Snow Blind (Color of Snow Series, #1)

By LR Potter

Strange things are happening in Yorkshaven... black magic, witchcraft, and the appearance of fantomes - phantoms of the night, the blood-drinking shapeshifters. In the midst of these strange happenings is a young girl, Reina Devereaux, who is coming of age and is discovering untapped powers within herself.
Also ensnared in these events is Elias Snow, a man condemned by society because of his wife's suicide. Elias, just wanting to be left in his isolation, is thrust onto center stage to save a life. After Reina witnesses the murder of someone she loves, her mind is completely wiped of all memory. As she struggles to survive, and not knowing who to trust, she discovers love. Will the forces of the dark kill her dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: LR Potter
• Release date: Dec 11, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301711871

LR Potter

LR Potter, a central Florida native, currently resides close to the sandy beaches of Perdido Key in the northern part of Florida. Potter loves losing herself in the magic of a good book while listening to the sounds of the surf and hopes whoever reads her books finds the same escape. Being a lover of all literature, she writes over several genres. Check out my newest releases, Flawed Beauty and The Rush Series: Rush of Innocence (Book 1); Rush of Redemption (Book 2); Master of the Game (Rush series #3); Mastering the Devil Rush series #4) contemporary romances. Upcoming Works: Blood Havoc Sideswiped Cash on Fire Feel free to email me @ [e-mail] ~ I love to hear from my fans!

Book preview

Prologue

1908

Goosebumps rose on the surface of her skin as she slowly eased herself back against the claw-footed tub’s edge. Her auburn hair, more red than brown, appears copper as it floats on the water, lapping gently against her chin. She had warmed the water over the fire before placing it in the tub. Her lips quivered slightly as she smiled at the sheer absurdity of that. In the scope of things, the temperature of the water didn’t matter. She eased her arms out of the water and turned them palm-side up on the sides of the tub. She stared indifferently at deep red slashes on her wrists. Closing her eyes, she switched her mind away from the pain of the knife and concentrated on happier times.

She remembered her first sighting of the only man she ever loved, her husband, Eli. She had taken lunch for her father to the livery stables and then, just like that, Elias Snow had appeared, as if by magic or fate. Even with dirt and soot streaked across his face, he’d been beautiful with his dark brown hair and smoldering dark eyes. Her breath had caught in her throat at the very sight of him. He was an apprentice at her father’s stables. Her father said he was a natural blacksmith; and that was high praise coming from such a hard taskmaster.

She remembered her wedding day and the days preceding it, how her mother had worked late into the night for weeks prior, sewing tiny seed pearls onto her wedding dress. How she and her mother had scoured the hillsides day after day gathering flowers and then setting them out to dry. They had used those flowers to delicately line the pews in the church. The sun had merrily thrown its rays through the stained-glass windows of the church, warming the dried flowers, causing them to permeate the air with their light, sweet fragrance.

She couldn’t imagine even Cinderella had felt more beautiful and special than she had on her wedding day. She remained in the doorway before entering, watching him as he waited at the end of the aisle for her. He stood in his ill-fitted suit with his head bowed, as if studying the tops of his shoes had suddenly become the most important thing in his life. He shifted from foot to foot and kept reaching his hand up to adjust then readjust the unaccustomed tie at his neck. She remembered the sweet expression on Eli’s face when she appeared in her wedding finery. Everything and everyone faded into the background as he turned his head and slid his eyes up from her dainty ballerina slippers to the top of her copper ringlets cascading over her shoulders. A slow, incredulous smile radiated from his lips which made her blush. His expression was been precious and humbling.

She smiled at these memories, but her smile soon faded at what his expression would be the next time he saw her.

Turning her mind away from those thoughts, tremulously, she smiled again as she thought about the happiest day of her life, the day her daughter, Bianca, had been born. Gosh, how Elias had fumed about that name. He said it was too high-browed, but she thought the name was the most beautiful she had ever heard. Bianca had Elias’s black eyes and her coppery-auburn hair. Elias said Bianca had been kissed by the angels because of the heart-shaped birthmark on the side of her neck. When Bianca had graced her with her toothless smile, she had melted, knowing this had been her destiny…to be her momma. Bianca had grown into such a little tomboy. Many were the days she’d had to go find Bianca as she wandered down the riverbank with a cane pole in hand. She had always been afraid of the river and wouldn’t allow Bianca in it. She begged Elias to demand she not go near the river. But Elias said that was what kids did.

Again her smile faded. She’d been right to be afraid of the river. One afternoon, while hanging laundry up, was when she saw storm clouds brewing on the horizon. Elias wasn’t due home for several hours yet. Glancing at her laundry, her biggest concern at that time had been if it would dry before the rain fell. She did not realize then how incredibly stupid it was to waste thoughts and concern on something so trivial. She turned towards the river to yell for Bianca to make her way back home. She waited for her, tapping her foot with each passing minute, but she did not come. She called again, but still she didn’t appear.

Out of nowhere, a huge crack of lightning followed immediately by a crash of thunder and the rain seemed to come from nowhere. A massive amount of rain was pelting the ground. She again glanced momentarily at the now-ruined laundry and then turned and ran to the riverbank. She ran to all Bianca’s usual haunts but hadn’t found her, her heart pumping in her chest in fright. She ran up and down the river’s edge, calling her name frantically but not finding her. Then out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of brilliant yellow in the river…Bianca’s dress. She ran towards the yellow being washed down river and began screaming her name. She tried to catch up with her but the rushing water was just too swift. She knew she should jump into the water and attempt to save her, but she was frozen with fear. The water swirled and roared as if it had taken on a life of its own. She was afraid of the water, and no matter how she tried to talk herself into it, she just couldn’t make herself jump in. Instead, she continued to run down the river’s edge with the wind and rain stinging her face and skin. Eventually, she lost sight of her. She fell to her knees in the mud and sobbed.

It’d taken three long, agonizing days for them to finally call off the search. She begged them to continue and had spent countless hours walking the riverside day after day looking for Bianca. But she had never been recovered. She longed to hold her, to gather her one more time in her arms, but she had been denied. She spent hours wondering if Bianca had suffered or if she’d been afraid. She hoped that her death had been quick and painless. She wondered if maybe she had been brave enough to jump in the water, she could’ve saved her. She wanted to have some type of service for her beautiful baby girl, but she had been refused. Everyone, including Elias, had said it was pointless without a body. But she wanted to celebrate her life just one last time; to somehow make up for not saving her. But she was denied no matter how she argued. And no matter what they said to her, she knew the real reason they had withheld her final goodbye to Bianca from her: they all blamed her for her death. They all knew she was a bad mother. What kind of mother lets her own child drown while refusing to jump into the water?

The water in the tub had now grown cold but went without notice. She was beginning to get lightheaded and it wasn’t a feeling she minded. The initial stinging of her wrists as they entered the water faded. She heard the click of the knife as the blade hit the bottom of the tub. She hoped Elias didn’t mind she had used the blade he’d crafted to end things for her now.

As her thoughts began to get fuzzy and disoriented, she turned them again to happier days: days filled with Bianca running barefoot through the meadows; of Elias turning to her in the middle of night and whispering his love to her; and of running her hands over his smooth skin slicked with sweat. Her last thought before she slowly sank into the bloody water was of Elias lifting Bianca up on his shoulders, then flashing a brilliant smile before turning to reach for her hand.

Chapter 1

One year later…

∞ Reina Devereaux ∞

With a quick flick of my fingers, I impatiently push the hair out of my eyes as it attempts to obscure my view. I run my crystal blue eyes over the man pounding the hammer over the horseshoe he’s forming against the iron awl. He works without looking up or stopping, and sweat runs in rivulets over his face and down his body. The sweat causes his well-formed muscles, produced by this repetitive action, to glisten. I can’t help but catch my lower lip between my teeth when his shoulder muscles bulge beneath his thin cotton shirt as he turns to dip the scorching, red-hot horseshoe into a trough of water. Not wanting to be seen watching him, I stay hidden behind the wooden pillar of the barn across the street. I barely even register the smells of my hiding place as my complete focus is on the male vision before me. I swat at a pesky fly which tries to bid for my attention.

While it isn’t particularly fashionable, the object of my scrutiny sports both a mustache and goatee. His hair is dark, not black like mine, but a nice dark brown, and it’s longer than is deemed appropriate in polite society. But I don’t care, I like the way it is. His eyes are as dark as mine are light. The few times I’ve been close enough to look into his velvety-chocolate eyes, I’ve seen the shame, pain, and longing within their depths. I’m probably one of the few people who recognize these things. I ache for his pain and desolation. These feelings seem to call to me…it draws me to him in an unspoken bond. Of course, of the two of us, I’m the only one who’s aware of this bond. He is an island unto himself. He holds himself apart from those in this polite society. His self-enforced isolation is one of the reasons he appeals to me. I understand the need to safeguard oneself from the whipping lashes of the tongues of others. He is so appealing with his sad eyes and quiet contemplation. Still waters run deep, my mother always tells me. I have to agree with her on this one thing.

Is it any wonder I come here almost every day? The man is so indescribably beautiful. Blowing a steady breath between my lips, I lean forward against the rough-hued pillar and stare as his hands move assuredly over the now-cooled horseshoe. Running my tongue over my suddenly dry lips, I wonder what it would feel like to have those same hands run that assuredly through my hair and over my shoulders. My mouth goes dry; I can’t even contemplate anything beyond that.

My mother would so not approve of this man. She would think him too old and with too much baggage. I don’t care what my mother thinks. What can she possible know of how the world works in this day and age? She’s had a chance to live her life, and now…I want mine. I watch as every so often, he subconsciously reaches a hand up to gently touch the golden crucifix suspended around his neck. He touches it as if it is some sort of talisman. And maybe for him, it is.

I watch as he stops and stares off into the distance, somewhere far removed from the livery stables. Even from my position I can see his sad, mournful expression. I know what puts that soulful, gut-wrenching expression on his face; everyone does. The reason for his pain is why he is now shunned by our so-called polite society, even though he’d had no part in it. He’d been a victim, and yet those in this town have made him a leper. But he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seems to prefer his imposed solitude; left alone in his pain, his sorrow, his loneliness. Better than anyone, I understand all these things. Like him, I suffer from a similar pain from those in this town. I am also a victim and not responsible for the circumstances of my exile.

As I stand surveying the man across the street, I lean my head back against the wooden beam. My heart twists a little as I watch him take a shuddering breath before slowly drawing himself back to his task. I see the man of my desire, Elias Snow, glance quickly up the street. Following his eyes, I see two women from the upper-crust strolling down the center of town in their very high-class finery and umbrellas expanded to guard their fair skin from the ravages of the midday sun. As they draw close to Elias, they dip their umbrellas to shield them from his sight; as if the mere spectacle of him could in some way taint them. From my position opposite of him, I see them lean their heads together and giggle in disapproval. Eyeing him covertly from under their eyelashes, I watch them very pronouncedly move with exaggerated purpose, crossing the street to put as much distance as possible between them and Elias. Outrage pours through my body. How can they do this to him? What did he ever do but love someone? My heart begins to pound within my chest. Years of hurt and yearning build up inside me.

Without giving myself time to contemplate the saneness of my actions, and without looking down, I reach down and pick up two harden clods of mud from the ground at my feet. As the two ladies pass by my position in the barn, I take careful aim and throw the cods, one after the other, knocking the feathered hats off their two pompous heads. If I’d learned nothing else from being isolated from the town, I’d learned to throw straight and true. With silent, mirthful laughter, I duck down as they turn to see first what had hit them and then who had thrown it. I have to cover my mouth to suppress the giggle which threatens to escape my lips. The two ladies search but can’t see me where I’m hidden, and they storm off in a huff.

As they move from my view, I tentatively take a step out into the street to watch them as they fuss with their hats and complain loudly about their sudden travail. I raise a hand to my mouth to stifle the laughter as I watch them scurry up the street.

My heart stops and my lips freeze, when behind me I hear a low male voice say, Tsk, Tsk. Reina, you should be ashamed. What ever made you do such a thing?

Spinning towards the voice, I can’t keep my face from burning with embarrassment. Grabbling for the right words, I finally manage to stammer out, Uh, uh, they were…uh, uh, they didn’t…I mean… My face flames at my inability to look Elias in his beautiful face and answer his simple question.

Gently he tips my face up with his forefinger. Thanks, Reina. But I promise it wasn’t necessary. I don’t care what those women think, and you shouldn’t, either.

My breathing stops at the touch of his hand on my face. As I stare into his soulful brown eyes with my mouth open. I feel righteous indignation welling up inside me and I can’t seem to stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth. But they were mean to you. They deserved what they got – and I’d do it again!

Chuckling, he said, That’s quite an arm you’ve got there, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side.

I can’t stop the sharp intake of air at his words. His words wound me. He thinks of me as a child.

I feel the red stain creep up my neck and over my face, and indignantly I stammer, I’m not a girl, I’m a woman. Why, next week I’ll be eighteen.

With his lips twitching, Elias gives me a small bow of his head and says, Of course, my mistake.

My face burns further as I see the mocking glint in his eyes. Then without warning, I see his expression harden and his smile fade. I watch as he quickly glances around the street. As before, I follow his gaze and see several people watching us, observing our interaction. I watch as they elbow one another and lean in to whisper behind their hands.

With an exasperated oath, I say, Damn, I don’t need this, and without as much as a backward glance, Elias spins around and returns to the shadows of the stables, leaving me in his wake, alone again on the street.

I feel my chest tighten. Rejection rolls over my shoulders, thick and heavy, like sap running down the bark of a tree. My face burns again at the knowledge that he feels the same towards me as the rest of the town. Why did I think he’d be any different? Of course he doesn’t want to be associated with the likes of me. I struggle to control my breathing and swallow to keep the tears at bay. My heart feels like an open wound; an open wound which has been cauterized by the searing of a red-hot poker. Once I trust that my legs can carry me away, I quickly walk to my side of the street, away from him, and begin the long trek home.

Once I reach the outskirts of town, I can no longer keep the tears from streaming down my face. I angrily scrub them away, but they just keep coming. My heart squeezes painfully. From the depths of my seventeen-year-old heart, I love Elias Snow. I feel so foolish. I thought he, of all people, would understand my plight. I feel so many unknown emotions run through my body; hurt being the most supreme. Eli only sees me as a child; someone to be scolded and scoffed at. Didn’t he realize that I understood him and his pain? That I, in fact, live with his pain as well?

As I round the bend in the road, I glance up and see home sweet home; the cottage where my mother and I live. The cottage was built in the style of the ancient Indians in an adobe style. The windows in the front are encased in red shutters and Morning Glory vines rise up to intertwine their spindly trails, completely covering one side of the cottage. Taking a deep breath, I dismiss the innate beauty of the setting and begrudgingly make my way to its door.

As I walk sullenly through the door of the cottage, I hear my mother yell to me from the kitchen.

Reina Willmont Devereaux, you’d better have a good explanation for where you’ve been until this ungodly hour!

Rolling my eyes in exasperation, I bite my lip and reply, Sorry.

Walking into the front room, my mother, Rowena Devereaux, finishes wiping her hands on the dishtowel. Seeing the disheveled nature of my appearance, she gives me a frustrated sigh.

Reina, how many times have I told you not to be hanging out in the barn watching that man? Trust me when I say, no good will come of it. Don’t you think things are bad enough without giving people more ammunition?

"But I’m