she’d been occupying when he first came into Harryx’s body but when she saw him emerge from the fresher, she immediately jumped up and bowed her head deeply.

  “Oh my husband,” she said formally, her soft voice somewhat breathy. “It is so good to see you are feeling well again. Please forgive me that I didn’t comment on it earlier.”

  Reeve frowned. Did she feel the need to apologize for everything?

  “It’s fine,” he said shortly. “Come on—let’s get out of here. Is our uh…” He had to pause a moment to access Harryx’s memory banks. “Is our hovercar parked somewhere nearby?”

  “Regrettably no.” She looked up at him, her golden eyes fearful. “But there is a pub trans station not far from here.”

  “Okay, good.” Reeve nodded. “We can take the pub trans then.”

  “Oh no, my husband.” Nallah looked shocked. “I cannot ride the transit vehicle!”

  “You can’t? Why not?” Reeve frowned at her which seemed to make Nallah shrink back into herself.

  “Why…because women are not allowed on the pub trans. Surely you remember that, my husband?”

  “Oh, uh, certainly,” Reeve said quickly, hoping to correct his error. But he couldn’t help wondering why females weren’t allowed on the public transport. It didn’t seem to make any sense.

  “You can take the transit and I will walk, of course.” Nallah looked out the window at the dying yellow light. It lit up her hair and eyes like molten gold, Reeve couldn’t help noticing. “I think I can get back to the domicile before the Punishers come out.” Her voice was strained and anxious. “If I hurry and take only the shortest footways.”

  “What? You want me to ride while you walk home alone in the dark?” Reeve shook his head. “That’s crazy, sweetheart. If you really can’t ride the public transport, we’ll walk together.”

  “Walk…together?” Nallah was looking at him as though the idea of walking together was a foreign concept. “You would…walk with me?”

  “Why not?” Reeve shrugged. “We’re married, right?”

  “Well…yes.” She nodded hesitantly. “But…”

  “All right then.” He patted his host’s stomach which was suddenly growling. “I’m starving. Let’s get home and get something to eat.”

  “Of course.” But she still didn’t move.

  Impatiently, Reeve held out a hand for her.

  “Well? Let’s go.”

  She looked at his hand uncertainly and then took it timidly in her own, much smaller hand.

  “Great.” Reeve intertwined their fingers and gave her a friendly, reassur
ing squeeze. “Come on—let’s get out of here.”

  * * * * *

  The walk home was the strangest Nallah had ever had. She had never had a man walk the footways with her before—they were usually used exclusively by women. Oh, she knew some doting husbands or fathers who would escort their wives or daughters when it was getting late and the gangs of Punishers might be coming out, but mostly men rode the pub trans and women walked—that was the way things were done.

  Also, Harryx had never offered to hold her hand before. And he was still being nice. He had even called her “sweetheart” again. What was going on with him? Could it be that the blow he had taken to the head had somehow changed his personality?

  More likely he’s waiting until we get home to let his temper loose, a little voice in her head whispered darkly. Don’t get too excited just yet, Nallah. Wait and see how he acts in private, when no one is around.

  She kept this thought in mind and held her silence as they walked over the footways which led to their domicile. It was a longish journey—one Nallah had been making almost every day ever since Harryx had been injured. She usually started when the sun was just up and got to the House of Healing by around noon. If she didn’t leave by a certain time in the afternoon, she had to stay the night in the uncomfortable upright chair by the side of his bed.

  Nallah preferred going home to staying the night but she had to stay at least every second or third night to show proper grief and concern for her injured husband. There would have been talk otherwise and Harryx would have demanded to know what she was doing on the nights she didn’t spend in the hospital if he ever woke up.

  Except now he’s awake, she thought and wondered uneasily how long it would be before the question arose. Would he accuse her of spending her nights whoring with other men? This was the reason she was no longer allowed to go to the market unsupervised. Harryx had the idea that she would prostitute herself to any strange man at the least provocation. Although she had never given him reason to doubt her fidelity, he constantly questioned her virtue and beat her for crimes he imagined she committed or dreamed of committing when he wasn’t there to watch her like a lanna watching a flisk.