The Winter Bear's Bride (Dubious Book 2) (2 page)

For a moment, she allowed herself to bask in the memory and the feeling the voice invoked. It was a boy’s voice, one with the rough timbres of approaching manhood. One she kept close to her heart, even if its owner was long dead, killed by her father for a weakness he couldn’t help. All to teach her a lesson that duty and sacrifice were her only future.

Aevar
… She breathed the name in the safety of her mind, but couldn’t recall his face any more. All she could recall now was his kindness and his voice, and even that was fading with time.

“Your servant, Magnus.” Karl nodded, obviously eager to mingle. “You have our offer, so if you should decide to align your interests with ours, then let me know. But for now, Brok and I intend to…participate in your excellent hospitality.”

Bowing slightly, the two Brynjars strode away, lost in the crowd within minutes. Her father favored her with a glance and rumbled under his breath.

“At least you made an effort. You look presentable,” he commented, with uncharacteristic praise as he swept a glance over her.

“Thank you,” she said, risking a small smile.

She tried hard not to let it, but a kernel of warmth spread through her chest. How pathetic was it that she yearned for such scraps of praise? Every aspect of her appearance tonight had been carefully planned. From the cut of her dress, with its panels falling from her shoulders designed to conceal her slender frame and give her a more robust appearance, to the dye she’d used to darken the light tones of her blonde hair, she’d tried to make her father proud of her.

Perhaps if she did, she could influence his decision on her marriage. The Halvard alpha’s son, Mikkel, wasn’t so bad. Tall and mostly silent, he’d been polite and kind to her on the few occasions they’d met.

Magnus grunted, his attention already gone from her. Without complaint, she made to follow him over to where the next alpha and his son were standing when a shout from the other side of the room made everyone freeze.

“Alpha! Lord Magnus!”

One of her father’s bears fought his way through the crowd, coming to a stop before them. Blood coursed down the side of his face and he limped badly. “The Einar are attacking. They’re through the outer perimeter and within the holding already. We have to fortify the hall!”

“What?” Magnus bellowed, shoving the man out of the way to storm toward the door.

Before he could reach it, they burst inward. Guests scrambled to get out of their way, women screaming as warriors poured through. Analise gasped, hand over her throat as the biggest man she’d ever seen sauntered through the doorway. “Scar…”

“Shit, we’re doomed. He’s a killer.”

“By the snow, he’s as handsome as they say.”

“His face…”

She didn’t need the whispers that flew around the hall to know the man dressed in black leather stalking toward her and her father was none other than the leader of the rebels. His defiance was written in every line of his body, and his identity, his name, in the ragged slash down one side of his face. She forced herself to keep looking. For a werepolar to have scarred so badly…the wound causing it had to have nearly killed him.

Scar came to a stop, dark eyes locked with her father’s.

“Good evening, Magnus. Wonderful little party you have going here.” He smiled, a brief flash of white teeth, which had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the fact he knew he had the upper hand. “Do I not warrant an introduction to your ravishing daughter like the other clan alphas?”

****

Scar heard the slight gasp Analise Asmundr gave, but held her father’s gaze for a few more moments before he allowed himself to look at her. And froze. She was as tiny and delicate as the stories said, a rare bloom amongst the blockier werepolar women. Unexpected lust rolled through him, waking his bear and making the beast within growl. He didn’t let any of that show on his face, instead looking her up and down.

Like the rest of the young women in the room, she wore a white dress. Wide-necked, it showed off delicate collarbones and the graceful sweep of her neck. Her hair was piled on top of her head, the curls a mousy brown that didn’t fit with her pale skin and chocolate brown eyes. Her gown was different from the others as well.

Where most showed off their, in some cases, ample figures, Analise’s dress had a cape attachment that fell from her shoulders to the floor, concealing everything apart from small hands clasped at her waist. All he got was the faint impression of a slender figure as the fabric fluttered around her in the slight breeze from the door behind him. Why would she cover herself up like that? For that matter, why would her father allow her to, if he was trying to get her married off? Surely, prospective suitors would want to see the goods, so to speak…

“What do you want, Scar?” Magnus growled, making no move to protect or otherwise shield his daughter.

Interesting.
Scar’s attention snapped back to the other bear.

“What does any other clan alpha want this night?” he asked, keeping his voice level and smooth when all he wanted to do was tear Magnus’s throat out on the spot. He had more reason than any bear alive to want the man dead, even if Magnus didn’t realize it yet. He would, though. Soon. Very soon.

“The rest are here in peace.”

Unexpectedly, it was Analise who broke the silence, stepping forward, her slight frame virtually vibrating with anger. “None of them have come here offering violence. Apart from you.”

Since she’d appeared at first glance to be the dutiful but silent pawn of her father that clan gossip held her to be, the move surprised Scar. From the look on Magnus’s face, it had surprised him as well.

“Quiet, girl,” the big alpha snarled, shoving her to the side. “I’ll deal with this.”

She staggered, and Scar moved without thinking, his hand snaking out to grab her elbow before she could fall to the floor. Behind him, his men surged forward, claws at the ready in case Magnus attacked.

Scar straightened, a growl in his throat for the Asmundr clan leader. His claws burned where they were buried beneath his fingernails, and his gums ached where his fangs wanted to drop down into his mouth.

“Careful, Magnus. We wouldn’t want you to have an…accident, now, would we? Not at a celebration like this.”

The message was clear. Take one more step forward and Scar and his men would lay waste to the entire hall. Only the trembles he could feel rolling through Analise’s body where he held her arm stopped him. Spoilt brat and chattel of her father she might be, but he wasn’t into terrifying women, despite what the stories said about him.

“A celebration you have brought blood to.” She yanked her arm from his grasp and turned to face him, glaring up at his face. “Please leave. Now.”

He bit back a smile. She was so tiny that she had to tilt her head right back to look him in the eye, but she didn’t back down. Despite the fear scent he smelt rising from her, her eyes flashed with anger. It was foolhardy to think she could stand up to him. One swipe of his claws and she’d be done for. But she did, and it was adorable.

“Now, now, darling, let’s not be so hasty. We haven’t been introduced properly.”

Reaching out, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. For a moment, she struggled, trying to recover her hand, but his grip was too firm, and she gave in, pressing her lips into a thin line. He touched the back of her hand and, for a moment, he was caught by her scent. It was as delicate and feminine as the tiny woman in front of him and utterly compelling.

“Lady Asmundr, a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he murmured formally, lifting his head to catch her watching him. For a moment, her mask slipped and the haunted expression in her eyes hit him in the gut. But, as he watched, the mask came up again, and she gave him a haughty look.

“I’m sure I can’t say the same, Mr…?”

Brat.
He smiled. She knew who he was. There wasn’t a person in the room who didn’t.

“Scar.” He humored her with a small smile. “Alpha of the Einar.”

He hadn’t let go of her hand, and found he didn’t want to. The fact she’d stood up to him amused and intrigued him, and despite his best intentions where she and her father were concerned, drew grudging respect from him.

This had been intended to be a lesson for Magnus. A lesson that the Einar were powerful, and there wasn’t anywhere Scar couldn’t reach. Not even here, in the heart of the clans. Of course, he knew a quick attack to gain entry was very different from capturing and keeping the Asmundr stronghold, but for a moment, he wished he had so he could keep Analise by his side.

She nodded, a graceful incline of her head, which only made him want to kiss the soft skin along the side of her tender throat. Her full lips pursed, making him wonder what they tasted like.

“I’m afraid, Lord Scar, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Lifting her hand as though to kiss it again, he pulled her forward quickly. Off balance, she caught herself against him, the fingers of her free hand spread across his broad chest. She froze, and he bent his head, lips a mere whisper from hers.

“I will, because you asked me to.” His voice was soft, but not so soft her father couldn’t hear and know the only reason more blood hadn’t been spilled was because of his daughter’s courage. “But make no mistake, we will meet again, Lady Asmundr.”

He was going to marry Analise Asmundr.

Scar’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he looked down on the Asmundr stronghold from the rise he and his men had paused on. Nestled in the whiteness of the snow, the twinkling lights made it shimmer like a jewel in the darkness.

They’d left the stronghold without incident. No surprise there…bears as full of pride as the Asmundr didn’t fancy a whipping twice in one day, although Scar had no doubts they were already downplaying what had happened and reassuring themselves of their fighting abilities and superiority. They were true-blood polars after all, and the Einar were rogues: outcasts and bitten bears. In the eyes of the clans, they were nothing. Less than nothing. They were the scum of the earth, and the clans wanted nothing to do with them.

The snow swirled and footsteps stomped toward him. Scar felt the anger of his second-in-command, Arick, as soon as the man reached his side, an impression borne out the instant he opened his mouth.

“What the snow was all that about in there?” Arick snarled, his deep voice heavy with his bear. “I thought it was supposed to be a quick in and out job, not fucking waltzes and flirting.”

Scar slid him a sideways glance. Arick was huge, even for a bear, with a face like carved granite and shortly cropped, dirty blond hair that made him stand out amongst the other bears, if they’d managed to miss the sheer size of him.

“I didn’t dance,” he pointed out, looking back down at the stronghold again. Getting in this time had been easy, but the next time wouldn’t be. Even now Magnus would be looking to shore up his defenses and strengthen the fortifications. That’s what Scar would have done, and while Magnus might have been an asshole, he wasn’t an idiot, not by a long shot.

“No, but you were flirting with Magnus’ daughter.” Arick folded his arms over a massive chest and looked out over the snowy landscape. Both men wore leather jerkins, their arms bare as the icy winds swept around them. Neither so much as flinched. Werepolars were built to take the cold.

But his little Analise wasn’t a werepolar; she was a bearmate. She’d need furs and blankets to keep her warm. When he wasn’t keeping her warm with his body, that was…

Scar locked down the thought, the fantasy weaving itself in his head of a happily-ever-after with the Asmundr alpha’s daughter, and gave Arick his full attention. “So what if I was?”

Arick lifted an eyebrow. “These men will follow you to their deaths. You want that to be over a piece of ass?”

Anyone else Scar would have knocked on their asses for a comment like that, especially about her, but Arick wasn’t just anyone. He’d found Scar when he was little more than a boy, injured and half-dead from exposure, and nursed him back to health. Still, a snarl managed to escape his throat at the big man’s words.

“Not just a piece of ass. A piece of ass that will make me leader of all the clans eventually. Or had you missed the fact she’s the Asmundr heir?”

“You could be leader of all the clans anyway. We have the numbers. We can take them anytime we want,” Arick grumbled.

Scar shrugged. “Why take when we can get them to give us the keys to the lot?”

Arick watched him, gaze steady. It was obvious he wanted to say something. He didn’t often offer an opinion, so when he spoke, Scar listened.

“She’s the type of entitled bitch you’ve always hated. In fact, the entitled bitch you always rant on about.”

Scar sighed. It was true, he couldn’t get away from that. His rants about the purist beliefs rife in the clans all centered on Magnus and the Asmundr. Analise, seen by everyone as her father’s pawn, didn’t escape unscathed from those rants. For years he’d assumed she was just like them, that she looked down on everyone she considered lower in rank than she was.
Just like she had all those years ago…
He cut the thought off. No, he wasn’t going there.

Looking at Arick again, he nodded. “She is. But if I have to fuck that to get what our people need, then I will. Happily.”

The bigger bear snorted. “Yeah? Really taking one for the team there, aren’t you? I suppose it escaped your notice that she’s tiny and all…” He waved his hands in a curvy shape in the air.

Scar’s inner bear growled. He’d noticed—of course, he’d noticed—but the beast didn’t like the fact that Arick, or any other man, had noticed. She was his, end of story, and if he could, he’d carry her off to his lair and make sure no man ever laid eyes on her again.

“Heads up. We’ve got incoming.”

Arick paused to scent the air, then smiled as a figure emerged out of the falling snow in front of them. Swaddled in a thick cloak, the shape was undoubtedly feminine, the face familiar when the woman dropped her hood. An older woman, with white hair, she still retained hints of the beauty she had been in her youth.