Deep, Dark & Dangerous

by Jaid Black

  The day had come, and his wife had wanted him with a passion to rival his own. Leastways, ’twas more than he could have hoped for this soon.

  How ironic that fate had finally brought his beloved Madalyn to him, only to make him set off for war a day later. He wished he could spend these last few hours with her, loving her all day and night until duty forced him from her side.

  It seemed ludicrous to toil one day before all hellfire would break loose in New Sweden, yet ’twas also necessary to keep up appearances. One never knew which man could be trusted, even in Nikolas’s grindstone.

  “I NEED TO SPEAK TO LORD ERICSSON,” Luukas insisted to Otrygg.

  Otar’s eyebrows inched up. He’d never heard Luukas so angry. ’Twas known far and wide that Luukas was a bit crazed, but his fine hunting skills had caused Otar to overlook that and train him anyway. “Where is he?”

  Otrygg frowned and fed him a lie. “Ill. He shan’t be bothered today. Bring your question to him on the morrow.”

  “I need to speak to him now!” Luukas bit out. “I’ve already gone to his dwelling and he is not there. Why do you lie, old man?”

  Luukas’s words were pure blasphemy. One did not speak to Nikolas’s overseer thusly.

  Making his presence known, Otar scowled as he approached the men. “What is the problem here?”

  Otrygg answered him. “Ask the brazen one what ails him. I’ve no notion.”

  Luukas’s face was beet-red with fury. His actions were perplexing. “I need to speak to Lord Ericsson. Now.”

  You need to speak with him, or you need to report back to your betters that he is still within New Sweden?

  The thought struck Otar from seemingly nowhere. He recalled Otrygg’s declaration that a traitor was amongst them. He didn’t want to believe that the turncoat was Luukas, but it certainly made sense of a lot of things.

  “Lord Ericsson was ill with fever when I left his dwelling this morn,” Otar announced. “The servants like as not told you he was out so no one would bother him. ’Tis for the best. His fever might be catching.”

  Luukas seemed a bit too cheered by his words. “I suppose it will have to wait until the morrow, then.” He flashed Otrygg a smile. “I apologize for my burst of temper.” Nodding his head to both men, he walked away.

  Otar and Otrygg stared after him.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Otrygg muttered.

  That I am the world’s greatest dunce for enveloping Luukas into my fold? “Aye.” Otar frowned. “Luukas has always been a bit odd, but that outburst was revealing. We best send some soldiers to keep an eye on his comings and goings.”

  Otrygg patted Otar on the back. “None could predict which way any man’s loyalty would fall,” he told him. “Do not chastise yourself. Like as not both sides will run into their fair share of treasons before the war ends.”

  Otar knew his words were true. It was the only thing keeping him from taking the blow to heart. “I thank you.” He blinked, then faced the elder warrior. “I will go put on a good face and toil. You’d best have Luukas followed anon.”

  MADALYN HAD A DIFFICULT TIME working up the enthusiasm to practice the play with Annikki and Agata. Feigning illness, she took to her hut and plopped down on the bed. For over an hour she’d lain there, staring up at the ceiling, her emotions in chaos.

  It was bad enough she was separated from her sister. Not knowing Drake’s whereabouts was enough stress. Worrying over Otar was the proverbial straw on the camel’s back.

  Tomorrow her husband would be leaving for only God knows where to fight for his people, perhaps to the death. It wrenched her heart every time she thought about him getting injured, let alone taking his last breath.

  The worst of it was, Madalyn couldn’t even discuss her grief and fear with Annikki and Agata. Otar had sworn her to secrecy and she couldn’t betray the trust he’d put in her. Drake would have been able to wring the truth out of her, but her mother-in-law and sister-in-law didn’t know her well enough to press the hot buttons her little sister could.

  So Madalyn was alone with her sorrow and worries. Tomorrow, when Otar left Shanty Row and his absence was obvious, she would be able to confide in Annikki and Agata so that they could lend their support to one another. Today, all she could do was stew in her own juices.

  A small, nostalgic smile curved Madalyn’s lips. Last night had been beyond wonderful. Making love to Otar had been an experience that far surpassed any previous sexual encounter. Not only had she reveled in the carnal, but Otar had said he loved her. And Madalyn, a cynic until her dying day, actually believed him.

  Unfortunately, that made the impending Revolution even more difficult to bear. She had never felt so powerless and ineffective in her life. There was nothing she could do, no one she could turn to, to stop the inevitable clash.

  You can at least tell him how you feel. Let Otar know that you care for him.

  She couldn’t believe she’d known her husband scarcely longer than a week. The events of every day since she’d been captured had been enough to pack a solid month apiece. Truth be told, she no longer knew if she wished to escape Otar, even if the chance presented itself. If he died, she’d want to leave Lokitown in a heartbeat. But if he lived…?

  Madalyn’s teeth sank into her lower lip. She didn’t have the answers to anything anymore. Nothing felt set in stone the way it once did.

  It can’t hurt to go and see him…

  She didn’t know her way around New Sweden, but she could probably ask Agata for directions to the grindstone.

  Madalyn took a deep breath, then sat up in the bed. Otar needed to know how she felt. Guilt would consume her, otherwise.

  OTAR’S TEETH GROUND TOGETHER as he wielded the heavy hammer over his head and struck down. In a few hours more he could stop toiling and go home to his wife. He prayed the eve would go by slowly, allowing him to draw out the length of time they had left to spend together.

  He missed her. Terribly. They had been separated a few scant hours, yet it felt like several fortnights.

  Brooding, he struck the metal with more force, grunting at every impact. ’Twas times like these he was grateful for his position in the grindstone. He could punish the metal, instead of picking a fight with a hapless passerby.

  Several minutes and much exhaustion later, Otar laid down his hammer. Dripping with perspiration, he pulled off his tunic and hung it to dry on a rack, then sat down to rest. His thoughts immediately turned to his favored subject: Madalyn.

  Before she had entered his life, Otar had cared very little about death. If it happened, ’twas just meant to be. After capturing his bride, things had slowly begun to change. After last eve, his mind-set had altered immensely.

  For the first time, he pictured himself mayhap surviving the Revolution. Mental images of a life with Madalyn, of future babies and laughter, swamped him. He’d never thought to have those things; now he wanted them more than anything else.

  Without the Revolution, Otar could never give his wife the sort of life she deserved. Because of that, he would feel less of a man. Even if one day she grew to love him with a passion that matched his own, he would still feel that way if they lived on the Row.

  “Agata told me where to find you.”

  Otar’s head snapped up. He’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard anyone approach.

  “Why are you here, Madalyn?” Otar murmured. “’Tis no place for a wench to be.”

  Gods, she was beautiful. The Thordsson women were permitted naught but rags to wear on Shanty Row, yet Madalyn managed to make the simple red dress shine with more elegance and sex appeal than any wench from the higher classes could ever hope to in silks and velvet. Her golden-red hair hung in ringlets down to the middle of her back, making her impossibly more inviting. Her nipples stabbed out from under the plain garment, reminding him of how much he desired to suckle them.

  “I needed to see you,” she said quietly, sounding a bit unsure of herself. “I have to
tell you something.”

  One dark eyebrow slowly lifted. Shirtless and slick with sweat, he stood up and towered over her. “Aye?”

  Her gaze broke away from his and she stared at the dirt floor. Otar stood there patiently, waiting for her to say her piece. After long moments passed by, he began to wonder if she would ever again speak.

  “Madalyn?” he said softly. “What is it you wanted to say to me?” A bad thought suddenly struck him. “Mama? Is she all right? Agata?”

  His wife waved that away. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m sorry. They are fine.”

  “Then…?”

  Her gaze, that green he first fell in love with in the moving pictures, lifted to meet his.

  “Last night was wonderful,” she said. “All of it. Everything you did…and everything you said,” she whispered.

  “I wanted you to know how I feel, Madalyn. I did not mean to cause you grief.”

  “You didn’t.” She shook her head, a soft smile curving her lips. “You did just the opposite. Thank you for last night. It was very special to me.”

  “You are welcome.” He winked down at her. “And thank you for coming to the grindstone to tell me as much. I missed you. ’Tis good to see you.”

  “That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

  She took to nibbling on her lower lip. He sometimes wondered how that lip managed to endure so much punishment from its mistress.

  “What is it, Madalyn?” He reached out and brushed back a lock of golden-red hair. “Whatever is on your mind, feel free to tell me.”

  “It’s just…I…”

  “Aye?”

  “I know you have to do whatever it is you feel is your duty.” She kept her voice a hush, careful not to be overheard by anyone. “And I want you to know that I support you, whatever your decision.”

  He inclined his head. “You’ve my thanks, Madal—”

  “But you have to promise me something.”

  “Aye?”

  “Promise me you’ll come back alive,” she breathed out.

  Silence.

  “I care about you, Otar,” Madalyn whispered. “The feeling grows and becomes more extraordinary every day. I think that—”

  More elated than words could say, he grabbed his wife and firmly covered her lips with his. Her eyes round with surprise, she slowly closed them, wound her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with matching enthusiasm.

  His cock immediately sprang to full alert, desperate to be inside her, though this was not the time or place.

  He tore his lips away from hers. His breathing heavy, he threaded his fingers through her hair and sought out her gaze. “Go home and wait for me, Madalyn,” Otar said hoarsely. “I’ll be there as soon as the working day is done.”

  “I’ll go do that,” she whispered, her voice throaty with passion. “Just make sure you hurry.” Her gaze flicked suggestively down to his manhood before rising to his face again. She grinned. “Victoria needs Thor.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-five

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake… would you two shut up?” Exasperated, Drake threw her hands up in front of her two-goat audience. “I’m not exactly thrilled with the accommodations, either!”

  They had been walking for days and taking shelter in small, wintry caves by night. It would have been nice if they could have stopped in an indigenous camp for help and a decent bed—or decent stalls, as the case may be—but she couldn’t trust that the Inuit villagers wouldn’t hand her over to the enemy.

  “You two stay put,” Drake ordered, heading toward the mouth of the worst cave they’d slept in yet. “I’m going to try and find something resembling a meal out there.”

  Good grief! As if it weren’t difficult enough to hunt down food for one, she had two baaaing goats to feed as well. Hopefully within another few days they’d be safely ensconced in a larger town that possessed phones, motels, and lots of hot grub.

  Grumbling under her breath, Drake exited the tiny, cramped cave and set off. Her thoughts turned to Madalyn, wondering how she was faring, and then to Iiro, speculating whether he was still trying to catch her. It had been a week, and she’d yet to run into him or any of the other Underground Viking throwbacks.

  “It’s a good thing I escaped,” she sniffed, reminding herself how fortunate she was to be trolling around on top of the tundra instead of beneath it. “So what if I’m cold, starving half to death, and have nobody to talk to but two goats. I’m free. This is a good thing.”

  Refusing to recall how invitingly crisp and warm the polar bear furs in Iiro’s bed were lest she whimper aloud, Drake turned her thoughts back to the mission at hand: food.

  A fuzzy cloud snagged her peripheral vision. She had been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she’d almost let something important escape her notice. “Smokestacks?” she murmured, intrigued. She picked up her pace, walking faster toward them.

  From behind a hill, two billowing streams of smoke swirled up into the air. Chimneys—they had to be coming from chimneys!

  Her heartbeat sped up as she began to jog, boots crunching on the snow beneath her. This was help…it just had to be! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!

  Darting around the bottom of the hill, Drake came to a sudden halt. She had expected to discover a few houses; instead, she had happened upon something far more elaborate.

  It looked like a science facility, but it couldn’t be. There wasn’t a Big Brother camp left on earth that CACW didn’t know about.

  Or was there?

  Her secret-agent-wannabe side kicked into full gear. She approached the facility with caution, watching for security cameras. An hour’s worth of patience—and picking locks—later, and she was inside the facility.

  Drake blew out a breath. The hard part was over. Now it was time to snoop.

  It only took a few minutes to determine that the small, two-building compound wasn’t secure. Why was beyond her. Perhaps they figured that the remote location was all the security they needed?

  How incredibly stupid of them. Information ferrets like her lived for shit like this, like a computer hacker finding and cracking top-secret codes.

  At first, there didn’t seem to be much to look at. None of the files she rummaged through contained anything particularly interesting or startling. In the last hall she checked, she changed her mind.

  GENETICS LAB. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  Drake’s eyes widened as she entered the unoccupied room. Empty candy bar wrappers and discarded sodas in the garbage can gave it the appearance of having been recently vacated. Her gaze flicked up to a clock on the wall: 6:45 P.M. They had left for the night.

  Drake practically drooled when she spotted three unopened candy bars sitting on one of the desks. Plopping down in the seat in front of it, she tore open the wrapper of the first one and gobbled it in two bites.

  Her eyes rolled back into her head. Ahhhhh, chocolate.

  Popping the second candy bar into her mouth, she chewed it while leafing through papers on the desk. The third candy bar was devoured as she booted up the lab’s computer and snooped through the electronic folders on the hard drive. One file finally piqued her interest: the journal of a Dr. Erin Gallo.

  March 7: Still no success. I’m beginning to think I’ll never find the right DNA combination. Frustration is my middle name. If I don’t produce some results soon, we won’t get our next grant. The pressure is mounting.

  May 11: I’m getting weary of the constant isolation—I don’t know how much longer I can take it. I haven’t spoken to or seen another human in over three months…except for Drs. Green and Hughes. They don’t really count. As friends, we don’t share any of the same interests. And since both of the men are married, dating is definitely out. (I’m pretty sure Larry Hughes wishes I’d change my mind about that one. Scumbag.)

  Drake snorted. “Men are pigs. Stay strong, sister.”

  The scent of potato chips demanded a momentary pause in her reading. She visually scanned the roo
m until she had a lock on her prey. The bag was half-eaten. Damn.

  Drake hesitated, doubting the wisdom in eating something that wasn’t still vacuum sealed. Ah, what the hell. She shrugged her shoulders and popped a chip into her mouth. Beggars can’t be choosers.

  May 22: The funding came through! And none too soon. The latest test gave me the result I was hoping for. A few more trial runs on the lab animals, and we’ll be ready to test on a human subject. So close and yet so far…

  October 19: As I sit here and breathe, I cannot believe that it’s finally happened. I did it. I actually DID IT!!!! We grew the world’s very first genetically altered human fetus and the results so far are beyond expectations. Not only could we choose the baby’s gender, but his progress in the host womb is superior to that of most fetuses his age.

  Drake stilled. Her eyes widened.

  All these socially desolate years of hard work have finally paid off. Our prototype won’t become available to the public at-large for another couple of decades, but I’ll be alive to see it happen. Before I’m dead, there won’t be a woman on planet Earth who can’t choose the sex of her unborn baby…amongst other things.

  Drake blinked. She blinked again. This was the kind of stuff you read about in sci-fi novels, not in real life.

  “And here I thought chemical warfare was the world’s worst nightmare.” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Lady, whoever you are, you just took the cake with this one.”

  Drake printed out the pertinent pages of the electronic journal and stuffed them in a pocket. Rummaging through the lab for more food, she ballooned her remaining pockets full of high-calorie junk. That accomplished, she disappeared from the science facility as though she’d never been there.

  HUDDLED BETWEEN VICTORIA AND THOR in yet another cold, snowy cave, Drake read the printout of Dr. Erin Gallo’s electronic journal for the fiftieth time. She still couldn’t believe someone would want to alter a baby’s genetic growth, let alone actually do it.