Reeve had to set her down in order to unlock the front door—it required both his handprints pressed to the black liquid metal surface of the security door to open.
The moment he put Nallah down and the door snicked open, she was into the house like a shot.
“Hey—” He wanted to stop her—to have a look at her wounded knees. But she only said something about making his supper quickly and was gone.
Well, hell. Have to deal with it later.
In the meantime, he was tired. It had been a long walk from the House of Healing—several hours at least—and though his host body was strong, it clearly wasn’t used to walking long distances. Nallah must be though—did she have to walk everywhere, he wondered. Was that another cultural norm here—that females weren’t allowed on public transportation so they walked wherever they went? That must be a pain in the ass.
He tried typing “females” into Harryx’s memory banks and got back a list headed Females: Uses.
Cooking, cleaning, fucking.
Okay, so it was a very short list but was this really what his host thought of females? Had he no reverence for anything feminine at all?
It appeared not. Bemused, Reeve wandered through the domicile, taking it in and trying to work out more about the male who lived here with Nallah.
It wasn’t easy to find many clues. The entire place was furnished with low, sleek couches, rich carpets, and burnished wall glows, which seemed to indicate wealth, but it was so neat it was almost bare. There were no little knickknacks or flowers or any feminine touches that might indicate a woman lived here. Indeed, there was only one holo-picture that Reeve could see, hanging in the corner of the living area.
It was an image of an older man with a long white beard standing beside Harryx. The two men were shaking hands solemnly over some kind of document. In the background, like an afterthought, stood Nallah. She was wearing flowing red robes and her hair was done up in an elaborate knot at the top of her head. Her veil was as golden as her eyes.
Reeve stepped closer, looking at a different angle to try and read the writing on the document. It appeared to be some kind of legal document and he caught the words “bride price” and “new owner” next to Harryx’s name.
Sudden understanding broke over him.
Holy shit—this is some kind of marriage contract! But not just a contract—a fucking bill of sale.
The older man must be Nallah’s father and apparently he was selling her to Harryx for an agreed on price. This was their version of a joining ceremony. So Nallah had actually been bought and sold like a piece of property—that was fucked up. Seriously fucked up, as far as Reeve was concerned. What in the Seven Hells was wrong with these Hascions, anyway?
“My husband?” Suddenly Nallah was standing before him. She had somehow found time to change into a new set of robes—light blue ones—and she was looking at him anxiously. “Your dinner is ready,” she said, bowing her head low when she saw she had caught his attention. “Please come and eat it whenever you like.”
Reeve sniffed the air, smelling some foreign but delicious spice and his host’s stomach rumbled.
“I’ll come now,” he said, smiling at her. “Thank you, Nallah.”
She gave him a fleeting glance filled with uncertainty and bowed her head again before leading the way into the dining area.
There was a long, low table just a foot or two above the floor level with cushions placed around its perimeter at neat intervals. Looking a little closer, he saw there was a rectangular section cut out under the table—apparently this was where his legs should go.
He took the place Nallah indicated, on a golden brocade cushion at the head of the table, and folded his host’s long legs under the low structure. Once he was seated, Nallah ran to the kitchen and brought back a large oval platter covered in a rounded metal dome, presumably to keep the food hot. Placing the platter before him, she drew off the dome with a little flourish.
“Wow…” Reeve picked up the eating utensil she had laid out for him—a kind of long-handled fork with seven tines ranging in size from very long in the center to short at the ends. He poked at the mountain of food which looked like a dish he’d seen Earth people eat once called “stir fry.”
There were chunks of brown meat and long, whitish strips of some kind of vegetable—at least Reeve thought it was a vegetable, it had seeds anyway—all mixed up in some kind of dark orange sauce. It smelled delicious.
“Pecinpa strips with vorng flesh in sweet and sour bitter-berry gravy,” Nallah said and looked at him uncertainly. “Your favorite, my husband.”
“It looks wonderful,” Reeve said. Seeing that she was waiting for his reaction, he dug in with the long-handled fork and took a bite. The meat was tender and the whitish strips which must be the pecinpa had a silky texture that felt luxuriant against his tongue. The sauce was sweet, spicy, and salty with just a little bit of sourness that brought out the flavors of the food. All in all, Reeve thought it was one of the best things he had ever tasted.
“Delicious!” he exclaimed, taking another bite. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. Thank you, Nallah—you’re a great cook.”
Above her veil he saw a rosy blush rise to her pale cheeks.
“You are too kind, oh my husband,” she murmured.
“Just telling the truth—this is wonderful.” He was eating hungrily when he thought to look up and saw that Nallah was just sitting here, kneeling beside him with her head bowed.
“Hey…” He swallowed his mouthful and used a square of black fabric which he hoped was a napkin to blot his lips. “Hey, why aren’t you eating too?” he asked Nallah. “You can’t tell me this is all for me—you must be hungry too.”
She looked up, her golden eyes shocked.
“It is not right for a woman to eat with a man. Unless…” She trailed off and Reeve frowned.
“Unless what sweetheart?”
“Unless they are man and wife and…” She dipped her eyes again. “And he wishes it. You…you have never wished it before, oh my husband.”
Reeve shook his head. Gods, what a fucking asshole his host must be!
“Well, I wish it now,” he said firmly. “Please go get some for yourself. Unless this is all you made?” he asked, seeing the panicked look on her face.
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“I know you said that the bump you took to the head made some of your memories a bit…fuzzy, my husband,” she murmured. “But I always fix your dinner first and then, if there is any left, I have some myself.”
“That’s bullshit,” Reeve said harshly. “Go get a plate for yourself and bring it here. Please,” he added as an afterthought because he was pretty sure good manners were in pretty short supply in this domicile. Not that he, as a pirate and a snatcher, was the one to start teaching etiquette lessons but in this case there was nowhere to go but up.
Nallah ran quickly to the kitchen and came back with an empty plate, much smaller than the huge platter she had set in front of him. Reeve took the plate from her along with a clean utensil and scraped a good portion of the food he hadn’t touched onto it. Then he set it in the place to his right, where he could look at her, and motioned to it.
“Please,” he said simply. “Eat with me, uh, oh my wife.” Which seemed to be the correct form of address here—at least he hoped.
Timidly, as though wondering if he might change his mind, Nallah took a bite of the steaming food. As she chewed and swallowed and reached for a second bite, she seemed to relax a little and enjoy her own excellent cooking.
Reeve was glad to see it. He didn’t like the fear he saw in her eyes when she looked at him—well, when she looked at his host, anyway. Something bad must have happened to put that terror there—maybe a lot of bad things. He knew he only had a few days in this host before he returned to his own body and left Harryx Parokk to his coma, but he wanted to try and give Nallah a few good memories before he left.
It was the only thing he could do for her.
* * * * *
For the first time in her married life, Nallah sat at the table with her husband to eat. And for a wonder, he actually shared his food and complimented her cooking. This had never happened before—not once. In fact, the only way she knew this dish was his favorite was that he never shouted at her or complained about her poor kitchen skills when she served it.
It was Nallah’s favorite too, which was why she had the ingredients all cut up and ready in the cold storage box. For once she had been planning to make it for herself and eat until she was full.
The good thing about this meal was that it usually put Harryx in a good mood—at least, he wasn’t usually cruel to her during her sexual submission afterwards. But the bad thing was that he usually ate it all, leaving almost none for her. And since he was very careful about the amount of groceries he bought from the market, that usually meant going hungry on nights she served it.
Harryx believed it was good for a woman to go without food several times a week. According to him, this practice kept them from getting fat and lazy. Nallah had quickly learned not to complain and to fill her belly with water so it wouldn’t growl and bother him on nights when she had little to no dinner.
But tonight her husband was different. He seemed solicitous—even kind—making certain she had enough to eat and even giving her a second generous helping from his own plate.
Nallah could scarcely believe it—could it be that the blow he had taken to the head had really and truly changed him?
Just wait, whispered a voice in her head. You have yet to make your sexual submission to him. And it’s been a while. He will be in need and you know what that means.
She winced at the thought of it. On nights after he had abstained from sexual activity, usually because he was away on Inner Circle business, Harryx seemed to grow especially rough. He couldn’t always be satisfied with her mouth, either. Sometimes he started by shoving his shaft between her lips and then, after forcing her to swallow a copious load of his seed, he would bend her over the couch, lift her robes, and thrust roughly into her pussy to leave another load there.
The worst nights, though, were the ones when he wanted to use her rosebud as well. His shaft was large and she was small and her husband never used anything to ease the way. His sawing and thrusting within her sensitive areas often caused sharp pain and bleeding but of course Nallah was forbidden to cry—forbidden to do anything but lie across the couch and take it.
She looked from the corner of her eye at Harryx, who was finishing the last of the excellent dinner she had made him. Would it put him in a better mood? Or would he use her hard tonight, in the way she most dreaded?
Nallah had no idea but she felt the cold finger of dread creeping down her spine and suddenly she couldn’t eat another mouthful.