Bearly Cursed: Fairy Tales with a Shift
By Cara Wylde
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About this ebook
A retelling of East of the Sun and West of the Moon
Girls my age usually spend their days dancing, singing, and dreaming of Prince Charming. Not me. I spend my days hunting and praying my poor parents and my dear sisters survive another harsh winter.
I never expected to find the solution to all my problems in the cave of the white bear I was hunting. My parents will never starve again, and my sisters will get to live that life of dancing and singing, but there's a catch: I must become the wild beast's wife. Giving up my freedom, accepting I'll never feel the warm touch of a man… it's all worth it for my family's happiness. So, I let the beast lock me up in its icy castle, and I get ready for a life of boredom and sacrifice. However, when my first night in the white bear's home turns into a passionate encounter with a mysterious stranger, I understand my life will be anything but boring.
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Bearly Cursed - Cara Wylde
CHAPTER ONE
My grandmother had always told me to choose with my heart. No matter how dire the situation, how great the risks, my heart would always find a way. The right way. And, most importantly, she had told me to listen to it when others would tell me otherwise. And they did tell me otherwise. All the time. My mother would tell me I was old enough to go find a job in town and work day in and day out to bring in some measly coins. But then, who would hunt and put food on the table? Certainly not my father, whose crippled legs barely allowed him to move around our cottage and feed the four chickens that were generous enough to lay eggs from time to time. Winter was coming, and that year you could feel it in your bones that it would be a harsh one. My two elder sisters worked for a cloth merchant in town. They woke up at the break of dawn, ate a piece of dry bread, then went down to town, where they spun yarn until late in the evening. The few coins they brought home at the end of the week went in a jar, along with the coins my mother earned by doing wealthy people’s laundry. We had to buy firewood for winter. Yes, my grandmother had told me to choose with my heart, but she hadn’t told me what to do when I had nothing to choose from.
Fall in the Northern Islands was a wild season. It was past midnight, and I was staring at the huddled figures of my sisters, who were shivering in their sleep, under a thin, battered blanket. It was raining so heavily and the wind was blowing so hard that the walls of the cottage shook. I couldn’t sleep. I was feverishly waiting for the first sunray because I had something to do. For five days I had been trying to track down the huge white bear I had seen by the frozen lake, and I had a feeling the next day would be my lucky day. I wouldn’t find any joy in killing the beautiful, majestic animal, but the bear’s skin would make a good blanket for my sisters, and its meat would last us for months if we preserved it right. Listening to the howling storm outside, I turned on the other side and reached for my bow. The cold wood felt right under my fingertips. It comforted me. Yes, the next day I would track down the white bear and sacrifice it to the dreadful gods of winter, hoping they would spare us once more.
***
The sharp wind played with the dark strands that had escaped my long braid. The fox wrap on my shoulders was the warmest piece of clothing I had, and it did its job well. Although old and scratched, my boots could still last a couple more winters, so I could roam the woods for hours in search of my prey. With the wooden bow in my hand and twelve arrows in my back quiver, I walked along the frozen lake, farther than I had ever gone in the 20 years I had spent on these cold, hostile lands. The sun was quickly moving up to the middle of the sky, and my stomach rumbled in protest. I had a small loaf of bread with me, but I was determined to eat only after I had put down the white bear.
It was past noon and it felt like I had been walking forever when I finally spotted it. There it was, coming out of the forest, without a care in the world, probably to fish in the lake. It sensed my presence too late. I had already placed an arrow in my bow and aimed at its huge, thick neck. The white bear turned to dash back between the trees and the arrow sunk into its shoulder. That was all I needed. Now it would bleed all the way back to its lair and it would be child’s play to find it. Placing a new arrow in my bow, I started following the red trail