“Whether you like it or not, Analise, you will marry and ensure the continuation of our bloodline,” Magnus, alpha of the Asmundr clan and Elder of all the bear clans, bellowed loud enough to rattle the hall windows. “Do you understand me?”

Analise stood before the dais and throne-like chair that marked her father’s status as alpha, gritted her teeth and answered with a nod. There was nothing else she could do. Her father ruled the clans with an iron rod, and argument was not tolerated. Ever.

Duty, honor and sacrifice.

The words had been drilled into her relentlessly from the day she’d been born. The day her mother had died giving birth to her. In one fateful moment, she’d not only stolen his wife, but also a bear-mate, one of the few women capable of bearing him an alpha son. He’d never forgiven her for that.

“Speak up, girl!” Magnus roared. The guards who flanked the dais looked ahead. All bears, they were used to their alpha’s rage and volume. There would be no help from that quarter. None of them would risk incurring her father’s wrath. Not for her.

“Yes, Father. I understand.”

The words were dust in her mouth and her stomach churned. She’d always known she would have to marry one day; she just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Most of the time her father ignored her existence as long as the holding ran smoothly and when he did notice her, his disdain was apparent. It didn’t help that she was small and slight. Her appearance, though, had its advantages. Most people assumed she was years younger than she was. Being called a “girl” had gone from being an insult to a cloak to hide behind.

She’d thought she had years yet before her father realized she was of marriageable age. Years to study the books their ancestors had brought from the south lands after the wars and learn something useful. Years to learn how to survive in the snowy wastes outside the thick walls of the stronghold so that one day she could make her escape.

But she didn’t have years after all. She had to marry, and that marriage would not be of her choosing. Her father would trade her in marriage to further the clan’s interests and his own agenda.

Taking a deep breath, she ignored the crushing disappointment. Her happiness was not a consideration. It never had been.

“Good!” Magnus levered himself out of his chair, stomping down the steps to tower over her.

She looked up at him, her expression carefully neutral. Not too happy, but not cold. She’d perfected the look years ago. Nothing that could be considered insolent or anything other than the perfectly dutiful daughter in any way.

“The ball will begin at nine,” he rumbled, reaching out and gripping her chin in one massive hand.

It hurt, but she fought back the wince. She’d learned not to show any kind of pain to her father. Pain was a weakness, and he did not tolerate weakness. From anyone… A face flashed across her mind’s eye—a boy’s face, twisted in pain as he held his arm close to his chest. Ruthlessly, she shoved the memory back into the box in her mind from which it had escaped.

“All the clan alphas will be here, along with their heirs.” He turned her chin this way and that, studying her face like a buyer would a horse. “You’re small and weak, not like your mother—she was a real bear woman—but hopefully one of them will find you attractive enough to bed at least once to get me an heir.”

Her cheeks burned. She was aware she was smaller than other women in the clan. Bear women tended to be tall and sturdily built. Big, strong women who could withstand the harsh conditions of their snowy home. The weak did not survive in the Arctic Circle for long. Plus, she wasn’t a shifter, but not many females were. Anger surged for a moment before she beat it back down again. That fact hadn’t stopped her father seeing that as yet another of her failings.

“I expect you to be nice to them,” he warned. “And for snow’s sake, make yourself presentable. Perhaps if we load you with enough jewels, then they’ll overlook…everything else.”

“Yes, Father.” The safest answers were always short ones. “May I be excused to get ready?”

The ball was still hours away, but she recognized the gleam in her father’s eye. Unless she did something, this little conversation would escalate into a full-scale post-mortem of her many failings. And once he got up to full steam, a lecture like that could take hours.

“Hmmmm. I suppose so.”

He let her go, shoving her face away. It was a small movement for the big werebear, but it made her stagger backward. Quickly, she righted herself. Thank snow she hadn’t fallen. Nothing would have stopped the lecture if she had given such a visible demonstration of her weakness.

“Make sure to be on time tonight. If you know what’s good for you.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Without another word, she turned and, back straight, walked from the room with as much dignity as she could muster. The roar of ribald laughter behind her told her that her father had already forgotten her existence and was laughing and joking with his men.

A mix of anger and pain filled her as she trudged down the corridor toward her room. Sometimes she wished he’d decide she was too weak and pathetic and throw her out into the snow. It surprised her that he hadn’t cast her out as a baby when it became apparent she was sickly and not worth the effort of raising her. But daughters could be married off, and her father was all about the advantages.

“It’s so romantic…” A voice echoed from the corridors ahead of her, and she turned the corner to find two maids cleaning silverware. “You know they say their alpha, Scar, is the long-lost son of the Osbjorn clan. A true alpha. Handsome, too…”

“And how would you know that, Kela? Like you’ve seen him.”

“The Einar rode through my cousin Jessian’s village a couple of weeks ago. She saw him through the window. Said he was so handsome half the women in the village fainted on the spot, and the other half wanted to bear his cubs.”

As soon as they saw her, both women ceased their chatter, watching as she walked past. Analise didn’t give any indication she’d heard them, keeping her head high and her hands folded lightly in front of her. She also ignored the whispers that started up behind her.

The servants always gossiped, especially about the rogue clan who had set up home in the southern wastes. Comprised of outcasts and rebels, they’d gained the usual romantic reputation those who went against the establishment normally did. And it didn’t hurt that their leader, Scar, was mysterious and apparently charismatic and handsome. Like everyone else, she listened to the rumors and rooted for them, even though she knew as soon as Scar and his band became too much of a problem, her father would mass an army and wipe them out.

She had more things to worry about than gossip. The midsummer ball was the highlight of the clans’ social calendar, so all the clans would be in attendance. That her father had invited potential suitors for her hand was no surprise; many matings were arranged at midsummer. So much so, it was often known as the marriage ball, and young girls looked forward to it all year. They prayed for time to move faster so they could don the white ball gown of a marriageable maid and get their moment in the spotlight.

Not her. As far as she was concerned, midsummer could be months away still. She bent her head, her hair falling forward to cover her expression as she reached her room and pushed open the door. Slipping inside, she leaned against the wood and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror opposite.

Pushing away, she walked toward it on silent feet. Petite and slender, she was as far from the ideal of werebear beauty as was possible. Even her hair marked her as different…blonde hair was a rarity in the Arctic Circle.

Reaching up, she pulled the gown down her shoulder. The skin was pale, but not unmarked. Her shoulder was decorated by three lines, jagged and uneven, similar to the scars a bear’s claws would make in flesh. It was the symbol of a bearmate and marked her as one of the rare women who could give birth to an alpha. When she’d been born, it had saved her from the icy fate usually meted out to the weak, but now it was something more…

It was her prison.

* * *

The ballroom was alive with music and laughter, but all Analise wanted to do was escape. Even the bitter cold of the arctic snow outside was better than being paraded like a broodmare in front of the alpha’s of the other clans.

“She’s a little on the skinny side,” her father’s voice boomed out, almost drowning the sound of the music. “But she’s as healthy as a walrus.”

He nudged her with his elbow, a silent demand for her to pay attention. She kept the maelstrom of seething anger inside and smiled obediently at her father’s companions. Karl, alpha of the Brynjar, was tall and so lean he reminded her of a cadaver. A shock of white hair was smoothed across his nearly bald pate, and the attempt at deception would have been amusing if not for the hard black eyes that surveyed her like she was a piece of meat. She fought back a shiver, not liking the way he looked at her at all.

Karl shrugged. “Eh, he only has to stick his dick in her a couple of times to get her with cubs. Not like he can’t find a more appealing armful to keep him warm on a cold night, is it, Brok?” He elbowed his son, who stood next to him.

Brok Brynjar was as tall and thin as his father, if a little heavier across the shoulders. His hair was dark brown, rather than white, but already it had begun to recede at the hairline. With his pale skin, it made him appear more like a vampire than a werepolar. He flicked a glance up and down her.

“As long as she has the mark, I don’t care.” He sniffed dismissively and looked away around the hall. His gaze lingered on a gaggle of young women near the large hearth. Dressed like Analise in white floor-length gowns, they were giggling and looking his way, obviously discussing him. A grin split his lips and he offered them a wave back, which sent at least three into near hysterics.

Ice settled in Analise’s heart as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. She could see her future already. Married off to Brok or someone like him. Forced to share a bed, have sex with a man she didn’t love to bear a cub, then she’d be farmed out to some remote holding somewhere, rarely to be seen or heard of again. If she was lucky. If her husband really disliked her, he’d force her to remain within clan society and watch as he paraded mistress after mistress in front of her. All proper, real bear women who could incite a man’s lust and love for her.

Weak, pathetic, useless… Her father’s taunts down the years rang in her ears and at each one, she straightened her back that little bit more, forcing steel into her spine. She might not be able to get out of her fate, but she sure as hell wouldn’t let it beat her or break her. She was made of stronger stuff than that.

You are beautiful just as you are.

Carefully, she pulled another voice from her memory, cracking the door it was kept behind with the utmost care so the other memories it was associated with, the ones she wasn’t strong enough to handle at the moment, didn’t escape as well.

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.”