Raised to Kill

The big Kindred got up and she was certain that now he would finally do it—now he would take her as her aunt had told her he would. As all husbands took their wives on the first night of their marriage and any time they wanted after that. It was her duty to hold still and permit it.

Allara’s heart started careening against her breastbone. Trembling all over, she curled her hands into fists and forced herself to keep her legs spread, waiting for his attack.

I must do this. I must do this. I must do this!

The thought ran through her head in a loop, over and over and over again.

I must—

Something soft dropped over her back.

Allara gasped and opened her eyes, which had been squeezed tightly shut. A soft blue blanket, several shades lighter than her hair, was covering her—hiding her nakedness and shame. Looking up, she saw Brand standing there, a look of infinite tenderness and compassion in his golden eyes.

“Allara,” he said softly but firmly. “Wrap up in that. We’re not going to do this tonight.”

“But…but we have to!” she exclaimed.

And burst into tears.

Twelve

Brand’s heart was breaking. The sight of his new bride, curled in a ball and sobbing, was ripping at his soul. He wanted to touch her—wanted desperately to hold her—but he didn’t want to frighten her anymore than she was already frightened.

Slowly, he sat beside her on the bed and put a hand on her back. She flinched at his touch but at least this time she didn’t run away. Her shoulders were shaking as he rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he murmured softly. “It’s all right—everything is going to be all right.”

“No, it’s not!” She turned her face to him and he saw that her lovely features were pinched into an expression of internal turmoil and agony. “I must do this,” she whispered, seemingly to herself. “I must do this! Oh Gods help me—I must!”

“No, you don’t! Really, you don’t,” Brand told her earnestly.

Unable to stop himself any longer, he gathered her into his arms. She stiffened for a moment, then melted against him, sobbing as though her heart would break.

Brand held her close and rubbed her back, soothing her as though she was an upset child. He thought he had some idea of what had brought this on. Clearly her people had some kind of custom or ritual about having sex on the Joining night. But just as clearly, Allara was frightened to death by the prospect.

So she feels obligated to offer herself to me, but at the same time she’s so scared she can hardly breathe, he thought. In fact, her breath was coming in hitching gasps and he was afraid she might hyperventilate.

“Easy, Allara,” he murmured anxiously, cuddling her in his lap. “Easy, sweetheart—breathe—just breathe.”

“For-forgive me,” she gasped, swiping at her eyes and looking up at him. “I am so sorry. I will…will give myself—”

“No,” he cut her off sternly. “No, I told you, we are not making love tonight.”

“Make…love?” She looked at him uncertainly.

“I will not be…taking you tonight,” he amended, since that seemed to be all she understood. “Not tonight and not for a long time to come, all right?”

“But if you do not—”

“Don’t worry about us not being ‘properly married’,” Brand told her firmly. “A good Joining—a good marriage—is about mutual love, respect, and trust. How could you ever trust me again if I did something to you that you feared so much on our very first night together?”

“But…but I was told that a man always takes his wife on their first night together.” Her eyes were wide and wet and filled with fear and anxiety. “Always,” she repeated.

“So you’ve never made love, er…been taken before?” he asked her.

Quickly, she shook her head.

“I am a virgin, husband. No man has laid a hand on my flesh before—this I swear on my Song and my honor as a daughter of one of the Seven Great Houses.”

Well, that was good, anyway, Brand thought. At least her fear didn’t stem from some kind of abuse or rape, which was what he had feared. Maybe it was just misinformation and dread of a potentially traumatic experience that was making her so upset.

“What do you know about…about being taken?” he asked, wanting to test his theory.

She dropped her eyes, her creamy caramel-brown skin growing rosy with a blush.

“I…I was told how it would be. How my husband would rip off my dress and…and force his shaft inside me.” Her eyes flickered up to his and back down for a moment. “My aunt said I must…must expect to bleed, because you are so much bigger than me.”

“Goddess,” Brand whispered hoarsely. He was horrified at the awful things she’d been told and the terrible fear in her eyes. Her aunt must have given her the idea that he would rape her that night and the poor little female had been trying to work up the nerve to just let him do it! What kind of sick people were the Q’ess to treat their females with such callus cruelty?