Hunter’sOath 
Jaid Black


To Patty Marks,
a graceful fighter in every sense of the word.
Thanks for everything, Mom.

 

Prepare thyselves for the inevitable demise of the wicked. Hunt down and steal as many wenches from the Outsiders as needed for the continuity of our line. To prevail, we must breed women and bear much fruit.

’Tis not I, a humble servant of the gods, who decree this, but the gods themselves:

Go forth and hunt, men.

—VIKING LEGEND

Chapter One
Alaska

T hirty-two-year-old Sofia Rowley sat in the back of the taxi, gazing out the window but seeing nothing. Leaving Alaska today wasn’t possible, since Fairbanks was at least two hours from the army base. She’d have to stay in a motel near the airport and catch the first flight back home tomorrow.

She welcomed the thought of the sun beating down on her face when the plane landed in Tampa. Alaska in February was bone-chillingly frigid.

This is where Sam died, she thought, gazing at the treacherous, icy terrain all around her. Snowcapped mountains thrust up everywhere, creating a picturesque but deadly panorama. She didn’t know how the cabbie was plowing through this stuff. Experience, she supposed—and strong chains on his tires.

Exhausted from jet lag, grief and lack of sleep, Sofia raked her crimson fingernails through her long blond hair and sighed. She itched to tie the wild mane of curls back into a ponytail, but she hadn’t remembered scrunchies when she’d hastily packed. Word of her brother’s death had driven everything else from her mind.

I don’t know what to do, Sam. I don’t know how to go on without you. 

Her life, so driven and purposeful, suddenly felt unfocused. Rowley Travel no longer held any allure. Her twenty-two-year-old brother’s death had forced her to recognize that work and Sam had been her sole sustenance.

It was time to start anew, to live instead of merely existing. Sam would have demanded no less. Indeed, her brother had been harping on her for years to go out and enjoy herself more often. She recalled a conversation they’d had just a few months ago, while he was here on a classified assignment.

“You should get out and date more, Sis,” Sam told her. “I’ve always seen the way guys look at you. And while it kinda grosses me out—I mean, you are my sister, after all—I know why they do. You’re the type of woman every man wants for his own: smart, kind, hardworking, gorgeous, and as much as I hate to say this out loud, you’ve got a killer body.” 

Sofia chuckled into the phone. “I think you’re being generous. The looks in the family all landed on you, kiddo.” 

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and we both know it.” 

“Oh? Then how come men rarely ask me out?” 

“Because you always put out you-don’t-stand-
a-chance-with-me vibes. Men are basically pathetic and insecure. Trust me on that one, Sof.” 

She shook her head and grinned. “Am I really that bad? I don’t mean to be.” 

Sam’s voice grew serious. “You raised me after Mom and Dad died, and I can never thank you enough for it—” 

“Sam, you don’t need to—” 

“—But I’m grown up now and you deserve to find your happy ending. Don’t waste your life behind a desk, Sis.” 

Sofia smiled sadly. Her brother had been her best friend, her only real friend. His death had left a gaping hole in her heart and her life that might never be mended.

Fatigue overwhelming her, Sofia’s eyelids slowly closed, thick dark lashes fanning down. The pain inside was raw and powerful; she welcomed the respite a short nap would bring.

No matter how old I live to be, Sam, I will carry you in my heart and memories forever. 

 

Sofia’s eyelids slowly batted open. She stretched and yawned, feeling a bit more refreshed. Wondering how long she’d been asleep, she glanced at her wristwatch. She stilled.

Four hours?

They should have reached Fairbanks by now.

Her gaze darted outside the taxi. Sofia’s pulse soared when she realized that nothing looked familiar. It was dark outside, but she could see that the terrain had become impossibly harsher and more mountainous. The road—were they even on a road? Sofia’s eyes widened. She didn’t think they were.

“Sir,” she called out to the back of the taxi driver’s bald head. “I don’t think you’re going the right way. I wanted to go to Fairbanks.”

He said nothing. Her heartbeat picked up as an ominous feeling stole over her.

“Sir!” Sofia yelled, her voice sounding hysterical even to her own ears. “Where are you going?”

Their gazes locked through the rearview mirror. Again, the cabbie said nothing. His driving increased in speed, and true panic set in.

He was kidnapping her! The thought was stunning, numbing. A sense of surreality set in. This just couldn’t be happening. She had to be dreaming!

A thick, opaque barrier of glass kept Sofia from lunging at him. Thinking quickly, she fumbled for the door handles, preparing to jump out of the taxi. If the fall killed her, it didn’t matter. She’d rather jump to her own death than be raped and murdered by this evil, grotesque little bastard.

But the door handles wouldn’t budge. Making small, terrified sounds, Sofia rattled the handles harder to no avail. The driver must possess a mechanism that kept backseat passengers from opening the doors until they paid their fares.

Oh no.

God, help me! 

Sofia kicked against the door with all her might. “Let me out!” she screamed, her heart hammering loudly in her ears. Her fists pounded against the glass divide that separated them. “Open the fucking door!”

The cabbie didn’t even acknowledge that she’d spoken. His silence was more frightening than any words he could have spat back at her.

She was going to die. Perhaps slow and torturously.

Her heart slamming against her breasts, Sofia slumped helplessly back against the seat.

Chapter Two
Hannu, New Sweden
Present Day

T he bride-hunter lied to me!” a disgruntled Viking spat.

“They always lie!” another angry male voice boomed in. “’Tis treachery that they are permitted to deceive us, milord!”

“It costs us nigh unto our last coins to purchase a bride. The bride-hunters should make certain that the wenches are prime candidates to bear Viking fruit. Not just physically, but emotionally as well!”

Enraged demands that the bride-hunters be whipped and imprisoned erupted in the hall. Lord Johen Stefsson sat in his chair at the apex of it, soldiers surrounding him on all sides of the raised platform.

Not that Johen required their protection; a more skilled warlord did not exist.

Johen stood seven feet tall, his battle-scarred body honed of three-hundred-twenty pounds of solid muscle. He wore black leather boots and braes, and a sleeveless green silk tunic that stood in stark contrast against his naturally bronze skin. The emblem of a dragon was emblazed on the gold bangles clasped around his powerful biceps, signifying his authority.

Lord Stefsson could defend himself with deadly skill did the situation require it. In this instance crowd control would not be a problem, as Johen was firmly on the side of the people who looked to him for leadership and guidance.

“Enough!” Johen bellowed, his eyes narrowed into gray slits. Two braids plaited back against his temples served to keep his dark brown hair out of his eyes; the shiny mane fell to mid-back. “I hear your cries, men, and I do not take them lightly. I will speak to our king about this issue on the morrow.”

The crowd of fifty quieted, appeased mumbles rippling through the gathering like a wave. Nods of approval and respect told him they would give him time to find a solution before taking matters into their own hands.

Not that talking to the jarl would do them any good, Johen thought, disgruntled. Toki was of a mind to make coins, not friends.

One day his corrupt rule would come to an end. Until that time arrived, all Johen could do was act as an intermediary between Toki and the people of his sector. Failing that, there would be no choice but to revolt again.

The Revolution had been won less than two fortnights ago, the old, corrupt jarl dead and deposed. Under the former king’s rule, bride-hunters had gotten away with far too much, sharing the profits of very little work with the crooked jarl.

But now a new government was in power and lots of changes were to be made. It would take time, though. Years and years of neglect and abuse couldn’t be turned around in less than one month.

Lord Stefsson assessed the crowd, his battle-trained mind accustomed to sizing up war opponents rather than men he was meant to rule. ’Twas a vastly different role, one that would take some time to grow accustomed to, yet he was eager for the challenge. His people had been neglected for far too long and deserved to be governed by a noble who had their best interests at heart.

The Revolution had been both necessity and inevitability. In the Viking world that existed below the earth’s dirt and leaves, where none from the Outside knew of its existence, war was not taken lightly. ’Twas resorted to only when obligation dictated.

For mayhap two thousand years, the Viking clans of New Sweden, New Norway and New Daneland had thrived below the ground deep in the earth’s belly. ’Twas the decree of the gods that they go there and dwell, the ancient prophets predicting that one day soon, mayhap in Johen’s lifetime, the number of wenches who lived above the ground would dwindle to near extinction.

The Vikings would live on, the Terrible Northmen destined to rule the world once again. Their people had been forewarned by the gods of the events to come. ’Twas their duty to preserve their way of life, which could only be done if those who dwelled above the ground knew naught of their existence.

The king of New Sweden, Toki, had flirted with being discovered by Outsiders one too many times. For that, and for his brutal tyranny, Lord Stefsson, commander of the independent sector of Hannu, had thus far refused to let his people be swallowed into the belly of New Sweden. Toki hadn’t dared gainsay him for fear that Johen would throw his weight toward the jarl’s enemy—the king of New Daneland.

The warriors of Hannu had revolted after Toki claimed the throne, declaring Johen their leader instead. Situated between mainland New Sweden and the barbaric kingdom of New Daneland, their small but well fortified zone thrived.

His people were dependent on New Sweden for nothing—except for brides. Until a new jarl overthrew the corrupt one, ’twas unlikely any significant changes would be demanded of the bride-hunters.

“’Tis a bride-hunter’s job to ensure that the wenches they steal from above the ground are not wed to Outsider men.” Johen frowned, his face grim. “If they are not doing what they earn their high wages to do, there will be hellfire to pay for it.”

Cheers ensued.

Johen inclined his head. He meant every word of it.

He grew as tired as his sector’s people were of waiting for New Sweden’s Revolution to erupt. Did the rebels not overthrow Toki soon, Johen would swear his allegiance to the New Danish jarl.

“I would not trade in my Jennifer even if I could,” one man grumbled. “Yet her heart is with another. ’Tis difficult to warm her up to her new life with me.”

The laws of the Underground did not recognize Outsider matrimony as binding, yet Johen understood the anger these Viking men felt upon learning that their wives were already married. It made wooing them into Viking culture and ensuring their eventual marital happiness a difficult task.

Once a wench was captured, she could never return to the Outside; ’twould be foolhardy and mayhap cause the collapse of their civilization. ’Twas why bride-hunters were to go to such great lengths to do all they could reasonably do to guarantee a lack of marriage.

None from the Outside could know of their existence—a point that couldn’t be stressed enough. On the few occasions when the colonies had been stumbled upon by accident, the people in question were either killed or incorporated into their culture by matrimony.

Johen was the product of one such marriage. His sire, Eemil Stefsson, was a Viking from Hannu. His mother, Amani, was an Outsider who originally heralded from the country of Saudi Arabia.

His mother had been on vacation with her only living relative, a sister, in what the Outsiders called Alaska, when she and Aunt Affra had accidentally stumbled upon a door that led to the Underground. They had been caught and sold on the marriage auction block.

Eventually, after much perseverance by their husbands, both women had happily settled into Viking life. It made the transition easier that neither wench had given her heart to another man prior to being captured.

The bride-hunters had done grievous injustice to the men standing before Johen today. ’Twas not, however, Lord Stefsson’s place to judge the fates of the bride-hunters; that would be the jarl’s decision. If he refused to listen, Lord Stefsson would have no recourse but to rebel.

“I will speak with the king on the morrow,” Johen said, standing up to take his leave. His silver gaze swept the audience a final time. “You have my vow.”

Chapter Three
T error having deserted her long ago in favor of numbness, Sofia wasn’t certain how much time had ticked by before the taxi pulled up in front of a remote log cabin.

Icy mountains thrust up all around her. She was in the middle of nowhere, deep in the heart of rural Alaska. She hadn’t seen another cabin since she’d awakened.

Snow began to fall, soft tranquil puffs looking at odds with their deadly ability to freeze people. What she wouldn’t give to be back home in Florida, the sun beating down on her face.

As if in a dream, Sofia watched her hijacker alight from the taxi and close the door behind him. The thudding sound caused her to blink; the blink forced reality to come crashing back down on her.

He was going to murder her, probably rape her first. There was no other explanation for this.

Sofia’s teeth began to chatter. Watching the taxi driver walk into the log cabin and shut the door behind him, she forced herself to concentrate on how she might overpower him.

He was short, fat and aging. She stood five-feet-eight-inches tall and had a more athletic physique. She had always been on the voluptuous side, but she was in excellent shape.

But what could she use as a weapon…Of course—her keys! She fumbled through her faux leather purse, relieved when she found the keys to her car. They didn’t make much of a weapon, but they were better than nothing.

When he opened the backseat door, she would attack him. She took one of the keys off the ring, palmed it, and prepared to strike.

 

Driving a taxi didn’t earn Willy the money he needed to support his cocaine and booze habit. Fuck, it barely covered the bills. Luckily, he knew what he had to do and who he had to go to in order to get paid nicely.

The pair of tall, weird mountain men who lived out here in the middle of no-fucking-where regularly paid him a lot of cash for young, pretty, fuckable bitches. Black, white, Asian, Spanish…they liked it all. But over the years he’d learned what they paid the most for, and the lady in the back of his cab was it.

The mountain men with the weirdo foreign accents didn’t pay much for the skinny ones. They preferred rounded asses and hips, and big ole titties. An exceptionally beautiful face was always a requirement. Color didn’t matter.

Willy didn’t know what the mysterious men did with the women after they bought them, nor did he care. It was obvious the ladies were killed after they were fucked good and decent for a few days because the cabin was always devoid of females when he showed up…and he couldn’t kidnap the bitches fast enough to suit the foreigners.

Willy waited with more patience than he felt as the foreigners stalked outside and inspected the new chattel.

 

Sofia clutched the key so tightly her knuckles turned white. Expecting to do battle with the short, out-of-shape taxi driver, she gasped when two huge men draped in polar bear furs emerged from the log cabin instead. They looked straight at her and her heart leapt into her chest.

They wore their hair in an odd fashion—a braid plaited on either side of their temples to keep their hair out of their line of vision. Obviously, they’d watched Mel Gibson in Braveheart one too many times. The polar bear furs obscured what they wore beneath them and whether or not they were carrying weapons.

The closer the giants got to the car, the sweatier Sofia’s palms became. They had to be six-and-a-half-feet tall! She willed her heart to stop thumping so madly, but couldn’t control it. The excess adrenaline was making her hands so clammy she could scarcely keep the key palmed.

One of the men threw open the front door of the taxicab. He pressed a button and Sofia heard the locks click open. Her teeth sank down into her lower lip, drawing blood. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt close to passing out. She didn’t know what to do.

“Leave me alone!” she demanded, her voice guttural with desperation. “Go away!”

The front door slammed shut. The two brutes began to converse in a foreign tongue she couldn’t place. One of them inclined his head to the other, then threw open the backseat door.

Sofia’s breasts heaved up and down with her labored breathing. Did she strike now, or after he pulled her from the cab?

A second later, a big, meaty hand grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her from the backseat and onto her feet. Two seconds later, she was stabbing his hand with the key, breaking free of his hold while he bellowed.

“Fan, hon skar mig!” 

“Var inte så mesig!” 

Sofia took off running, blindly fleeing into the night, as far away from her new captors as her four-inch black high heels would carry her.

“Jag kommer att fixa henne!” 

“Det är ingen större problem!” 

She could hear their raised voices shouting at each other. Her arms pumped madly as she ran, breasts jiggling, her feet already close to frostbite. Her black pantyhose and high heels offered no protection against the subzero conditions. She was dressed for a funeral—not for highspeed running.

Where do I go? Sofia hysterically wondered.

There was nowhere to run to. The log cabin was in such a remote area, it was impossible for most people to find.

Her eyes widened in terror when she heard the telltale crunch of boots on snow gaining on her. Oh God, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be!

She ran with everything she had in her, heart drumming like mad, breath coming out in pants. Sofia screamed when two strong hands seized her from behind, effectively bringing a halt to her escape.

She struck out at him blindly with the key, but this time the giant merely snatched it out of her grasp and pocketed it with his free hand.

“Enough,” he said gruffly, frowning. His accent was thick, its origin indiscernible. “Calm yourself, wench.”

Wench? Oh God, he really had watched Braveheart too many times. The psycho believed he was living in medieval times!

Sofia kicked and flailed when he lifted her from the ground and threw her over his shoulder. It was like a mouse hammering against an unyielding brick wall.

“Help me!” she wailed, hysterical. “Somebody please help me!”

The big man was unperturbed by her cries as he carried her back toward the cabin. It forced her to wonder how often he did this to women, for it seemed like all in a day’s work to him.

The giant she’d injured was waiting at the threshold. The colossal man carrying her said something to his comrade in their odd language, then followed him into an adjoining room.

The door shut firmly, terrifyingly, behind the three of them. A light flicked on. Sofia was hoisted off her captor’s shoulder and made to stand before them. Her teeth started chattering again.

Her heart pounded like mad in her chest as the duo took their time studying her. They walked around her in circles as if inspecting a new horse they were considering purchasing. They forced open her mouth and eyed her teeth, then palmed her breasts and squeezed them a little. A hand on her butt, another one feeling up and down her legs…

“Please,” she gasped, her voice catching in the back of her throat. “Don’t hurt me.”

One of the men blinked, then had the nerve to look affronted. “No harm shall come to you, wench.” He frowned. “’Twould lower the price you can fetch us below the ground.”

Lower the price they could sell her for? Like some modern day sex slave? But…but why would they take her below the ground? Would they talk so freely if they weren’t absolutely certain she’d never escape them alive?

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Perspiration drenched her forehead and cleavage. Unable to endure another moment, Sofia kneed one of the kidnappers in the groin and ran for the door as he bellowed in pain.

A pair of hands confidently seized her from behind. One moment she was kicking, screaming and punching anything within striking distance, and the next she had a handkerchief over her nose, breathing in what could only be chloroform.

Sofia could feel blackness stealing over her. As her legs and hands slowly went limp, her last conscious thought was that she hoped she never woke up again.

 

Willy’s beady little eyes lit up as the two foreigners handed him a wad of hundreds. He whistled as he counted the cash. Yep, he’d known that girl would fetch him a pretty penny the moment she plopped down in the back of his cab.

What Willy didn’t yet know was that this time, he wouldn’t get a chance to snort that money away. The tall, mysterious men had decided that the cabbie knew too much, had seen too much.

And that was something they wouldn’t tolerate.

Chapter Four
L ord Stefsson emerged from the jarl’s dwelling place, furious he and the king were not of the same mind where the bride-hunters were concerned. The penalty for perjury under Hunter’s Oath should result in whipping, imprisonment and confiscation of property for the guilty—not a slap on the wrist.

Bride-hunters who went out of their way to excel at their craft should earn higher wages. ’Twould offset the cost of the time-consuming work they must do and should have been doing all the while.

Unfortunately, a bride auction was slated for this eve. As always, the bride-hunters could legally sell off wenches to the auctioneer tonight, regardless of how little research they’d done before stealing the females. Johen would be there with his soldiers to ensure crowd control. ’Twas the best he could offer the men from his sector who were of a mind to bid on an Outsider bride this eve.

Right now he had another duty to attend to, of the familial sort.

Johen had promised his parents that he would arrive at their dwelling in time for the noon repast; they hadn’t been able to see their son but twice in two fortnights. The price of power, he supposed.

He loved his sire and mama fiercely, but truth be told, Johen was not looking forward to this meal. Both of his parents had been pressing him to marry for ages. He had insisted on not buying a bride until after the rebels’ Revolution had been won. That hadn’t come to pass, but his parents expected him to continue their lineage regardless.

And, indeed, when he left Lokitown and arrived in the colony of Hannu forty-five minutes later, the marriage conversation began. Johen stifled a sigh as his sire droned on about the importance of settling down. Johen understood his duty and had given more thought to marriage as of late, but he preferred to give the rebels another couple of years. ’Twas much to be done in New Sweden and he would be responsible for much of it did they win.

Johen respectfully listened as he wolfed down his mother’s impeccable cooking.

“You are a noble, son. The status of our entire line depends upon a marriage that bears fruit.” Eemil Stefsson looked at his son pointedly. “’Twould be a shame for the glory of the Stefsson name to die out with you.”

“Really, Eemil,” his mother, Amani, said with exasperation. “Can we not discuss this after Johen finishes eating?”

His sire frowned, but grumbled agreement. Johen winked at his mother.

Gods, but he’d missed his mother’s cooking. Leastways, ’twas decent fare to be had all over Lokitown, but none of it measured up to his mother’s Viking-Arabian style of cuisine.

His sire resumed needling him about marriage the very moment Johen’s platter was empty. His mother smiled, knowing her husband very well. There would be no help forthcoming from her camp, he mused.

“’Tis a matter of honor,” his sire barked. “Not to mention pride. The Stefsson name cannot carry on without a bride to give you heirs. And furthermore…”

Johen listened with a patience he did not feel as his sire droned on. He sat back in his chair, resigned to the tongue thrashing no man save Eemil Stefsson would dare give him.

Leastways, his mother’s cooking had been worth it.

 

Johen gathered up his warriors and soldiers, motioning for them to follow him toward the bride auction. If the gossip his men had overhead was to be believed, crowd control might very well be an issue this eve.

’Twas apparent that the men of Hannu were not the only ones upset about the bride-hunters’ inept work as of late; the Vikings from mainland New Sweden were growing increasingly furious as well. The bride auction could very well turn ugly.

He didn’t like traveling to Lokitown. He had come here once today already to speak to the wretched king. Twice was taxing to the nerves. Johen didn’t think Toki would be so daft as to attempt his assassination, but ’twas best to always proceed with caution. Killing Johen would result in Hannu throwing its allegiance toward New Daneland, but the jarl of New Sweden was known for his idiocy.

Johen’s gray eyes narrowed as he walked. “Do not wield blunt force unless absolutely necessary,” he instructed his men.

Making their way to the coliseum, Johen reflected on the nooning meal he’d shared a few hours ago with his parents. As much as he hated admitting it, his sire did have a valid point.

Johen was possessed of three married sisters. Unless he took a bride, their line would die out—a fate worse than death to proud Vikings.

He supposed it wouldn’t kill him to assess the wenches up for bid this eve as potential brides for himself. Ten of the fifteen to be auctioned off were natives of New Sweden, accustomed to the ways of the Underground Viking world. They wouldn’t spend days, months or mayhap even years, grieving for life above the ground.

Unfortunately, Outsider wenches had always held an allure to Johen. Even as a boy barely in the throes of puberty, he’d sneak into bride auctions, hide in the shadows and lust after them. Their exotic beauty and unfamiliar backgrounds were too much an enticement to pass up.

Johen’s tastes hadn’t changed over the years. Outsider wenches continued to fascinate him. Mayhap he could at least consider the possibility of…

He frowned. Nay, ’twas impractical. At least in this phase of his life.

Helping Niko depose of Toki was not only his mission, but his duty. He needed to be at the ready when the rebels were ready to strike. A troublesome wife at such a crucial juncture was a recipe for disaster.

And all Outsider brides were difficult until they settled into the Viking way of things. No matter how intriguing any of the Outsider brides up for auction might be, he would only consider native wenches as potential wives. ’Twould appease his parents while permitting him to concentrate on his duties to Hannu.

“We are here,” Johen told his men. “Keep your swords at the ready.”

His course firmly decided, Johen entered the arena, his fighters close on his heels. Should he purchase a bride this eve, ’twould be a native wench and no other.

Chapter Five
A re you sure?” she gasped. “M-maybe it’s a mistake? Maybe Sam wasn’t on that chopper?” 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. But there is no way your brother survived that helicopter crash. None of the four victims could have.” 

She closed her eyes, indescribable grief ripping through her gut. Sofia had tried so hard to talk Sam out of joining the army, but he couldn’t be swayed. Naïve and patriotic, her brother had wanted to make a difference for his country. He hadn’t gotten that chance. 

And wasn’t the military supposed to deliver news like this in person? Sofia thought, angry at everyone and everything. That’s the way it always happened in the movies.

“Ma’am?” Jacobs’s voice gentled. “I know this is difficult for you, but as Specialist Rowley’s only living family member, we really need you to come to Alaska and attempt to identify your brother’s remains.” 

“Attempt?” she breathed out. An ice-cold chill worked up and down her spine. “Can’t you tell from his dog tags?” 

Every person in the military wore those small pieces of metal dangling from their necks. They were used for identification purposes, namely for awful situations like this. 

Jacobs stilled on the other end of the telephone connection. “We didn’t find his head,” he said softly, “so there wasn’t a dog tag to retrieve.” 

Sofia’s eyes widened. She slapped a palm over her mouth, and screamed behind it. 

 

Her eyes flew open. Breathing heavily, Sofia jolted upright on the bed. Sam…

Her heart sank as she realized anew that her brother was dead. It had been this way every night since she’d received that horrible telephone call. Despite her current predicament, the nightmares still came.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as her gaze darted around and another reality slowly took hold—she was still being held captive.

Sofia had been a prisoner in the bizarre Underground world for five very long days and nights. She hadn’t seen much of the civilization, but the trip from the log cabin to this undiscovered enclave in the earth’s belly was enough to send icy fear lancing through her.

Each day in captivity felt as long as a year. The first day was still a numb blur, as she’d been too shell-shocked to comprehend what was going on.

The numbness waned on the second day and was replaced with a mixture of anger and terror. She physically and verbally attacked anyone who dared to enter the tiny room she’d been sequestered in, not caring whether they were male or female, young or old.

They claimed to be Vikings. These people were insane, and she wanted no part of their lunacy.

An old healer named Myria had mixed a brew to calm Sofia’s raging nerves, and explained where she was and why she was here as Sofia sipped from it. The woman had told her that the people of the Underground had dwelled below the earth’s surface for centuries as a result of ancient prophecies. They believed that one day the women who lived above the ground would become all but extinct.

Sofia could have cared less about how their people chose to exist. She cared mightily, however, that they meant to envelop her into their peculiar world.

“You are to become the bride of whatever Viking bids the most coins on you,” Myria told her. 

“You can’t be serious,” Sofia retorted. She managed to keep her voice from shaking, but it took a lot of effort. “I’m going to be sold off…like a slave?” 

“Nay, like a wife.” The old healer frowned, her wrinkles all but enveloping her lips. “’Tis an honor.” 

Sofia didn’t think it was an honor. She had spent days three and four plotting methods of escape. Determined to be back in sunny Florida before she was auctioned off to some throwback barbarian on night five, she had attempted to break out and run away at least a dozen times.

She had failed every time. Deep down inside, she had known she would. After all, these people continued to exist and thrive because nobody knew about them—it was as simple and ugly as that. Sofia wasn’t naïve enough to believe that these Underground dwellers hadn’t thought and rethought out every possible escape…and made them foolproof.

Still, she owed it to herself to try, so try she did. She didn’t give up the ship until this morning, when a group of female groomers entered the room she was confined in and made her strip off her clothes. Then they bathed her, shaved her mons of all hair and worked rich oils into her skin that smelled of vanilla and honey.

They were preparing her for the marriage auction block. That knowledge was as sobering as it was frightening.

Later, toward evening, the group of females returned for a final inspection of Sophia. She asked them for clothes; they told her all brides went to the block naked. Sophia paled, praying for death.

Physically exhausted and mentally resigned, Sofia didn’t know what to do as she examined her reflection in the jagged, cracked mirror on the wall.

She closed her eyes and sighed. She wished her prayer for death had been answered. Even going back to the surreal, numb phase would have been welcomed. It would be easier to get through this auction if she wasn’t so painfully aware of everything transpiring around her.

“’Twill be all right,” an old voice crooned.

Sofia’s eyes flew open. She hadn’t heard Myria come in. “I doubt that, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.” Her turquoise gaze rounded. “I’ve never been this scared.”

She wasn’t the type to admit to fear, but confiding in the old woman was easy. She had been with Sofia so much over the past five days that her presence almost felt normal.

“I vow that no harm will come to you.” The healer shut the door behind her and waddled into the room. She was the only female Sofia’d seen around here that wasn’t dressed in skimpy attire. She always wore a black-hooded cowl that covered everything, its solemn color a stark contrast against the white crinkles of her skin. “Viking husbands are patient and kind. Leastways, they try to be.”

Sofia snorted at that. “How encouraging,” she muttered, running both hands through her unruly mane of blond curls.

“Drink this,” Myria instructed, handing her a mug of something she could tell was alcoholic. Apparently Sofia wasn’t good at hiding her emotions under moments of extreme distress. “Drink,” Myria again prodded. “’Twill calm your nerves considerably.”

Sofia had no problem following that dictate. She was grateful that the old woman had intervened with her impending fate in whatever small way she could. And, she thought as she swallowed down the contents of the tankard, the healer was right. It was calming her nerves. A few minutes later Sofia realized it was doing something else too, though. She frowned quizzically.

“What’s in this?” Sofia asked before downing the remainder of the sweet, potent liquid.

“Mead laced with honey,” Myria informed her. “And a few herbs from my private garden. I must take my leave. Good luck, girl. May the gods smile upon you and deliver you unto a fair, kind master.”

Master—an interchangeable word for husband in this queer world. Sofia didn’t know what to say beyond “Thank you.”

A weird sensation hit her belly, and she squeezed her thighs together. “Uh, Myria…what kind of herbs from your garden are in this?”

The old healer cackled as she opened the door, then winked. “I like you and I want you to thrive in Lokitown. I gave you a little aid to see you through the wedding night. Your future husband will expect to bed you this eve.”

Sofia stilled. Her eyes narrowed. “What. Kind. Of. Aid?”

Myria shrugged as she prepared to exit the room. “’Tis known to Vikings as erotisk.” Her shaggy gray eyebrows shot up. “Our ancestors said ’twas like something called Spanish Fly—”

Sofia gasped. And stifled a moan.

“—yet far more powerful a sexual aphrodisiac.”

Sophia believed her. Her hands balled at her sides, jaw clenching, as she determinedly attempted to thwart the increasing arousal.

 

All ten of the natives had been auctioned off and Lord Stefsson found himself intrigued by a grand total of zero. They were all quite striking in their beauty, but they lacked a certain feistiness that he found attractive in wenches.

Johen stilled as the Outsiders were led up onto the stage. All five were exotically striking. All five were feisty. But only one of them snagged his attention from the moment he saw her.

He frowned grimly. He would not bid on her. No matter how bedeviling her beauty and proud her stance, no matter how defiantly stiff his cock became in his braes from just looking at her…

“Cease this,” he muttered to himself. He had made a vow and he meant to keep it. Johen’s jaw tightened as he willed himself to look away, but ’twas useless.

She wasn’t a classic beauty, but that didn’t make her allure any less potent. Possessed of bewitching blue-green eyes the color of which he’d never before seen, her gaze was heavy-lidded like a sexual wanton’s. ’Twas an irresistible combination.

Her hair was long and blond with springy, wild curls—further bringing to mind an untamable, exotic beauty made for his hard, lusty lovemaking. Her skin was a gorgeous honey-gold that glistened of the rich oils the groomers had no doubt slicked her down with. Her lips were full and naturally red. Johen blew out a breath as he glanced down and took in the rest of her.

Her breasts were firm for their large size, two luscious globes that he wanted to spend hours kneading, kissing and sucking. Her nipples were pink and very stiff, so swollen that just looking at them made his cock throb.

The naked, blond captive was voluptuously built, her body like that of a fabled beauty from Viking folklore. Big breasts, flat belly, curvy hips…

And a gorgeous, bald pussy.

He unapologetically stared at her glistening, oiled-down cunt. He needed to fuck her so badly he ached with it.

The auctioneer instructed the wenches to turn around, and Johen got a painfully arousing view of her plump, perfectly rounded arse. Once they were bade to face front again, the bride auction for the captives began.

She was the first Outsider to go up for bid. The wench stood there proud, her back straight and chin held high, despite the frenzied shouts, cheers and whistles erupting from within the arena.

His narrowed, silver gaze clashed with the captive’s. Her eyes widened and she quickly looked away.

“This gorgeous wench is named Sofia!” the auctioneer cried out in their people’s tongue. “With big tits and a plump arse, she’s worth your last coins, men!”

Laughter echoed throughout the arena. The auctioneer winked. “Milords, as always, you have first inspection and bidding rights. You may now approach the marriage chattel!”

Lord Stefsson’s nostrils flared when he saw every bedamned noble in the coliseum approach Sofia. This captive wench would not be bid on by those of the lower classes—the auction would never make it that far. The rouge-lipped blonde with the rounded turquoise eyes would become the wife of a noble this very eve.

You are a noble. You can bid on her, too…. 

Johen’s muscles tensed, fighting the way his cock throbbed from just gazing at her.

Chapter Six
S ofia didn’t know whether to scream or masturbate. She wanted to wring Myria’s neck for putting that damn erotisk in her drink.

Every moment worked her higher into frenzied sexual arousal. Surely the herb would wear off soon—it just had to! Even the bald, obese men in the crowd gawking up at her were starting to look like acceptable lovers.

Oh, God, this was just awful! Anger fought arousal inside Sofia, but it looked to be losing.

There was one man in particular that Sofia found her gaze inadvertently straying to. If she had thought the men that stole her were giants, well, that was before she saw him.

Dressed in a sleeveless, silver, chain-mail tunic with two dragon-crested bangles clasped unforgivingly around his bulging biceps, he had to stand seven feet tall. His black leather pants and boots covered the lower portion of his body, but didn’t hide the honed, powerful musculature beneath them.

His hair was a sleek dark brown and fell to mid-back, with a braid at either temple. And those eyes…

Merciless gray slits devoid of all emotion.

Their gazes clashed and Sofia felt decidedly nervous. He was assessing her and she didn’t like it. Her sex-hungry libido recognized that he was undeniably handsome, but the part of her brain not glutted with the herb realized how powerfully built he was.

If one of the fat, bald men bid on her, at least she could still carry the hope of escaping this madhouse one day. If that giant bid on her, she’d never see Florida again. He didn’t look like the type that gave up easily, if at all.

She quickly glanced away and blew out an edgy breath. Arousal knotted fiercely in her belly, forcing her to squeeze her thighs together again.

The auctioneer called out something in their Viking tongue, and the spectators cheered and whistled. Sofia swallowed roughly as men began to ascend the stage, their attentions trained directly on her. Clearly, she was the first of the unwilling brides to go up for bid.

I can’t believe this is happening. I lost my brother and my freedom in two day’s time…. 

And now, five days later, she was being sold at an auction like a common animal.

So much grieving and soul-searching had occurred after Sam’s death. So many “what ifs” and “if onlys.” She’d realized that she needed to get a new life—but if this was her new life, she’d take the old one back in a heartbeat.

 

The proud, beautiful Outsider wench was starting to get frightened. Her eyes were round, her breasts heaving up and down in time with her labored breathing. Johen had seen that look of apprehension on the faces of countless other females before they were sold to their masters, so he couldn’t say why this woman in particular struck a chord of sympathy with him. And yet she did.

Johen sighed. He would not bid on her.

Lord Mikael Aleksson approached the platform. A longtime friend, he would take excellent care of any bride he purchased. But why was he here? Mikael had always been too much of a ladies’ man to settle down with one female.

But Sofia was…intoxicating. There was no other word to describe her, and even that was sadly lacking.

As Mikael approached the Outsider wench, she warily eyed him up and down. It took her a suspended moment, but she eventually granted his friend a small, if nervous, smile.

Wenches loved Mikael—it was ever the way of it. Young maidens swooned at his feet, all of them praying she would be the one he bid on when at last ’twas her turn to stand on the marriage auction block.

The native girls would be heartbroken. Mikael had his sights fixed on Sofia.

Johen’s nostrils flared. He didn’t even know the Outsider wench, yet he found himself detesting the thought of another Viking touching her. ’Twould have been bad enough watching her sold off to a man he scarcely knew, but to a noble he counted among his closest friends?

Johen envisioned being greeted at Mikael’s dwelling by Sofia, all soft curves and swelled breasts. He would be forced to watch as his comrade made lusty eyes at her over the evening repast. Mikael would be thinking ahead, to the time after Johen departed, anticipating thrusting into the body he now owned by the law….

His stomach muscles clenched. Johen couldn’t explain his powerful reaction to Sofia, but it was all-consuming. No man should touch her. No man but him.

Despite his vow, Johen’s feet carried him to the raised platform where she stood.

 

The potency of the erotisk all but made Sofia moan. She felt like a trapped animal in heat. There was but one cure to the desperation gnawing in her belly and battling that need only served to work her up that much more intensely.

A man approached her. A big man, and quite handsome, though not so formidable as the unsmiling one possessed of gray eyes and an emotionless face. She knew this man wouldn’t do. Like the Viking her damned libido kept forcing her gaze to stray back to, the new male threat was too powerful a foe to ever escape from.

Sofia swallowed as he eyed her up and down. He looked his fill at her naked body and face, and she couldn’t help but notice his erection through the leather pants he wore. Tall, raven-haired, and forbiddingly muscular, he was as frightening-looking as he was handsome.

The last thing on earth she wanted was for this man to bid on her. Nevertheless, she granted him a small, barely there smile as a safeguard.

If he married her, she didn’t want him on his guard any more than he would already be.

She would pretend compliance. Or at least attempt to.

He winked down at her, and she swallowed again.

Just when she thought the situation couldn’t possibly get grimmer, he ascended the stage—the man with the silver eyes and stoic face.

Tall and broad, his lethal musculature was a heady sight. Their gazes clashed and she felt close to hyperventilating. An aura of power surrounded him. She’d never met a harder, more determined and dangerous male in all of her life.

His gaze raked over her, his eyelids heavy with desire. It was the only emotion Sofia’d seen him betray thus far, and the very last one she wanted.

Her body reacted to his stare against her volition, her nipples stabbing out farther until they were swollen and aching. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms.

There was no denying his impressive good looks, but she didn’t want a husband like him! Short, overweight and out-of-shape was the ideal ticket—getting through the wedding night with such a man wouldn’t even be necessary because she could knock him out and run. She hoped.

But this man?

Her worried gaze flicked between the two potential buyers. They would both bid on her. Without a doubt these Viking men wanted her.

The erotisk continued to work its dark magic and she closed her eyes briefly, praying the worst of the herb would wear off soon.

She needed her wits about her. The hours to come would be crucial ones.

Chapter Seven
S ofia… 

Her name was as exotic and beautiful as she was. Johen imagined himself calling it out as he slammed in and out of her, his cock jerking and throbbing as he came into her body.

“Milords,” the auctioneer said with a respectful bow, “we’ve a lot of brides up for sale this eve and so the auction must proceed anon. Do I hear a first bid?”

“Ten thousand,” Mikael announced without a pause.

“Fifteen,” another said.

Every muscle in Johen’s body tensed. The vow he’d made to himself was forgotten. “Twenty.”

Mikael’s surprised gaze darted over to Johen; his attention had been trained on Sofia.

Mikael’s eyebrows slowly rose. His half-smile was amused, and bedamn it, quite smug. Mikael wasn’t the only warlord in New Sweden with a rogue’s reputation. Leastways, the other noble was as astonished to espy Johen bidding on a bride as Johen had been to see him doing so.

“Twenty-five,” Mikael said, his eyes dancing.

Johen grunted. “Thirty.”

He could hear the murmurings of the crowd. ’Twas a heady sum to pay for a bride, and every man present knew it.

Johen’s gaze strayed to Sofia. She looked scared, and he couldn’t fault her for it. All conversation was transpiring in a language she knew naught of. In time she would come to know the Viking tongue; for now, all that mattered was ensuring he would be the one teaching it to her.

“Does any noble amongst you bid thirty-five?”

Johen’s gaze swept over the other men, his possessive expression speaking volumes. Wisely, no man thought to gainsay him.

Not even Mikael. Surprising, considering how much they enjoyed baiting each other.

“Going once. Going twice…”

Gods, she is beautiful. His cock was so hard it ached.

“The bride Sofia Rowley is sold to Lord Stefsson for thirty thousand coins!”

And now she was his! All his. 

Johen barely noticed when Mikael affectionately thumped him on the back; he was too occupied with staring at the wench standing before him. His wife.

She was scared. Sofia mayhap spoke nary a word of their tongue, yet her expression told him that she understood her fate.

 

Sofia didn’t need to speak their language to know what was happening. If the congratulatory pats on the back given to Silver Eyes weren’t obvious enough, the auctioneer placing her hand in his spoke volumes.

She was married to him. By the laws of this bizarre world, the barbarian with the unsmiling face was now her husband.

She shivered, though she didn’t know if it was from fear engulfing her brain, the erotisk smothering every nerve in her body or both. Her turquoise eyes widened as he gently tugged on her hands.

“I am Johen,” the giant said softly, his gaze finding hers. “Your master.”

He spoke English. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. She also didn’t know what to say in reply. Her master? Good lord.

Sofia swallowed heavily, her breasts heaving up and down with her heavy breathing. Perspiration broke out on her forehead as her pulse picked up in tempo. Again, she didn’t know if the changes were a result of terror or arousal.

Her heart told her this couldn’t be happening, but her mind knew that it was. This was no dream. Her brother was dead, and she had been kidnapped mere minutes after his funeral. Stripped of clothes and her dignity, she now stood before a man telling her that she was his possession.

The herb hit her in the belly hard, forcing her to stifle a gasp. “My name is Sofia Rowley,” she said quickly, trying to cover up her intense arousal. She squeezed her thighs together as if trying to juice a lemon. If she ever got her hands on Myria…

“Stefsson,” the man countered, snagging her attention. “Lady Sofia Stefsson is your name.”

She would deal with the implications of his declaration later. For now, she was too busy trying to thwart the erotisk.

“I’m not feeling well,” she gasped, stifling a moan. God, how she needed to come! “Please…I need to lie down.”

Preferably someplace private, where she could masturbate like there was no tomorrow. Once replete, she could concentrate on what her intuition screamed was impossible: escaping the man who called himself her husband.

 

Johen’s cock had never been so hard.

Though he had purchased an Outsider bride who would try to escape from him if he ever lowered his guard, he didn’t care. She was his fantasy, with lush, full hips, a rounded arse, plump tits, and a face he would never tire of drinking in.

At this moment, she feared and mayhap loathed him. Given time and patience, she would grow to love him just as his mother had come to love his sire.

“I’m not feeling well,” she said, her voice sounding choked. “Please…I need to lie down.”

Her fear was to be expected. ’Twould nearly kill him to delay the consummation of their marriage, but it was the honorable thing to do. If he wanted her to grow to love and trust him, he had to earn it.

“Come,” he said quietly, trying not to scare her with his usual gruff tone of voice. His passion-drunk gaze swept over her face, her body, unable to resist staring at those ripe, stiff nipples. “I will take you to our dwelling.”

Chapter Eight
T he trip to Johen’s sector was quite lengthy, surprising her as to the vastness of this unknown world. Methods of Underground travel were proving to be efficient and complex.

Johen had explained to a distracted Sofia that when trekking from one village to another within New Sweden, a mine car could take you wherever it was you needed to go. The Viking version of a subway, she supposed. But when traveling outside the colony, as they were now to Hannu, a boat that braved the icy Viking rivers belowground was necessary.

The air was frigid, mercilessly lashing against her face. Thankfully, Johen had removed his chain-mail tunic and covered her with it before leaving the bride auction. It was heavy, bulky and scratchy, but it was keeping her pretty warm. The erotisk was doing a good job of that too.

Sofia closed her eyes and held onto the boat rail, telling herself she wasn’t aroused. The icy air beating her face should have acted as a deterrent, but it didn’t. Every second of every minute passed like a year. She repeatedly squeezed her thighs together, praying the boat would soon dock and Johen would leave her alone in a bedroom where she could take matters into her own hands—literally.

“We’ve five minutes more and we’ll be home,” Johen announced, threading her fingers through his. “Our dwelling lies close to the docks.”

Good. If she didn’t get to a private room soon, she was liable to start masturbating like a lunatic right here and now.

“Okay,” Sofia breathed out.

Her clit was pulsing, throbbing. She needed to touch herself so badly. Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, the boat docked.

Sofia expected Johen’s home to be as simple and rustic as the room she’d been locked in for five days and nights. It was surprising to be led into a lavish Underground house bursting at the seams with luxury.

Silk pillows and draperies of every color imaginable filled each room, bringing to mind the extravagant home of an Arabian sultan. Servants lingered everywhere, seeing to various chores, humming tunes to themselves as if pleased in their work.

Sofia blew out a none-too-subtle breath as Johen steered her into his bedroom. The bed was huge—at least double the size of her king bed back in Florida—and ornately carved from a black material she couldn’t name. Proud dragon heads had been sculpted into the foot of it. Sheer blue and green silks draped down from the eight posters that thrust up from the gargantuan-size bed.

“I do not expect that we will consummate our union this eve,” Johen said softly as he turned her around to stand before him. “Yet we will always sleep under the same bed furs, never to be separated.”

Those silver eyes betrayed his desire. He was controlled enough to keep his hands off of her, but Sofia realized it was the last thing he wanted to do.

The self-preserving part of her brain was thankful that he didn’t want to have sex tonight, since she planned to run. She knew that being intimate with him might make him all the more territorial where she was concerned.

Two strong hands landed on her shoulders and her gaze flew up to meet his. Johen tugged at the chain mail she wore, his eyes filled with unapologetic lust as he removed it.

“What are you doing?” Sofia breathed out. Her pulse soared, heart thumping in her chest. “I-I thought…”

“I will not breach you,” he said, his voice hoarse. His gaze drank her in as she stood before him naked. “I just want to touch you.”

His callused palms rested at the juncture of her neck. Slowly his hands trailed down, feeling every curve of her breasts. His palms scraped her sensitive nipples and Sofia couldn’t suppress the small moan that escaped.

“So beautiful,” Johen murmured, gently massaging her stiff nipples. “And so mine.”

He played with her breasts and nipples for torturously long minutes. Every second felt like an hour, destroying Sofia’s concentration. She was this close to coming and knew it wasn’t wise. She had to fight the arousal—refuse to give into it.

His fingers found her vaginal lips. He played slowly with them while she sucked in a deep tug of air.

“Please,” Sofia begged, her voice shaky. His forefinger found her clit and began rubbing her tantalizingly. “Please stop.”

Her plea didn’t sound credible even to her own ears. She could see his large erection swollen against his leather pants and wondered if he’d be able to pull himself back.

“You are wet with need,” Johen said hoarsely, “yet I will respect your wishes.”

He rubbed her clit a few more times, then withdrew. Sofia whimpered—in relief or misery?

Lord help her, a saint couldn’t withstand torture like this! Desire clawed at her belly; she would never survive this night with her sanity intact!

Her eyes frenzied, her entire body on fire, she ached so badly that she was in actual pain.

Unable to endure it another moment, her brain too frazzled to consider the consequences, Sofia scrambled up onto the bed, spread her thighs wide, and began vigorously masturbating.

 

Beads of sweat broke out on Johen’s forehead at the carnal sight. How could she expect him not to consummate with her this eve when she was stroking her pussy right there in front of him? His jaw steeled.

Sweet Odin.

“Oh, God,” Sofia moaned, rubbing her clit in urgent circles. “Oh, yes.”

She was lying on her back, golden ringlets of hair fanned out around her head. Her legs were wide open, showing him the tight flesh he wanted to impale more than he wanted to breathe. Her nipples stabbed straight up, beckoning to his mouth.

Johen’s teeth gritted. Why was she doing this to him?

Sofia came on a loud groan, her nipples growing impossibly harder. Her neck arched and her eyes closed, yet she still wanted more.

“It’s not enough,” she gasped, her voice sounding almost terrified. “When will it wear off?”

She continued her relentless quest for satiation, nearly killing him. What man could resist this?

Then Johen stilled as her words sank in. When will it wear off? When will what wear off?

The answer slowly dawned on him. Old Myria was chiefly responsible for the captive brides’ well-being until they were put up for auction. Old Myria…the herbalist.

Sofia had been pumped full of erotisk.

Sweet, sweet Odin.

Johen peeled off his clothes until he wore nothing but his gold, jewel-encrusted bicep bands. His cock was stone-hard, and more than eager to help his wife out of her carnal predicament.

He got onto the bed beside her, resting his weight on an elbow. “’Twill be all right,” he said reassuringly, his free hand massaging her nipples. He couldn’t help but lower his mouth to one. He closed his eyes briefly as he suckled it, firmly drawing on the swollen nub.

She moaned, coming loudly. He nigh unto spilled himself at the sound, at her scent. Suppressing a moan of his own, he released her nipple with a popping sound and laved attention on the neglected one.

“Ohgggggoooooood!”

She came. And came and came and came.

Gods, but he’d never seen a sexier wench.

“I had thought to give you time to adjust to the thought of consummating our marriage,” Johen rasped, “yet your need will not pass for a few days.”

She whimpered. His cock throbbed, knowing he was up for the challenge. Pre-cum dripped from the tiny hole, desperation to be inside of her scraping at his gut.

“Come, little one,” Johen said thickly as she resumed playing with herself. His hand recommenced playing with her breasts, massaging her stiff nipples.

Sofia burst on yet another loud groan, her head falling back and mouth ajar. Her breathing was heavy, her need still great.

“Please,” she said in a little voice that got to him in a way no wench before her ever had. “Help me.”

She looked so scared, so defenseless. It moved him in a way he couldn’t name. Wide, innocent eyes and a wanton’s body—’twas a heady combination.

Johen blew out a breath. He didn’t want to take her like this, but he didn’t want her in unnecessary pain, either.

Hard and ready, he moved between his wife’s thighs. Preparing to enter her, he threaded his rough fingers through the soft silk of her golden hair, his eyes finding her amazing green-blue gaze.

“Do you want me to help?” He positioned the tip of his cock at the opening of her pussy. If she said nay, he might not be able to stop. “Do you desire this consummation?”

“Yes!” she wailed. Her hands grabbed his buttocks, pulling him closer. Her eyes were wide, desperate. “Please get inside of me!”

Teeth gritting, muscles tensing, Johen slowly pushed his long, thick cock into her pussy. He groaned as he impaled her, seating himself to the hilt in hot, wet paradise.

Sofia came immediately. Violently. She screamed, fingernails digging into the rigid flesh of his arse.

Already close to coming, Johen utilized every drop of self-will to hold back his orgasm. He began to move slowly within her tight flesh, his entire body clenched in a pleasure that was almost an agony. He had to concentrate on his wife’s needs rather than his own.

“Faster,” Sofia panted. She threw her hips up at him, pounding against him. “Faster, harder,” she ground out.

Johen growled, giving her what she needed. He drove deep, impaling her in long, fast strokes. She keened in response, coming more times than he could count.

“You belong to me,” Johen said possessively, riding her hard. “Your pussy, your everything—never forget that you are mine.”

Later he would work on claiming her heart, her soul. For now all he could do was bask in her tight depths, gluttonously devouring every inch of her.

Sofia’s hips rose to his, meeting him thrust for thrust. “I won’t forget—just don’t stop!”

Johen took her impossibly harder. He moaned as he rode her, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh as arousing as the scent of her orgasms. Over and over, deeper and faster, possessively branding her as his.

He could no longer hold himself back. The orgasm was ripping through him and he couldn’t stop it. “I’m coming, here I come, little one.”

He came on a loud roar as she milked every last drop of him. His entire body convulsed atop hers, tense muscles loosening in the all-consuming explosion.

Johen held her closely, his breathing heavy, his body slick with sweat. He murmured to her of her sexiness, of her beauty…and of his promise that one day soon she would love him.

He could only hope his words proved true.

They were husband and wife. Master and cherished one. He would have it no other way.

Chapter Nine
Three days later

I vow to you that they will not bite,” Johen said with a wink as, hand-in-hand, he steered Sofia toward his parents’ house. “’Twill be all right.”

Sofia doubted it. For one, the erotisk still hadn’t totally worn off. Her urges weren’t as all-consuming as they’d been over the past three days, but they still simmered. Her cheeks suffused with heat, thinking about the possible embarassments.

Second, she was still feeling shell-shocked. In a little over a week Sofia had borne the death of her only relative, survived a kidnapping, been stripped of her clothing and possessions, then sold to the highest bidder on an auction block.

The clothes Johen had given her in replacement were shockingly indecent. The gold tunic was undeniably beautiful, but much too sheer for Sofia’s peace of mind. The barely–there dress was supported at the top by an elastic band that began just above her cleavage line and draped down to her ankles. Red rope crisscrossed at her hips and kept the hemline from falling all the way to her toes. Her nipples pressed against the sheer top, stiff and aroused. To say she was mortified by her attire was the millenium’s greatest understatement.

All in all, there were plenty of times when she felt like she was in the midst of a long, weird dream.

And Sofia felt uncomfortable pretending to be compliant while plotting her escape all the while. It would have been so much easier if she could hate Lord Johen Stefsson.

If he’d mistreated or abused her. If he’d forced her into having sex. Or withheld it, knowing the potent herb was driving her crazy. Hell, even being ugly would have helped!

You’re simply going through Stockholm syndrome. You aren’t the first woman alive to start identifying with her captor, and you won’t be the last. Fight against it…. 

She had nothing to feel guilty about. She had been kidnapped, and it was normal to want her freedom.

And yet the guilt was there whenever the giant gazed down at her with stars in his eyes and she smiled back at him.

Why did he do that? Why? He’d known her all of three days. He couldn’t possibly be in love with her!

Johen was a battle-honed soldier, a wise and respected leader of his people. He was not a young boy who couldn’t separate lust from love. At thirty-six, Johen was not only four years her senior, but judging by his skill in bed, he’d been around the block more times than the ice-cream man.

And yet…

Despite his brains, regardless of his brawn, there was something inexplicably naïve about him. Johen looked at her with such hope, such longing—as if she wielded the power to make him or break him. Sofia couldn’t understand why, but it was getting to her.

She didn’t want to hurt him. Despite everything, she truly didn’t. Call it Stockholm syndrome, call it something else altogether, but she had no desire at all to wound this man who called himself her husband.

“I’ll survive this meal somehow,” Sofia said quietly. A pang of arousal lanced through her, forcing her to clench her vaginal muscles. “Preferably without making a fool of myself.”

Johen chuckled. It was the first time she’d ever heard him do that, and she found herself giving him a genuine smile.

Stop it! Don’t you understand that I need to hate you? 

“The only fool here is I,” Johen replied, coming to a stop before the door to his parents’ house. He drew her hand up to his lips and softly kissed it. “I’m fool-crazy over you.”

Sofia mentally sighed. Apparently he didn’t understand.

The door abruptly opened. Startled, Sofia’s gaze landed on the handsome couple standing there—his parents.

They eyed her up and down, as if assessing her worthiness for their son. Stupid as it was, she found their scrutiny even more nerve-racking than the bride auction three days past. Sofia had no reason to be bothered by what these people thought of her, and part of her wished they disliked what they saw, so she’d feel better when she ran from Johen.

It didn’t look like that would be happening.

The father’s smile was wide, the mother’s all but beaming. “Greetings, daughter,” the older man said, his eyes dancing. “I am Eemil and this is my wife, Amani.” He respectfully inclined his head. “Welcome to our dwelling.”

Sofia forced a smile to her lips, every nerve in her body frayed. “Thank you.”

As Johen’s parents led her into their home, Sofia decided this had the makings of a long night. An aura of exuberance haloed the gathering, while she felt as though she’d ridden a twister into the land of Oz.

 

Dinner was unlike anything Sofia had ever tasted. As she listened to the conversation taking place, namely, the story of Amani’s capture and marriage to the big Viking beside her, she understood why the flavor of the meal was so unique.

A mix of two cultures, the food was just like the house’s decor—Conan the Barbarian meets Princess Jasmine of Arabia.

“My sister and I thought we might faint,” Amani mused in a lyrical Arabic accent. “Arranged marriages were nothing new to us, but the Viking culture was much to take in, for two women who’d lived such sheltered lives.”

Eemil chuckled at the memory. “I believe you did faint, my love. Leastways, I seem to remember reviving you, only to have you see me and faint dead away yet again.”

The family shared a laugh and Sofia found her lips twitching, too, despite herself. She could empathize with Amani’s plight only too well.

“I do not recall fainting,” Johen’s mother teasingly sniffed.

“Aye, you did,” Eemil quickly countered. “Right at my bedamned feet.”

“Oh shush!”

Sofia’s gaze strayed to Johen’s grinning face. It was obvious he and his parents were very close. The love and bond they shared was a tangible thing.

Johen looked like a younger, but strikingly similar version of his father. Same height and musculature, same teasing eyes and smile. From Amani he had inherited his dark hair and olive complexion.

Yet as much as Sofia found the conversation amusing and intriguing, it was also horribly alarming. In the first year of her marriage, Amani had run from Eemil several times, only to be recaptured by him in mere hours. She had raged against him, declaring her hatred toward him, his people and all that they stood for.

All to no avail.

Amani had possessed the advantage of hatred and fury, not to mention an ally in her sister, and yet still she had not escaped. Sofia briefly closed her eyes. She had no ally in this world, or any hatred toward Johen to conjure up and call upon. Even her fury seemed to come and go.

Don’t let them break you, Sofia. Remember what it was to be free. 

The more she watched them interact, the more she saw her own childhood family reflected in their smiles. She had forgotten what it felt like for mother and father, daughter and son, to gather around a dinner table and just enjoy being alive and together. It was appealing to her, and she didn’t like it.

Oh, Sam, do you remember how good things were before Mom and Dad died? It’s been so many years since I’ve allowed myself to remember. 

Pancake breakfasts on Saturdays. Washing the family car on Sundays. Love, affection and a sense of belonging every day of the week.

All of that had been taken by a cruel twist of fate. For years she’d had no one but her brother. Now she didn’t even have him. Above the ground, she was utterly and completely alone.

Johen’s gaze strayed toward Sofia’s. He looked at her questioningly, but thankfully didn’t call attention to her. He could see the distress on her face, the unshed tears, and doubtless knew something was wrong—he just didn’t know what it was.

Unable to endure his stare, Sofia blinked several times in rapid succession while she regained her composure. Looking away, she trained her eyes on her meal, feigning interest in the chunks of spicy meat, vegetables and bread set before her.

 

As Johen and Eemil engaged in a political conversation, Amani said, “I know it’s overwhelming to you.”

Sofia’s gaze darted over to meet Johen’s mother. A second ago she had been seated halfway across the table. A blink later and she was right beside her. “Yes, it is.” She sighed. “Very overwhelming.”

Amani nodded. Her hand found Sofia’s atop the table and rested there. “You think to flee from my son.”

She thought about denying it, but there was no point to that. “Yes, I do,” Sofia admitted, pulling her hand back. “Surely you can understand.”

“Oh yes,” Amani agreed, her brown eyes gentle. The kindness she exuded made Sofia feel guilty. “I was you once, after all. I feel your every emotion and sympathize with it.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming on.”

Amani’s tone was tender, but firm. “But you cannot escape.” When Sofia opened her mouth to rebut, Johen’s mother placed a solitary finger to her lips. “You believe you can run successfully, and will believe so for some time to come. It’s normal—we’ve all felt that way.”

“I’m different,” Sofia quietly insisted. A part of her wondered how many Outsider brides had all said the same thing to no avail, and she ruthlessly squelched the thought. “I can’t just accept this without a fight!”

“Nor could I.” Amani sighed. “I had thought to try and save you from all the marriage pains I endured when first wed, but I see now that it is not possible. You must learn these things for yourself.”

Oh, God, don’t say that I’m just like you! Please stop! 

“Just know that I’m here if you need to talk. I’ve been in your shoes and I understand what it feels like to wear them.”

Deep inside, Sofia knew Amani was being genuine with her, not trying to deceive her into believing that escape wasn’t possible when it was. The truth was even more defeating than lies.

“Why?” Sofia asked, her voice shaking just a little. “Make me understand why.” She kept her voice low so as not to be overheard by the men. Johen and Eemil were too embroiled in conversation to notice her rising anger, though. “Do they have a shortage of women down here or something?”

“At times. Nothing noteworthy these days, though.”

Her nostrils flared. “Then why?”

Sofia was nine-tenths rational logic and one tenth emotion. She loved and hated as strongly as the next person, but her brain wasn’t wired in a stereotypical female fashion. She needed to understand, even in a world where reason might not exist.

“Why do the men of my home country marry several wives?” Amani softly asked. “Why do your Christian countrymen take but one wife?” She waved a hand. “Why do the Jews fight the Muslims for the rights to the Holy Land, and Muslims fight them back just as fiercely for those same rights?”

Sofia stilled. Because of their deeply held belief that it’s the will of their particular God.

Her shoulders slumped, the fight going out of her. She was tired, mentally and emotionally.

“The Vikings believe in the will of the gods of Valhalla.” Amani found Sofia’s hand once again. “This culture is an ancient one, a civilization steeped in its own rules and doctrines. It is foreign to you, as it once was to me, but you will eventually see the Vikings for what they are—a good, family-oriented people.”

“But the world above the ground…” Sofia shook her head, not comprehending. “How can you just give up all hope of ever seeing it again?”

Amani’s smile was nostalgic. “Love can do many things to a woman.”

Sofia mentally rolled her eyes. She didn’t mean any disrespect to Johen’s mother, but she wasn’t the type of person to be ruled by sentiment.

“I’m happy for you that you fell in love with your husband,” Sofia whispered, “but—”

“Yes, I did,” Amani interrupted. “But it was not my love for Eemil that I spoke of.”

Sofia raised a golden eyebrow.

“It was Eemil’s love for me that I found impossible to keep waging war against.” Amani’s gaze seemed to gentle each time she spoke of her husband. “Vikings, as you have witnessed, are raised differently from any culture above the ground.”

“That’s an understatement,” Sofia muttered.

Amani grinned. “Yes, it is.” Her expression grew serious. “But that difference is also shown in the love they harbor for their wives.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not certain I can explain it,” Amani said thoughtfully. “It’s the way men raise their sons, I suppose.”

Sofia listened intently, a rapt audience.

“They are taught that their bride is the center of all life and meaning. Down here, a man isn’t complete without one. Through the woman, their house is blessed and the continuity of their line promised.

“Emotionally,” Amani continued, “a little boy is raised to dream of his future bride, romanticizing her perhaps a bit too much.” She quietly chuckled. “Such tender emotions being taught to such a roughened group of males seems odd to us, but this is the way of it down here.”

That certainly explained a lot, namely how Johen could look at her with such naïve love in his eyes. “Do they care if their love isn’t returned?”

“I’ve yet to see that happen. They expect it will take time to earn their bride’s love, but they know that if they are good and patient and thoughtful husbands, eventually they will be rewarded and have her love in return.”

So they never gave up? Good grief.

Sofia’s emotions were in chaos. How could Johen possibly love someone he didn’t know outside of the biblical sense? It made no sense.

Then again, Sofia sighed, how could Johen—or any other Viking—marry and love a woman they’d never met before, based on a few moments at an auction? It was bizarre. This entire world was bizarre.

She needed to find an exit before she lost her mind altogether. Or, worse yet, before everything started to make sense.

What do I do? I feel so lost…. 

Sofia ran her fingers through her hair, her mind racing. She needed to escape before Johen’s feelings deepened. After listening to Amani’s speech, she understood that he truly did care about her. Hurting him wasn’t what she wanted to do.

Her gaze strayed to where her husband sat. He was laughing and happy, his former stoic impassiveness gone.

Because of me? 

Johen had married Sofia against her will, perhaps, but if he hadn’t bought her, another man would have. He had shown her nothing but kindness and understanding. For that reason alone, she owed him respect and consideration.

She would leave Johen’s life with as few memories as possible. The quicker she clicked her ruby slippers and got back to Kansas, the less pain she would cause him.

“One day, you will love my son,” Amani promised, affectionately patting her hand a final time before standing. “I promise you that he will make you happy beyond your wildest dreams.”

Chapter Ten
S ofia couldn’t get away from Johen’s parents’ house fast enough. Not only did she need to escape from Amani’s words, but the erotisk was hitting her hard. Her pulse had picked up and perspiration beaded on her forehead and between her breasts.

“’Twill be all right,” Johen murmured, leading her back toward his home. “We are almost there.”

“I don’t think I can wait,” Sofia shakily admitted. She looked up at his profile. “It hit me so hard that my belly hurts.”

His eyes seemed to gentle, though he didn’t look down at her. He just kept walking, steering them away from the twenty-passenger mine car as quickly as possible.

“It really aches,” she gasped.

They came to a halt before the metal elevator cages that would take them to the sector Johen called home. Sofia’s teeth sank into her bottom lip, drawing blood as she watched two passengers disembark. Johen steered her into the metal contraption and closed the doors.

“It hurts so bad,” Sofia wailed. The journey felt like it would last forever.

His jaw steeled as he guided the mechanism up half a floor, then brought it to a jarring stop. Johen made quick work of her dress, hoisting it over her head and trapping it just behind her neck.

Her body, now naked, was bared to him. He palmed her breasts with a low growl, popping one stiff nipple into his mouth and sucking it hard. Just like he knew she liked it.

It was a little alarming that he already knew her body so well, and was a master at manipulating it.

Sofia’s hands found his pants and pulled them down, just below his hard buttocks. His long, thick erection sprang free, growing impossibly more rigid between her palms.

“You’re so beautiful, Sofia,” Johen said thickly, kissing her eyes, her nose, then her lips. “I’m so happy you belong to me.”

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Holding her buttocks, Johen pulled her down onto him, his huge penis quickly filling her aroused flesh.

“Oh, God,” Sofia moaned, her head falling back as he drove himself up into her. “Oh, yes—Johen—oh, God.”

“You feel so good,” he said hoarsely, his eyes coming to life again while inside her. There was a darkness in him, a pain that only seemed to recede when he was near her. “I need you, Sofia.”

Her heart clenched. “Johen…”

As if sensing and understanding the emotional upheaval his words caused, Johen picked up the pace of his thrusting, concentrating on making her come. He succeeded admirably, just like always. Sofia cried out his name as she came, pushing herself down on his cock as fast and furiously as she could.

“I will always need you,” Johen murmured as she rode out wave after wave of ecstasy. “Always.”

He spoke to her of her beauty, of her eyes and smile. He thrust into her depths as if trying to reach her soul.

It was getting to her. He was getting to her.

Johen came in a roar, his cock jerking inside her. Sofia watched his eyes all the while, witnessing as life deserted them once again.

It was as if he understood that she would go back to plotting against him once the passion faded…and needed to fortify himself against any injury that knowledge might cause.

Chapter Eleven
B y the early hours of the sixth day of her marriage, the erotisk had completely run its course. Gone was the gnawing pain, the ache, the unquenchable lust. In its place was a soreness that made her feel like a young virgin again instead of like the mature woman that she was.

Sofia had never had so much sex in her life. Johen had made love to her nearly nonstop this past week, pausing only long enough to sleep and eat. He looked as exhausted as she felt, yet he still managed to rise to the occasion every time she moaned and called out for him.

He had taken her more times than she’d thought possible, in more places than she’d ever dreamt of letting a man invade her.

And she had begged for it. Like an animal in heat, she had needed Johen’s hard cock as though her life itself depended on it.

The weirdest thing of all, though, was the trust she had begun feeling for her husband. He was big and powerful, deadly and gruff, yet tender and gentle at the same time. At least with her. If she was to never learn another new fact about him, she fully comprehended one thing:

He would never hurt her.

Too bad she couldn’t say the same about herself, where he was concerned.

Sofia sighed softly as she gazed at Johen’s sleeping face. She disliked the thought of causing this man any pain, but she owed it to herself to try and escape. Six days of great sex hardly made up for a lifetime in captivity.

Down here, she would never have choices. Johen would decide her every move. Any woman in her right mind would try to flee.

It’s not like he can’t replace you. Today he calls you his wife, but he’ll forget you the moment you leave…. 

If only she truly believed that.

 

For five days and nights, Lord Stefsson neglected his duties to New Sweden that he might remain by his wife’s side. When he awakened on day six and found Sofia sleeping soundly beside him, Johen realized that the effects of the erotisk had passed.

The selfish part of him wished it otherwise, for he knew that so long as lust consumed her she would lie with him willingly, even initiate their lovemaking. Now that Sofia could shake the carnal cobwebs from her mind, the uphill battle would begin.

He had heard enough stories over the years about captive brides to know what a difficult time ’twould be in their dwelling until Sofia accepted New Sweden as her home and him as her husband. That was why he’d vowed to himself not to purchase an Outsider bride.

But as Johen watched Sofia sleep, golden ringlets framing her beautiful face, he knew it didn’t matter. However long it took, whatever manner of willfulness she displayed, ’twould be worth it.

Something about Sofia had called to him from the moment he saw her. There was a look in her eyes he understood only too well: a void, an ache that resulted from feeling lifeless inside.

It took the dead to recognize the dead.

Johen had no knowledge of what Sofia had gone through prior to her capture by the bride-hunters, but whatever ’twas, it had caused a great sorrow within her. He faced eyes like those every time he glanced in a looking glass.

He had seen so much during his rise to power, mercilessly fighting Toki for Hannu’s autonomy. Dead bodies strewn like fallen paper along the icy rivers. Children blown apart—innocent little victims who had done naught wrong to anyone. Mothers weeping. Mangled corpses everywhere so far as the eye could see…

Witnessing these sights in theory was altogether different than seeing them in reality. A part of Johen had died in the uprising, a piece of his soul he’d thought never to recover. Being with Sofia made him feel hopeful again, as though it hadn’t been in vain after all.

“Let us take away each other’s pain,” he murmured, one hand gently sifting through her hair. As Johen watched his wife sleep, he knew he had made the right decision in choosing her for his bride. They bore more in common than either of them knew. “I cherish you more with each passing moment.”

’Twas true. The way she smiled despite herself whenever she found him to be good company, every time he slid his cock inside of her and those blank, sad eyes sparkled their brilliant blue-green for those stolen minutes…

He loved her. With his whole heart he already loved her, though he couldn’t tell her until she was ready to hear it.

Sofia had not been raised in his culture and therefore didn’t understand his people’s ways. His mother had told him about the conversation she’d engaged in with his wife three eves hence, and of Sofia’s bewilderment that a man could love so fiercely, devoutly and quickly.

His mother had not lied to her. He cherished Sofia as though he’d known her all his life.

Johen blinked, recalling that he had duties he could no longer neglect. There were disputes to be settled, grievances to be heard and a sector to rule. With a sigh, he stood up and headed to his chest to fetch clean clothing.

’Twould be a long road with Lady Stefsson, but one his lordship felt certain was worth it.

 

As the doors to the vast bedroom quietly closed, Sofia’s eyes slowly opened.

Long before Johen had touched her hair or uttered a word, she had known that his attention was fixed on her. Not sure of what to do or say, she had feigned sleep. His softly spoken words echoed in her heart:

Let us take away each other’s pain…I cherish you more with each passing moment. 

Did he know about her brother’s death? About losing her parents so many years ago? Had she said something to him she couldn’t recall? What pain was he carrying? Should she even care?

They hadn’t engaged in much conversation, for most of their waking hours had been spent in bed. Yet somehow there didn’t need to be any words between them. Somehow, some way, what they had together was, in its place and time, right.

Sofia sighed. She had to leave. Johen was affecting not only her mind, but her heart as well.

Chapter Twelve
S ofia ran as fast as she could, running blindly into the unknown Viking world outside Johen’s home. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t even know if she was trying to escape or if she was merely blowing off built-up steam. Tears welled in her eyes from the confusion she felt.

Staying below the ground with Johen was so alien as to be frightening. Returning to the icy world above was equally distressing. She was alone up there.

Down here she had Johen, Eemil and Amani—three people who very much wanted her in their family. Even knowing her anger and frustration, they had enveloped her into their fold, treating her as one of their own.

To them, she belonged.

She came to a sudden stop, panting for air. It was all she’d ever wanted—a real family. But at what price?

Grief overwhelmed her until she just had to cry. She hadn’t lost control of her emotions since her parents had died, but now she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“Sofia.”

The voice, so gentle, so concerned and familiar, soothed in a way that frightened her. Succumbing without a fight wasn’t in her vocabulary, but she was so tempted….

“Sofia,” Johen murmured, coming to stand beside her. Thankfully he didn’t touch her; she was overwrought enough as it was. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she sobbed, trying to stop crying. She swiped at her tears, but they continued to fall. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think. I don’t even know who I am anymore—and that is the scariest thing of all.

Johen didn’t interrupt her, which she was oddly grateful for.

“Up there in my world, I had nothing. I lost everyone that ever mattered to me. My parents, my brother—all of them are dead.”

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Were they alive, I would go steal them for you.”

Sofia stilled. She smiled through teary eyes. “Would you really?”

“Of course,” Johen said as though he couldn’t understand why she thought otherwise. “I want to make you happy, Sofia—the happiest you’ve ever been.”

She looked away. “That wouldn’t take much,” she whispered.

Johen led her a few paces to a bench, and he gently pulled Sofia down beside him.

“I will not pretend to understand what you must be feeling. I have seen it on the faces of countless captive brides, but have never lived it for myself.”

He sighed. “What you must understand is that my people will never let you go. They couldn’t even if they wanted to. Once the bride-hunters captured you, your fate was sealed. I know you are angry at me—”

“No,” Sofia said honestly, “I’m not. I realize that if you hadn’t bought me, someone else would have. Still, I can’t seem to get beyond the fact that it happened.”

He nodded his head. “You are angry with me.”

“Not at you specifically—I’m mad at this entire civilization.” She splayed her hands. “Your ways are not normal to me, Johen. If you stole a woman above the ground, you’d go to prison.”

He whistled through his teeth. “Prison? A cell of incarceration? For doing what the gods decreed?”

“No one believes in your gods up there,” she said gently. “They haven’t for thousands of years.”

“More’s the pity.”

Johen threaded his fingers through Sofia’s. “I know this is difficult for you,” he murmured. “I vow to give you as much space and time as you need in order to find your happiness.”

“What if I never find it?” she asked sadly.

He squeezed her hand. “You will. I would allow it to be no other way.”

Sofia couldn’t help but grin at his arrogance, and he winked down at her.

They sat in silence for a long time, neither of them saying a word. They held each other’s hand, their souls finding a peace neither of them had experienced in years. After what felt like a lifetime to Johen, Sofia at last rested her head on his shoulder, allowing him to embrace her.

 

Old Myria, the herbalist, watched in the shadows, a smile parting the wrinkly folds of her face. She had known these two were right for each other the moment she met Sofia. Some called her gift a blessing, others a curse. Whatever it was, she had known.

Fate was ironic with its twists and turns, but in the end it always worked out right. That was difficult for the newly wedded couple to fathom now, but in another month, Sofia would love Johen with as much passion as he loved her. Another month later and she would be pregnant with his child.

Fate was indeed ironic, yet equally wise. There was no other person alive who could have recognized and understood the shadows that the other carried.

Clutching her hooded cowl tightly about her, old Myria crept away. Something portentous was about to grip New Sweden in the form of a wench. She could only pray to the gods in Valhalla that her people were ready for it.

Epilogue
Three months later

Y ou are definitely with child,” Johen proclaimed. He shouldn’t feel so pleased with his fertile self whilst watching his poor wee wife try to ward off the morning sickness that had consumed her over the past couple of weeks, but he couldn’t seem to help it. She was pregnant. No wench could ever hope to be sexier.

“Either that,” he teased, “or you’ve succumbed to a new illness no Viking has ever heard tell of.”

Sofia moaned as she clutched her rebellious stomach. “What kind of illness would that be?”

“Mayhap we would name it wife-of-the-green-face.”

“You are not funny.”

“And here I thought myself a court jester in the making.”

“You could use a few more lessons.”

Johen rubbed Sofia’s back, doing his best to comfort her. It was long moments before she felt relieved enough to sit up, and then took a seat in her favored place—his lap.

Smiling softly, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I am very happy, you know.”

He kissed her forehead. “Aye, I know,” Johen murmured. “I can see it in your eyes.” He gave his wife a gentle squeeze, not wishing to tempt nature and make her sick. Especially not whilst she was sitting upon his lap. “I have never felt more blessed, Sofia. Thank you for all the goodness you have brought to my life.”

“That’s so sweet—you’re going to make me cry.”

“You do that often, too, these days. Mayhap we should change the name of the ague to wife-of-the-green-face-and-red-eyes.”

Sofia gave him a good-natured thump on the chest. “You really do need more lessons.”

A court jester he was not, but fool-crazy in love, he was. The past three months had been the most wondrous of his life. He and Sofia had become so close that Johen was hard-pressed to recall a life before her. ’Twas almost as though he hadn’t lived before that fateful eve at the bride auction.

Truth be told, he hadn’t. He had existed, but he had not truly lived.

“Thank you for having my child,” Johen murmured, his gaze memorizing her face. “I love you, Sofia.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. She reached up and ran a hand over the contour of his jaw. “I love you, too.” Her smile held the promise of a long, happy life together. “More than you’ll ever know.”

 

Later that afternoon, once the morning sickness had securely passed, Sofia and Johen took a mine car to a docking station on the far side of Hannu, where Johen’s parents lived. Her in-laws took the news of Sofia’s pregnancy just as she’d known they would: with hugs, kisses and tears of joy.

“I cannot begin to tell you how happy we are!” Amani laughed. “Eemil and I are to be grandparents!”

Eemil was equally thrilled, running a few homes down to pound on his brother’s door and share the news of her pregnancy. Pretty soon Johen’s entire extended family was there, with food and drinks brought in for an impromptu celebration.

Sofia grinned up at her husband as his father and uncle began singing and dancing, a bawdy Viking performance reserved for only the most special occasions. Johen threw his head back and laughed, then gave Sofia a contented squeeze.

She was happy. God help her, but she’d never been happier.

Life in the Underground had turned out to be more wonderful than Sofia had thought possible. It didn’t hurt that she was married to the world’s greatest man, but Johen aside, the kingdom still had a lot to recommend it.

Johen had given Sofia the most amazing present—the gift of being loved no matter what. They had only been married for three months, yet her heart felt as though they’d been together for three lifetimes. Everything between them had clicked that fast and that well.

She still thought about the world above the ground from time to time, and now was one of those times. Her mom and dad would have been as overjoyed as Johen’s parents at the news of her pregnancy. And Sam would have been the world’s greatest uncle.

Sofia smiled. She hoped that her family was looking down from the heavens and seeing this moment through their angels’ eyes.

She blinked, then turned her attention back to the Viking performance. Laughing with her husband, she laid her head on Johen’s shoulder, grateful to be a part of this wonderful family.