Ice Man Read online

  Praise for the writing of Samantha Winston

  Paradise Earth: Adam and Evan

  Paradise Earth: Adam and Evan is a very tender love story between two men. They must learn to trust each other in spite of their differences, in order to accomplish their goals. I'm not sure I like Samantha Winston's vision of the future in this story, but I love how she's written it and what she's done with it. This is the first in a series of books and I can't wait for the next one to come out!

  --Chere Gruver, for Sensual Romance Reviews

  Adam and Evan is a fast read, partly because it’s a novella that’s only 42 pages in length, but also because it flows well; it can be finished in one sitting. Fans of Science Fiction who also enjoy gay erotica should read this book.

  --Johnny Charles, for Independent Gay Writer

  Ms. Winston creates a believable post-apocalyptic society on Earth and the characters are definitely not just bare bones. They have substance, which is amazing considering the length of the book. Much to my delight, there are already two sequels mentioned at the end of the book. Ms. Winston, thank you for a wonderful story and for opening my eyes to a new facet of erotic romance. A definite thumbs up for this book.

  --Michelle Naumann, for Just Erotic Romance Reviews

  Paradise Earth: Adam and Evan is a love story between two men in a desperate situation. There is a lot of hot and steamy sex in this story, and it seems to be the main focus… Samantha Winston had some really great ideas in the plot, which I would have loved to see more of. Overall, it has a good story line that I want to hear more about. It looks like there will be further stories about this world, and I look forward to learning more.

  --Julia, for The Romance Studio

  Paradise Earth: Adam and Evan is now available from Changeling Press.

  ICE MAN

  Samantha Winston

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book is rated:

  Contains explicit sexual content.

  Ice Man

  Samantha Winston

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © 2004 by Samantha Winston

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 1-59632-004-4

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Erin Mullarkey

  Cover Artist: Fabiano Fabris

  www.loose-id.com

  Chapter One

  Allie O’Shea closed the heavy, leather-bound book she’d been reading at her desk and looked at the man standing in front of her. He wore a crisp gray suit, a navy tie, and a CIA pin on his lapel. His presence wasn’t a surprise--he’d made an appointment--but it was a mystery.

  Allie motioned to the chrome seat in front of her glass-topped desk and leaned back in her chair. “What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

  “What I’m about to tell you is top secret,” he said. “Do you swear never to tell a soul what I’m about to tell you?”

  She felt a chuckle rising from her belly. This must be a joke. Who would pull such a stunt on her, though? The chuckle died. Nobody would, not in this building. No one teased her anymore; this wasn’t first grade where her short, stocky stature had earned her the nickname ‘Minnie.’ She worked with scientists, serious, highly trained people who rarely smiled, much less cracked jokes. No one here had ever displayed the slightest interest in her anyway except professionally. So this must be real. But what on earth could the CIA want with her? She shrugged. “Of course I swear. What is this about?”

  “Do you remember reading about the man found in the Arctic Circle last year?”

  “An Iron Age man in perfectly preserved condition found in the tundra beneath the permafrost.” She shrugged, but a spark of interest pricked her. “Did you find some writing in his belongings? Is that it?”

  Mr. Smith put his hands on her desk and leaned forward. “Not exactly, Ms. O’Shea. We need you because…” He paused and for the first time looked uncertain.

  She saw his hesitation and thought she knew why. “I’m older than I look. My specialty is ancient languages including cuneiform and Celt. If you found something written in his belongings, I think I can help you. I won’t know for sure unless I see--”

  “Ms. O’Shea, we know all about you. What we need is a translator. You see, the man in question is being reanimated in a station in Alaska. We have kept this absolutely confidential because of the repercussions of such an act; surely you can understand the need for secrecy in this…”

  Allie suddenly had trouble breathing. “Wait a minute. Hold on. Did you say reanimated? Are you saying that he’s, that he’s…”

  “Alive. Yes. Let me explain. It seems our Iron Age man’s body was in suspended animation, flash-frozen, as it were, and when we started thawing him out, one of the scientists had the crazy idea of running an electrical current through his body.” He gave a shrug. “Why refuse? The guy had been dead for thousands of years. Nobody could have predicted what happened next.”

  “His heart started beating.” Allie swallowed hard. “How long has he been in reanimation? He could be--no, he certainly is--totally brain dead.”

  The man shook his head. “All I know is that as soon as they saw the heartbeat, they stopped everything. The brain had to be protected at all costs. If anything went wrong, all they’d have would be a two-thousand-year-old vegetable. Our man has been in reanimation for nine months. His brain waves seem perfectly normal. We’re ready to wake him up now, and we want to be able to speak to him. We need someone who speaks his language; otherwise he’ll be totally disoriented.”

  Allie grimaced. He’d be totally disoriented no matter what. As if reading her mind, Mr. Smith continued, “He’s in a special environment, made to look as much as possible as an Iron Age dwelling. You’ll be there when he wakes up.”

  “When exactly will that be?” Disbelief warred with amazement and excitement. An Iron Age man! What incredible things he could teach them!

  “In three days. I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but you have to leave tomorrow. Your superiors know that you are needed on a sensitive case. We have contacted them already. But you will give no details. Please sign all the papers I’ll leave with you and bring them to the airport tomorrow. Meet me at terminal four, Air Alaska. Seven a.m. You won’t need to bring much, and you won’t be staying more than three or four days, so you won’t be missed here.” He handed her a sheaf of papers, on top of which lay a plane ticket. First class for Alaska.

  Her mouth went dry. “If you did any research on me at all you know I don’t fly. I can get there by train, can’t I?”

  The man’s eyes grew icy. “No, Ms. O’Shea. This is of the highest importance. Any refusal to cooperate fully will result in your immediate exclu
sion from this program. I assume you realize the honor it is to work on this project?”

  Oh God. She had to go. She had to see this man, talk to him, and communicate with someone from the past! This was the chance of a lifetime and she wouldn’t pass it up. She took the papers and nodded curtly. “I’ll be there.”

  Mr. Smith left without shaking her hand. Allie looked at the papers carefully. Sign on the dotted line. If they’d asked her to sign in blood, she would have. An opportunity like this happened maybe once a lifetime. She picked up her phone and buzzed her secretary. “Fiona, I’m going on a short trip, no more than a few days. Call Dr. Jarry and let her know I’ll be late with the translation but I’ll get it to her as soon as possible.” Now all she had to do was pack, and get the strongest sedative on the market for the plane trip.

  * * * * *

  The trip had been easier than she’d dared dream. The pills had worked their magic, and she’d slept through the whole trip, only waking up when the plane landed. The miracles of modern medicine--she could fly!

  She got her luggage and followed Mr. Smith through the busy air terminal. Wait a minute. The exit was that way. She tapped his arm. “Excuse me. Why are we going towards gates one through ten?”

  “We’re taking a private jet to the air force base. You didn’t think we’d be in the middle of a city, did you? We’re going to a secret station in the Arctic.”

  Her steps faltered. Panic froze her limbs and she stumbled. Oh God. If she died of a heart attack, would they be able to revive her at that secret station?

  The plane looked too small to fly. It perched on the icy tarmac like a child’s toy. Her teeth chattered and her hands felt like blocks of ice. She could hardly fasten her seatbelt. When the plane took off she jumbled all her prayers together and squeezed her eyes shut. Then the plane hit a cloud and started to bounce, and she passed out.

  “Miss O’Shea, you can open your eyes now. We’ve arrived.” Mr. Smith sounded exasperated. Tough. She opened one eye, then another.

  “It’s getting dark.” She unclenched her fingers from the arm of the seat and looked at her watch. They’d only been in the air for two hours. It shouldn’t be dark yet.

  “We’re above the Arctic Circle. It’s still dark most of the time. Get up and get your things. I hope you brought a warmer coat than that,” he added, looking at her down jacket.

  “I never get cold,” she said, shrugging into her plum-colored jacket and making sure she had her purse and her luggage. She stepped out of the plane and a gust of wind knocked her sideways. She skidded on ice and would have fallen, but a soldier dressed in a white snowsuit grabbed her and pushed her towards a door, seemingly set into a snow bank.

  Before entering, she turned and looked at the airfield. Airfield? She saw nothing but ice and snow. No buildings anywhere, only a line of blue lights showing the runway. Then the plane left with a roar, and soldiers turned off the blue lights. Nothing was left but murky darkness and whispering snow. A shiver tightened her belly and she turned and entered the station.

  Warmth and light greeted her at the end of a narrow tunnel. She stopped and stared. As huge as an airplane hangar, the underground station looked like a set from a sci-fi movie. She stood at the top of a metal platform and looked down at a beehive of activity.

  Harsh neon lights dazzled her eyes. A steady electrical hum formed a background to the sound of echoing footsteps, the murmur of voices, and the rustle of papers. Everyone, it seemed, carried a clipboard.

  Hesitantly, she walked towards a pod elevator where Mr. Smith motioned impatiently. “You can sight-see later. I have to introduce you to the group leader, Captain Bide. The man is waking up faster than we expected. Hurry!”

  His words jolted her out of her stupor and she rushed to the pod. Her luggage didn’t fit, so she left it on the platform. Someone would bring it to her room, Mr. Smith informed her tersely. The pod slid down a cable like a ski lift and deposited them next to a low building in the middle of the hangar. A crowd stood at the doorway, and as she got out of the pod, a tall, thin man in a white lab coat ran to her and grabbed her hand.

  “No time for chit-chat. Let’s get you dressed now. The subject is nearly awake and we can’t wait any longer.”

  The next few minutes flew by in a blur as she took off her clothes in a cubicle and pulled on a leather dress, leather boots, and a bear claw necklace. A bear claw necklace? She made a face as she touched one of the long sharp claws.

  “That will impress him. You’ll be a shaman, all right?” A gray-haired woman with a clipboard poked her head in the cubicle and beamed at her. “Let’s hurry now. No time to talk. Come on!”

  Before she could protest that she didn’t think the necklace was a good idea, Allie found her arm in the grip of an athletic-looking man who jogged her to a small door set in the wall. “Don’t be alarmed. He seems groggy, but he’s rapidly gaining consciousness. We’ll be following everything with a camera and we’ll be able to hear everything you say. Good luck.” He opened the door and shoved her inside.

  She found herself in what looked like a Viking longhouse. A nude man lay on a furry pallet near the fire. Firelight ran over his body, gilding it and showing flowing muscles beneath his smooth skin. He had dark brown hair, cut short and lifting in curls off his temples. Not very tall, but exceedingly well made and strong--the man’s physique took her breath away. Her nipples tingled and her belly tightened at the sight of him in a purely animal response to his nudity. He moaned and stirred, but his eyes remained closed.

  Her heart somewhere in her throat, she crept towards him, stopping long enough to take off the stupid bear claw necklace. If he were a Celt or a Viking, the necklace would frighten and confuse him. A young woman would not wear such a symbol of power; only a very old woman could aspire to such trappings.

  She knelt by the pallet and shook her head. He would not like waking up on the floor either. He should be on a bed. She looked upwards, trying to spot the camera. They hadn’t tried to hide it, probably figuring the man wouldn’t be looking for them. A small camera peered out of a chink in the wall. She looked at it and said, “Can someone come inside and help me get him into a decent bed?”

  The door opened in the wall, and a man poked his head in and whispered agitatedly, “Do not, I repeat, do not try to contact us. Pretend you are in a primitive land and just do what you have to do. We will not come in unless your life is in danger. And Dr. Paula says to put the necklace back on.” He glared at her and shut the door.

  She sighed and looked down at the man.

  Dark brown eyes stared back at her. He looked puzzled, but not frightened. He studied her for a long moment, his eyes going from her hair to her feet. Then they settled on her breasts. His eyebrows lifted a fraction.

  Allie felt hot blood burn her cheeks, and then she remembered. She’d forgotten to take off the silver crescent moon necklace she always wore. It lay between her breasts, probably a glaring anachronism that would send the man into hysterics.

  He cleared his throat and a few guttural sounds came out. Nothing she recognized as speech. Great, she wouldn’t be of any help at all.

  Then he lifted himself on one elbow and said, in a halting, broken voice, “I have great thirst.”

  She understood! Granted, the accent didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard, but she’d understood what he’d meant. He spoke Latin, but hesitantly, in a strange dialect. Who was he and where did he come from? So many questions jumbled in her head!

  He coughed and pointed to his throat. “Do you have anything to drink?”

  “A thousand pardons,” she said. A pitcher of water stood nearby, and she poured him a cup. Everything was made of glazed pottery. She wondered if it looked odd to him.

  He sat up and drank, the water moving in knots down his throat. He wiped his arm across his mouth and nodded. “Thank ye.”

  “You speak Latin. Are you Roman?” She read he’d been found in northern Scandinavia. Could he be a Roman soldier?
>
  He rubbed his hands over his face. “Nay. I am Celt from the kingdom of Gaul.”

  “You speak Latin well.” She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Never had she seen such a handsome man. He seemed as unaware of his nudity as a wild animal, and like a wild animal he stretched and flexed his muscles, testing his arms and legs as he spoke.

  “I also speak Greek, Goth, Pict and Celt.” He broke off and looked at her thoughtfully. “I know not who you are, nor where I am. ‘Tis strange. I can recall the tongues of man, but not my own name.” He looked around the room. “This place calls not to my memory. Where am I?”