Captured (3 page)

He’d always been happy that he didn’t have to hunt for food. The witch who had cursed him to this unholy realm had provided him with nourishment daily. When he woke, it would be there, magically appearing while he’d slept.

When it had happened the first time, he’d stayed awake the next night, hoping to catch the person who made the delivery. He was sure that whoever it was could help him. But as he’d watched, the food had appeared out of thin air, much as the woman had appeared. And now she was disappearing through the trees.

He yelled at her not to run, the sound of his voice sending further shock waves through him. It had been forever since he’d tried to talk to another human.

Rugoff took off after her, fearful that if he let her out of his sight, she’d disappear forever. He wasn’t sure which god was responsible for this gift, but he didn’t plan on turning it down.

He didn’t stop to pick up the items she’d dropped. They would come back for them later. He ran as fast as he could, putting his feet down on top of the prints she’d made in the snow, zigzagging through the trees, ducking to miss the low-hung branches.

She was still ahead of him, but he was gaining on her, and he could tell her lungs labored to keep up with her breathing, which sounded loud and very frightened. He didn’t want her to be frightened. He wanted her to stop and talk with him, to tell him how she’d come to be here.

Maybe she’d come to rescue him. Did he dare hope for something like that? It would be absolutely perfect if she had arrived to bring him home. He’d only had a slight look at her, but he knew she was beautiful, dark headed and rounded in all the right places. His cock pulsed to attention, but he ignored it, knowing that if he didn’t catch her that she could, very well, come to harm, either from the elements or the animals.

While he did not have to hunt animals, they still lived here, including bears and wolves who would love to see her running their way. They’d make a meal out of her in seconds.

There was that other thing, too, but it wasn’t time for it to make its annual appearance.

He yelled once again for her to stop, but she ignored him; he could still hear her feet pounding through the forest, and then, suddenly, there was silence. He skidded to a stop, his gaze spanning the area, wondering where she’d gone.

Had she disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared? By Thor’s Hammer, he hoped not. Just to look at her was a gift, but the idea of talking with her, and, did he dare think it could happen, feel her under him, was perfection.

An image of her soft, warm flesh bathed in firelight appeared in his mind. She lay upon layers and layers of fur, her dark hair contrasting beautifully with the white skins. His cock hardened even more and he took a deep breath, trying to get himself under control.

It wouldn’t due for him to greet her like an out of control youth; assuming, of course, that he could find her. He stayed where he was, trying to keep his senses tuned for any sound or smell of her.

Hopefully she hadn’t stumbled upon a bear’s den, or fallen into a fox’s lair.

How could she have disappeared so quickly? The same way she appeared, he told himself as he closed his eyes and concentrated on what was happening around him. There was a slight click, click, click of what he thought might be a squirrel’s teeth as it devoured a nut. Or maybe it was reindeer, coming through the forest.

No, that couldn’t be it, he thought. Snow covered the ground, which meant the reindeer hooves would not make any noise. What was it? He stood for a few moments more, scanning the area. And then he looked up.

A smile broke over his face as the beautiful woman stared down at him from the tree, her eyes wide in terror.

He motioned for her to come down and she shook her head violently, clinging tightly to the solid branch.

Rugoff pondered his options. He could go up after her, but that would frighten her even more, and he didn’t want that. Plus, who knew if the branch would hold the both of them. If they tumbled back to the ground, it would not be a good thing.

She thinks I mean to harm her.
The thought had not occurred to him until he realized her body shook as she grasped the branch. It could be from the cold, but more likely it was from fear. The look she gave her was one of pure terror, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

She hadn’t responded when he’d yelled for her to stop. Could she hear? Or maybe she couldn’t speak.

What he needed was to calm her down, to let her know he didn’t mean her any harm. His brain raced, trying to come up with a solution. When it came to him, he smiled and nodded at her, then hurried back the way they’d just come.

Maybe there was something he could use as a peace offering. He had to get her down from the tree and out of the elements. Dressed as she was now she’d be frozen solid before the sun went to sleep for the evening.

He said a silent prayer to Odin that this idea would work. As he made his way to his cave he wondered who she was, and where she’d come from. She could either be a wonderful gift from the gods, or an agent of Loki, meant to do him great harm. Either way, the beautiful creature was the first human being he’d seen in ages.

And he didn’t intend to let her go.

Venise’s heart was in overdrive, her senses reeling as the huge man stood below and waved at her to come down.

No fricking way.
She shook her head emphatically. If he thought she was going to just drop into his arms, he was crazy. What the hell was happening? First she was in Mrs. Westergard’s living room, then she was falling, almost as if the world had disappeared, giving her nothing to grab hold of in her descent.

Then there was the bald guy, yelling in some language that definitely wasn’t English. She stared down at him now, wondering exactly who he was and what was happening. In return, he gave her an apprising look, then turned around and ran back they way they’d just come.

“What the hell?” She glanced around, wondering if she should take advantage of his absence to leave. But where would she go? There were no other signs of inhabitance. A quick glance showed no telephone or utility wires. There was no noise, except for the slight rustling of branches in the wind.

“Mrs. Westergard!” Her shout seemed to echo in the trees. “Get me the hell out of here!”

Maybe this was some sort of test the woman used to see if her guests were worthy of receiving information. If she lasted an hour in the frosty air, she would be able to publish her paper. Or maybe the woman was some sort of serial killer who used the frigid temperatures to kill her victims before she sliced them up and put them into her meatballs.

The idea made her want to throw up. But she needed to think of something else, like the man who had chased her through the trees. He would be back, she was sure of it. He wouldn’t give up so easily. What would he do if he captured her? Maybe he was the serial killer and Mrs. Westergard lured his victims here for him.

What would he do if he got hold of her? The thought increased the bile in her throat and she was afraid she would pass out from fear. She needed to find a way out of here, wherever here was.

Rethink what happened, she told herself. Don’t panic. Analyze the situation and come up with a solution. One minute she’d been sitting in that chair, thinking her interviewee was just a little odd. The next thing she knew, she was standing in front of a very buff bald man wrapped in fur. He looked like he’d just come off the cover of a romance novel.

She placed her head on the branch, shivering as the icy air seeped further into her bones. Keep going, she said to herself, just keep going. What happened next?

Venise replayed the day’s events in her mind; coming into Mrs. Westergard’s house, eating some of her food, listening to her talk about King Gunnmarr and his three sons and how they’d been banished to another realm by an angry witch.

And then she’d sat in the chair and fallen. But fallen where? Was she like
Alice
and her rabbit hole? Had she gone to another world? The thought was almost too much to comprehend. There weren’t other worlds, not in real life.

In fairy tales and novels they existed, usually right alongside the world in which everyone lived. But since this was real life, the truth was plain to see. The woman and the man were in it together. Mrs. Westergard had obviously put something in her food. That’s why she’d been so insistent upon Venise eating and drinking.

“That old witch! If you think I’m giving in to you, you’re sorely mistaken. I’ll see you both in jail before it’s over.” Her fingers and toes tingled from the cold, and her cheeks burned. She couldn’t stay out here much longer or she’d have more problems to deal with, not the least of which would be frostbite.

A noise from below caught her attention. The man was back, her computer bag in his hand. He held it up and motioned to it.

“Put that down!” She pointed to the ground. “Down, damn you! It’s mine.”

The son of a bitch had her purse, too. He put the bags on the ground, then took something off his shoulder, holding it out. It was a fur, just like the one he wore. His meaning was evident; it was cold and he wanted her to take the pelt and wrap it around herself.

The offering could be just a ruse, though, to get her out of the tree. If she came down, would he attack her? Serial killer, she reminded herself. Maybe he wanted her warm before he cut her into itty-bitty pieces. That didn’t make sense, though. He was tall enough that, if he wanted to, he could reach up and grab her. He could overtake her in a New York minute. Why was he offering her something to keep her warm?

He wiggled the fur at her and she shivered. She knew she couldn’t stay up here forever, even dressed in jeans and a heavy sweater. Maybe she should take the fur. That way, when she ran from him, she would have something warm to wrap herself in until she figured out what to do. She just needed to make sure she had the upper hand with him. She was smaller, and therefore she could, hopefully, run faster than he could. After all, she’d made it here and climbed the tree before he’d arrived. She inched down the branch slowly, sliding a little before she reached the trunk.

A look at her pursuer proved he hadn’t moved an inch. If she jumped down, would he give her the wrap? Or would he grab her first?

Running didn’t hold the same appeal it had just moments ago. Where would she go? The best thing to do would be to go back to the place where she’d originally landed.

Maybe it was some sort of hot spot. She’d read about it in stories before, a certain magical spot where…
stop it!
What the hell was wrong with her? She’d read too many stories about magic and other worlds. This wasn’t a fairy tale, this was something set up by that witch and the man standing under her. Good heavens above, she was falling into some sort of trance, actually believing she’d slipped through a hole and ended up in her own personal version of Wonderland. Definitely drugged. Hopefully there would be some of it left in her system when she found a cop. They could use it as evidence in Mrs. Westergard’s kidnapping trial.

She should go back up the tree until the idiot standing below her told her the truth. At least up in the tree she was safe from him. She made to inch her way back up.

The tree was cold and her foot slipped as she went to grab for the branch she’d just abandoned.

“Ouch!” She clenched a fist as pain sliced through her already frozen hand, making it throb even more. Below her, arms wrapped around her calves and she kicked out, trying to get away from her pursuer’s grasp. But she couldn’t keep hold.

For the second time that day she fell, the feeling making her stomach lurch. He caught her as she fell and they tumbled onto the snow together, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

She struggled against him, the shock of what was happening mixing with the pain that now radiated up her arm.

The fight tired her out and she stopped for a moment to try and catch her breath. That’s when she saw the blood leaking from her hand onto the brilliant white snow.

Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fainted dead away in her captor’s arms.

* * * *

Rugoff stared at the woman lying in the middle of his bedding. When she’d gone limp in his arms, he’d wondered if she were trying some trick on him. Maybe she’d thought to catch him off guard to try and get away.

That wouldn’t have worked, but she didn’t know it. If he’d left her outside, she would have frozen to death right after the sun passed the horizon. Either that or a wolf would have made a tasty meal out of her.

Then he’d looked down at her and realized she’d lost consciousness. Her hand bled with vigor, her life force seeping into the snow. He knew he had to act, and soon, or else the only human he’d seen in the last thousand years would die right before his eyes.

She hadn’t stirred when he’d lifted her into his arms. Nor had she moved since they’d arrived in the cave. In the years since his imprisonment, he’d made improvements in it, erecting tables and chairs and other things that made life easier for him, and helped to relieve his boredom. He’d made the bed where she now lay.

He’d taken off her clothing, wanting her bare skin to be against the warm rugs. The clothing was wet, after all, and if he left it on her, she would likely catch her death, and he didn’t want that to happen. Then he’d thrown a few more logs on the fires, helping to spread warmth through the room while he’d tended to the cut on her hand.