Kara's Captain

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Kara’s Captain ISBN # 1-4199-0765-4 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Kara’s Captain Copyright© 2006 Diana Hunter Edited by Pamela Campbell. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: October 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Content Advisory: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

KARA’S CAPTAIN

Diana Hunter

Diana Hunter

Chapter One She stood among the graves, searching, as loneliness washed over her. It was here somewhere. All she had to do was find it. As soon as she said the name, she’d know. She always did. The moment she read it on the tombstone, the name would whisper in her head. Whole scenes would form in her mind and all she had to do was write them down. Kara Godwin stood in the middle of the cemetery, feeling the chill of the afternoon seep into her bones. Sometimes she found peace here among the dead. Other times she found joy. Today, she only found loneliness. None of the names spoke, not even when she tried reading each name aloud. “Hannah Ames, born 1834, died 1883. Abigail Ames, born 1823, died 1867.” No. These names weren’t right. The one she wanted was not here. Problem was, these things couldn’t be rushed. The stories came in their own time, and she’d never been able to force one out. She leaned against a stone pillar carved with the oft repeated “Beloved husband.” Oh, well. Maybe she could put off the landlord one more month. Surely by the end of another thirty days she’d have found a name, written the story, sent it off to the magazine that often published her short stories, and have another month with a roof over her head. She gazed around at the rows of monuments and markers. Maybe I’ve just been to this cemetery too many times, she thought to herself. Maybe I’ve told all the stories these names have to give me. For a moment she considered visiting one of the other local cemeteries—there were three in the small city where she lived. And at home she had stacks of index cards with names written on them—names she’d collected when on vacation. They were names that had sounded intriguing, only no story had ever come from them. In fact, she’d

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given up writing them down anymore. She’d lost count of the number of hours she’d spent sifting through them, reading them over, hoping one of them would sound in her ear. But it never did. Not even once. No, she had to be there, right in the cemetery to hear the name speak and to see the images form. With a stretch, she pushed herself away from the pillar. Clouds obscured the sun and Kara looked up, the gray darkness of the autumn sky warning her of the coming storm. It was time she got herself home anyway. Pulling her light jacket closer as a gust of wind whipped through the gravestones, she sighed and headed for the street. Still wrapped in her hopes for inspiration, Kara’s eyes roved across the granite carvings—Job White, William Stuart, Susan Dunham. No, no and no. Nothing. Apparently today was not her day. And when she stumbled into a gopher hole, twisting her ankle, she knew it wasn’t. Gasping for breath, her eyes shut tightly against the pain throbbing in her ankle, Kara concentrated on her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth, in through the nose. She fought back the tears until the pain lessened and she could breathe again. Finally opening her eyes, Kara glared at both her ankle and the hole beside it. Blast it! “Can you wiggle your toes?” She looked up, but didn’t see anyone. The chill autumn wind scuttled dry leaves across the graves giving her a second warning that the storm was brewing. With a sickening feeling in her stomach, she realized the day had slipped to evening and most sane people were already home. Twisting around, Kara tried to see the man who must be directly behind her. A shooting pain from her ankle stopped her. “Can you wiggle your toes?” he repeated. She put her head down to hide a grin that came unbidden. Damn, but that voice was sexy. Deep, rich baritone with a definite upper crust English accent. Carefully she wiggled her big toe inside her sneaker, then the others when the movement didn’t 5

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produce pain. “Yes. I don’t think the ankle’s broken. I didn’t hear anything snap. It’s just a sprain.” She sighed and shifted her position to be more comfortable. “A really, really badly timed sprained.” “Good. Can you stand?” Puzzled, Kara wondered why he wasn’t lending her a hand instead of just asking her questions in those incredibly cultured tones. Rolling her eyes, she shifted her weight, grabbed the monument on her right and slowly pulled herself up. Once standing, she made an attempt to use both legs to hold her up, but her ankle had other ideas. As soon as she put even the slightest bit of pressure on her foot, pain shot up her leg. “Okay, that’s not going to work.” Kara leaned against the tombstone and turned to her companion. The cemetery was empty. Kara snorted. “Great. You kept me company until I really need an arm to get out of here, then you disappear. Thanks anyway,” she called out to the deepening gloom. She didn’t expect an answer and didn’t get one. She was on her own. Well, it wasn’t the first time some guy had left her in the lurch. The only person you can ever count on, is yourself. Her mother’s lesson ran like a mantra in her head. A lesson Kara had learned the hard way. Now, however, Kara put her iron will to work. Biting her lip, she leaned toward the next monument, her intent being to catch it with her hand, and then hop over to it. Getting to the street was going to take a while, but if she kept the weight off her right foot, she’d make it. Except her hand slipped off the monument. With her full weight, she fell forward, her shoulder missing the granite marker by a hairsbreadth. Afraid to put her foot out, she fell on her knee, catching herself with her hands as she slammed to the ground once again.

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This time tears fell despite her attempt to stop them. The new pain in her knee and arms only heightened the throbbing in her ankle. She shifted until she was sitting on the ground, hugging her arms close to her and rubbing them as she sniffed back tears and talked to herself. “Come on, Godwin. You’re not a baby. Just because you fell down twice in ten minutes doesn’t give you the right to sit here and bawl.” There was a flutter of white before her face. “Here, use my handkerchief.” The deep male voice taunted her and Kara snapped her head around determined to find her mysterious “helper”. But he was too quick. She glimpsed the edge of his coat as it slid behind a tall monument. “What is wrong with you?” she snapped out at him in frustration. “You’ll give me a handkerchief, but you won’t help me walk?” Her mysterious benefactor made no answer. Gritting her teeth, Kara forced herself to her feet, once more standing among the graves. A few large drops of rain splattered on the stone like large, round pock marks. Kara shivered. Why hadn’t she brought an umbrella? Balancing on her good leg, she leaned on the headstone and took a hop toward the next gravestone, determined to ignore the idiot she couldn’t seem to see and get home on her own. “Write my story.” The male voice, now commanding and stern, came from behind her. Kara ignored him. Okay, so she was hard up for story ideas. But falling twice had put her in an ill humor. Leaning toward the next tombstone, she hopped forward, grabbing the granite stone for balance. “Write your own story. You don’t want to help me, I don’t want to help you.” “Selfish harridan.”

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“Harridan?” She snorted. “You haven’t even seen me in a bad mood yet.” Mentally she judged the distance to the next marker even as her mind turned over his odd choice of words. A wide space loomed between her and her target. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself and balanced on one foot. “You tell everyone else’s stories. I was told you were the one to speak to about mine.” Injured pride colored his voice and Kara frowned. “What do you mean, ‘I tell everyone else’s stories?’ Who are you?” Keeping a steadying hand on the tombstone, she chanced a look around, trying to find a body to go with the voice. The streetlights outside the cemetery had come on, but didn’t penetrate this far in. White markers glimmered in the darkening twilight, but no one stepped forward. “Forget you,” she muttered and hopped to the next stone. “Write my story and I’ll get you home.” “I can get home on my own, thank you very much.” He wanted to see a harridan, she’d show him one. Just who did he think he was? The wrought iron fence that ringed the graveyard wasn’t far now. She just needed to get to the street, use the fence to help her along, and then? She still had four blocks to home and taxis didn’t prowl this neighborhood looking for fares. “You must agree to write my story. Only then will I help.” Kara didn’t bother turning around only to have him play another game of hide and seek. Instead she called over her shoulder as she hopped to the last row of stones before the gate. “Maybe if you help, I’ll write your story.” “Don’t leave!” Kara paused, balancing beside a large stone. That had been the voice of desperation. Now they were getting somewhere. “Why not?”

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“I’ve told you.” The pride rang out loud and clear again. She shook her head. “I want to see you.” “Agree first.” “No. I don’t make agreements with bodiless voices.” The voice snorted. She peered into the gloom, but couldn’t find him. “Come, Miss Godwin. You do it all the time.” “How did you know that? I mean…what are you talking about? And how do you know my name?” “The voices in your head? The dead speak to you all the time.” “No.” She shook her head and grabbed onto the tombstone, deliberately not looking at the names inscribed there. “They’re not the dead. They’re just names. I see the names and know the story. But the stories don’t go with the real person.” “But they are the stories of the dead just the same. Even those who have ‘passed beyond’ have secrets to protect, Miss Godwin.” The disembodied voice took on a decidedly pedantic tone. “So they exchange names with one another and get their stories told.” “So you’re telling me you’re a ghost, Mr…Mr…?” “Agree to write my story. Then I will help you.” “You’re beginning to sound like a broken record.” A gust of wind blew down her back. “Okay, look. It’s getting cold and my ankle hurts. I’m tired and wet and want to go home. Hopping along by myself is going to take forever. Help me home and tell me your story on the way.” “No. You have to agree to write my story.” Kara snarled. “Okay, okay. I give. I’ll write down your story, however absurd it may be. Now give me a hand.” Shivering in the light rain, Kara looked down to rebalance herself and saw his boots first. Worn, black leather boots that laced along the side of his leg almost to his knee. 9

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Not fashionable boots that a man might wear to play polo or some other civilized sport, but old-style work boots made for and used in hard labor. Her eye continued upward. The boots didn’t fit the rest of his clothing. Black jodhpurs of a material she couldn’t fathom in the darkening light, a brocaded waistcoat of an indeterminate shade of something dark, a light-colored cravat tied in an intricate set of loops, all covered over with an open black greatcoat that flapped in a strong wind she did not feel. But the strangeness of his clothing faded when her eyes reached his face. In fact, the entire world faded and for several seconds she didn’t even breathe as her mind registered the details that set her heart pounding. The strong, dimpled chin darkened by a five o’clock shadow gave way to a mouth that currently curled up on one side in a devilish smile. His aquiline nose spoke of an aristocratic ancestry, and the slight crook to it told her his education hadn’t been confined to the drawing room. An incredible mane of long black hair would have curled around his face in a disordered frame had it not been for the wind blowing it back. Yet each of those details registered only dimly in her mind as the intense darkness of his eyes captured her soul. Deep eyes that held thousands of secrets and answers to questions she hadn’t even formed. Dark eyes that held more knowledge than a man could accumulate in one lifetime. Determined eyes that held the promise of…of…what? Kara’s heart beat wildly and she almost panicked, suddenly realizing how vulnerable she really was, with her jeans soaked through and water streaming down her face. Her long-sleeve blouse clung to her body, her nipples standing out in sharp relief, leaving little room for imagination. Unconsciously covering herself with one hand, she stopped leaning against the pillar to assume a more defensive posture even as slow warmth crept through her veins at the look of command in his eyes. Tearing her eyes away from his, she shook her head as one more fact registered. “You’re not wet. Why aren’t you soaked?”

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“I’m not here.” “Okay, bud…” She intended to make a sarcastic remark, but nothing came to mind fast enough. Her thoughts, still dealing with the sudden flush of arousal that flashed through her, centered on the look of command in his eyes. That look was hard to dismiss, yet his comment made her realize she was dealing with a loony. An incredibly handsome, very dangerous loony. He must have a car parked around her somewhere and that was why he wasn’t wet yet. Her heart beat with sudden fear. “Stay away from me!” Her voice came out with more screech than she intended. “You asked for my assistance, Kara. I am losing patience with you.” The dark eyes glittered and Kara felt her stomach tighten. “That’s twice you’ve called me by name. Who are you? How do you know my name?” The handsome stranger shook his head. “I thought I made myself clear. The dead know who you are. They gave me…information…about you.” He paused to cock an eyebrow at her. “You’re going to catch pneumonia if you don’t get inside soon. Then you can meet the dead in person.” As if to emphasize his point, the wind blew harder and the rain turned from a gentle sprinkle into shards of glass that stung against her cheeks. She had no choice. Accept the help of a man clearly deranged, or hobble home on her own. “You can wipe that smugness off your face, then, and give me a hand.” Kara put out her hand for him to help her balance. “I am sorry, but I cannot help you that way.” Kara looked at him. The man was definitely daft. “What? You just said you’d help me.” The tall stranger crossed his arms and looked down at her from where he stood. A trace of impatience mingled with the arrogance. “From what the dead told me of you, I

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truly thought you to be a more intelligent woman.” He held out his arms and slowly pivoted. “Look at me, Kara. Truly look at me.” Kara looked, finally seeing what her mind had not accepted before. So taken with the dark spirit hidden in his eyes, she hadn’t taken a close look at him. His shape was all form with little substance. She couldn’t see through him, not like in the movies where ghosts were portrayed as see-through images. The man before her was much more solid than that. Her mind searched for an analogy, trying to understand what she was seeing and found one in modern technology. Looking at her companion was like looking at a digital picture that had been printed using not-quite-the-best DPI in the printing process. He seemed solid enough, yet there was a vagueness about him, a sort of fuzziness around the edges. “Are you telling me you’re a ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts.” “My dear woman, I am no ghost.” The mystery man pulled himself up, affronted. “I am still alive, what you see here is only my spirit…a visual aspect of my soul if you will.” “You’re still alive.” Kara shook her head, wondering if she had hit it when she twisted her ankle. This whole scenario bordered on insane. She set her sights on the ornate wrought iron gate. Twenty feet. Surely she could hop twenty feet. “I am. It’s a long story. You’re wet and I see you are in no mood to hear my tale now.” “No, no…go ahead. I’m just going to start hopping, since you’ve no corporeal body to help me along. Just talk. I’m listening.” Without waiting for a reply from what she now understood was a figment of her imagination, Kara drew in a deep breath and made two hops toward the gate. When she didn’t fall over, she rebalanced and took two more. She dared to hope. “Remember, Kara Godwin. You have promised to write my story.”

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“Yeah, yeah. I promised when I thought you really could help me.” She made the mistake of looking back over her shoulder and overbalanced, teetering with her arms windmilling wildly. Gravity proved the stronger of the two and Kara fell backward. And landed on a park bench. “What the…? Where did this come from?” No reply came from her erstwhile knight. But the bench was real and solid and dry. Apparently it wasn’t raining wherever her figment had pulled this thing from. “Ghost, not figment,” Kara muttered to herself. “No, not ghost…still alive.” Her mind would not accept that she might have had a conversation with someone other than a living, real person. She patted the bench which was quickly darkening with the raindrops spattered across its surface. “And a damn good magician, at that.” Deciding discretion was better than disbelief at this point, she called out, “Thank you.” Totally soaked through now, Kara found her balance once more, this time making it to the gate without further incident. Even before she turned to take another look at the bench, she knew it wouldn’t be there. It wasn’t. A last glance around the empty cemetery confirmed her visitor had gone. Facing forward again, she squared her shoulders and prepared for a long trip home.

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Chapter Two “Thanks, Peter. It feels much better now.” “I still don’t see how you made it back to your apartment from that cemetery hopping all the way.” Peter Johansson, Kara’s best friend and sometime lover, had been the first person she called when she finally made it home. It didn’t hurt that he earned a living as an EMT. He’d rushed over and given her the tender loving care she needed, getting her out of her wet things and into a dry robe, then expertly wrapping her ankle in an elastic bandage. “Seriously, Kara. You should’ve stopped at the nearest house and asked them to call an ambulance for you. I still think you should get this x-rayed to be sure you didn’t break anything.” Kara shook her head. “No way. It isn’t broken, I can tell. And it would be just my luck I’d stop at the house of a mass murderer. Who in their right mind chooses to live next to a cemetery, anyway?” And who in their right mind would ever admit to park benches that popped up from nowhere every time she got tired? Four times on the way home the same bench had appeared when she’d needed it the most. “Maybe you’ll get a cell phone now?” Peter’s concern for her began to grate. “I can barely make my rent, Peter. How can I afford a cell phone?” The hurt look on his face made her feel like she’d just flushed his goldfish. “I’m sorry, Peter. I’m tired and frustrated and I’m taking it out on you. That’s not fair of me.” Peter reached up and brushed a damp lock of hair from her face. A little of her stress washed away at his touch.

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He wasn’t a tremendously handsome man, not dashing like her mystery man in the cemetery. Peter’s dirty-blond locks, cut just above his ears, tended to give him an unkempt look, rather than a rakish one. His slightly too-big nose would’ve been handsome had it been straighter. But Peter explained he’d gotten in a fight with a log when he was ten and the log had won. His broken nose had healed a bit crooked, though one could tell only when looking from just the right angle. She thought of her mystery man’s nose, also slightly bent, but doubted he had broken his on something as mundane as a log. Tall and gangly, rather than graceful, Peter had an endearing quality that appealed to Kara. They’d had sex a few times and Kara had found him satisfying. Not fancy, not a whole lot of passion…but comfortable. A home-cooked-Sunday-dinner kind of satisfying. She watched him pad around her apartment, cleaning up after her and couldn’t help but compare him to the illusionist from the cemetery. Aside from the fact that both had noses that had broken and not healed entirely straight, there were few similarities. She guessed the two would be about the same height—just a little over six feet tall. But where Peter tended toward light-colored clothing—at the moment wearing jeans and a light tan sweatshirt—her ghost had been dressed primarily in black. “I’m taking these wet things right downstairs and throwing them in the laundry.” “Thanks, Peter, but you don’t have to do that.” He stopped halfway across the room, her laundry basket in his hands. “And just how are you going to carry these things downstairs?” He shook his head. “Honestly, Kara. I can always tell when you’re working on a story. Your body might be sitting comfy in that chair, but your mind is off to who knows where!” With a dramatic sweep, Peter grabbed the detergent from the cupboard and sailed out the door. Kara laughed, feeling a whole lot better. “I thought he’d never leave.”

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She jumped, her good feelings flying out the window. The man from the cemetery came around the chair, surveying her apartment. “How did you get in here?” His sigh of profound disappointment filled the small space of her apartment. With a look of resignation, he ignored her question in favor of an observation of his own. “Truly, I think the dead are playing a trick on me. They intimated to me that you possessed a much stronger intelligence than I am currently witnessing.” Kara stared as her brain accepted the impossible. He wasn’t an illusionist. He was a real ghost. Several retorts formed in her mind, but remained unsaid. What did one say to a ghost? At the very least, she could defend Peter. “Don’t be rude to him. He’s a friend.” “And I am not, after the help I gave you?” Kara squirmed uncomfortably under the man’s intense glare. How could a man so full of himself be so incredibly sexy? Warmth spread through her and arrowed straight to her pussy, ghost or no. Desperately trying to cover her reaction, she went on the offensive. “After you blackmailed me, you mean. Heck, I don’t even know your name.” For the first time, Kara saw hesitation and a flicker of doubt in the apparition’s dark eyes. Her living room wasn’t very big—he crossed it to the bedroom in four strides. After glancing in as if to make sure they were alone, he paced back again before answering her. “R. Walton, at your service. From London, by way of the Arctic Sea. Educated at home on stories of the sea that sparked my desire, nay, obsession to find the polar region and cross between the two great oceans. A feat I now understand is impossible.” Something niggled in Kara’s mind…an old memory she couldn’t quite grab. She gave him a puzzled frown and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly very aware that her bra and blouse currently resided in the dirty laundry Peter had taken to wash and that only an old bathrobe stood between her and his gaze. He might not be

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corporeal, but suddenly she felt as if the man could see through her defenses, as well as her clothes. She fell back on manners as the safest course to put distance between them, hiding her reaction behind a nod and a flippant reply. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. R. Walton. I am Kara Mary Godwin, but then, you knew that already, didn’t you?” She threw her drying hair over her shoulder. “I hail from Rochester, New York, by way of nowhere. Educated at Nazareth College of Rochester with a desire to become a writer, a feat that has given me some success.” Walton raised that dark eyebrow again as he surveyed her sparse apartment. “I see your success hasn’t allowed for many amenities.” Kara bristled. Her taste in furnishings was exquisite…and expensive. But she also tended toward frugality. Since she couldn’t afford the style she wanted, she had opted for early garage sale, saving what little money she could for what she really wanted later. “Success is in the eye of the beholder. I’ve been living on my own for several years, paying my bills with royalties. So I’m not living large…” She bit off the rest of her tirade. Damn him. He was just pushing her buttons. So fame and fortune hadn’t come her way. At least she was eking out an existence as a writer…sort of. Kara fought to get the conversation back to the subject. “You’re not here to discuss my amenities, Mr. Walton. You have a story to tell, I believe?” “Not Mister…Captain. Captain Walton.” Kara raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Again there was that funny something at the back of her brain that seemed to be trying to get her attention, but again, she couldn’t quite nail it down. “You’re a seafaring man?” “I was.” Captain Walton paused. “You are not writing any of this down. Tell me where you keep your writing implements and I will transport them to you, since you are wounded.”

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Kara grinned. “‘Writing implements?’ I haven’t heard that term since third grade.” She narrowed her eyes at the not-quite-filled-in image of the Captain. “Okay, I’ll admit you’re getting my curiosity up.” Her voice took on an analytical tone. “You say you’re not a ghost, yet you can ‘transport’ solid items. You’re not dressed like a ship’s captain, although you give yourself that title. You’re dressed more like a gentleman would be, but the boots are in the pirate-slash-work category.” Pulling in a deep breath, she paused as she gave him another once over. Having come to a decision, she let her breath out as she voiced her conclusion. “I’m guessing early eighteen hundreds. Your language patterns clue me in to your higher education and position in society, as does your condescending manner.” Captain Walton’s affronted look told Kara she’d scored. “Really, woman. The others never told me of your blunt ways or believe me, I would have reconsidered this entire plan. You may have been educated in a formal institution, but apparently didn’t learn many lessons in the deportment of young ladies. My sister Margaret could teach you how to properly attend to guests in your home.” Kara laughed. “Oh, boy, did I hit a nerve! You’re not in the nineteenth century, Captain, you’re in the twenty-first. And if you want to tell me your story, you go right ahead. I don’t need any ‘writing implements’ to listen. Let me hear the whole thing first, then I’ll worry about getting it into the computer.” Before the good Captain could make his reply, Peter reentered, empty-handed. “Clothes are in the laundry. Told Mrs. Jeffers what happened to you and she said she’d take care of your clothes.” He laughed and bent to give Kara a quick kiss. “Also told me I should be up here catering to your every whim. And that when I was done with that I should give you a quick one so you’d forget all about your twisted ankle.” His eyes twinkled with mischief and he waggled his eyebrows and nodded his head toward the bedroom.

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Kara laughed, loving the sunlight Peter brought into the room after the haughty stuffiness of Captain Walton. She glanced around, but true to form, the ghost was nowhere to be seen. “I just might take you up on that, my Sunshine Knight.” She put her arms up. “Up?” Peter’s tenor laugh filled Kara’s soul with warmth as he pulled her hands and helped her to her feet. “No weight on the ankle yet, my lady fair. Lean on me.” In the end, Peter swept her up and carried her into the bedroom. Kara flew in his arms, so light did she feel, so safe. A far cry from the subliminal dark threat of the sea captain. Her arms tightened around Peter’s neck when he placed her gently on the bed and she buried her head into his shoulder. “Hey…what’s this?” Peter disentangled himself and pulled her chin up. Kara had no choice but to look into those deep-set blue eyes of his. As a teenager, she had sworn she’d never fall in love with a man with blond hair and blue eyes because of a certain actor all the other girls were madly in love with. Well, she wasn’t like all the other girls, so if they wanted blond, she wanted raven. If they wanted piercing blue eyes, she wanted them coal black. But somewhere along the friendship and casual sex road with Peter, she found she liked his quiet strength and steady companionship. He would never rock her world, but would always support her when the world rocked around her. Those blue eyes of his might not pierce, but they sure did beckon. Depending on the color of the shirt he wore, they ranged from a soft gray to a deep blue. But never did his eyes penetrate deep into her soul, never did they attempt to pry out her secrets. Not even now when she was close to breaking down. Kara looked into his eyes and found, not curiosity, but comfort. Her eyes followed the line of his slightly bent Nordic nose to rest on his lips, drawing closer to him, wanting him to take care of her forever. In his arms, she would be cared for, safe…protected. 19

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His lips closed over hers and Kara felt every muscle of her body relax, accepting the strength he so freely gave. Leaning back, she pulled him to her and he followed her down, his hands sliding around to loosen her robe. Hungrily, she sought his touch, pressing her breasts into the palms of his hands…urging him to make her forget her stresses. Peter obliged. His lips trailed warm kisses down from the little hollow in her throat to the tip of her right nipple. So soft and sweet was his touch that Kara allowed herself to wallow in the warmth that radiated from the tips of her breasts all the way out to her fingers. His hand slid down to cup her ass cheek, giving it a playful squeeze as he shifted her closer to the center of the double bed. “Are you sure I’m not hurting you, Kara?” he asked even as he unbuckled his belt. “You’re not hurting me. I don’t need my ankle to have sex with you, Peter. And sex is exactly what I need. Wild, passionate, abandoned sex.” Peter laughed. “Well, then, Kara, my dear…shall I get out the toys?” His eyes twinkled with mischief and Kara grinned wickedly. “Of course, Peter, darling.” Undressing himself as he went, Peter opened the closet and pulled down a wicker basket covered with blue cloth. Setting the basket on the bed, he pulled the cover aside with a flourish worthy of a great magician and waggled his eyebrows like the villain in a melodrama. “Hmmm…what have we here? A new toy?” He held up a large pink vibrator, close to ten inches long and almost two inches in diameter. “Someone has been having fantasies lately.” Kara blushed. “It was on sale. How could I pass it up?” Peter just raised an eyebrow and for a moment Kara thought of Captain Walton’s expression earlier. If the ghost were watching, he was about to get an education.

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Peter set the vibrator aside and picked up a set of cuffs for the wrists and a set for the ankles. He eyed Kara’s sprain. “I think we’ll have to set these aside for today.” He put the ankle ones back in the basket. “But these,” he hefted the wrist bindings, “could come in handy…if you’ll pardon the pun. Arms up.” Obediently Kara extended her arms and let Peter wrap the leather cuffs around each of her wrists, locking them into place with small golden locks. Back at the basket, he pulled out a coiled piece of clothesline, coming back to thread one end through the metal D rings on the cuffs. Centering the rope, he pulled her wrists together, then looped the clothesline through an opening in the center of the wrought iron headboard. Kara loved the feeling of her hands being raised over her head by the rope. In fact, she loved the feeling of not being in control, probably because she was all the time. With her friends, she was the one who got the ball rolling and organized the group to go out to dinner, or to a movie. In all the part-time jobs she’d had over the years, her bosses had either fired her or tried to promote her because she couldn’t keep her mouth shut when she saw a better way to do things. But when Peter bound her? Her body stretched and she took in a deep breath, letting out her tension as she let the air go. This was her way to relax. No worries, no stresses. All she had to do was lie there and experience bliss. Peter tied off the rope as goose bumps rose on Kara’s arms. “You need some warming up, I see.” He came back with a mask usually used by sleepers to keep the light out. “Lift your head,” he instructed and Kara did so. With the loss of sight, her vulnerability increased and a new warmth spread through her, this time centered smack-dab in the middle of her pussy. She grinned and let the day’s tensions slide away. Soft thongs drifted over her belly. Peter’s voice, low and mesmerizing, gave her instruction. “Relax now. Let yourself drift.” Kara took another breath, taking time to center her tension in the spot where it would stop causing her anguish and start causing her excitement…right in the vicinity 21

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of her clit. She spread her legs on the top of the bedspread, carefully moving her sprained ankle only a little. Cool air struck her pussy at the same time the soft suede thongs fell for the first time. She grinned even as she gasped and her pussy clenched. “Wild abandon, Kara. That’s what we’re aiming for. Let yourself go along with the strokes.” Peter increased the tempo and force of the leather against her skin. Behind her blindfold, Kara gave in to the fantasy that had tried to worm its way into her thoughts earlier. Instead of a bed, she was tied to a sea captain’s bunk, the sounds of the sea coming in through the open windows. She took a deep breath and could almost smell the salty sea air. Captain Walton stood over her, his dark eyes smoldering with passion, a single-tail whip in his hand. Warmth spread along her breasts and belly where Peter’s flogger caressed her skin. Heat flared between her legs and she almost begged him to go faster. Almost. At the last second, she bit her lip and remained silent as she remembered where she was. Why was it she could never lose control with Peter? The bondage game had been her idea—an attempt to spice up pretty ordinary lovemaking. Peter had taken to it like a real Master, and yet Kara still found it difficult to let go and simply follow where he led. Peter shifted floggers, exchanging the soft suede for a stiffer leather. Those thongs stung and in spite of herself, Kara’s endorphins rose. Her breath quickened. Again Captain Walton loomed over her, his strokes driving her to frenzy. In her mind, his strong, commanding voice informed her, “You need this, Kara Godwin. My life has too much passion…yours, not enough. Together our desires will find balance.” The thongs struck her nipples, making her cry out. Kara squirmed on the bed, crying out in frustration and need. The flogging stopped and the bed sagged as Peter knelt at the foot. His hands slid under her ass, lifting her into the air while he slid a pillow underneath. Once he had her 22

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positioned as he liked, Kara felt the tip of his cock slide along her slit, spreading her juices from her pussy to her clit and back again. A low hum came to her ears and it took a few seconds for her to realize Peter had turned on the large pink vibrator. But in her mind, it wasn’t Peter, but Captain Walton who knelt between her legs, his bare chest covered in soft dark hair. Just barely, she could feel his cock now resting at the entrance to her pussy. “What part works best? The tip?” Kara could hear the smile in Peter’s voice as he lightly brushed the tip of the vibrator over her clit. In her haze, Peter’s face and that of the Captain mingled, becoming one. Grabbing the bedspread in her fists, she spread her legs wider as passion took her. Peter-Walton spread her lips apart, exposing her clit to the direct vibrations of the toy. She gasped. “Ooohh, you like that, do you? What about this part?” A rougher edge slid over her unprotected clit and Kara cried out. At the battery end of the penis-shaped toy a series of pointed teeth ran in jagged lines. She knew it was this surface he now rubbed over her clit, but the knowledge did not dim the incredible upsurge in her desire. “What about the two of us together?” Peter gently pushed his cock into her pussy as he rubbed the toy over her clit. “Yes, oh…hurry!” Kara squirmed. Inexorably the pressure built, taking her higher and higher, leaving her unable to breath. “Let me feel you come around my cock, Kara…let yourself go and come for me now.” With a cry, she let the tension release, riding the flooding waves that sent tingles all the way to her toes and out her fingertips. Time stopped and she gasped for breath, enjoying the ride as Captain Walton took a bow on the deck of his ship and faded into the mist. When she at last opened her eyes, she realized her mask had ridden up. Peter came hard, his groans filling the room as he emptied himself of his own built-up tensions. 23

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Kara watched with mixed feelings. Peter was definitely satisfying. But Captain Walton had been…incredible. At last Peter lay beside her, wrapped in his own cloud of contentment. A movement by the door caught Kara’s eye, but when she turned her head, nothing was there. Damn him. Had Walton really been in her head? Or had she simply gone off on a fantasy of her own making? Either one didn’t bode well. Walton was an apparition plain and simple. A seafaring ghost, who, when alive had been hell-bent on being the first to find the North Pole. With a start, Kara tried to sit up, but her bound wrists prevented her. “Frankenstein!” Peter looked up at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Okaaay. Usually you thank me for a good time. This is the first time you’ve called me a monster.” Kara shook her head. “No. Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster. The monster doesn’t have a name. Captain Walton. He’s in Frankenstein.” Peter came around and untied the clothesline, dropping his used condom into the basket beside her bed and taking off her cuffs before sitting beside her. “Sorry. I remember Igor, but that’s all.” Kara sat up, shaking out her arms and glancing at the doorway. “No. It can’t be him. He doesn’t exist. He’s just a fictional character.” But if he were a fictional character, where had the bench come from? And the handkerchief still tucked in her jacket pocket? “Are you going to tell me what you’re talking about?” Kara studied Peter’s face, weighing the question. Finally, she shook her head. “No. It’s nothing. I think I’m just tired and got some information wrong.” She brushed a lock of hair from Peter’s eyes, a feeling a regret settling deep in her stomach. “I’m sorry, Peter. It’s just a story I’m working on. All I need is sleep.”

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Peter laughed, covering the toy basket with its blue cloth and tucking it away on the top shelf of Kara’s closet. He kept the vibrator out and took it into the bathroom to clean. “I should’ve known,” he called over his shoulder. “No writing ‘til tomorrow, though. You really should get some sleep.” “Okay, no writing until tomorrow.” Mindful of her ankle, Kara stood and pulled down the blankets they hadn’t bothered with in their playing, so she could snuggle into the warmth of her bed. After a moment, Peter returned, slipped the vibrator into the basket and bent to kiss Kara on top of her head. “Promise you’ll stay off that ankle now?” She nodded, her mind already turning over the problem of her ghost. “I’ll bring you a pair of crutches in the morning. Get some sleep.” Peter tucked Kara under the covers and left. But sleep was actually the farthest thing from Kara’s mind. Quickly she considered everything she could remember about Frankenstein. She’d read it in high school, but that was more than ten years ago…she needed to find a copy and read it again. Sitting up in bed, she ticked off what she remembered on her fingers. “Walton’s story frames Frankenstein’s, which frames the Creature’s, that much I do remember.” “Frankenstein told me the story of his creation as a cautionary tale.” Kara jumped. The Captain sat in the room’s only chair, looking for all the world as if he were in his own drawing room two centuries and an ocean away. “Damn it, Walton, you have to stop doing that. Announce yourself when you come into a room or something.” “I believe I just did.” “You’re not real. You’re just a character Mary Shelly made up to get the reader into her story. Go away.” If he wasn’t real, then why was she pulling the blankets up to cover her nudity? And why did her pussy suddenly clench when she saw him?

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“My dear woman, you don’t really want me to go away.” Walton unfolded and stood beside her bed. He towered over her just as he had in her fantasy. Despite the fact that she had just had sex with Peter, her face flushed and her skin grew hot. She shook her head. “You’re a fictional character. You don’t exist.” “But I do. Haven’t you figured it out yet? If not, I truly gave you more credit than you deserve.” Kara didn’t reply, shutting her eyes and willing her body to obey her. “Percy and Mary Shelley were friends of mine many years ago. She knew of my obsession and paid tribute to me by including me in her book.” “You were as obsessed with fame and fortune as Victor Frankenstein.” Kara peeked up at the Captain, who stood beside her bed as if he still stood on the command deck of a sailing vessel. “I was.” He looked down at her and Kara felt herself being drawn into those dark eyes. “And like him, I failed. Now my body lies frozen in the arctic wilderness. It is up to you, my dear woman, to find me.” Kara frowned, her heart pounding. “And you expect me to just up and leave here, go to the North Pole and find your body?” Walton didn’t answer, his figure fading into the darkness. Kara called after him. “Just what am I supposed to do with your body if I find it?” His voice, soft and seductive, whispered in her ear. “Thaw me out and marry me, of course.”

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Chapter Three “That boy, whom you seem to think is a lover, is here to see you.” Kara opened her eyes, blinking several times in the light that streamed across her bed. When a shadow fell over her face, she turned and saw the not-quite-entire image of Captain R. Walton of Frankenstein fame, staring down at her naked form. Indignant, she yanked the blankets up as she tried to order her thoughts. She’d fallen asleep last night with his strange pronouncement echoing in her ears. Her apartment door opened and Kara recognized Peter’s step. “I’m right where you left me, Peter,” she called out, her eyes not leaving the Captain’s form. Even though he stood in a ray of sunshine, no light shone through him. He certainly seemed corporeal. Kara put out a hand, intending to test that theory. Before she could make contact, Peter stood in the doorway and the Captain disappeared. “What are you doing?” Peter came in carrying a pair of silver crutches. “Um…nothing. Just stretching.” To make her lie true, Kara turned her body to the right as far as she could, then faced her friend and sometime lover on the left and repeated the motion. “Thought you might want these early, so I stopped by on my way to work. Borrowed them from a friend of mine. He says you can use them, but he’ll need them back in a month.” “Month? No way am I gonna be stuck on those things for a month. I’ll use them on a day-by-day basis. Thank your friend for me. Now hand ‘em over. I need to pee.” Peter laughed, holding them steady as Kara figured out how to get out of bed and onto the crutches with a sprained ankle. “You go pee and then I’ll check your ankle before I leave.” “Deal.” 27

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***** The crutches were going to make her life miserable, she decided. Maneuvering with them in her tiny apartment bathroom had been difficult enough. Now she tried to make breakfast while balancing on them. Peter told her to keep her weight off the ankle for the entire day, then left for work. Now Kara tried to fix breakfast while balancing between two aluminum sticks. She finally decided standing at the counter to eat her English muffins was infinitely more desirable than trying to take them, herself, and her crutches over to the tiny kitchen table. “Miss Godwin, I am coming into the room.” Kara grinned. Maybe it was possible to housebreak a ghost. “Good morning, Captain Walton. How pleasant to see you again.” She gave a nod to him as he materialized before her, still dressed in the same black greatcoat, breeches and kneehigh boots she’d seen before. His jet-black hair, somewhat tousled, served as a wayward accent to his aristocratic features. “Once you find my body, I will give you much more pleasant surroundings than this. I have amassed quite a fortune in the past two hundred years.” Kara shook her head, grinning. This guy was so hard to take seriously in the cold light of day. With the autumn sunlight streaming through the windows, it was easier to think of her ghost more like a Halloween prank and less like a fantasy lover. “Okay. Start at the beginning. As I recall, Frankenstein died, the monster carried off his body to burn on an ice floe. The ice broke, freeing your ship and allowing you to sail southward and home. Why didn’t you make it?” The Captain drew himself up, clearly affronted. “Miss Godwin, as I told you last night, Mrs. Shelley chose to use my name and obsession as the framing for a fictional story. There is no one called Frankenstein and there is no Creature. However wonderful her story, that’s all it is…a story.” “And yet you claim to be frozen in the Arctic Sea somewhere.” 28

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“That is true. I met Percy and his lovely wife shortly after they married. Everyone in England knew of their scandalous love affair, but I found them to be a charming, wellmannered couple. We spent several weeks together in a town along the Rhine. They were on their honeymoon, I was on my way to St. Petersburg and the North Pole.” “St. Petersburg and Archangel…those were two stops you made, according to Mary Shelley’s book.” “Mary Shelley was my angel.” The Captain’s gaze turned away from Kara, focusing on some far-off memory. His face softened, making him seem romantically handsome instead of roguishly arrogant. He spoke again, his voice quiet. “If Percy hadn’t already claimed her, I would have been sore tempted to leave off my dreams of glory and settle down with her as my wife.” “She’d already run off with one guy.” Kara couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. She recalled the soap opera life the author had lived. While part of her felt sorry for her, another part scorned the choices Mary Shelley had made. “Do not speak of what you do no know, child. You know nothing of a woman’s life in England then. Women were naught but property, to be sold by their fathers to the highest bidder. Mrs. Shelley chose to command her own fate and for that, I admire her greatly.” The Captain stalked out of the room and Kara let him go. Apparently she’d touched a nerve. She needed to find a copy of Frankenstein. If he felt this strongly about Mary Shelley…was it possible she had felt as strongly about him? What kinds of clues to his personality might she find in the character the author had created? Hopping over to the sink, Kara washed the few dishes she’d used for her breakfast as she thought over the story the Captain had related so far. Hopping back to where she had left her crutches, she used them as she fetched her laptop and plugged it in, got herself a bottle of water from the fridge and then settled into the easy chair, her leg propped on a straight chair to begin fulfilling her promise to write down his story.

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“Hey, Captain!” Two hours later, Kara found herself at a standstill. She’d written what she could, but needed to know more about Walton’s story…and she wanted to check the book. “I’m headed to the library, if you want to make more park benches appear!” The Captain didn’t show up and she grinned. Okay, so he was the type to nurse a sulk. Fine. Gave her time to gain more information. Grabbing her borrowed crutches, she headed for the library.

***** The library turned out to be a better source than she had expected. Not only did she find a copy of the novel, but she found a place where she could get ship’s manifests for a minimal fee. All she needed was the name of the ship, the port it sailed from and the date. If the ghost who’d followed her home from the cemetery was telling the truth about who he was, she should be able to find information that proved his existence. All she needed was three little pieces of information.

***** “What difference does it make if there is some piece of paper somewhere that has my name on it?” The Captain was in no better mood when Kara approached him concerning the information she wanted. He paced about the apartment, his deep voice reverberating off the walls. Captain Walton allowed no one but her to see him, but apparently wasn’t so particular about being heard. Kara sighed. At least everyone else was already at work and the building was practically empty this time of day. “If I can verify your story, it will have a stronger ring of truth about it. Although, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be writing.” Kara dropped her crutches and plopped herself into the easy chair, letting her ghost glower down at her from where he stood by the bedroom door. For a moment, a highly erotic thought flitted through Kara’s imagination—herself tied to her bed much the way 30

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Peter had tied her yesterday with the Captain standing over her much the same way he stood over her now, his black eyes glittering with suppressed fury. Only in the bedroom she would make sure those dark eyes gleamed with desire, not anger. Sea captains of two hundred years ago knew how to swing a flogger, didn’t they? “You’re the writer. You’re supposed to craft the story around the information I give you. Leave the library alone.” With a curse, he gestured to the copy of Frankenstein she’d borrowed. “And ignore that. It’s fiction, as I’ve already told you.” “Yes, but the best fiction also contains grains of truth. Otherwise we’d find it too fantastical and just a bunch of nonsense. Good literature must have verisimilitude in order to be good literature.” The Captain’s eyes narrowed and Kara realized he was not so much weighing her words as weighing her. She picked up her laptop and turned it on, letting him come to his own conclusions. “You certainly are much feistier than I was led to believe.” Kara snorted. “Sounds to me like your sources misled you on several counts.” The Captain shook his head and came over to sit on the edge of the stool. “The dead aren’t the most reliable when it comes to getting modern information.” She frowned. “That’s the second time you’ve said you speak to the dead as if you’re not dead yourself. What did you mean yesterday when you said the dead speak to me?” Captain Walton’s eyes narrowed and Kara didn’t miss the glint of quickly suppressed anger. His voice, however, betrayed none of that emotion when he addressed her. “Miss Godwin, tell me, where do you get your stories?” Kara hesitated. No one knew about the voices in her head. She’d never told, afraid people would lock her up and throw away the key. When people asked about her inspiration, she just smiled and shrugged. They chalked it up to the artistic process and let her alone.

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But the Captain’s gaze made it clear he wanted the truth from her. She looked away, unable to meet those eyes that seemed to already know her secrets. It was no use. He demanded the truth, she would give it to him. “I get my stories from cemeteries. I find my inspiration in the names chiseled into the tombstones.” She shook her head, knowing he already knew. “I look at the stones…often saying the names out loud. And eventually, one of the names will…oh, I don’t know how to explain it. The name ‘sounds’ in my head. Almost like a little bell going off. And images start to form in my imagination. I write down what I see, almost as if I’m transcribing rather than writing. Sometimes I hear whole conversations between the people. Other times I just have to guess what they’re saying. “But what you said before? About the dead telling me their stories? That’s not true. I’ve gotten letters from people who had relatives by that name who tell me what I wrote isn’t anything like their great-aunt or their grandfather at all. I now make sure I put some sort of ‘this is purely fictional…any similarity between this story and real people is coincidental’ statement at the beginning of all my works.” The Captain nodded. He was so close all Kara had to do was reach out and brush the sleeve of his greatcoat. She even raised her hand, only to lower it again. Suddenly, she didn’t want to know he wasn’t real. He sat there, so understanding, so accepting, she didn’t want to think he was just another of the images that entered her mind and prompted her stories. “The dead also have identities to protect, Miss Godwin. Some have unsettled business here and cannot find rest until someone tells their stories. But since there are reputations involved, they find another to swap names with. When you see the name on the tombstone and it ‘sounds’ as you say, in your head…you are, in effect, opening a pathway for someone to feed you their story.” “So when I wrote about Janet Wilcox and the murdered baby, it wasn’t really Janet Wilcox I saw in my mind…it was someone else?” “Yes.” 32

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Kara digested that. “All right. It’s a little hard to handle, but I’ll get there. Never saw myself as a psychic kind of gal.” “Not so much psychic, as open.” The Captain’s face grew almost soft. “You are a special woman, Kara Godwin. You have a soul more willing to listen to life…and death.” Kara didn’t want to ask the question, but she needed to know. “Is that what you are, Captain Walton? Dead?” “No, Kara. I’m not dead and I’m not a ghost. Listen to your heart and you will find I have told you the truth. Like the fabled Snow White, I lie in a cage, not of glass, but of ice, awaiting the one who will wake me. But unlike the fables, it is not a kiss that will bring me back, but courage and passion.” “And you think I have that?” Kara shook her head. “You don’t know me very well.” “I know you better than you think.” His voice, soft and seductive, touched her in places she didn’t want to be touched. Had this…spirit…been watching her? For how long? Throwing up defensive walls, she tried to protect her deepest thoughts by changing the subject. How am I supposed to figure out where your ship went down?” “It did not go down.” Sorrow passed over Walton’s face. He stood, his shoulders bowed like one who carried a great weight. “There was no Doctor Frankenstein to save me, Kara. I had only my passion, my blind drive to reach what was impossible.” He turned to face her. “When the ice caught us, I thought perhaps we would die there. But when it released us two weeks later, I felt redeemed and urged the men northward. They rebelled. I called them weak. I swore at them and raised my whip, something I’d never done before. They overpowered me and put me on an ice floe with supplies enough for a week.” Kara held her breath, listening to the awful truth behind Captain Walton’s situation.

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“A storm came on two days after the ship disappeared over the horizon. The thin canvas tent did nothing to keep out the wind…or the cold. I tried lighting a small fire with some of the scraps, but the wind was too strong. I huddled in my furs in the dark of the tent that would become my tomb.” “In my desperation, I prayed to every god that I had ever heard of. Even the Norse gods. Imagine my surprise when one of them answered.” Walton shook his head, bitterness making his words sharp. “Freyr, the Norse god of fertility, of success…the one who supposedly brings sunshine and rain on the fields. At first, I thought it a hallucination…the tent flap flew up and coming towards me was a ship pushing the giant floes aside as if they were nothing more than child’s marbles. The sails filled with wind I couldn’t feel, billowed out in great gusts, driving the hull northward. And on the deck, a handsome Viking god with a beard of white, broad-shouldered and barechested.” Kara’s mind raced to remember everything she could about the Norse god Walton saw even as the sane part of her brain tried to dismiss it. If she remembered right, Freyr had lost his magical sword because of his love for a woman. And there was something about success, too, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Walton paced the room, his hands gripped behind his back, the knuckles white with suppressed fury. “Freyr stopped the ship beside me and then folded the damn thing up and stuck it in his pocket. I knew right then he wasn’t real. No one can fold a ship up.” He paused at the window, his voice quieter. “But it was real. And so was he. Long white-blond hair halfway down his back, wearing nothing but a mantle around his shoulders in that freezing cold, but real. Told me I’d been a fool and now I needed to pay for it. That Aegir, the god of the sea, wanted me dead for daring to invade those waters. “But he, Freyr, knew of my love for Mary Shelley and of my honor in leaving her to her husband. For that, he told me he would save me.” He snorted. “Save me! Froze my

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body in ice so thick it wouldn’t melt for two hundred years, is what he did. Told me I wouldn’t be able to leave my prison until I’d learned my lessons. Only then would I be released.” He turned on Kara with a sudden fury. “When I drifted to sleep, a sleep that still continues, my spirit left my body, traveling in search of the warmth that had fled from my veins. I went in search of my ship and the mutineers, determined to have revenge if I could not have success. They had no right to put me overboard in that godforsaken wasteland. Mutiny? Fine. Take me from power and throw me into chains—in time I would have come to understand the passage to the Pole must be overland. But to leave me to die? For that, my spirit searched for vengeance.” Kara felt a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. Still, she had to know it all. “What did you do to them?” The Captain turned to face her, disgust twisting his features. “What did I do?” he spat. “Nothing. I let the bastards go.” When Kara would have spoken, he held up a hand. “Nay. Say nothing to me. By the time I found the ship, it was already docked in Archangel. The sailors had left, some to go off with dockside whores, others to families. My anger cooled as I saw the latter embrace their wives and children…a future I had never considered for myself. Yet suddenly, for the first time I saw a future I very much wanted. “The proverbial wind went out of my sails. Freed from my corporeal body, I searched the globe for Mary Shelley, thinking she would be able to hear me and send help. But she grieved for a baby lost, then the loss of her beloved Percy. Her soul closed up after that and she never saw me.” “And you’ve spent the rest of your life looking for someone who could find your body and revive you?” “Yes.” “And in all that time, have you ever been able to get through to anyone before me?”

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“James Whale. I managed to get him to see me once. But only because he was drunk. Unfortunately I could not convince him of my validity. The next morning, however, he decided he would direct a film version of Frankenstein, so I am certain he heard me.” “Even if he didn’t include you, I mean, your character, in his movie.” For the first time in his long recitation, the Captain smiled. “Even if he didn’t include my character in his movie.” Kara let out a long breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Well. That’s quite some story. I’m going to need some time to think about it before I can actually get it onto paper.” She stood up, leaning against the chair for support as she balanced on one foot. Standing beside him, his presence dwarfed her. Even after his revelations, she still found comfort in the air of quiet confidence that surrounded him. “Thank you, Captain Walton.” Her voice caught in her throat. She cleared it impatiently, not wanting to show how far her heart had moved. “I will do you justice.” The Captain put out his hand and Kara felt a whisper of wind brush against her cheek. “You will do far more than that, Kara-mia. I have learned the lessons Freyr intended me to learn. Now you will save me.” Captain Walton faded from sight, leaving Kara alone in her apartment. She stood still, staring at the spot where he had been, not wanting to break the spell, for enchanted she must be, to consider his words in any seriousness. With a shake, she forced herself back into the twenty-first century, plopping back into the chair, grabbing her laptop and starting to write.

***** The sun had set by the time she came up for air. Letting go a huge sigh and a big stretch, she made a backup copy of her file and set the laptop on the floor beside her chair. Her ankle, which hadn’t bothered her all afternoon, suddenly throbbed when she

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forgot about the sprain and tried to stand on it. With a grimace, she picked up the crutches and swung herself into the kitchen to start some dinner. Three quick knocks on the door made her smile. Only Peter rapped that way. But her hands were sticky with the juice of the tomato she had half-sliced for her salad. She called out rather than clean up and go to the door. “Come on in, Peter! Door’s open.” “Evening, beautiful. I see you’re staying off that ankle like I told you to.” He crossed over to Kara and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. The light tone in his voice told her he wasn’t really angry. “I sat all afternoon working on a story.” Kara conveniently left out the part where she’d gone to the library in the morning. “Good for you. Here, I brought something for dinner.” He pulled a nice bottle of port out of a paper bag. “I know how you like sweet wines.” Kara grinned. “Glasses are in the cupboard.” She tossed the tomato slices into the salad and rinsed her hands. “Figured you’d be stopping by, so I made enough chicken parmigiana for two.” Peter grinned in that easygoing fashion of his. “Hoped you’d make me dinner. Come on, go sit in the chair and let me take a look at that ankle. Then I’ve got one heck of a surprise for you.” He unwrapped the ace bandage and Kara felt a guilty pang. All day she had been so wrapped in the Captain’s story, she hadn’t spared a single thought for Peter. His hands, so gentle with her ankle, made her resolve to make it up to him in bed tonight. “Looking good.” “Still hurts if I put weight on it.” Peter nodded. “That’s because I knew you’d try, so I wrapped it so that it wouldn’t feel good if you did.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Despite your protestations last night, I wasn’t totally convinced there wasn’t a break somewhere.” Kara laughed. “And now?”

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“Without an x-ray it’s hard to know for sure, but I’m beginning to suspect you were right. Let’s leave the bandage off a bit and let the skin breathe through dinner.” “Deal.” Peter went off to finish preparing dinner and Kara leaned back in the easy chair, her mind turning over the two men in her life. Well, one man and one…soul…spirit? Just how did one classify a man who claimed he still lived, yet had all the other trappings of a ghost? She didn’t really think anyone could survive for two hundred years no matter how frozen they were. Damn. She should’ve looked up information on suspended animation when she was at the library. Tomorrow. That would be her visit tomorrow. Tonight she intended to spend with the real, live, steadfast lover in hand. “So what’s my surprise?” she asked once they were both seated in the living room, their dinner plates supported by old TV trays Kara had scrounged from her parent’s basement. A coat of spray paint had made them shine like new. Peter put his fork down and took Kara’s hand. A cold knot formed in her stomach and she almost closed her eyes in fear. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t about to ask her what she was afraid he was going to ask her. She wasn’t ready for this type of commitment. She didn’t want to have to tell him no. But his first words surprised her. “Kara, do you remember us filling out that form to win the Norwegian cruise? The one that went along the shores of Norway and through the outer regions of the Arctic circle?” The knot loosened in one section of her stomach only to reform in another. She also put her fork down. “Yes…” “Well, we won. I got the phone call at work today. We won the cruise!” Peter’s excitement brimmed over and Kara couldn’t help but catch it. “We won? A trip to Norway? Peter, that’s incredible!” “I know! Until today, I’ve never won anything. Not even a church raffle.”

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Kara ignored the nagging suspicion in the back of her mind. She’d find out later if the good Captain Walton had anything to do with this. A man who could make park benches appear from nowhere could certainly fix a sweepstakes contest. “So…give me details. When is it? What do we have to do to claim it?” Peter picked up his fork and ate with the gusto of a man on a mission. “We can’t take it for another six months. Apparently the channels are closed at the moment, to tourist traffic at least, because of the Norwegian winter. I’ve already done what needs to be done to claim the trip, so that’s done.” He looked at her in sudden panic. “You do have a passport, right?” Kara nodded. “Got one last year when the rumors started flying about closing the border to Canada. Haven’t used it yet.” “Cool. Now you can get some stamps in it. The airfare is included. Although…” For the first time Peter hesitated. “Although…what?” Kara could tell he was about to drop the other shoe. “The airfare is paid from New York City. We have to get ourselves to Kennedy Airport.” “I see. That could be a problem.” Kara shook her head. “I’m having trouble with rent money. Getting myself to New York?” She sighed. New York might as well be Oslo for all the chances she had. “I have some money set aside. And you’re working on a story, right? We could make this work, Kara. The trip is for two. And before you suggest it, there isn’t anyone else I want to take.” Kara gave in. Besides, she suspected a certain ghost had a hand in this somewhere. How else could she have won a trip to the Arctic Circle on the very day she’d heard a story concerning it? Over dinner Peter regaled her with tales from his childhood. His grandparents had emigrated from Norway just after World War II, bringing the Norse culture and

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language to small town America. She laughed when he told of his grandfather dressing like Saint Nicholas, with his uncle playing the part of Black Peter, coming into the house shouting in Norwegian, scaring and confusing all his friends. After dinner, Peter carried the dishes to the kitchen, but Kara insisted on washing them. She’d already done it once that morning, so she knew she could do it again. With only the two of them, the chore didn’t take long and Peter steered her once more for the chair. “Let’s see how that ankle is doing.” Kara shook her head and pointed to the bedroom door with her crutch. “I’d rather see how something else is doing.” Peter laughed and took the crutch from her good side, slipping his arm around her waist. “You are a very naughty girl, with very naughty thoughts.” “Does that mean I’m going to have to be spanked?” “I think it might.” Kara waggled her eyebrows and Peter helped her through the bedroom door. Peter helped her off with her clothes, running his hands over her naked skin. Kara shivered despite the heat growing inside her at his touch. “Toys tonight?” Kara wished he wouldn’t ask. One of these days she fervently hoped Peter would just throw her on the bed and have his way with her. Why did he always have to be so solicitous and ask her opinion? Couldn’t he trust her to speak up if he did something she didn’t like? Still, his touch started the embers glowing. With her guidance, he would fan them bonfire high. Now he nuzzled along her neck, his hands moving familiarly over her waist and down to cup the cheeks of her ass. His breath, hot on her skin, lulled her, luring her into a sweet haze. “You choose the toys,” she murmured as his hands skimmed over her flesh.

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“Into bed with you, then.” He pulled the blankets back tonight, covering her to keep her warm once she slid between them. Going to the closet, he took down their toy basket and pulled aside the blue scarf that covered their assortment. Last night he had used two different floggers and the new vibrator. Tonight he didn’t forget the spanking he promised. From the bottom of the basket, he pulled out a ping-pong paddle and twirled it in his hand. “On your knees, you naughty girl.” Kara threw back the covers and promptly got on all fours, being sure to stick her ass up high so Peter had a good view. Her sore ankle, however, made staying in that position difficult. “Very nice,” Peter commented, his voice dry. “Maybe if you crawl over here to the edge of the bed?” Pretending Peter’s instructions were commands made the game much more fun. Kara turned and backed up until her feet hung off the edge of the bed and her ass was presented for her spanking. “Perfect!” Peter ran his hand lightly over her ass cheeks. “Skin’s cold. I think I can take care of that.” He swatted her with his open palm at first. Light taps just to bring the blood up and warm the skin slightly. Kara felt her pussy open as the taps turned into real spanks. His palm never landed in the same place twice in a row, his timing off beat on purpose, she didn’t know when the next slap would land…or where. She closed her eyes and pretended he’d blindfolded her again and her pussy grew wet. “Turning a nice pink now. How are you doing?” Kara gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t he remember she hated that question? Damn it! Every time he asked it, it took her out of the moment. He needed to trust her as much as she trusted him. Determined not to let her frustration get the best of her, she simply answered “Fine” even as Captain Walton invaded her thoughts. He would never ask

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that question. He wouldn’t care how she felt. Would he? She groaned as she thought of the Captain’s hands on her body, his open palm turning her skin pink… The smooth surface of the paddle rubbed across her skin…over her ass cheeks and down along the backs of her thighs. Over and over Peter ran it in unbroken circles, lulling her again into a relaxed state of mind and body. Not until her shoulders dropped and her body swayed, matching the circular rhythm of the paddle’s path, did Peter lift the paddle, bringing it down with a sudden thwack against her ass cheek. Kara gasped. Her head came up off the bed, her eyes wide. “I’m fine…just surprised, that’s all,” she managed before he could ask her that damn question again. “Good. Shall I continue?” Kara nodded, putting her head back down on the bed and fisting the sheet into in her palms. Peter now rained several blows on her ass cheeks, keeping a steady tattoo this time, but still varying the placement of the slaps. Kara bit the sheet under her to keep from crying out as her need to come threatened to split her in two. Not yet. She wanted to go higher. She wanted the Captain’s presence beside her. Again Peter shifted tactics, once more running the surface of the paddle over her now-very-sensitive skin. Kara’s breathing came steady and full. White cream oozed from her pussy. She was close to her orgasm…so close…but not close enough. Desperately she tried to call forth the image of Captain Walton that had sent her over the edge last night—his dark form standing beside her bed, whip in hand and lust in his eyes. The rain of blows came at a slower pace, harder now, each one stinging the already tender flesh. Moans came from deep within Kara’s body as she danced along the edge. Where was the Captain? Why couldn’t she imagine him tonight as she had before? Again Peter stopped, this time running the side of the paddle along her slit, letting her juices darken the wood. She squirmed, trying to find the rhythm that would push her over, letting her animal instincts take over. 42

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“That’s it, Kara, fuck the paddle. You know you want to.” She did. She wanted him to push the handle deep into her pussy, she wanted to feel the smooth, slick wood slam into her body. And suddenly the Captain was there, his hands controlling her body, reversing the paddle to slide the handle deep into her pussy—slicking the dark leather with her cream, reaching under and pinching her clit between his fingers. The tension exploded. Waves of pleasure consumed her. Kara gasped as her orgasm racked her body, shards of sensuous self-indulgence undulating all the way to her toes. When she finally lay still, she discovered she didn’t want to move for a very long time. She heard Peter moving about the room, cleaning up, but lethargy made noodles of her bones. Peter pulled the blankets into order and leaned down beside her. “Come on, Kara, under the blankets with you.” She barely opened her eyes as she crawled under the covers. Dimly she heard him put away the basket of toys and wondered again what made him do that. They could wait until morning. She wanted him here in bed with her, a warm body to snuggle against all night long. Besides, he hadn’t come yet and turnabout was fair play. But Peter sat on the edge of the bed beside her. Night had darkened the room, but the light from the living room made it possible to see. For the first time, she realized he’d never undressed. “I’m too wound up about going to Norway tonight, Kara. It’s all I can think about. You get some sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” “But…” She sat up and reached for his arm. Where were her hugs? Where was the cuddling? “But nothing. I’m fine. Go to sleep.” Peter planted a kiss on her head and left without another word.

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Kara’s shoulders slumped. So much for her romantic fantasies. Tears of disappointment pooled in her eyes and she did not see Captain Walton materialize beside her bed. “If I were your lover, you would not sleep tonight, no matter what kind of news I’d gotten during the day.” Kara dropped her head so that her hair covered her face. She didn’t want the Captain to see the tear that slid silently down her cheek. “I would cover you with my body, own you…possess you in ways you’ve only dreamed.” His voice, soft in the night, seduced her. “I wish you were real,” she whispered, “so I could lay my head on your shoulder and you could take away all my problems.” “I am real, Kara. Come to Norway. Come find me.” In the silence of the night, Kara could not resist the lure of his voice. As silent tears fell, she turned to look at him, silhouetted against the light. “I will find you,” she promised. And as sleep closed her eyes, she swore she could smell the cold sea air swirling around her.

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Chapter Four “Kara, this is the best thing you’ve ever written.” Ann Church, the editor of Short Fiction Magazine, bubbled over with enthusiasm. Kara heaved a sigh of relief on her end of the phone. The editor continued. “But it’s far too long for my magazine. You know that.” “I do, Ann. But you said you wanted to read it when I was done.” “Yep. ‘Cause I know your writing and I know how you get when you’ve got a story that just won’t quit. You’re a talented writer, Kara, and I’m glad to see you tackle a new challenge.” “Thanks, Ann. I just have to figure out what to do with it now that it’s done.” “Well, publish, of course!” Kara laughed. “But with whom?” She sighed. “I suppose I’d better get an agent now.” “Yes, you should. In the meantime, I know just who to send this to.” “You do? Who?” “An editor friend of mine in New York. She owes me a favor. Let me send this copy to her and see what she says. In the meantime, you get yourself an agent, woman! Mark my words, Frankenstein’s Captain is gonna be a hot property!” “Thanks, Ann.” Kara hung up the phone, still grinning. After two months of research and listening to the stories of the magnificent Captain Walton and another month of writing, her book was on its way toward being published. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but settled for someone closer. “Hey, Captain! If you’re around, I have some news for you!”

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“I heard.” Kara jumped. If he’d been real, she probably would have slapped him for sneaking up on her. He knew she hated it. “Oh, you did? Just how many other conversations have you listened in on?” “Most of them.” Her ghost seemed totally unconcerned that he’d violated her privacy. In the past three months, he hadn’t changed one bit—from the five o’clock shadow that only served to accent the dimple in his cheek, to the long black hair that always looked windblown, to his eyes that always bored past all her defenses. “You’re impossible.” She turned her back on him, giving up that particular fight. She didn’t win many of them anyway. “And yet, the cause of your success.” Kara turned around to deny it, but he wore such a self-satisfied smirk that she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Let’s not go putting the cart before the horse here. She’s going to forward the manuscript to an editor at a New York house. Let’s just take one step at a time.” “Oh, Kara-mia. Why do you refuse to dream?” An incredible sadness came into his dark eyes and Kara turned away, anger building inside her. The words she spoke had more bitterness in them than she intended. “If I dream it and it doesn’t happen, it hurts too much. Better to think the worst and be pleasantly surprised when things turn out well.” “We are the results of our dreams. They cannot come true if we have not envisioned the best possible result. Only then can one take the proper steps toward that end.” “Oh, yeah. Worked real well for you, didn’t it. Where’s your body now? Stuck in some ice floe up around the North Pole? Seems to me there was a step you didn’t envision very well.” Kara knew she wasn’t being fair. She wanted to publish her book more than anything in the world. It would give her the prestige she longed for—the recognition

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that she could write—the success she had yet to achieve. Looking around her apartment at its meager furnishings, she wanted to cry. Although she’d told Walton months ago that she considered herself a success because she managed to pay all her bills with the stories she told, the truth was, she was tired of living hand to mouth. Each story gave her a brief respite, but never comfort. This book had the possibility of changing that and she just didn’t want to get her hopes up. The Captain hadn’t responded to her lashing and she looked around to apologize. He stood by the window, looking out on scenery only he could see. Sadness filled every line of his face. At length, he sighed. Without turning to her, he spoke quietly. “I had such dreams. Dreams of fame and fortune brought on by my great discovery. Every night I envisioned myself breaking through the barrier of ice to find the circle where the sun never sets and the land is tropical and beautiful. I saw myself on the white beaches of a new land—a land no one had stepped on before. I gloried in the fame I would have, in the thrill of discovery.” His voice dropped and he turned toward her, not meeting her eyes. “But you are correct, my dear. I failed to realize that my crew did not understand my vision. I shared it with them…” He paused to gesture grandly as if standing at the prow of a great sailing vessel, his crew mustered before him. “I told them of the riches they would find and the wonders they would see.” He dropped his hand. “But they looked no farther than the ice and the cold, their spirits daunted by such trifles.” Kara remained silent, listening as she had so many times before. He had told her several stories of his troubles with his crew, who seemed to be more concerned with the comforts of home than with the trials of blazing new territory. But tonight was different. He’d never spoken so eloquently of his quest for glory. It broke her heart. As if the captain suddenly remembered she was there, his eyes came back from the past and focused on the room. “So I tell you to find your dreams, Kara-mia, from my own mistakes. You will learn from me, and succeed where I have failed.”

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“Thank you, Captain.” He looked so forlorn that she wished he was real so she could put her arms around him, draw him to her and give him comfort. But then his gaze came up to hers, a twinkle in his eyes as he deliberately broke the mood. “Come, come, Kara. You and I have spent three months together sharing intimate secrets. Surely you could call me Robert by now.” She smiled. “Intimate secrets, hmm? Just what have you been poking your nose into?” His eyes grew dark and again his manner changed. Stepping toward her, he put his face near hers as his voice dropped to a murmur. “Have you not seen me in your dreams?” “No…I mean…” Flustered, Kara knew she blushed then got defensive. “Yes, I’ve had some fantasies about you, I’ll admit that. But that is only my imagination. If you say you were actually there, then you’re not real. You really are just a figment I made up.” His eyes never left hers as he took another step closer. “Do you not know the French description of an orgasm? Le petite mort. The little death. The human soul is at its most open right at the peak of orgasm, just before the body reclaims it, convulsing in agonizing pleasure as the soul plummets back to earth.” Kara’s breath caught. Not even realizing she did so, her hand reached out to steady herself on the back of the chair. The captain stepped closer. “I am real, Kara-mia. Soon I will claim you for my own and you will be ready for me. You want my touch, Kara. It is my face you see when the veil between our two worlds turns to film.” He was so close now all he had to do was lean down to kiss her. Kara’s upturned face invited him. She wanted it. Her eyes closed as she waited for his touch. But none came. She inhaled the faint scent of the sea and felt a slight chill, as if she stood on the deck of a ship, the salt spray gently misting her face. For a moment, she

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imagined herself there, the wind billowing and snapping the sails, the creak of timbers, the fresh air and sun full on her face as they raced through the water. And then the vision faded, the walls of her small apartment reminding her of reality. She looked for the man of her dreams, but he had vanished.

***** “Are you the Kara Godwin? Author of Frankenstein’s Captain? The true story of Captain R. Walton made famous by none other than Mary Shelley herself?” Kara laughed at Peter’s trick, yet kept her head and played along. “Why yes, I am that Kara Godwin. Have you read my book?” Out of the corner of her eye, she noted a few of the bookstore’s patrons had turned to give her a second look. “Would you sign my copy?” Peter picked up one of several copies sitting beside her on the table. “This is so cool. To actually meet you in person.” “Don’t overdo it,” she muttered to him, her eyes flashing a quick warning. She opened the book to the flyleaf and asked in a louder voice, “Who would you like this signed to?” Her first book signing! She had finally let herself dream of this day. Of course, small steps. Ann’s editor friend liked her story, with its mix of fact and fiction that wove “a spell of enchantment” according to one reviewer and “a must-have for every Shelley fan” according to another. Everything had happened so quickly that she’d barely had time to breathe. The advance would keep her nicely for several months and she could now look forward to her next book. But not quite yet. There was still one matter to take care of. Tomorrow she and Peter would leave on their cruise and she could finally put to rest the not-so-small matter of her ghost. An older couple came over and the woman picked up a book and flipped it over to read the blurb. Kara smiled at her and talked to the husband, telling him a little about

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her research. After signing the book for them and watching them leave the store, Kara turned back to Peter. “Thanks. Your performance got me a sale.” “How’s the traffic been?” “Actually not bad, I suppose. Of course, I had envisioned them lined up out the door.” She laughed. Okay, she knew that was a very long shot, but she had expected a little more interest than she’d been able to garner so far. She needed Peter’s buzz to get people over to the table in this out-of-the way corner of the store. “Don’t worry. Frankenstein’s Captain will be a hit. It’s only been out a week.” “I know. You have everything ready for tomorrow?” “Yep. You?” “Just a few last-minute things to pack, but yep, me too.” Kara eyed a man browsing in the travel section, wondering if she had the nerve to go start a conversation with him about her book. “I’ll come back in about fifteen minutes and do that all over again. Maybe we can get more people to crowd around next time.” Kara laughed. “Okay. See you later then.” By the end of the two-hour signing, Kara had sold another five copies, mostly due to Peter’s antics. She walked out of the store to meet him in the parking lot, wanting to celebrate. “Whaddya say I take you out to dinner on the three bucks I just earned in royalties?” “Dinner? Always. But I’m paying. Not every day I get to hobnob with a celebrated author.” Kara laughed and got into the car. They decided to splurge and bypassed the local diner where they usually went, instead heading to a fancy chain restaurant that specialized in exotic concoctions in both food and drink.

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“So you really think you’re going to find this guy?” Peter asked after they’d ordered. “I really don’t know, Peter.” Kara toyed with her silverware. “Sometimes I want Robert to be real, sometimes I don’t.” “Being real would certainly be good for your book.” She shook her head. “I know. But I’m afraid people would look on it as only a publicity stunt, then. You know, I write the book about some guy trapped in ice and then, conveniently, I find him.” He nodded. “Could work that way. Unless he’s real and you can prove he’s two hundred years old.” She laughed. “How would I prove that?” Peter shrugged, not sharing her mirth. “Science.” He leaned forward. “Look, Kara. You gotta be ready for anything. If he’s not real, or we don’t find him, fine. We’ll have had a great trip to Norway, seen some northern lights, some fjords and come home from a great vacation. Life goes on pretty much as normal. Yes?” Kara agreed. “Yes.” “But say we do find him. You already know I don’t think we will, but say for a moment that we do. He’s real. He’s trapped in an ice floe. We find him. Then what?” Kara really hadn’t considered that. At most, her thoughts had taken her as far as finding the floe. She frowned as she turned over the problem. A thought occurred to her. “He’d probably need medical attention after being in suspended animation, wouldn’t he?” Peter nodded. “Probably. And that’s where science comes in to help.” Kara shook her head. “I’m not following.” “If he’s real, medical science will prove he’s two hundred years old, that your book is more truth than fiction and it will start flying off the shelves.”

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“So if Robert’s not there, I just wrote a nice little fictional story using Mary Shelley’s character as inspiration.” “Right.” “And if he is there, I just wrote the book of the decade.” “You got it.” Kara sat back in her chair. “Then let’s hope like hell that Captain Robert Walton is real.”

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Chapter Five The brisk wind of the North Atlantic Ocean parted Kara Godwin’s shoulder-length locks and blew them right into her eyes. With an impatient toss of her head, she flipped her hair back over her shoulder, only to have them, tendril-by-tendril, make their way forward again. “Should’ve worn a ponytail today,” she remarked to Peter, who stood at the rail by her side, watching the water skim past their cruise ship. “I like it when you look all windblown and salty.” Off to starboard the shores of Norway slid past, the distant snowcapped mountains tinted unreal colors by the late evening sun. Kara smiled at Peter, her best friend and sometime lover. Before leaving for Norway, the two had discussed taking their relationship more seriously, but neither of them really wanted that. Peter enjoyed his freedom, and Kara? Kara had another man to think about. Desperately she wanted to believe Robert Walton truly existed, that he was really alive and that she could rescue him. But logic constantly reminded her that no one had ever survived encased in ice for two hundred years. Now Kara stood on the deck of the Viking Warrior, a combination working ship and passenger liner. For over a hundred years ships had been plying the route along the northern border of Norway, bringing cargo and tourists to the beautiful Arctic towns, and now they brought Kara and her hidden agenda. “We cross into the Arctic Ocean tomorrow morning.” Peter took her hand and Kara welcomed the opportunity to snuggle up beside him. Peter was safe. He kept away the demons that followed her and helped her maintain her sanity in a world that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her.

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“I can’t wait. To be so far north? I’m still amazed to see how long daylight lasts. It’s almost ten o’clock at night and the sun isn’t even close to touching the horizon yet.” Peter laughed and pulled her close. “I know. But I kinda like having sex with you in broad daylight, so it’s not bothering me. Too bad,” he touched her nose with a kiss, “someone got out of bed early this morning and missed a good chance to get laid.” Kara grinned and put her face up for a real kiss. Peter obliged, turning it from a quick peck to a lingering kiss. Not until one of the crew cleared his throat, reminding them they were not in their cabin, did they break apart. “So how do you intend to locate this ice floe of Captain Walton’s?” Peter turned to lean his elbows on the rail, his blond hair not quite reaching his eyes. Since winning this cruise, his Nordic heritage had come to the fore and he had adopted the long-haired, bearded Viking look, though Kara insisted he not go all shaggy on her. With the sunlight beaming down through a near-cloudless sky, Kara could easily pretend her steadfast friend was a dangerous warrior. His mention of Captain Walton, however, brought up a subject she had ignored for the past few days of their trip. Once she’d finished writing her book, and had finally confessed to Peter about the captain and his desire that she free him from his state of frozen hibernation, Peter’s reaction had been everything she’d expected it would be. He had grinned, shaken his head, then patted her hand as if she were some loony relative, but one he liked anyway. Not that she blamed him. Several times she had just about talked herself out of believing in the sea captain’s existence. But then Peter would make love to her and the dark form of Captain Walton would invade her mind. She could not ignore him then. Behind her closed eyes, Walton commanded her body, playing her like a fine instrument to hum and sing as he willed. Passion would grip her, releasing itself through those sexual fantasies she most definitely hadn’t shared with Peter. Was Robert right? Was the divide between life and death truly thinned at the moment of ecstasy? Ever since he had told her that her fantasies were real, she’d found her sexual needs had gone into overdrive.

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Peter hadn’t minded in the least helping her with that. Bringing her thoughts back to the deck of the ship, Kara shook her head, once more tossing the hair out of her face and shrugged. “I guess I’m pretty much just hoping he’ll tell me where his body is.” A lump formed in her throat as she looked at the man she depended on to keep her sane. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you, Peter?” Peter shook his head in that slow, easy way of his. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Kara.” He turned his pale blue eyes to her, studying her. “I don’t, however, think you’re seeing ghosts. But you know that.” Kara grinned. “I know. You’re humoring me. That’s fine.” Her own eyes grew serious as she turned into the wind and leaned against the rail beside him, her hair finally streaming back from her face. “It’s okay that you don’t believe that Captain Walton is real. Sometimes…most of the time…I don’t think he’s real either. That’s part of why I’m here.” “To prove his fiction-ness?” This time Kara laughed out loud. “I think you just made up a word. But yes, to prove his fiction-ness.” She took in a great breath of the northern summer air, letting it cleanse her insides and not blowing it out until her lungs were close to bursting. On her second big breath, her shoulders relaxed. Peter took her hand. “Better?” Kara saw the twinkle in her partner’s eyes and she wrinkled her nose at him. “Better.”

***** Naked, Peter and Kara crawled into their double bed. The cabin had no windows— the free cruise didn’t quite go that far into luxury. Peter spooned her into his arms, nuzzling her neck with small kisses. Kara tried to feel romantic, but she couldn’t seem to focus. Tomorrow they would cross the invisible border into the Arctic Sea. Tomorrow

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the ship would dock at the first of several ports of call along the shores of Norway. She would disembark and… And what? Her whole life voided out at that point. What would she find? What did she want to find? Maybe the latter was the better question. Problem was, it was no more of an answer to what she wanted to find than to any of the other thousand questions pelting her mind at any given moment. She rolled over to her own side of the bed and started counting sheep.

***** Kara woke early the next morning. While staying in bed all day and ignoring her true purpose for coming on this trip had an attractive pull, she knew the stress in her life would plummet if she just got up, got going and got her answers. It was time to face down the Captain and make him put up or shut up. At least the cabin had its own bathroom—small, but serviceable. When the steward referred to it as the ‘head’, all sorts of nasty one-liners ran through Kara’s mind. She was very proud of herself that she didn’t utter so much as one. She did, however, write them down. If she ever wrote a sexy sea story, they would come in handy. And when she put the terms “handy” and “head” together, the story practically wrote itself. The Viking Warrior certainly did not hold the position as the newest ship of the line, having seen hundreds of journeys into the northernmost reaches of civilization, but the romantic streak in Kara loved the quaintness of the old steamer. She spent quite a bit of time writing in her journal, recording the actions of the crew. She absolutely loved the way one sailor could throw those big, thick ropes to the men on the docks. Hans, his name was. She’d asked him if he could teach her how to do that. He’d laughed and told her if she could lift the hawser, he’d teach her to throw it. Who knew rope could weigh so much? Leaving the light on in the bath so she could see to dress without disturbing Peter, she tiptoed back into the cabin. Peter’s lanky body contoured the plain white sheet into

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hills and bumps that reminded Kara of the snowcapped mountains outside. She paused, watching the sheet gently raise and lower with his breathing, listening to the gentle snore that told her he still slept. “I don’t mind you sleeping with another man, Kara-mia. You will all the more appreciate my touch.” The Captain’s voice, soft in her ear, made her jump. A squeal escaped and she clapped her hand over her mouth, not wanting to wake Peter. “Ah, yes, my dear. You will scream much louder under my whip.” She turned to find Captain Walton standing just a few feet from her, his eyes examining every inch of her naked body. The light from the bathroom gave him the advantage. Six months ago she had hidden her nudity from the ghost. Over the intervening months, however, she had gotten used to him popping in at odd times. Now she just reacted with annoyance to cover the sudden flush of excitement his surprises always caused. “Do you mind? I’m naked here.” He grinned, raising his eyebrow in that rakish way he had. “So I see. You have no need to be concerned, my dearest Kara. A body such as yours deserves to be glorified, not covered up with those bulky sweaters you insist on.” In defiance, Kara grabbed the nearest turtleneck and pullover sweater and yanked them on. “You really need to get over the idea that I’m going to fall madly in love with you, you know. I’m not Mary Shelley.” Furiously she pulled up her panties and slid her legs into her jeans. “No, you’re not.” The captain’s voice, flat and unemotional, spoke volumes. Her barb had been thrown with the intent to wound, and had hit home. She almost felt sorry she’d said it. Almost.

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Kara glanced at Peter, who opened his eyes, slowly focusing on her face. “Morning, Peter.” She leaned down and kissed him on the lips to make her point to the captain. “You’re dressed.” “I know. We’re docked. I can feel the difference in the ship. Today might be the day.” Kara looked over at the disappearing form of the captain. He shook his head in sorrow just before he faded from view. Her heart sank. “Give me a minute to shower and I’ll go with you to breakfast.” Peter stood and stretched out the kinks. “Okay. Ten minutes.” Kara stood aside so he could get into the bathroom and turned on the bedside light. Pulling the covers into place, she tried not to think about how wet she was between the legs. Damn the man. Every time Captain Walton spoke to her, she had the same blasted physical reaction. Her heart sped up, her breathing became shallow, and her pussy flooded with expectation. He had no right. Peter never made her feel that way. Peter, her flesh and blood rock of strength, made her feel warm and fuzzy and comfortable. The Captain, nothing but hot air, set her blood on fire.

***** Kara felt a little foolish asking, but she had no other way to find the answer. However, no one on shore had seen any errant ice floes, no bodies had been found floating in the fjord. The ship’s first stop in the Arctic Circle brought them beauty, but no beast. Over the next few days, they docked in ten small cities, ten times hearing the same story. No floes, no bodies. And no Captain Walton. As the ship made its way closer and closer to the North Pole, the captain remained ominously quiet. But Kara knew he still lurked just out of sight. The hair would rise on the back of her neck, or she’d get the feeling she was being watched, only to turn and see no one there. Peter made love to her almost every night, yet every night Kara’s thoughts turned to Captain Walton’s words, you will scream much louder under my whip. Bondage with the

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captain would not be a game as it was with Peter. The more experienced captain would demand that she turn over complete control of her body to him. The idea both repulsed and enthralled her. Only one port remained. Kara tossed and turned, unable to put thoughts of what they might find out of her head. When she did sleep, dreams haunted her—a giant creature stared at her with yellow eyes, his black lips grinning and bending to kiss her, then Captain Walton brandishing his whip, driving back the creature as Kara cried for mercy, sobbing that it didn’t mean any harm, and the Captain turning the whip on her, slicing the bulky sweater from her body in one snap of the long bullwhip, teasing her naked and now bound body into one orgasm after another. With an oath, she sat up in the darkness, gasping for breath. Her pussy ached and she gritted her teeth as she realized she had come in her sleep. From beside her, Peter’s soft breathing went on undisturbed. All the danger she had faced in her sleep, and he had slept right through it? As irrational as she knew it was, it still ticked her off. Throwing off the covers, Kara donned a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt and, grabbing her jacket, slipped out of the cabin, up a flight of stairs and onto the ship’s aft deck. She didn’t stop until she reached the starboard rail, drinking in deep drafts of the cool, night air to clear her head. Only then did she truly look around. The empty deck, filled with shadows from the single bulb beside the stairs she had climbed, stretched into black nothingness. Above her, thousands of stars glistened in their jet background, almost too many for her to find even the most well-known constellations. A thin sliver of moon balanced its tip on a mountaintop and as Kara watched, it appeared to slide down the mountainside as smoothly as an Olympic skier. “It isn’t really sliding down the mountain, you know.” Kara stiffened at the Captain’s voice. “I know.” Deliberately, she kept her voice neutral. It was only a dream, she told herself. “Our sailing along the shore gives the

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moon the illusion of movement. Look,” she pointed to the moon as it disappeared behind another mountain, “now it’s gone entirely.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the shadow of the Captain appear until he stood beside her in that almost-complete-but-not-quite fashion he had. His dark greatcoat flapped in the breeze and Kara wondered how it could, but decided there were things she just didn’t really want to know. If she knew them, she would have to act on them. She still remembered the day she had finally gotten up the courage to test his reality by touching him. Her hand had gone right through his arm with not even a temperature change to signify his presence. The fact had her questioning her sanity for days afterward. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, she reminded herself as she watched the wind ruffle his dark tresses. As the Captain turned to face her, Kara detected a restlessness he hadn’t shown in the past several months. He stood several steps from her and she knew, if he had had the ability, he would pull her into his arms to smother her with kisses. Instead, his intensity came through his voice, and in the way his eyes drank in every inch of her. “Kara. It is very important you listen to me carefully tonight. I cannot come to you again. You are near. Very near to me. I must be ready for you.” Kara was puzzled. “I thought you were going to take me to where your body is. Wasn’t that the deal? You’d show me, I’d get the proper authorities, we’d dig you out of the ice, you’d come back to life and we’d all go about our business. That’s what you told me.” She frowned, her voice louder than she intended. This whole trip wasn’t going the way she had planned. This was supposed to be a just a fun cruise with Peter and a side trip to rid herself of a pesky ghost. The image of the creature from her dream flashed into her mind again and she shuddered. Peter would never save her from her demons, even though he kept her grounded. The man before her was the only one who had the power to protect her. Her future was bound to Robert in ways she couldn’t understand.

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“Damn!” The word exploded from him and Kara looked up in surprise. He stepped toward her, closer than he’d allowed himself before, even that day in her apartment when she had thought they might kiss. For an instant, he looked solid…almost as if she put her hand out, she might touch his chest, feel the brocaded cloth of his waistcoat and the muscles that rippled underneath. Her breath quickened to think he could be real, that the passion he offered her might not be illusion. “I want to hold you in my arms, Kara-mia.” His voice, roughened with emotion, sank into the depths of her heart. “I want to feel the soft tresses of your hair in my hands and taste the sweetness of your kiss on my lips. I want to own your body, to take you to heights you have only dreamed of.” Kara found herself leaning in, wanting him, wanting the passion she was denied. When he wheeled away from her, she swallowed the cry of protest that sprang unbidden to her throat. “I must be ready for you.” He turned back to her, his movements abrupt and nervous. “Tomorrow morning the ship will dock in Vardo. Disembark and go to the home of Doctor Andersen. He often takes tourists on private tours along the coast of Norway. He has retired from medical practice and he does this just to keep himself active. You want to go east, along the fjords toward Hamningberg. Tell Dr. Andersen you want to stop at Persfjorden, there’s a small beach there. It is a Godforsaken place, more fitting Hell than Earth. There, I will be waiting for you.” Kara could hardly breathe. She nodded. The dark eyes of Captain Walton stared at her as if memorizing her face. Kara’s heart lurched as she finally understood this could be the very last time she would ever see him…ever talk to him. Tomorrow she and Peter would find his body, encased in ice as it had been for almost two hundred years. Underneath that ice, his heart still beat, if he was to be believed. But once the ice was gone, what then? Kara discovered she desperately wanted him to live, even though the chances of that were so incredibly

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slim. But then again, the chances of his heart keeping him alive for all these years was also such an impossibility she didn’t know what to believe anymore. He stepped to her again, the dim light from the stairs giving him an eerie glow. They spoke no words, but only sought each other’s company. Kara understood the captain’s strength of will and knew that, if he lived, he would turn that strength on her. And in the darkness of the arctic night, she finally understood that she would let him.

***** The metal clang of the ship’s bell woke her every hour during the remainder of the night. Not that she slept much anyway. Not with Peter’s warm body beside her and her last long look at Captain Walton fading into the darkness ever in her mind. Just before dawn, Kara finally slipped into a dreamless doze. “Kara, Kara. We’ve docked. The passengers are going ashore. Didn’t you want to go?” Kara managed to open one eye, using it to glare malevolently in Peter’s general direction. He only laughed at her, giving her shoulder a little pat. “Come on, now. This is our last stop. Who knows what we might find today?” Peter waggled his eyebrows at her and Kara forced herself into an upright position. Today was the make-or-break day. Either they would find the Captain’s body…or they wouldn’t. Or they’d find it and he’d be long dead…or he wouldn’t. She rubbed a hand over her breasts and stomach, remembering the Captain’s presence with her on the deck in the dark. How real he was, how she had felt she had but to reach out and he would enfold her in his arms. Giving herself a shake she blinked away thoughts of the night and faced the day. “Let me get a quick shower and I’ll be up. No breakfast for me today. Don’t think I could make it stay put.” Peter left and Kara showered and washed her hair in record time. She pulled on jeans and as an afterthought she grabbed an extra set of clothes for each of them and

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threw them into her knapsack. If they found the Robert still in the ice, he’d have to be thawed somehow. Deciding to be prepared, she figured they were probably going to end up with wet clothes and would need something dry to change into. Most of the other passengers had already disembarked by the time she made it up on deck, which suited Kara just fine. She really didn’t want a crowd as she went exploring. With directions from one of the sailors, she and Peter headed directly for Dr. Andersen’s. The house turned out to be a picturesque little cottage surrounded by a riot of colorful flowers. At a nudge from Kara, Peter approached the door and knocked. A tall older man answered the door and seemed quite surprised at their request. He answered them in English obviously learned from the British rather than the American side of the ocean. “It is true I sometimes take tourists around the town for a bit, but usually it’s because the others downtown are all busy and they need an extra hand. Never had anyone come straight to my door.” “Well, we were told you were the best tour guide around, Dr. Andersen,” Kara extemporized. “We’d like to go out east along the fjords…maybe explore a bay or two. Particularly Persfjorden.” “Ah—the lunar landscape of that fjord intrigues you, eh? I’d be happy to take you over that way today. Just a minute.” It took the good doctor only a few minutes to get himself organized. He bundled them off in his own car, telling them all about the town, the fishing industry that supported it, and his favorite place to get a good dinner. It wasn’t until he started in on local legends that Kara started truly listening. “’Twas back during the war when our Ice Man was first spotted. A set of brothers, watching the shoreline for Nazi U-boats, swore they saw a dark spot on some of the surface ice that comes down from the Pole in the late spring. Said it looked like a man trapped in the ice, dressed in old-fashioned clothes.” 63

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Kara and Peter exchanged glances as the doctor continued. “No one ever found anything though, that time or any of the other times, either. Seems to be a bit like the American’s version of Bigfoot, or Scotland’s Nessie. Just a tale told by the fire to unsuspecting tourists to give them something to talk about.” He chuckled. Kara didn’t trust her voice, so Peter asked the question. “So who does the legend say it is?” “Doesn’t. No one knows. The currents of the sea are strange, but fairly predictable. According to legend, he’s an old sailor who’d been left on the ice by his shipmates as a punishment.” “Punishment for what?” This time Kara managed to get the words out. The doctor chuckled as he turned onto a road just wide enough for their car. “Depends on who’s telling the story. Sven Jorgen, our mayor, he tells the story as a sailor who killed a man on board. Thom Kurten, the local bartender, prefers the ‘suffering from leprosy’, or some other infectious disease story.” “Which do you like better?” “Me? Neither. I like to tell it as a cautionary tale. In my version, he was a mad explorer who wouldn’t give up trying to get to the North Pole.” Kara choked, covering her fit with the excuse that she just swallowed wrong. The landscape, isolated and seemingly barren but for some tall grasses and the occasional wildflower, turned bleaker as the road wound along the shoreline. Silent monoliths of gray stone rose at odd intervals on both sides of the paved road, their wind-carved surfaces testament to the harsh winters of the Arctic Circle. The doctor slowed the car, pulling off to the side of the road onto hard-packed grass. They climbed out of the car and Kara glanced around the bay. Fjord she reminded herself. No bays in Norway, but absolutely beautiful fjords. She stood with Peter beside her and Dr. Andersen beside him, on a small hill looking down

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onto a rocky shore that extended in wide arcs of gray pebbles. The gray pinnacles they’d seen along the road now jutted up to become cliffs that spread outward in two long arms like a primitive fortress built to hold the ocean in place. Not a cloud marred the sky above them, not a boat glided in the water to mar the view of the brilliant blue ocean. A perfect day. “Don’t see it so clear very often. You’re in luck today. Wish I’d thought to bring my own camera.” Kara slipped her sweater on and wandered down to the shoreline as Peter snapped pictures of birds and scenery. Behind them, the gray cliffs loomed over them like silent sentinels. In a few hollows, snow still clung as if to remind them Mother Nature gave them this weather—and she could take it away just as easily. Kara sighed and skipped a stone into the water, sending it back to where it had started a thousand years before. “Kara!” She looked up at Peter’s shout, then looked to where he pointed. A large chunk of ice had just floated around the headland. As she watched, the wind kicked up, blowing the ice in their direction. A cold hand gripped her stomach. He was here. An icy wind sliced through her sweater and she hugged herself for warmth. The sun still shone, but it seemed as if its heat had disappeared. She watched the ice float past her toward the shore where Peter and Dr. Andersen still stood, the dark smudge of a body just visible underneath the top layer. Her feet dragged as she made her way back across the sea-washed stones, her mind and body dreading the next few moments. He couldn’t still be alive after all these years. He just couldn’t. No matter how much she might wish him beside her, she desperately tried to shield her heart from the truth she knew she must face. Peter had run to the doctor’s car and returned with a coil of rope, what looked to be tent stakes and a hammer from the doctor’s tool chest. The ice floe still hovered just off shore. In his excitement, Dr. Andersen jabbered in his native Norwegian, only switching back to English when both Peter and Kara looked at him blankly. 65

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“Drive the metal into the ice, then tie the rope to it. We’ll pull it here and tie it to…to…” He looked around, but there was little on the windswept beach to anchor the floe. Kara stared at the ice as Peter waded into the cold water, her mind and heart wrapped in cotton. The sun had already melted puddles of water on the surface, making it difficult to see the figure within from this angle. Her breath quickened as she imagined she heard his heartbeat. She chided herself. It was only her own blood beating in her ears. She would not hold out hope that he could be alive. The sound of metal-on-metal drove each spike into her heart. Unable to stand it any longer, she hurried down to help the doctor pull in their find. Captain Walton slept peacefully encased in a now-thin layer of ice. Already a flap of his black greatcoat floated in the standing water. “He is thawing! We must not let that happen. Ice is the great preservative. The body will keep longer if we keep him frozen.” The doctor’s frown turned to a grin, knowing a find like this would put his name in the history books. “We can’t stop the thawing. The sun’s too hot.” Peter looked at Kara, and she saw he finally believed what she had been telling him all along. He shivered in his wet clothes. “There are dry jeans in the car, Peter. Why don’t you go change?” Peter’s shiver cut through Kara’s fog and allowed her mind to begin functioning again. A dozen details flew through her head and while she organized them with one part of her mind, her hopes bounced between dashed and fulfilled. She focused on logic, trying to ignore the emotional upheaval that threatened to take over. She and the doctor still held onto the rope. A large rock partway up the slope looked stable enough to use as an anchor and they had barely enough rope to do it. With a grimace, Kara hauled up on the ice floe as the doctor tied it off. With the giant ice cube completely out of the water now, there was little doubt the melting process was in full swing. Already the soles of the Captain’s boots had broken 66

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through, showing their scuffed and worn condition from months on board ship. Kara stared at them, remembering the first time she met the Captain. After she’d fallen and twisted her ankle in the cemetery, his boots had been the first thing she’d seen when he had appeared. Peter returned and Dr. Andersen turned to him. “We should call the authorities. Get the experts here.” Peter shook his head. “There will be plenty of time for that. You’re gonna need your stethoscope, Doc. I brought your bag.” He held out a battered black bag. “Why do I need a stethoscope? The man has been in ice for centuries according to the legend.” The older man gestured to the ice. “And by his clothes, too, you can tell.” Peter looked at Kara, his gaze steady. “Something just tells me he might not be as dead as you would think he might be.” The doctor shook his head even as he lifted the stethoscope from the bag. “This makes no sense, but if it makes you feel better, I will listen to be sure he is dead.” The ice that covered the captain had become thin and the doctor broke it easily to expose the chest. With a sigh, he opened the greatcoat to reveal the brocaded black waistcoat Kara knew he would find. Sliding the end of the scope under the man’s shirt, the doctor listened a moment. He made a movement as if he were going to pull away, when he stopped and put the stethoscope back, listening a second time. He turned to Peter and Kara in wonder. “I’m getting a sound!” He stood, grabbed the hammer and started chipping away at the ice. “I don’t know how, but this man’s heart is beating. Slowly…so slowly I almost missed it. But he’s alive!” Peter pushed the partly melted floe further onto shore. Once the floe must’ve been several feet thick, but now all that remained below the captain’s body was about a foot of solid ice. He grabbed one of the tent stakes he’d driven into the ice and wiggled it out, then used it as an ice pick to free the Captain from his icy tomb.

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Every so often, the doctor would check the pulse of the man who had become his patient. He’d nod and murmur something in Norwegian, then go back to hammering. Kara worked with a fist-sized rock. It didn’t do much, but she couldn’t just stand and watch. “We are going to need to get him warm, once we have freed him from the ice.” The doctor paused and listened to the heart again. “The pulse rate is increasing. There are two blankets in the boot of the car.” Kara stood. Boot means trunk, she thought and headed up the hill. Bonnet means hood. She found the blankets and returned. Already the Captain’s legs and one arm were freed from the ice. His uncovered face looked as if he were sleeping. Kara’s breath caught as she saw his chest rising and falling. “I think he’s waking up.” Peter folded the Captain’s right arm over his chest as the man’s eyelids fluttered. He stood, allowing Kara to come close, understanding that she would want to be the first person he saw when he awoke. She bent over him, calling him by name. The doctor stared at her in amazement, shook his head and listened again to the man’s heart. “Captain Walton? Captain…Robert, can you hear me?” There was no response except another flutter of his eyelids, but the doctor urged her to call again. “The heartbeat is noticeably stronger. Keep trying.” Kara nodded, leaning a bit closer. “Robert…it’s me…Kara. Kara Godwin. Can you hear me?” The Captain’s eyes opened and sought hers. She looked into the dark eyes she had seen so often over the past few months and her heart jumped. “I have learned and Freyr has released me. You saved me.” Robert’s voice, no more than a whisper, still held the strength she knew he had. A strength that had allowed him to endure all these years, waiting for his one true love to rescue him. Tears formed in Kara’s eyes that she impatiently brushed away. “I had some help, but I’m here. I’m going to take care of you.” 68

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The Captain murmured something and Kara had to lean her ear close to hear it. “Only until I am well enough to take care of you, Kara-mia.” The doctor was muttering again in Norwegian, switching to English only when he gave them directions they didn’t understand. “The car. We will have to take him to my house, since the hospital is too far. I can call for an air ambulance from there.” Kara didn’t want to think about the media circus that would ensue as soon as word leaked that the Norse Iceman had not only been found, but was still alive after two hundred years. Although, if they didn’t get him freed from the ice soon, the miracle part of the find would be moot. The captain didn’t speak again though he remained conscious while they worked together to bundle him into blankets and carry him to the car. Settling him into the backseat, Peter hurried to the other side and climbed in beside him, Kara giving a silent thanksgiving for his EMT training. Between Peter and the Doctor, she knew the love of her life was in good hands. She slid in beside the doctor and twisted in the seat, willing him to be all right. His eyes never left Kara’s face. Indeed, it was all she could do to tear her own eyes from the sight of him, alive and breathing after so many months of doubting her own sanity. For her, time stopped and she didn’t even notice the passing countryside. When they got back to the doctor’s house, Dr. Andersen gave Kara instructions to warm up a can of soup as the two men carried their charge into the extra bedroom, stripped off his old and very wet clothes, then put him to bed. Before they would let Kara see him again, Peter pulled her aside. “Kara, I’m no fool. For the past six months, you’ve talked of Captain Walton as if he were a real, flesh-and-blood man. It was pretty obvious to me you had a crush on him.” Peter shook his head, a wry grin on his face. “You know I didn’t think he was real. When I won this trip, I figured it was a great opportunity to bring you up here, show you he didn’t exist and then you would look at me the way you look when you talk about him.” 69

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Kara shook her head. “I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t realize I was so transparent. I never meant to hurt you.” Peter tucked a lock of Kara’s hair behind her ear. “You haven’t hurt me. I’m disappointed that I’m gonna lose one hell of a lover, but you’ve never been anything less than honest with me. Captain Robert Walton is real. I now believe everything you’ve ever told me about him.” He paused and took Kara’s hands in his. “And I know you two are meant to be together. Go to him now, Kara. You’ll always be my good friend, but you should be his wife.” “Thank you, Peter. I…that is…” Words failed her. She shook her head. “Thank you, Peter.” Kara kissed Peter on the lips, the kind of quick kiss you give someone you respect and admire, the kind of kiss you give a friend, grateful for his steady hand these past few months. Her soul, however, yearned for the dark passions of the man in the other room.

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Chapter Six Knocking softly, Kara opened the door to the bedroom quietly, not wanting to wake the patient if he’d gone to sleep. Doctor Andersen motioned her in, a grin on his face as he showed her the empty soup bowl. “Hearty appetite is a good sign of health. He grows stronger with each passing moment.” As the doctor stood he addressed his patient. “Keep that down and we’ll try something more solid once you reach the hospital.” “You are a good man, doctor. Thank you.” Walton turned his gaze toward Kara. “But I am in no rush to leave.” Kara’s knees threatened to buckle right there. Knowing her cheeks were bright red, she put her head down, not wanting to meet the doctor’s knowing gaze. But then the kindly old man whispered in her ear on his way out, “Discovering whether all parts of him work properly would be a boon to science,” and Kara realized he had seen far more than she thought she had shown. The click of the door shutting behind him immediately changed the atmosphere in the room, almost as if his leaving had pulled the rubber from between two electrical terminals. Kara’s eyes were drawn upward, hunger flickering in her belly, a hunger no food would satisfy. Yet she did not move. Her eyes feasted on him first. His appearance in spirit form had been a washed-out image compared to the vibrant reality who sat up in the bed before her. The rich ebony of his hair, now pulled back in a queue, glinted with shimmering highlights unimagined before. The cut of his cheek, with the aristocratic line of his nose and chin seemed sharper.

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But his lips still beckoned, their appearance unchanged and mesmerizing. What would they taste like? And how would those muscles of his shoulders, slimmer now without his greatcoat and ruffles, feel under her hands? “Come to me, Kara-mia. Touch me. Let me feel your soft caress.” Drawn by his voice as she had been drawn so many times over the past months, she crossed the space between them, her heart beating wildly. She trembled and reached out, half afraid her hand would pass through him. Holding her breath, her fingers lightly brushed his soft hair. Real. He was real. Kara sank down on the soft coverlet, the tension and pent-up emotions spilling out in silent tears. Her hand slipped to his now-shaven cheek, fingers trembling as the tears blurred her vision. When his arms came up to gather her in, she clung to him, choking back a sob. Robert’s voice, soft and understanding, gave her the permission she didn’t realize she waited for. “Go ahead, my beautiful Kara. I have asked you to carry a great weight for many months. Let it go now. I am here. You are safe in my arms.” Kara’s tears fell in earnest as she clung to his reality—a reality she had hoped for, but until this moment, dared not believe in. Now in the comfort of Robert’s arms, the months of waiting and uncertainty fell away as she accepted his love. Neither spoke as Kara’s tears dampened Robert’s borrowed shirt. Time, so recently their enemy, ceased to exist as he held Kara in his arms for the first time. The scent of the sea just outside their doorstep drifted in through the window and Kara smiled through her tears. She sniffled and pushed herself up so she could look into his eyes, eyes no longer slightly fogged with the distance of two hundred years. “Whenever I smell the ocean, I will think of you.” Walton’s voice, still gravely from his long sleep, rumbled a deep bass. “Then we shall always live near the sea, my love, and you will always think of me.” 72

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He leaned forward, pulling her toward him. For just a moment, their breaths mingled before their lips touched, warm and filled with promise. A promise left unfulfilled. Peter knocked and entered without waiting for them to answer, his manner urgent. “Sorry. We wanted to give you both more time, but we just got word that the air ambulance will be here in less than three minutes.” Robert spoke before Kara could respond, his voice stronger than it had been even moments before. “Thank you, Peter. I will use this short time wisely.” Peter grinned and gave Kara the thumbs-up sign. Giving them a few moments, he ducked back out the door and left them alone. Kara turned back to the man who had defied all laws of physics and mortality, desperately wanting his touch. Hunger burned in the eyes of the captain, a controlled hunger that could not be denied. “I will have your kiss, Kara. Come, seal our union-to-be.” With a hunger to match his, Kara leaned in, her lips meeting his in a kiss filled with the promise of passion to come. She gave herself willingly, yearning for even more as his arms gripped her, never wanting to have to let go again. He tasted of the sea, of cold nights and domination. She opened, letting his tongue possess her, eagerly giving back the passion he awoke in her. A second knock alerted them that their brief time was up. There were doctors to see and press to convince. Slipping away into a quiet life together was not in their immediate future. As Doctor Andersen directed the paramedics, Robert squeezed Kara’s hand. “Don’t worry, Kara-mia. I have waited two hundred years for you. I can wait another two days.”

***** But it wasn’t two days—it was more than two weeks before Kara was alone with her love again. The officials in Norway insisted on keeping the four of them separated while they corroborated the stories each of them told. Eventually the authorities 73

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decided that she and Peter had given them as much information as they were going to and the two were turned loose. After days stuck by herself in the hotel, the first place she wanted to go was the hospital. Peter went with her, a Viking warrior ready to battle for his friend. Together they entered the hospital, and together they got thrown out. “At least we found out Dr. Andersen is in charge now. I was worried they’d think he was some old crackpot and just ignore him.” Kara stared ruefully at the building. “He’s a good man. I found out he used to be Chief of Staff here, so he’s got a solid reputation.” Peter took her arm to lead her away from the building, “Why won’t they let us see Robert, though?” Peter started to answer, but a whisper from the corner of the entrance stopped him. “Ms. Godwin. Over here.” Kara frowned, looking around. Peter saw the nurse first, tucked in the shadows. “If anyone asks, I’m simply telling you not to come back here, all right?” Kara nodded at the woman, mystified. “I wanted to tell you, Captain Walton is being transferred to an English hospital tomorrow morning.” “What? Why?” “He is insistent and Doctor Andersen has agreed it would be best for his recovery if he were home.” She shook her head. “Or at least somewhere that used to be home.” She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Doctor Andersen wanted to let you upstairs to see the Captain and let him tell you himself, but the authorities are a pompous, ambitious bunch of…never mind. He wanted you to know, so I told him I’d take care of it for him.” “Thank you, nurse. How is the captain doing? In his recovery?” “Him?” Her eyes twinkled. “You don’t need to worry about him. He might have just gone for a swim in the bay for all the damage that’s been done to that body of his.” The wry smile on her face gave away her appreciation for the Robert’s physique. 74

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“Thank you. Tell him I’m thinking of him and I’ll find a way to see him.” The nurse shook her head. “Not here, you won’t. Get to London. Maybe there you’ll have better luck.” The nurse’s words proved correct. Although they tried again later in the day, it became obvious that the authorities were not going to let them in. Instead, the two of them caught the next flight to London, only to be met at the airport by the country’s famous paparazzi. While authorities in Norway had tried to keep a lid on the entire affair, the English press was not so accommodating. Greeted at the airport by a crush of reporters barking questions did give Kara and Peter one advantage, however. With a few artfully placed questions of their own, the two of them managed to find out not only which hospital Robert was in, but what room he’d been assigned. Peter tucked Kara into a cab with a promise to find her there. Barely seeing the landmarks that rushed past her window, Kara leaned back, crossing her fingers that he wasn’t lost to her again.

Maybe it was partly the fact he was clad only in a hospital gown, or maybe it was his impatient glare at the crowd of doctors who surrounded him, each one asking questions in turn, but mostly it was the look he turned on her when she entered the room—a look of possessive hunger and raw desire—that made Kara’s stomach flutter. If it weren’t for the people in her way, she would have flung herself across the room and given herself to him without another word. Her heart in her throat, she stood still, mesmerized by the sight of him and unable to speak a single word. The students and interns in the room, however, both male and female, had no such impediment. The discussion between and among them ranged from mostly disbelievers to the few who accepted their story. She tried to focus on their conversation through the sound of her heartbeat roaring in her ears. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Two hundred years in ice and not one sign of frostbite?” 75

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“What about weight loss? He should have burned through all his body fat in his attempts to stay warm.” “According to these blood tests, he’s perfectly healthy. He should be dead.” A quiet voice spoke up from the back of the group. “Yet his lungs show no sign of modern pollution, pollution every one of us carries inside us today.” The voice paused, then added, “Which is why I’m still undecided.” At the pronouncement, the rest of the doctors fell silent and Kara tore her gaze from the man she loved, to see who spoke. A diminutive woman, white hair curling about her face, stood with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed as she studied the Captain. Clearly this was a woman the others respected above the rest. Kara watched as Robert slowly looked toward the woman, returning her scrutiny with patience he did not display to the others. A smile spread across his face and after several moments, he bowed to her from where he sat, propped up in his hospital bed. “Take your time, Doctor. I am who I say I am as you will come to understand.” Latent power emanated from him, power denied all the degreed professionals collected around him. His hair, caught back in an elegant queue that seemed out of place in the sterile hospital, shone in the glare of the florescent lights. The gown they had clothed him in strained across his shoulders, hiding the magnificent dark hair that Kara knew curled underneath. She longed to run her fingers through that hair, to feel the warmth of his skin beside hers. The elderly female doctor, however, seemed immune to his charms and only raised a skeptical eyebrow in response, holding the captain’s gaze for several seconds before responding. “Remember, captain, you were brought here to England at your insistence. While the lawyers deal with your legal claims, your medical care has been put into my hands. Until I make a final judgment, sir, those legalities will remain unresolved.” She turned to the assembled students and interns.

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“Dr. Andersen has graciously assented to assist me in ascertaining the veracity of Captain Walton’s claim. I expect reports from each of you on my desk by morning, accompanied by your silence on the matter. The captain is our patient, and as such, entitled to his privacy. Speak even once to the press gathered like vultures outside and you will be summarily dismissed from this hospital.” The doctor’s orders were an effective reprimand, and to judge by the way several put their heads down as they filed out of the room, Kara understood the interns knew she would follow through on her threat. Having had to run the gantlet of reporters both at the airport and outside the hospital, most of whom couldn’t wait to debunk the captain’s claim, she knew the pressure they would be under. For their sakes, she fervently hoped they were up to the challenge. “You must be Kara Godwin.” The doctor came over to her, her hand outstretched and a friendly smile on her face. “Yes, I am.” Kara forced herself to look away from the Robert and face the older woman. “I’m Doctor Worthington. I’ve read a lot about you.” Kara gave her a wry grin, her fingers itching with impatience to touch the man she loved, aching to feel the softness of his hair, the warmth of his cheek. With difficulty, she focused on the doctor’s kindly face. “I’m sure you have. Let me assure you, Doctor, I’m not a crackpot. Neither is Peter Johansson or Dr. Andersen.” The older woman held up her hand. “I know. As fate would have it, I’ve known Sven Andersen since we attended medical school together. He is not the type to go making up stories about frozen men coming back to life.” She turned to her patient. “What I have to determine, Captain Walton, is just how long you were in that ice. It isn’t common, but people have been known to survive when encased in ice for a few hours. Two hundred years? That strains my credulity, sir.”

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Again that slow smile spread over Walton’s face. “I assure you, Madame Doctor, you will discover enough of the truth to satisfy your skepticism. Give me tests as you will.” Dr. Worthington nodded. “Actually, there aren’t too many tests left to give you. Your heart is healthier than most men your age, your cholesterol is within normal parameters, if a bit on the high side. Your lungs are cleaner than just about every one else’s on the planet and your blood pressure is perfectly normal. The doctors in Norway ran stress tests, HIV tests, everything they could think of.” “And?” Walton didn’t try to hide the sparkle in his eye. “And everything tells us you’re a normal, healthy human being. Only the lung scan shows any difference between you and everyone else.” “And that isn’t enough to convince you?” Kara moved to stand beside him, his very nearness a torture. “What else could you need?” Walton’s hand encased hers where it sat on the top of the sheet and Kara felt her knees grow weak. The longing inside her threatened to spill out no matter that they were still stuck in this miserable hospital. She wanted him. How he could be so patient after all those years of waiting was beyond her. In what she thought of as the “before time”, the time when he was only spirit, he had told her he would tie her and flog her body into submission. Now she ached to think that all that stood between her and that flogging were hospital rules. The diminutive doctor eyed them thoughtfully and Kara realized the woman did have another option in mind. Her eyes narrowed as the doctor came to a decision, tossing the chart she carried onto the table at the foot of the bed and crossing her arms. “Like most since the Captain made his appearance, I went back and read Mary Shelly’s novel.” She held up her hand to prevent Walton’s usual tirade about “that work of fiction”. The captain closed his mouth and Kara squeezed his hand. Whatever the doctor was leading to, Kara would be by his side.

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“All good fiction has elements of truth. In this case, it would be not only your existence, Captain, but that of your sister.” He frowned, but nodded. “Yes, I did have a sister. Her name was Margaret.” He paused to nod at Kara. “My lawyers are looking into what happened to her for me. And I have recently had good news on that front. While the doctors in Norway dithered over my health, they have managed to locate her gravesite, and through the town records, her will.” A shadow passed over his face and Kara put her hand on his shoulder. It couldn’t be easy to come back to a life where everyone he had known had already passed away. “I’m sorry.” Robert reached up and brought her hand down to his lips, giving her a small kiss on the back of her hand, although his eyes were far away. “Thank you, my love. She died before my spirit had learned to roam so far, yet it still feels as if it were a few short weeks ago she saw me off at the pier.” “I understand your grief, Captain, and what I have to propose won’t be easy for you to hear.” The doctor glanced at Kara. In an instant, Kara knew exactly what the doctor was going to propose. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Of course! The result would give the world a definitive answer. Understanding, she nodded at Dr. Worthington. “I propose a DNA test between Margaret Walton Upton and yourself, Captain. Should your DNA prove similar, that would help to prove your relationship.” Robert frowned and Kara sensed he was about to dig his heels in. She jumped in to help convince him. “DNA is what makes us each unique,” she explained. “By comparing yours with Margaret’s, we…well, the scientists…can prove that she’s your sister.” “Almost.” The doctor interrupted. “We can determine if the two share the same parents. If they are full siblings, they should share approximately fifty percent of their DNA. If half siblings, then close to twenty-five percent would be the same.” 79

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Walton nodded. “I spent many hours reading newspapers over the shoulders of countless readers. The discovery of DNA caused quite a stir back in the nineteen fifties.” He stared at Dr. Worthington. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Doctor. In order to conduct such a test, you need to exhume my sister’s body in order to take DNA samples.” “Unfortunately, that is correct.” Kara watched the play of emotions over Robert’s face. Grief gave way to a sadness that broke her heart. At length, he nodded. “You have my permission.” The doctor picked up the chart and made a note. “In that case, I need a swab from inside your cheek for comparison. When I leave here, I’ll start the paperwork necessary to take a sample from your sister. I should warn you, after a hundred and fifty years, it might be difficult.” All business now, the doctor swabbed the inside of Robert’s cheek, made a few more notations on his chart and left them alone. The door swung shut and Kara sighed. “Finally! I was beginning to think we’d never get any privacy.” Walton pulled her down beside him on the bed. “I promise, you Kara-mia. Once we have convinced them all, I will take you away and I will have my way with you.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in melodramatic fashion. Kara smiled, but didn’t try to deny the shivers that ran up her spine at his antics. “I want you to have your way with me, Robert. Just as you promised in my dreams.” Longing crept into her voice. “Lie beside me, Kara. Let me feel the sweet torment of your body beside mine.” Being careful not to disturb the IV the hospital insisted upon, Kara slid next to him on the narrow hospital bed. She snuggled into the warmth of his arms, warmth that promised of fires only banked because of their surroundings. “I want to get to know every part of you, Robert Walton. Every scar, every line, every inch.”

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His chuckle rumbled in her ear where her head rested on his chest. “I have some that may be of more interest than others.” His hand slid down off her arm where he cuddled her. “But I want very much to explore you as well, Kara Godwin.” His hand cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her blouse. “Every hill…” The bra she wore did little to hide what his touch did to her. But he didn’t linger there, letting his fingers slide down along her side to brush the curve of her waist. “Every valley…” Robert’s voice dropped to a whisper as he skimmed his hand over the rounded hills of her ass. “Every inch.” Kara’s head swam as he claimed her lips with his, his very real presence promising a passion she had experienced only in her dreams. Once he had told her she didn’t have enough passion in her life, while he had too much. As the kiss ended, she knew she was going to enjoy finding the balance. “Okay, lovebirds. Time for lunch.” Kara jumped, then giggled, feeling very much like a little girl having been caught doing something slightly naughty. As the male orderly set up the lunch tray, she moved to climb out of the bed, but Robert’s arm around her waist stopped her. “I have waited too long to feel you beside me. I am not content with only a brief encounter.” “Well, this is a hospital, not a hotel, man.” The orderly shook his head. “No hankypanky allowed.” The captain glowered, but the orderly only crossed his arms and did not back down. Kara bit her lip to keep from laughing at the two males posturing before her. She put her hand on Robert’s chest, feeling the rough texture of his hair beneath the thin hospital gown. “It’s all right, Robert. I’m only going as far as that chair.” Sliding off the bed, she bowed to the orderly, gesturing him to serve his patient. With a snort of indignation, the man moved the table up to the head of the bed, took off the warming cover and left with a final warning glance. Walton sighed and shook his head. “Woman, you need to learn to obey.” 81

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It was Kara’s turn to snort. “After all this time and all the lessons Freyr wanted you to learn, you haven’t figured out that women have minds of their own?” The captain surveyed the lunch tray in front of him. A limp sandwich of some indeterminate meat sat on a plate surrounded by a scant handful of crisp potato chips. The labels on the covered cups off to the side indicated he also had lemon yogurt, apple juice and one-percent milk. The only promising piece on the tray was a plastic-wrapped piece of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. He sighed deeply. “The one thing I looked forward to more than any other during all those years in the ice was tasting food again. Real food.” “And did you look forward to that more than holding me in your arms?” Kara couldn’t resist teasing. His dark eyes smoldered as he gazed at her. “You will find I am a man of many passions, Kara-mia.” Her control shattered. The whimper that came from the back of her throat…the way her knees threatened to give way…she gave it up. Thrusting the table and tray aside, she flung herself into his arms, her lips closing over his as she let the passion she had buried for so long rise to the surface. The hell with hospital rules. She wanted her captain. Now. Sinking down beside him, Kara slid her hand to the ribbon at the nape of his neck and untied it. His hands grasped her—solid hands. Hands that hungered. In his grip, the world outside ceased to exist as centuries of need ripped her blouse from her body. “You are mine, Kara Godwin. I claim you.” But Kara put her hand on his chest, preventing him from kissing her. “No, Captain Walton. Let’s get one thing straight. In the next few weeks, tons of women are going to fall in love with you…or at least your picture in the paper. It’s all well and good for you to claim me. But this is the twenty-first century. And here, women have equal rights to claims.”

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A frown that should have detracted from his good looks…didn’t. Instead, his creased brows only made him look more determined. “What are you saying, woman? That I’ve waited two centuries in vain?” Kara shook her head, her hand going to his cheek. “No, Robert. I’m saying that I claim you.” For answer, Walton took Kara’s hand in his and slid it down along the strengthening muscles of his torso, pushing it until she felt his hardened cock naked under the sheets of the bed. “Then claim me woman, before I burst.” This time when he bent to kiss her, Kara leaned forward, eager to feel his lips on hers as she had imagined so many times in the past. Her mind, flooded and overloaded, simply shut down all rational thought, choosing to simply accept the incredible input and channel them all straight to her pussy. From the sea-scent of his skin that still clung to him, to the strength in his arms as he held her close, and the warmth of his lips in between, Kara found herself losing focus, allowing herself to be carried along on an inexorable tide. “When I am stronger yet, I will tie you down, Kara-mia, and you will not be so headstrong then.” The words, whispered tightly into her ear as he slid his hands possessively over her breasts, forced a whimper from the back of her throat. His fingers closed over her breast, crushing it into his palm and the whimper became a moan. She settled deeper into his arms, her lips searching for his, reveling in the sea of sensations that flooded her mind and body. She threw aside the sheet that separated them, reaching down to wrap her fingers around his magnificent cock. Thick as her wrist and hard as iron, she trembled at the thought of taking all of him inside her. And yet, her pussy flowed freely, anticipating that event. Her head swam and tingles reached all the way to her fingertips as she massaged his cock, savoring the ridges of its raised veins. While she wanted to taste him there too, she didn’t give into 83

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that temptation. There would be time for that later. His tongue slashed along her ear and Kara knew she couldn’t hold out any longer. Tearing herself away long enough to rip off her pants while he pulled off the miserable hospital gown was sweet torture. His hair, loose now, tumbled around his shoulders, the curls falling in tendrils she couldn’t wait to slip her hands into. Passion and hunger burned in his dark eyes, a hunger Kara knew existed only for her. His cock, standing straight as a mast, waited impatiently for her to impale herself upon it. Throwing her pants to the side, she knelt on the bed, months of dreaming and fantasy about to come true. Forcing herself to focus on his face, she let her hand drift over his cock, again feeling the ridges, but this time, not staying there. This time, she let her fingers trace all the way to the tip, lightly brushing over the incredible softness that belied the hardness underneath. His eyes closed in pleasure. “Oh, woman, what you do to me.” She leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Nothing but what I expect you to do to me when you have regained all your strength.” His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her head back to look him in the face. “Do not underestimate my strength even now, Kara-mia. I am not a man to be toyed with.” She nodded against the fist in her hair, turning to kiss the open palm it became. With one fluid, graceful movement, she threw her leg over his lap, his cock pressing against her mound. He grasped her hips, and guiding her, poised her over his cock. “Impale yourself for me.” Kara pressed down, wanting to take every inch of him in one thrust. She almost succeeded. Raising herself a little, she thrust again, their voices moaning in tandem as he stretched and filled her narrow pussy. Rocking herself on top of him, her wetness slickened his cock, making the ride easier, smoother as she repeatedly pressed herself down onto him. The hospital, the world outside, the two hundred years that separated their births all fell into oblivion as she reached for the crest of a wave higher than she had ever 84

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climbed. Agony stretched into savored pleasure as the wind caught her sails and she skimmed the sweet cusp, her lover beneath, holding her, supporting her. But the wave heights are not meant for living on and with a cry, she crashed, her body carried along with the racking waves. Dimly she heard his answering groans as he emptied, her muscles tightening around him to milk him dry. And when at last she collapsed on top of him, clinging like a rescued sailor, Kara nestled into the arms of the man of her dreams and fell asleep.

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Chapter Seven A chill autumn breeze lifted Kara’s hair as she wandered the church graveyard silently reading aloud the names on the stones and filling her lungs with the scent of the sea. This quiet churchyard, only yards from the Atlantic, held the bones of many mariners who had come to this small English town as their final resting place. It no longer unnerved her to know the stories that served as her inspiration came from the voices of the dead. In fact, Kara took a great deal of comfort from knowing she helped so many of them to find peace. She stopped at one of her favorite stones—a large rectangle of almost-white granite carved with the figure of a sailing ship above the single name inscribed below. “R. Walton.” The sails of the ship billowed out in a full wind, a wish from the living that the sailor made good time to his destination. But the dates below belied that simple carving. Only his birth year, 1785, had been entered onto the stone. The death year remained blank, and Kara knew why. She glanced over at the matching stone to the right, the stone of Captain Walton’s beloved sister Margaret, who had finally married without her brother’s permission. She’d gone on to become a formidable matriarch at a time when most women were still struggling for any rights at all. Newly planted primroses blossomed beside the stone and freshly seeded grass peeked through the straw scattered over the two graves. “I do hope no one is whispering a story in your head while using my sister’s name to hide behind.” Kara turned at the sound of her love’s voice, her heart leaping as it always did each time she saw him. Robert stood behind her, his greatcoat buttoned against the chilly English weather. Although he had taken to jeans and T-shirts as quickly as anyone born in the twenty-first century, Kara preferred to see him in the tailored three piece suit he

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wore when pursuing business matters. With his broad shoulders and muscular chest honed from years at sea, he filled out the lines of modern day clothing with style and panache. The old greatcoat, however, was the only piece of clothing he wouldn’t give up. He claimed it was warmer than anything he could purchase today, but Kara knew better. The coat reminded him of his past, of friends long dead and of family he would never see again. Kara smiled and held out her hand. “I wouldn’t listen if any of them tried to use Margaret’s name.” She slid her cold fingers into his, grateful when he tucked their joined hands into his pocket where it was nice and warm. “She never gave up hoping I would make it home.” His face grew soft each time he spoke of his sister and Kara wondered what it must be like to come back to life two hundred years after everyone you knew had passed away. She squeezed his fingers and gave his arm a hug. “She sounds like she was quite a woman.” “Almost as wonderful as my wife.” Robert turned his dark gaze on her and Kara felt her knees weaken the way they did every time he looked at her, an obsessive passion glimmering in his eyes. He’d been learning to adapt the obsessive-part, channeling his seafaring energies into managing an estate that had grown huge in his absence. Silently Kara blessed the long-dead Margaret and single-mindedness that ran in the family. Convinced that her brother would someday return and having no children of her own, Margaret had set up a trust fund against Robert’s eventual return that had become quite lucrative for the bank that held it. By deeding the bank a share of the assets, Captain Walton’s sister ensured the land and money would continue to be a source of profit for years to come. Of course, proving to the courts and the bank’s attorneys that he was the same Captain Robert Walton of the trust had been another whole argument entirely. Thank goodness DNA testing had come as far as it had. Disturbing Margaret’s grave had been

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difficult for Robert, but using modern technology was the only way to prove he was who he said he was. She leaned into her captain’s arms, knowing some still didn’t believe them. A few skeptics still claimed he must be a bastard child fathered by the original Robert Walton. Or Margaret. The latter bothered Kara most. From all accounts, the woman had been an adored younger sister whose independent manner still rankled traditionalists who were jealous of her foresight and stubbornness. “The wind is picking up…we’ll have a storm before sunset.” The Captain turned to look out to sea where the sun tried to peek through the clouds. “Then we’d best be getting home, my dear sir. Your English storms make the thunderstorms back home look like tempests in a teapot. I’d rather have a good roof over my head and shutters on my windows when that wind blows off the sea.” Together they threaded their way through the stones to the street where a closed carriage stood, the black doors gleaming with fresh paint and two matching bays shifting impatiently. Kara smiled when she saw the driver talking to a group of tourists, informing them in rather imperious tones that the carriage wasn’t available for hire. She’d been able to update the Captain on so many modern conveniences, but like his greatcoat, riding in automobiles wasn’t one of them. A simpler, slower lifestyle held many attractions, Kara decided, leaning back in the carriage and watching as Robert nodded regally to the tourists who snapped a dozen pictures as he came to sit beside her. With a rap on the top to tell the driver they were ready, he leaned back, pulling Kara into his arms. “I have a surprise for you at home,” he murmured into her ear. “Something nefarious, I take it?” “Something to keep you in line, my dearest.” Kara grinned even as she got goose bumps. Robert was slowly learning she wasn’t going to just meekly accept his word as law on every aspect of their life. She’d already informed him there would an equal division of labor when it came to household duties. 88

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But in the bedroom? She didn’t want any say there. In that regard, she gave herself to him completely, allowing him to use her as he saw fit. The trade-off was worth the price—she had never come so hard or for so long in her entire life. “Something for our private use, then, I take it?” Kara didn’t even attempt to keep the twinkle out of her eyes. “Of course.” He leaned in and kisseded her lips and Kara’s breath caught as it always did when they touched. She tilted up her face for more and he obliged, taking another kiss, deeper this time, and making her head swim. And when they parted, he whispered into the small space between them. “I have recovered enough strength.” “You have?” Kara didn’t know what he was talking about, but the small kisses he was placing along the side of her face prevented her from thinking clearly. “I have.” “I’m so glad.” His kisses moved to small nibbles around her ear. “I’ve been practicing too.” “Practicing?” What was he talking about? He stopped and pulled back to look at her. “When we get home my dear, you are going to get that flogging you so desperately desire, Kara-mia.” “Oh, Robert.” Her stomach fluttered. “Really?” He didn’t answer, only pulled her to him and took her lips again in possession. She leaned into him, giving her heart and body into his hands. As the carriage pulled up to the small manor house, Robert sat back, taking obvious pleasure in the way he flustered her. Kara took several deep breaths to focus herself on being presentable and accepted his hand down from the carriage. When Robert didn’t let go, but led her up the steps and into the house, she hid her trembling, allowing him to take her as he wished. The house had once belonged to the Walton’s gardener, one of several outbuildings on the family estate. The bank, forbidden to sell off any of the property had turned the

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great house into a maritime museum in order to keep it going and not deplete the assets Margaret had entrusted to them. Robert had decided to leave it as such for the time being, content to live simply with only a groomsman who doubled as a carriage driver, a cleaning woman who came in once a week, and a cooking service that prepared meals for the week. “Over six months, I watched how you cook, my dearest,” he had explained, “and a microwave oven is no match for a true meal.” All she had to do was take the already-prepared meals out of the fridge and warm them up, so Kara agreed wholeheartedly. The food was better than her own and with none of the work. But no servants lived with them, an improvement over the “old days” as Robert called them. No one watching over his shoulder, commenting and gossiping about his activities. No one to have to hide from when he wanted to read books his father had forbidden. And now, no one to worry about when the two of them were bent on sex. They planned to eventually remodel the house’s four small bedrooms into two or three larger ones, but for now, the room beside the one they shared as husband and wife had become what Kara affectionately called their dungeon. Not that much was there. Just a few hooks in the walls and ceilings—Kara loved the strong, old wooden beams that ran the width of the room—an old table that held the basket of toys from Kara’s apartment, and a massage table Kara found at a local store in the town down the road. A pegboard hung on the wall in anticipation of implements to hang there, but as yet, nothing did. Captain Walton had proven to be very picky in the items he wanted, and Kara loved him for it. This was the room Robert led her into now, having paused along the way only long enough to take off their coats and throw them over the back of a chair downstairs. Time later to hang them up. Right now, both had more urgent needs to be dealt with. At the door to the room, Robert paused, holding Kara in his arms. “I am not going to be gentle.” She nodded. In the month since their wedding in the hospital chapel, their sex had been intimate and loving. Robert had spent hours exploring every inch of her body,

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making her alternately squeal and whimper. He’d tied her down for several of his exploratory sessions and Kara had loved every bit of it as he worked to regain his former strength. Day by day he had grown stronger, the muscles firming under his shirt, his body filling out after so many years encased in ice. Kara felt those muscles holding her now, the sensible part of her brain noting that she would already have to buy him new shirts, as the one he wore stretched at the seams across his shoulders. “Be as rough as you wish, my captain,” she told him, hoping his touch would soon shut down that conscious part of her brain. “In time, my love. First, I want to see you naked.” He helped her pull off the sweater she had worn against the English chill, then watched, his eyes devouring her as she slid her jeans off and dropped them beside the door. Although tempted to tease in taking off her bra and panties, Kara whipped them off instead, she was so impatient for what was to come. Her captain pulled her into his arms. If pressed, she would find it hard to explain to people the two faces he could wear. How one moment he could be Robert, a man indistinguishable from any other twenty-first century man, and the next, Captain Walton, a nineteenth century sea captain. Almost as if Robert had learned how to school his passions—passions the Captain gave into. She felt the heat rise inside her in response. He was not the only one who kept passion in check in public and let it out when they were alone. Bit by bit, Kara was learning how to let her own inner vixen come to the fore. The Captain buried his face in her hair. “Kara-mia. My own Kara. I hungered for you for so many generations. I did not know it was you until I saw you making love to that boy in your apartment. Do you remember?” She nodded, her arms coming up around his shoulders. “I do. I thought about you every time Peter got out the flogger.” “He got better, but he could never take you far enough.” 91

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Kara looked at her Captain. “I trust you, my love.” He smiled down at her, gentle and almost pityingly. “Then lie down on the table, facedown, and I shall take you to heaven Kara-mia.” Leaving the warmth and security of his arms for the cold vinyl of the massage table wasn’t easy. She lay along the length of the table, looking down through the peephole and shivering. “Are you cold, my love?” She heard the Captain’s voice, deeper now as he settled into his role. Lifting her head, she tossed it to get her hair out of her face before answering. “I have goose bumps. But whether from the vinyl or you, I’m not sure.” She grinned and put her face back down. His warm hand on her back made her shiver again. His voice spoke very close to her ear. “The table covering is not what makes you shiver, my love. You ache for my touch.” She did. God help her, she most certainly did. His hands, warm and sensuous, massaged her shoulders and she felt herself relax as they worked her muscles. Deeper and deeper he probed with his fingers, finding all her trigger points, rubbing them out as her mind began to drift, lulled by his touch into a soft, almost dreamlike state. She barely registered the fact that he cuffed her wrists and ankles, anchoring them to the sides of the table, or that he had fastened a rolled-up scarf around her neck so she wouldn’t be able to lift her head from its comfortable spot. She just drifted, his fingers weaving a spell of relaxation throughout her entire being. The sensation changed, but Kara didn’t move. Only dimly did she realize his hands no longer massaged, but that strips of soft deerskin floated over her skin. Mesmerizing, they circled over her back, her thighs, the cheeks of her rear end…and then danced a figure eight before repeating the pattern. Kara sighed and the last of her thoughts went out with her breath. Now her mind simply hung there, empty, waiting for him to fill it. Small slaps from the deerskin 92

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sounded in the quiet of the room, slaps that thwacked against her skin, yet did not sting. Her ankles, fastened to the corners of the table, left a narrow gap between her legs. The deerskin fell here too. On the soft, sensitive skin between her thighs. When the strips landed there, her skin tingled as if being awoken for the first time and without volition a small noise whimpered in the back of her throat. And yet, she did not move or pull away. Although her mind registered the fact that the slaps had become harder, the will to move had left her. She wanted this. She reveled in the strokes that now consistently made her skin smart as they landed on her shoulders, on her thighs, on her ass. Although the force did not change, Kara moaned as the Captain increased his speed. No inch of skin was left alone for long. Over and over the flogger fell as he set her skin on fire. Little flames of heat flashed wherever the leather connected. Instinctively, she tried to bring her arms up, only to find them bound to the table. Her pussy flooded with her helplessness. His blows rained harder over her skin and her moans became cries. Alternately she tried to squirm away from them or direct them toward her pussy. She craved relief and didn’t know which kind she wanted more. And then they stopped. With a cry of surprise, she felt the table folding under her legs as the Captain dropped the lower half. “You are mine, Kara. Tell me. Let me hear you say the words.” Off balance and vulnerable, Kara felt the Captain standing behind her, his cock pressing against her through his pants. He was going to take her like this! Bound, helpless, her skin flaming with desire. “I will always be yours, Robert…Captain. Take what is yours!” His fingers probed her, testing her willingness. She cried out when he pinched her clit between his slick fingers. “Beg me.” 93

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She had heard that voice growl in her dreams, envisioned him making her body dance to his whip. But this time was for real and she begged. “Please, Captain. Please take me.” Her body rocked on the table with her need. She would have tossed her head, but the scarf prevented it, a discovery that only fueled her desire. So powerless. So exposed. So vulnerable. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his shirt land on the pile beside the door, and then his pants. She closed her eyes…waiting…wanting. And then he was behind her, his thick cock rubbing against her pussy. “Please…oh, Captain…Robert…let me feel you inside me.” His voice guttural and demanding, came from behind her. “I do not believe you want it enough, Kara-mia.” He slapped her ass, still pink from the flogging. “Oh!” The shock of it stung her and tears formed in her eyes. “I do! Please, oh Robert, please! Take me!” She practically screamed the last as she pressed back against him as much as her bindings allowed. For answer, his cock thrust into her in one deep plunge. So ready for him, she not only accepted his length, but instinctively pushed back to gather as much of him inside as she could. Over and over he thrust and over and over she accepted him, glorying in his use of her body. Her mind, lulled by his touch, awakened by his demands, now careened around the clouds, anchored to the earth by only his touch. But his cock was insistent and she didn’t stay long in the clouds, drawn back by feral need awakening in her. Letting go, she rutted against him like the creature of passion she longed to be. His cry mirrored hers as they came together, the waves of desire crashing in a torrent of orgasmic fury. They moved as one, their minds and bodies connected, together after far too many years apart. Le petite mort, Robert had called this moment—the few seconds where the curtain between life and death thinned. They hung there together, their spirits entwined for an eternal moment. 94

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But when Kara plunged back to earth, this time her Captain stayed with her, no longer existing only in the realms of the spirits. Together their cries filled the house, together their bodies moved as one until both were spent and exhausted. Robert released her bindings as Kara, relaxed and sated, floated in a haze of contentment. When he picked her up, carrying her to the bed they shared, she nestled into his arms, knowing she had found peace, comfort, and protection all in one incredible man. It might have taken two hundred years, but Frankenstein’s Captain had his love.

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About the Author For many years, Diana Hunter confined herself to mainstream writings. Her interest in the world of dominance and submission, dormant for years, bloomed when she met a man who was willing to let her explore the submissive side of her personality. In her academic approach to learning about the lifestyle, she discovered hundreds of short stories that existed on the topic, but none of them seemed to express her view of a d/s relationship. Challenged by a friend to write a better one, she wrote her first BDSM novel, Secret Submission, published by Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

Diana welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Diana Hunter Cabin Fever Diamond Studs anthology Hooked Irish Enchantment anthology Learning Curve Secret Submission Table for Four

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