Page 39 of Storm

Halo is a compact city with many residents. More so than the factory I came from. Every time I leave the house—which is few and far between, after I realised I couldn’t run from my husband—unfamiliar faces are a constant. It is unnerving, so I keep to the manor with Mary.

Melek isn’t going to make me go without. He’s been waiting for this day—one he needs me to be pliant and stable for. A day I have to handle without throwing a fit.

I’ve already played with the idea of self-harm a few times and lacked the drive. Every time I thought of Nix, one scrap of paper, with one simple word, and the mantra to fight was enough to paralyse me. It didn’t matter if I was twenty-one or ninety-three; he’d always want me to riot. His hope for me was anything but sour.

Now, out of the car and walking through the giant curved iron doors of the Astral, a ritual hall for the hollow, I spot a horrific sight, an X. Weak. My knees buckle. I’m still too brittle for this. The X, an exact replica of what I witnessed Nix being strapped to two years ago. Gripping my hand in a vice hold, Melek pulls me down a long, never-ending walkway, with rows upon rows of inflexible bronzed seating on either side.

The venue I have been brought to sits at the head of the park. A large, pointed grey stone building. One of the only original structures left, much like the manor we live in. Mary has always been too happy to share Halo history with me, which both fascinates and disgusts me. A handful of structures came from the “before” time. Most of the new buildings were created by the lords, the original Halo families.

Melek continues to haul me along to the second row beyond the main stage, which I’m now admittedly ignoring. I don’t understand why he has brought me here. He knows my stance on the hollows’ ideologies and the god they worship—the one true creator they no longer have a name for beyond saviour.

Anyone who takes joy in the pain of others is no saviour. Wrath is my religion.

“There he is.” Swinging my head up from the masonry beyond my feet, I find the whole council in attendance. “Your father would be proud.” Lord Azazel, a weasel of a man, takes hold of Melek’s hand in both of his own and shakes.

“I don’t know about that,” Melek answers modestly.

“You’re right.” I flinch at Azazel’s forthrightness. “Your father was a harsh commander, but it was all in our favour. Look at you now. Those pests beyond the factories have no idea what’s coming for them.”

Watching my husband closely through this exchange, I see the slightest tick in his jawline, his mouth flat-lined. Interesting. I file that piece of information away for later. Another tidbit to pick at. One day, I’ll find the thing that tears him down.

Azazel doesn’t address me. He turns back to the man beside him. His wife sits on his right, her hollow, haggard appearance, with an exorbitant amount of eyeliner, gives me a cursory once-over and obviously finds me lacking, sneering.

I snap my teeth at her, and Melek pulls me down onto the hard bench. “Behave yourself, wife.”

“Or what, you’ll spank me?” The abrasiveness carries, and someone snorts down the line.

His lips are on my ear without pause. “If you give me a reason to, I’ll take pleasure in spanking you until you are a writhing mess over my knee.” Thighs clenching in my standard-issue woolen grey full-length dress, I suck in a breath.

Two can play at this game.

Bodies mill around us, filing into seats. My advantage doesn’t come in being ‌able to torture him with sweet nothings in this position. Side by side, I barely reach his shoulder. Another part of him does happen to be a lot closer than expected.

He’s not anticipating it. We don’t touch beyond the bedroom when it’s about us taking what we need and nothing more. I refuse to look up at the stage and what I’ll find there. A man has started speaking, the vaulted ceilings providing the perfect echo chamber.

I block it out, bringing my fingers to rest gingerly on his black-clad thigh. The muscles tensing underneath tell me I have indeed surprised him. A sudden urgency to shout, got you, asshole, at the top of my lungs holds power over me. However, that would negate this whole situation. It’s about tormenting him where he can’t cause a scene.

Melek brought me to the one place it would be considered highly offensive to leave mid-whatever the hollow-worshipping bastardry is going on. There are two shows taking place today, and the second is giving me much glee, as opposed to the first, which I have yet to acknowledge. Running my fingers down his rock-hard thigh, I find the tendons jump underneath. Disastrously, my plan is immediately thwarted when I pursue my quest up his leg, his hand coming to take mine. Peeking through my lashes, I find him firmly entrenched in my own, swimming for dominance. I inhale sharply when he brings our conjoined fingers to the length of him.

The hard, hot thickness under his work pants throbs. Heat rushes out, colouring my cheeks. Pretending to take comfort in my husband, I turn into his chest, digging my face into his whisky-woodsy taint. His hardness. His smell. They surround me in a delirium that has me squeezing his cock and sending my teeth straight through his dress shirt, touching skin. The hardness in my hand pulses, and his free hand comes around my back to pull me further into his body. Magnets.

There’s almost a serenity in how he holds me, like a couple in love. If anyone were to look down, they’d find our hands entwined over his crotch. A bit too suggestive for this crowd. What troubles me the most is the thoughts that once fuelled me have flown away. Only the touching of our bodies, me wondering how I can somehow get his cock inside me, is on my mind. I’m broken.

A rumbling cough comes from the man attached to me as his hips jerk slightly, finding a new position, tugging his coat over our hands. The digging fingers around my waist are so tight they leave no room for movement.

For the rest of the ceremony, I hold myself against him, unable to move or let go.

Until the screaming starts. I almost expect him to cover my eyes, the sound agonising, and as I turn my head away from the chest I’m taking relief in, I look beyond the heads of the Haloians, wishing to rewind time.

On top of a dais now sit three Xs with three fairies of varying shades of blue, green, and pink, all screaming. At first, I don’t understand what is happening. The noise is so earsplittingly, horridly beautiful it cuts the foundations of my being. But then I notice it’s not faces I’m seeing. It’s hair and flesh. Long rainbows. And the breaking starts…

Snap.

Craaaaaaack.

Squelch.

My body involuntarily spasms with each awful note that rebounds from the high ceilings, swinging back towards the crowd.