Bear with Me
The Blood Realm Series #4
By
Jennifer Blackstream
Publication Date: April 4, 2017
Publisher: Skeleton Key Publishing
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Cover Designer: YOCLA Designs
A PRINCE TRAPPED
IN THE BODY OF A BEAR
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?
A BARD LOOKING
FOR HER VOICE
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.
Even a blind
woman can see when something is worth fighting for...
The Blood Realm Series
#3
The
Blood Rose Series #1
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.”
Jennifer
Blackstream is a USA Today bestselling author of fantasy/paranormal romance.
Urban Fantasy will soon be joining her repertoire, and if she doesn’t get hold
of the insidious roving gang of plot bunnies, there’s going to be steampunk
sprinkled in there too…
For news, new
releases, and a free copy of What Big Teeth You Have, sign up for Jennifer’s
mailing list on her website at jenniferblackstream.com.
Jennifer has
unfailing affection for the authors who have influenced her, including Laurell
K. Hamilton, Jim Butcher, and the sorely missed Sir Terry Pratchett. Her books
include humor, romance, and action, with enough darkness to keep things very
interesting.
When Jennifer
isn’t writing, she can be found re-watching Boondock Saints, Noises Off, or
Gross Pointe Blank. With one of those classics in the background, she might
also be searching Amazon for something she wants, but doesn’t need (Is there
any such thing as a kitchen gadget that isn’t an absolute necessity? And don’t
even get me started on office supplies…).
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