Page 20 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET’S CURSE

I awake for the first time in several days, tied to a tree and sitting in front of a fire burning low.

More cursed light.

Meat is being smoked alongside the flames.

Where am I?

The cold bite of the rope restraints cuts into my wrists, the bark of the tree is rough against my back, and my breath comes out in ragged snarls. My body is soft and weak.

I cannot break free, despite the need to move. To run. My legs and feet tense as I fight against the restraints. The world around me blurs, pulsing with red light, shifting between shadow and fury.

The forest is vast, and the trees stretch upward around me. The air smells like frozen earth. Wind rustles the canopy, sending fragmented beams of moonlight dancing over the area where I am tethered, and every flicker of light feels like a predator moving just out of sight.

I need to break free and go south. It is a direction that I would understand even if my eyes were closed. I will go as far and as fast as necessary, tear down any pillar of flesh that stands in my way, until, at last, I reach my destination.

A voice slithers through the darkness .

"Arlet."

The sound cuts through the haze of instinct and rage. A masculine tone momentarily calms the wretched, hunger gnawing at my belly and the urge to run.

“You wake at last. It is good to feel you. Continue your path, darkness will guide your steps.”

A pull, like talons sinking deep into my chest, drags at my soul. My vision swims, the hunger to run surging again, and I thrash against my bindings. I kick off the blankets covering me. My limbs strain and my body contorts.

Whoever tied this was cautious. A growl builds in my throat, vibrating through my bones.

Movement draws my attention to the side, and I see the blue-skinned warrior with silver hair and a gaze like that of tempered steel. He was there the last time I awoke, intruding in my room. He stood in my path just as he does now.

I… think I know him.

His presence tugs at something buried deep, but he is not the one I seek.

He is in your way. Kill him, as you did the other. Use a knife, and I will guide you. Or better yet, use your fingers.

This voice is different from the first that spoke to my mind. Deeper. More ancient.

You will like the feel of his blood on your skin.

My lips peel back, exposing my teeth. My body lurches against the restraints. Rip. Tear. Kill—just as I had the other one.

I salivate for his death.

Then—another voice, fragile, distant, yet familiar.

Stop !

It is my voice. The words flicker at the edges of my mind, an ember in the storm of my thoughts. My breath hitches.

“Arlet,” the man before me murmurs, his voice impossibly soft. It is strange that a thing so delicate engulfs me so entirely.

The sound wraps around me, tugging me back from the precipice.

And then I slip, my focus breaks.

I flinch, panting and shivering. My muscles lock as the monstrous desire inside me fights to reclaim its hold. I am trapped between control and ruin.

Vann crouches beside me, the moonlight catching the silver in his hair. The glow casts long, flickering shadows over his sharp features, his expression unreadable yet unwavering. He does not flinch. Does not step back. Instead, he reaches forward, his hand pressing against my arm, solid and warm.

I snarl and try to bite him. It is involuntary.

“Easy, Firelocks. I see your eyes. I know the darkness is retreating.” His voice, quiet but unshaken, slips through the madness and settles deep in my soul.

I shudder. My body trembles, my instincts scream, but I do not lunge. I do not snap.

Tears burn, hot against the cold sheen of my skin. I am so tired. “Vann, I?—”

“I know.”

His fingers curl gently around my neck, grounding me. The hunger writhes. He brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, his touch so cold and careful that it sends a sharp pang through my chest.

“You’re going to be all right,” he says, not as a question, but as a certainty.

The exhaustion surges forward, dragging me down like a wave. The voice in the dark still whispers, but it is fainter now.

Exhaustion from a full day of walking returns. It almost makes me forget I am tied up.

The thought of ropes bound around me again should make me afraid, but I find myself welcoming the barrier between me and Vann.

Ropes symbolized a lack of power in my life—something that had resulted in a loss. Now, something lurks inside of me so frighteningly powerful that I must be restrained to avoid killing.

“Vann, I heard a voice,” I murmur .

He studies my face. “I know. It spoke to me.”

I furrow my brow. He heard the person calling me back?

“What did it say?”

“Stop,” he responds easily.

The memory of awaking in my cursed state is not total darkness, as other memories like this had been, but I remember the thing inside me recognizing him.

It wasn’t the same voice I heard.

“Your eyelids droop, Firelocks,” Vann says. His tail retrieves the blankets I’d kicked off, and he places them over me, using his hands to tuck it into my sides. After, his tail curls around my covered foot, and squeezes. “Sleep.”

It’s so comforting. I want to continue talking, but every muscle in my body is sore.

My lashes flutter, and the last thing I see before I succumb to the weight of sleep is Vann, still watching over me, his touch burned into my skin and anchoring me to the now.

I should have said thank you.