by Jenika Snow
The sound of metal on metal had her snapping her head to the right. She felt her eyes widen at the sight of a very naked male back in her view. The man that was crouched before a fire set in the center of the hut was monstrously big, with wide shoulders, and muscles layered upon each other. He also had scars that ran crisscross on the wide expanse, and what looked like Nordic symbols inked into his biceps and sides, back and shoulders. She could see his biceps, saw the same inked markings on them as well, and wondered what the front part of him looked like.
“Um, hello?” She cleared her throat, feeling like she’d swallowed a bucket full of sand. What she needed were some painkillers for this wicked headache and the throbbing in her arm. “Am I still at the festival?”
Why would she even ask that? Of course she was at the festival still, because no one lived this primal and raw anymore, not even in this part of the world. Did they?
The man hadn’t moved, hadn’t responded to her question either. Maybe he didn’t speak English?
“Hello? Am I at the festival still?” She asked in Norwegian this time, and even though it was rusty and probably thick with her American accent she knew he would have understood her well enough. He still didn’t respond or move. She pushed herself up on the bed and looked around more thoroughly now. The hut was bigger than the ones she’d seen at the festival. There was a long-standing fire basin in the center of the one room, and through the sides of the fire basin she saw the crackling flames and felt its heat. There was a scarred, wooden table off to the side, with wooden bowls, metal, crude looking utensils, and a basket full of vegetables and fruit. Bones and feathers hung from the ceiling, and she saw weapons close to the front door, as well as sporadically placed around the room. The floor was dirt covered wooden planks, and the fact there wasn’t anything modern about this place, nothing familiar to her, had her heart pounding harder with confusion and hesitation. She looked out the window, or at least tried to, but in her position and the way the wood shutters were positioned only showed her glimpses of trees.
“Excuse me,” she said more determinedly now. Bracing her hand on the hide, she pushed herself up as best she could because of her injured arm. One standing she swayed, her head growing fuzzy and starting to pound fiercely. She immediately sat back down and cupped her forehead. “I need to know where I’m at. I have to get back to the hotel. I have a flight to catch.” What time was it? What day was it even?
She dropped her hands to her sides and stared at the man again. He slowly started to rise, and she craned her neck to look at his towering height. Even in the sitting position and from the distance she was at she had to tilt her head back just to look at him. The leather pants he wore formed to his massively large thighs, and his height was staggering. She actually moved back on the pallet, not sure what in the hell was going on, but her flight or fight instincts were kicking in.
He turned around, his long blond hair falling to the bottom of his shoulder blades, and the plaits on either side of his temples making him seem more dangerous. His chest was hard, defined, and littered with scars. It was like this man was a warrior from long ago. He held a cup, a long, discolored looking one that was strange in appearance. But as he came closer, she realized it was actually a horn. She moved back another inch on the pallet, and when he stopped a few feet from her all she could do was stare at him.
He was huge, easily over six and a half feet in height, and his muscles were honed to godly proportions. He had leather ties wrapped around his bulging biceps, and when she looked down at his chest, saw the Nordic symbols and designs in his flesh, snaking around his arms and sides, even around his pecs, this strange arousal consumed her. God, what was wrong with her? What was she thinking to be feeling anything more than shock and horror that she was clearly not where she should be?
She stared into his face, looked right into his cold, hard blue eyes that were so bright in color they seemed unnatural, and she felt fear unlike anything she’d ever felt before slam into her. He held out the horn cup, and she eyed it. The memories of where she’d been before waking up in this hut came back to her: the old woman, the words she’d spoken, and then the drink Agata had consumed. No fucking way was she going to drink anything this man gave her. The last time she consumed anything landed her in this situation … wherever this was.
“I’m not thirsty.” For all she knew this man was some kind of psycho, wanting to experience some other time and live like a barbarian. Who knew what in the hell he wanted with her. She stood, not about to stay here any longer, especially when it was clear he wasn’t about to respond to her questions or tell her where she was or what was going on.
He pushed the cup to her again, and she shook her head, not taking her eyes off of him.
“I said I’m not thirsty. Why won’t you answer me?” She was speaking in Norwegian now, hoping that this man, this beast of a male, wouldn’t just stare at her like he was possibly thinking about how warm her skin would be during the winter months.
“Dua manki drekka, konna mae,” he said in a hoarse, slightly scratchy voice. He wasn’t speaking a dialect of Norwegian she knew, and although she had no clue what he’d said, she did recognize one of the words.
Wife. Why in the hell had he called her wife? Was this a joke? She looked around, went to stand because she needed to get out of here, but he shoved the horn cup in her face.
“Dua manki drekka.” He reached out, gently, but firmly grabbed her uninjured arm, and pulled her closer. “Konna, drekka.” He put the rim of the cup at her mouth, tilted it back, and poured the contents in her mouth.
She sputtered, but realized it was just water. She still wasn’t about to drink it. Agata wasn’t going to stay here either. With her head still aching, her arm throbbing painfully, she managed to muster up her strength and push past the Hulk of a man. He was either taken off guard by her sudden movements, or he wasn’t worried about her getting away, because he moved away far too easily.
She moved through the small hut toward the front entrance, and glanced over her shoulder to see him watching her. She was frozen for a moment, not knowing why she wasn’t escaping right now while he stood still. But the way he watched her, with hooded eyes, and this fierce determination in his expression, had fear and coldness moving through her. This man was dangerous, that was for sure.
Agata pushed open the wooden door, and the chill in the air startled her for a moment. She had no clue where she was. The woods surrounded her on every side, and the sun was just starting to set. She wouldn’t be able to see anything if she ran.
She looked over her shoulder once more, heard the low growl that came from him, and watched as he tossed the cup to the side of the room. Agata took off, not thinking about anything anymore. She felt her lungs burn as she moved through the forest, not knowing where she was going, but not caring. Getting away was the only important thing right now.
Her legs weren’t injured, but her head was growing more painful by the second, and her arm was tucked right against her chest. She cradled it, not sure how it had gotten hurt in the first place. Agata didn’t care if he had tended to her. She didn’t know who he was or what he wanted with her, and didn’t know where she was. It was clear that man wouldn’t be forthcoming with any answers.
She knew she’d missed her flight. It had been nightfall when she was at the festival, and with the sun just now setting it had to be at least the following day. Like one of those fools in horror movies she looked behind her shoulder. She couldn’t help it. Agata needed to know where he was, and if he was coming after her. The flash of his blond hair came through a break in the trees. He was running parallel with her, tracking her … hunting her. A soft cry left her at the nightmare she was in now.
The sight of light in the distance had her hopes rising. Was it the small town that the festival had been at? She ran harder, pushed herself faster, and knew that she needed to get to the tree line. That way she could yell out for help. The closer she got the more she felt like everything wou
ld be okay, but when she saw the rows of huts, crudely made and not of the twenty-first century, her footsteps stalled slightly.
She fell forward, her foot getting caught in one of the roots, and landed on her injured arm. Crying out from pain, she forced herself to stand up and move forward. She broke through the trees and stepped into the village. God, where in the hell was she?
“Help me,” she cried out, glancing over her shoulder again, and saw the beast barreling toward her. He had no shirt on, and wore only those leathers. He looked like a predator, and she was his prey. The way he stalked forward, an ax held in his hand, had her eyes widening and fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins.
She turned and ran into the village a few more steps, but faltered when she saw several people stop what they were doing and stare at her. They wore clothing that was not of this time. The women had braids woven into their hair, and the men had longer hair and beards. They looked like the pictures she’d seen of Vikings and the villages in the Scandinavian area from centuries ago.
“I need help. That man,” she pointed behind her, saw the people look over her shoulder, and then saw their eyes widen. “He’s after me.” She switched it up to Norwegian, but they either didn’t understand her or didn’t care.
The women gathered the children, and the men ushered the females away, then stood their ground and held their swords and axes in front of them, as if on the defense. She spun around, saw the beast man coming at her, and felt the world tilt. Why wasn’t anyone helping her?
“Du tror du kana kjøre fra megoki, konna?” He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. She tried to scream out, but he placed a hand over her mouth and stifled the sound. “Jeg er en rekker.” He stared at the villagers, and she heard the same word being shouted over and over again.
Dýr.
Agata could roughly, crudely translate that word, and knew that it meant “Beast”. She stared wide-eyed at this man that now held her, his hand still on her mouth.
“Ja konna. Jeg er Dýr.”
The beast had claimed a wife, and Agata was right in the middle of the lion’s den.
Chapter Three
Agata stared at the man, hating that he’d chained her up like some kind of animal, but supposed he was smart for doing it. She’d run if she had the chance, get far away from this barbarian and try to get back to her life.
God, how her boring, lonely life sounded like heaven right now. She looked down at the chain and wrapped her hand around it, giving it a tug. It was attached to the wall across from her, and wasn’t budging.
“I’m not a dog to be tied up, and I’m not your prisoner.” It had been a day since he’d dragged her away from that worthless village, filled with worthless people that wouldn’t even help a woman that was being kidnapped. The sun had risen, and she hadn’t slept more than a few hours, afraid of closing her eyes and not knowing what he’d do to her.
He hadn’t hurt her, but then again he kept her chained up, forced water down her throat, and spoke in harsh grunts in a language she wasn’t familiar with. They couldn’t even communicate, or at least he pretended he couldn’t understand her, and she sure as hell couldn’t understand what those villagers said. How was he supposed to have her comply with anything he wanted? He’d taken her, stored her away from the real world, and she had no clue how to get out of this.
He looked over at her, but then walked away and left the hut. She sat up straighter, tried to peer out the door, but he came back all too soon carrying two fish strung up on a line. She wrinkled her nose at the strong scent. They were clearly fresh, but they certainly had that fish smell going on with them.
He kept his gaze locked on her as he moved over to the wooden, chipped and scarred table pushed against the wall. He pulled it back so he could keep his eye on her, then started running a knife up the belly of the first fish. He did the same with the second, and ripped the insides out of the animals, tossing the remains into a wooden bucket.
She hadn’t spoken to him since, but he hadn’t said anything to her either. Maybe he preferred silence, but Agata wasn’t about to sit here and make this easy for him.
“I’m not going to be your wife. I’ll never give in to you willingly.”
He glanced up at her with just his eyes, his head still downcast, and his hands shoved up the belly of the fish.
She straightened her shoulders. “I won’t be your konna.” She used the word he’d said to her, called her. It meant wife, that much she knew. This language he spoke was similar to Norwegian, but it was its own dialect, confusing and thickly accented. She picked up on words here and there, when he spoke to her, but other than that she was in the dark. “Do you understand me?”
He continued to stare at her as he worked on the fish.
“No. Konna.” She pointed to herself and shook her head. He stepped away from the table, went over to the basin of water he kept by the fire, and after a few moments of cleaning his hands off he moved over to where she sat on the pallet. He was an intimidating man, and the sight of him easily put fear in her.
“Já.” He pointed to her. “Konna.” The way he said it, telling her that she was his wife, was said with so much force, so much pure, unadulterated determination, that for a second, just a moment, she believed him. How could she feel any kind of lust for this man, this heathen? Surely they were close to civilization. Agata could find help, maybe play along with him until his defenses were down. She could act like she wanted this, wanted him, and then she’d escape when he trusted her.
Looking around the hut, she tried to calm herself, tried to get in the mind frame that she’d need to be in if she was going to pull this off. This man was far from stupid, she could tell that by the way he watched her, took in every single movement she made, and appraised the situation. Nothing got by him, and she always felt his stare on her. He was a hunter, clearly, a madman that was living out in the middle of nowhere and living some kind of fantasy where he was a Viking or some shit.
But then what about that village? Was this a community that wanted to live primal, that wanted to have no modern comforts? This was all so strange and confusing. Agata thought about the last night she remembered, about the old woman, the words she’d said, and that potion Agata had drunk.
God, what if she had been transported somewhere? It seemed so ridiculous to even think about, but it made sense to a point. The woman had talked about the In-Between, another world. At the time Agata hadn’t thought anything of it, but what if…
He started speaking again, hoarse and clipped sounds.
“Okay.” She held her hands up, showing him she submitted, or at least she did on the outside. He gave a gruff nod, made this deep noise, and took a step closer to her. She tried to stay in place, tried not to move back, but his presence was intimidating.
The way he looked at her right now, stared at her face, then lowered his gaze to her breasts, told her this man wanted her, wanted her all. How could she possibly accept this, or at least pretend to?
****
Stian was still angry with this woman for running from him. Of course he knew it was normal for her to be afraid. He didn’t know where she came from, what she was called, or how she got here. But none of that mattered, because she was here now and his for the taking. He sat on the edge of the pallet, saw her tense and watch him warily, but she had conceded. She might speak a language foreign to him, but he understood her body, her submitting in the way all people did when they knew they would not be victorious. She was his wife, his konna, and she’d understand that right now.
He reached out, took a strand of her long blonde hair, and lifted it. The light from the sun and fire reflected off the honey colored locks. He leaned forward, kept his gaze on her, and saw her tense even further. He brought those strands to his nose and inhaled deeply. She smelled faintly sweet, and although she needed to bathe and get the dirt from her body, she was a gorgeous creature.
Stian knew she’d give him strong warrior sons becaus
e he could see the strength pouring from her. She needed to learn his language to better understand what he wanted from her, and to obey him.
He pointed to her chest. “Konna.”
She licked her lips and it took her a second, but she finally nodded. “Wife.”
He played the word in his head. “Wife,” he repeated. It sounded strange coming from his lips. “Wife. Konna.” He said both words, wanting her to say it, to live it.
She watched at him with these wide blue eyes, still frightened with him, of him. He looked into her eyes, and reached out to grab her hand. He placed it on his chest, and a shudder worked its way through him when her flesh touched his. Her hand was warm, much smaller than his, and it felt good on his bare skin. “Dýr.” He wanted her to know that he was a bear, a beast of a man. He’d been born this way, violent and aggressive, maybe a curse from the gods, but a monster nonetheless.
“Is that your name?” she said softly.
She was asking him something in this soft lilt, or so it seemed from the way she phrased it and watched him with this confusion on her expression. This language she spoke was a strange dialect, one not from this area. Was she from the seas, or dropped down from the gods for him alone? It seemed unlikely, as the gods had not looked down upon him favorably since the death of his parents.
“I’m Agata.” She took her hand off his chest, but he allowed her to. “Agata.” She placed her hand on her chest, and he realized she was telling him what she was called.
“Agata.” He played her name over and over in his head, said it out loud, and grew pleased with the way it sounded and made him feel.
She nodded after he said her name. “Yes, I’m Agata.”