Torben is a bear shifter struggling to pass a test laid on him by his power-hungry stepmother. Bound into his beast form during the day, able to be human only at night when the darkness hides him, he must find a wife. She can know him only as a bear and a bodiless voice in the night. For one year, she must let him keep his secrets, trust him as a wife should trust her husband. But what woman will climb into bed with a bear and trust it is a man waiting for her?
After witnessing her mother's murder left her blind, Leta had to put away her sword and her dreams of becoming a bard. Now she is resigned to a calm life where the best she can hope for is a good marriage that will take the burden of her care from her father's shoulders. When her father claims the gods have sent a man to be not just her husband, but perhaps her savior, Leta has to take a leap of faith...and hope she falls in love.
It was on the tip of Leta’s tongue to
argue, to tell her father what he could do with his suitor who thought he could
fix the poor little blind girl. But she bit it back. This was what they’d hoped
for, what they’d thought would be impossible. This was no time for her battered
pride to make a stand.
“I’ll meet with him.” She took a deep
breath and straightened her spine. “Perhaps you could invite him to dinner this
week?”
Her father cleared his throat. “He’s here.
Now.”
She slumped, hands going limp in her lap.
“What? What do you mean he’s here now?”
“He’s here…for you.”
“He’s…” Her voice was a pathetic squeak,
and now it was her turn to clear her throat. “Father…are you telling me you’ve
already given him my hand?”
“I signed the marriage contract five
minutes ago.”
His voice was a whisper, so quiet she
might not have heard it two months ago, before she’d lost her vision, when her
other senses had not been quite so keen. She swayed and put a hand on the floor
to steady herself. She’d agreed to an arranged marriage, had given him her
blessing to find her a suitor. But…
“I don’t understand. Why so quickly?”
“Leta, it’s been two months. I’d hoped you
would come through this on your own. I prayed you would come through this on
your own. But you haven’t. I don’t know how to help you. I…” His voice broke
and he groped for her hands, took them in his trembling fingers. “Leta, you
need someone who will make you feel safe, who might be able to bring you
through—”
“And what if there is no through this? What
if this is who I am now, what I am now?” Her muscles tingled with the urge to
stand, to stalk away from him, storm off in a healthy fit of justified
indignation. “You couldn’t let me have any dignity? Couldn’t let me go into
this arranged marriage like any other woman? You had to send me off to be
fixed, as though I were a table with a wobbly leg?”
Experience kept her kneeling on the floor.
If she tried to fly off in a rage, she would succeed only in humiliating
herself. High emotions flustered her, made it harder to remember where all the
furniture was, how far the wall was. A broken nose or bruised shins wouldn’t
help anyone, and it certainly wouldn’t do her wounded pride any good. And so
she sat there, a prisoner. Locked in a dark world.
“Well then,” she said, her voice tight, “I
suppose I’d better go meet the man who will be my nursemaid from now on.”
“Leta—”
“Are you going to escort me out, or would
you like me to feel my way there, give him a good idea of what he’s getting
himself into?”
“Leta, please—”
“Very well.” She was being childish now,
but she didn’t care. She surged to her feet and stuck her arms out in front of
her, swinging them side to side as she took small steps toward where she
thought the doorway was. Her nerves screamed with heightened awareness, bracing
to be struck by something, as if the room were suddenly full of stalactites.
Ignoring her father’s protests, she shuffled forward, feeling in front of her
with the toes of each foot and the tips of her fingers.
Her father tried to take her arm when she
reached the door, but she shrugged him off. Composing herself as best she
could, she groped along the wall of the hallway, inching closer and closer to
the main room of the house. She was grateful there were no stairs, and she was
able to make it to the sitting room attached to the foyer without falling or
striking anything.
It was hard to describe how she knew
someone was in the room, even though she couldn’t see. Something about the
hairs on the back of her neck, a tingle down her spine that screamed at her she
was being watched. She always knew when someone else was in the room with her,
but this time there was something more. A thrill that brushed her
fight-or-flight reflex, filled her with a strange, warbling anxiety. Someone
was watching her. Someone…big.
Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t possibly
feel size, her mind chastised her. Still, her senses stubbornly refused to
admit any doubt. Whoever was watching her had a weight to his presence, and she
could feel it. She blinked and moved her eyes around, trying to see something,
anything, a slice of shadow or light that would give her a clue. But the
darkness remained as thick as it always was, silent and impenetrable.
A strange scent wafted past her nose. Musk
and the crisp scent of the wind off the mountains to the north. The faintest
hint of sea air. The floor creaked as someone shifted their weight. Her heart
skipped a beat and her instincts crowed in vindication. There was definite
weight to that sound.
If that was her husband, he was not a
small man.
“Are you really going to let the blind
woman stand here wondering if she’s alone in the room?”
“You seem very aware that you are not
alone.”
The voice was masculine, and so deep that
it vibrated things low in her body, quickened the pulse in her neck. She angled
her ear toward that voice, forming a mental picture of the room and her
visitor’s location based on where his voice had come from. It was lower than
she’d expected, as though he were sitting down.
“Leta, this is Torben Biorna. Torben, this
is my daughter Leta.”
“I understand I’m your wife now.”
She threw the words down like a gauntlet,
using her tone to make it clear what she thought of such things being settled
without her presence, let alone input. The floor creaked again, and somewhere
underneath that was a different sound that she wasn’t familiar with. Something
hard sliding against the wood. It was brief, too brief for her to consider it
closely. She frowned and tilted her head a little more, waiting to hear if it
would happen again.
“Yes, you are my wife.”
Again his voice did strange and wonderful
things to her body, teasing sensations from her with that hint of promise, that
faint brush of heat. Warmth washed over her cheeks, and she was horrified to
realize she was blushing.
If he noticed her embarrassing reaction,
he kept it from his voice. “Things progressed quickly, and I don’t blame you
for being displeased at your lack of participation. It is not how I would have
liked to begin our relationship, but I hope you’ll give me a chance to make it
up to you.”
She groped for her temper, needing it to
bolster her defenses against that voice. “My father says you think you can fix
me.”
“Leta,” her father warned.
“No, it’s all right. I would be offended
too, were I in her place.”
Another creak of the floorboards, followed
by that same sound. Leta leaned forward, and it stopped immediately.
“You do not need to be fixed, Leta. You
are not broken.”
Her father had spoken those same words to
her, more times than she could count. But they were different coming from this
man. He spoke with a definite authority, an unwavering confidence that said he
knew he was right. It touched something inside her, something frightened. A
tiny knot of tension she hadn’t been aware of relaxed.
“Torben was a solider.” Her father’s voice
was gentle now, encouraging. “He’s known a lot of men who had very strong
reactions after witnessing horrible things. He’s helped them.”
“Your father told me what happened to your
mother,” Torben said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Echoes of her mother’s screams filled
Leta’s ears. Her chest rose and fell more rapidly, her breaths sharper,
painful. Ice water trickled through her veins, chasing away the warm feeling
Torben had summoned with his words, his voice. The knot of tension returned,
trailing a string of others until she stood hunched in on herself, falling into
an all-too-familiar nightmare.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice
was weak, strangled by the memory peeking out at her like a monster from the
mouth of a cave. She held her hands out, feeling around herself for
orientation.
“Leta, here, come sit down.”
Her father took her arm, and she wilted
with relief and let him lead her to a chair. Sitting calmed her, took away the
awful feeling of disorientation that struck her when her emotions overwhelmed
her spatial sense. She fought her way out of the panic, tried to reorient
herself, remember where her husband was.
“We don’t have to talk about it.” He spoke
as if he’d sensed her discomfort, her need to know where he was. “Know only
that I am here to listen if you change your mind.”
She bobbed her head, grateful for his
willingness to let it go. “You’re going to stay with us for a while, then?”
Awkward silence billowed into the room
like dense fog.
“Leta…he’s your husband.” Her father
shifted on his chair, his discomfort announced by every squeak of the wood.
“You’re leaving with him.”
![Fire Brand by [Palmer, Diana]](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51HBD778pRL.jpg)
