Page 21 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET

T he sound of scraping draws me from a dreamless sleep. When my eyes open again, it is to the early-morning light straining through a flap of leather. A blanket is pulled up high enough to cover half of my face.

A rush of anxiety pumps through my veins, and I bring out my hands to inspect them for blood. Flipping my ungloved hands over and over, I see nothing.

They are clean, save the dirt building up under my nails.

Nothing.

My whole body relaxes at the word, yet I still feel my heartbeat in my ribs. I blink once, glimpsing blood behind my eyelids. Wringing my hands, I feel over the bumpy scars on my fingers. While the movement in those fingers is mostly normal, they always tend to be a bit colder than the rest of my hand.

Pushing up onto my side, I look around at the brown, leather tent. Cave bear leather, likely.

My brows draw together. I definitely didn’t fall asleep here. My boots are set near the front of the tent, and the rope Vann used to bind me is laid there.

I suck in a sharp breath.

Last night hasn’t faded totally. It’s shrouded in a dark red veil, but it’s there. The rage, the hunger, the way the world narrowed to the single, overwhelming need to destroy and run.

And Vann had been in my way.

Thank Endu I’d been bound, and thank Vann he’d brought me inside.

When I push out of the small dwelling, I find Vann kicking ice over the fire, the sun’s rays casting restless shadows over his face. I watch him carefully, searching for something to tell me what he’s thinking.

“Good morning,” I say gently.

He looks up, and for a moment, he stares. His silver brows pull together, and his jaw tightens, as if he’s bracing for something. Then, in two strides, he’s in front of me, kneeling to bring himself to eye level.

“You’re awake,” he says. His gaze drags over my face, searching.

“I am,” I murmur. I should be angry about last night. Maybe I am. But mostly, I’m exhausted. Tired of not understanding what’s happening to me. Tired of feeling like something inside me is twisting and pulling in ways I can’t control.

I know he wants honesty, but I don’t know if I am ready to tell him that.

His throat bobs. He exhales sharply, raking a hand through the loose hair above his braid. “Are you well?” he asks, low and rough. “Last night I tried—” He stops himself. “When I went to check on you, you were ice cold, even with the fire. I brought you inside.”

With you? I wonder. The thought sparks something inside my chest. I reach for his wrist, and he flinches—not away, but as if the warmth of my touch is startling.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He covers the spot where I grab him with his other hand, and then moves my hand.

“You… are welcome.”

“Did you sleep?” I ask, reaching back and pulling the blanket tighter around me. The morning air is cold.

He nods once. “We did not touch while you slept, if that is what you wonder. I would’ve asked before bringing you in, but you didn’t stir.”

I smile a little. “I wouldn’t think you would do anything inappropriate.”

He smiles, and I’m just so grateful to have him here. It wasn’t that common to have a friend that was willing to risk their life for another.

Moments like this made me trust him. My most important emotion.

“We need to get moving soon,” he says. “Will you help me clear out the tent?”

“Of course.” I push out of the space, and squint, shading my eyes. “Maldita sea. The sun is bright. Does it bother you?”

He frowns. “No? I do not notice it so much.” Then he turns back to the stretch of leather he’d laid out, with strips of meat laid equidistant apart, and rolls it into an easy-to-travel bundle.

I take a breath, then duck back inside. Raking my fingers through my tangled hair, I am grateful that Vann hasn’t mentioned how I look. Being in the sun would make my freckles worse, and it was hard to manage my hair with few materials.

A bun was impractical without a mirror, so I quickly braided my locks, and then pulled on fur gloves. I rub my hands together, grateful for the warmth, and then start winding up the bedrolls.

Something rolls out of Vann’s blanket.

I suck in a breath, turning the stone over in my fingers. The name is carved in enduar, the etchings worn but careful. Li’Adra. The letters mean nothing to me at first, but a memory stirs. Vann's woman, the one who passed on.

I glance toward my traveling companion, a strange unease curling in my chest. Not fear, not jealousy—just a reminder of how little we know each other.

The stone is warm from where it had been resting, as if it still holds the memory of his touch. I press my thumb against the name and wonder about her.

Then I slip the stone into his things.

No sooner than I exit the tent, he begins to take it down. He folds it into nothing, wrapping the leather in the blankets and then tying them to two rods supporting his bag.

Once everything is cleaned and I’ve eaten, I stand there quietly.

“We’re two days from the Sisterhood’s Enclave,” he explains, walking slightly faster than my natural stride.

I huff along, letting the heat exercise brings zap through me.

After what feels like an hour, I stop, panting.

“Vann, about last night?—”

“We don’t need to speak of it anymore. I know it upsets you.” Then he continues walking. His silver hair catches in the sun’s glow as he moves past endless trees.

Gods, he moves fast.

“Wait! I just… wanted to thank you.”

Vann exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders before flashing me a grin. “Again?”

“…Yes.”

“We are friends, aren’t we?”

I swallow against the lump in my throat. Despite his arrogance, a sick feeling coils in my gut. “I know I tried to hurt you.”

He raises a brow. “I’m not easy to hurt, Arlet.”

I exhale sharply, shaking my head. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t worry.” My fingers tighten at my sides.

He stops, then grabs one of my shoulders. “If anything, it is I who should worry over you, Firelocks.” Then, softer, almost reluctant, he says, “And I already do.”

Two days pass without incident. Each night, he ties me up before bed only for me to wake on a bedroll.

The forest thickens the closer we get to the Sisterhood’s Enclave. Snow thins until it disappears, and the trees grow larger and older until their roots tangle across the ground like the veins of some ancient creature.

Mist curls around our ankles, and the air is cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss and wildflowers. Still, it is better than the frost. I only need to wear my coat and gloves at night.

Vann also opts for fewer clothes, and proudly displays his cleaver strapped to his pack. His white tunic clings to his skin when it grows damp with sweat and mist.

Sometimes I stay back just to watch him move. He’s quiet, and I like the way his tail flexes in time with his ass.

But that is a secret I will take to my grave.

I know we’re getting close when the trees begin to change. Their bark shimmers faintly in the low light, and their leaves glow, casting everything in an ethereal green hue.

Though they are beautiful, sometimes the hair stands up on the back of my neck. I sense something—like the trees peer out at me with unseen eyes.

Vann had explained we hadn’t taken the common path as to avoid any other travelers, especially ones linked to King Arion.

The Elf King is a threat to me, but he’s lower on my list than removing this curse.

I stop in my tracks as a clearing comes into view. Three enormous trees circle the area. Their trunks are so wide, they seem to go on forever in both directions.

I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in Zlosa, with the dangerously tall trees, nor in Enduvida, where the city is ruled by fungi rather than traditional flora.

Approaching one, I lean in closer to inspect the trunk. The bark is rough and gnarled, etched with lines and grooves that look like a language I haven’t learned to read.

The branches stretch high into the sky, disappearing into a canopy of glowing leaves that pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. Recognition flickers. This is where Mother Liana told me to come.

We’ve made it to the Sisterhood’s Enclave.

From my studies, there were many factions of elves, but the vast majority adhered to the rule of the crown. Elves produce fine wood makers and expert archers, which I suppose could be expected from a land filled with hills, mountains, and tall trees.

I had no more than glimpsed Mrath in passing during her visits in Enduvida, but I know that the sisterhood was home to a great deal of deadly elven women. Assassins, thieves, spies. Even though they are our allies, I wasn’t totally at ease with the idea of being surrounded by them.

“We’re supposed to just walk in?” I glance at Vann. “Where?”

He hesitates, something I’m not used to seeing from him. “I’ve never done this before.”

I blink. “You don’t know how to get in?”

His jaw tightens, and he gives me a withering look. “From my understanding, someone should come to greet us.”

I chew on the inside of my lip. “What do you need me to do?”

Vann looks at me with an appraising expression as he moves to another tree, presumably searching for clues.

“Your current actions are adequate.”

“I just stand here and wait?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

He groans from, obscured behind a tree. Then his head pops back out, his eyes shining through the thin lace of grey mist.

“As long as it takes me to find something useful.”

I sigh, crossing my arms and shifting my weight from one foot to another. The air around the tree is too silent. I can hear my thoughts stretch on, broken only by the rustling of leaves and the occasional creak of a tree’s massive branch.

When I think I can’t stand the stillness any longer, a figure emerges from the shadows of the forest.

At first, I gasp, cowering at the larger-than-life image. But then the feminine form steps out of the mist, returning to a more normal size, and I instantly recognize her.

“Glyni,” Vann says, his voice low and tense.

This is one of the elves that lived under the mountain in Enduvida for several months. She’s a decent hand taller than me, with a cascade of auburn strands, braided and twined with tiny glowing flowers, and fierce amber eyes.

She is one of Leader Mrath’s archers, but that never stopped her from showing a kind smile to any enduar. She shared a flask of mead with me on more than one occasion.

Rumor has it, she also had a decent series of romps with one of the enduar men, Niht. She knows Enduvida’s culture well—but I feel uneasy out here.

Seeing her here in the forest makes her look different than how she did in the under mountain.

The elf who approaches is almost otherworldly. Her skin is the pale, cool color of a maple tree. It’s unblemished and even.

When she moves closer, her amber eyes sparkle with amusement. She looks between us, her lips curving into a sharp, knowing smile.

“Arlet,” she says, her voice smooth and lilting. Then she turns to my companion. “And Lord Vann! I didn’t think I’d see you again. We’ve been expecting just this lovely human.”

She jerks her head toward me.

“Expecting her?” he replies, his tone clipped.

She laughs, a low, melodic sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Oh yes. We received a message from Emissary Thorne that Arlet has a problem, Mrath might be able to solve.” She purses her lips and shrugs one shoulder. “Mrath does tend to clean up a lot of your people’s messes.”

Her gaze shifts to me, and I feel pinned under her scrutiny, despite how she reaches for my hand. “So, my dear, what ails you?”

I open my mouth, then close it. Visions of Diego. Blood. So much blood. Ropes. The voices.My stomach roils and the hand she holds turns clammy.

“She’s cursed,” Vann interjects unceremoniously. “It’s dark magic, likely from one of the human witches.”

She frowns and drops my hand. “Abhartach, then?”

Vann nods. “Likely.”

When Glyni looks at me again, her face is full of pity. “We cannot fix that.”

“No, but you can help us find someone who can,” Vann counters.

She smiles. “Well, let’s get you inside to see what we can do. ”

As she steps forward, the ground rumbles. Leaves part, revealing a gnarled wooden face emerging from the soil, its massive form embedded in the forest floor. Large, glowing green eyes blink open amidst the branches, and its wooden mouth creaks open to speak in old Elvish.

Glyni bows before the door and murmurs, “Oscailte.”

“Bím i gcónaí ar fáil duitse,” the door responds in a low, lilting accent.

I glance at Vann, catching the way his shoulders stiffen and his jaw tightens. His usual stoicism falters for a moment, and I see something sharp flicker in his eyes.

He doesn’t like elves.

“Oh, come now. We don’t bite,” and then she grins broadly. “Not you two, anyway.”

They certainly didn’t seem like a species that was instilled with a morality as black and white as the enduares. Their sense of right and wrong shifted like the wind through the trees.

The wooden face groans again, the mouth stretching wider, revealing a hollow interior bathed in a warm, golden glow. The scent of wildflowers drifts toward us as the opening solidifies into a tunnel.

Vann hesitates, just for a moment, before stepping forward. I follow closely, my heart pounding as we approach the massive, living entrance.

The door watches us. Its gaze lingers on me.

Inside, the space opens up into a vast chamber grown from living wood. It is lower than we were outside, but not so far down that we are underground.

Golden veins pulse along the walls, giving off a soft glow. Vines curl along the floor, shifting as we step forward, whispering against our boots. The scent of damp earth and fresh blossoms fills the air, mingling with something older, something untouched by time.

Bridges made from intertwined branches stretch above us, connecting to higher platforms where elven figures drift through the shadows. Their eyes shimmer in the dim light, flicking to us before they vanish deeper into the tree.

I spot a few dryads. Protectors of the forest, they’d been called in one of the history scrolls. They look like they are made entirely of wood.

Ahead, a grand spiral staircase winds upward, its steps formed directly from the tree’s heartwood. Glyni gestures for us to follow, her footsteps light and soundless.

“Not a single piece of cut wood,” Vann murmurs, almost impressed.

When I look back at the scenery, I realize he’s right.

As we start up the stairs, Vann moves warily. His shoulders are tense and his hand never far from his blade.

The higher we go up the tree, the more the air hums with magic. I can barely glimpse the sky beyond the canopy of leaves. The feeling presses against my skin, seeping into my bones, whispering secrets in a language I don’t understand. I turn back as the leaves flutter. My breath catches.

There is no wind in this place. Everything is alive, and it’s watching us.