Page 23 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET

I wake up warm and blissfully unbound. A slow, creeping sensation spreads through my limbs before my mind fully registers where I am. The blankets are heavy with residual heat from my slumber, and the air is still, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and stone.

Then I feel a person—solid and unmoving, pressed against my back.

I liked the firmness. I couldn’t stand light touches—they made me feel anxious.

Then a blue tail with a silver tuft rests over my hip

My breath stills in my chest as awareness sharpens. Vann.

At some point in the night, he must’ve moved closer. His form is curled near mine. My skin prickles.

Of course, he needed to sleep at some point.

I knew that—I’d told him to lie with me on the bed.

It made sense. We’d slept near each other before. But I didn’t expect his arm to drape around my waist.

Cautiously, I shift just enough to turn my head yet not to disturb the delicate balance between us. I’ve never seen him truly rest, only sit still in his unnerving way. His silver hair has fallen out of his braid and spilled over his face, strands ghosting over the sharp cut of his cheekbone, over lips that part slightly with each steady exhale.

But his skin is cold.

Strange.

He’d touched me a lot lately. My face. My hands. The small of my back. My ankle.

Somehow, I hadn’t noticed how his body felt, how the cold lingers beneath his skin like frost that never melts. I shiver.

If I couldn’t see him breathing, I’d worry he was dead. But then his hand flexes before pressing against the soft curve protecting my lower belly.

The action moves my ass right into his lap, and my core clenches.

Oh, I think. Oh… yes.

He’s holding such a particular spot, the space right above where I would carry a child.

My mind swims, but I don’t move away. I don’t want to.

He had been so kind last night. There was something about talking to him that made me feel better. Safe. And… beautiful?

I didn’t think he would ever be affected by a human. But he likes my freckles and my hair.

I study him, my gaze trailing over the way his shoulders rise and fall. He looks different like this. Less like a warrior or an unyielding force, and more like…

My fingers twitch against his hand. The back of his palm heats, and he nuzzles closer, pressing his nose to my throat. The sensitive skin tingles, and my mouth goes dry.

I don’t know if I had ever been held so tightly—definitely not since the night I lost my daughter. Before then, I used to luxuriate in moments like this. Being caged in until I was trapped.

I liked abandon. Loved the way my skin tingled with the roughness.

It had been a decade since the sad night. So much of my soul had changed and healed in that time.

While I wasn’t ready to say I liked being bound again, I definitely like this.

But a part of me wonders if it is because of time, or the man behind me. He holds my trust like it is a precious thing.

My eyes flutter closed as his breath tickles over my neck and collarbone. More heat pools between my legs.

His words from last night play in my memory. “You have walked far enough beneath heavy skies, let your step, for once, fall upon something soft.”

This is more than soft.

This is… peaceful. Something about beautiful words and firm, possessive hands ignite my skin. I was hot next to him. And a slickness accompanies the ache deep in my cunt.

Many of the men I had been attracted to were because of their friendliness or their handsome features. Safety was important to me.

Vann provided that… but there was something else. An intellectual side to him I had never experienced with another partner.

The first time I saw him, I had thought he was beautiful, almost untouchable, like something carved from moonlight and stone. Then he opened his mouth.

He was sharp-edged and cruel, and so many of his words cut me as deep as any blade.

But that was before his tongue turned sweet. Before he followed me away from Enduvida, or called me beautiful, or asked to be my friend. Before he held me like this.

Does this mean he… wants me?

If Mrath knows where the witches are, then we could be home in a few days. A thrill snakes through my ribs.

Vann and I could go home together. Maybe, then we could?—

A knock makes me jump. Glyni’s voice carries through the walls, and a bright light appears overhead. “It’s time to go!”

Vann shifts, his chill retreating as he removes his hand and sits up, putting space between us. I stay there for a second, frozen, and still aching. I feel the absence of his presence like a cold gust of wind against my spine.

When I do shift, my now dry hair falls precariously around my shoulders and he meets my gaze. His pupils dilate, and he lets out a ragged breath .

“Beautiful” he murmurs in his native tongue. My mind translates it perfectly. Then he straightens, pushing away to fix his clothing. “We have to go, Firelocks.”

We ready ourselves quickly, neither speaking, even though my mind churns with questions. Does he remember how he held me?

Glyni waits for us outside, her sharp eyes sweeping over us with amusement. “Sleep well?” she asks.

Vann ignores her, stepping past without a word, and I follow, a little sad to leave behind the moment with him.

The court of the Sisterhood is chaos incarnate. Long tables stretch across the massive hall, groaning under the weight of golden platters overflowing with food. Elves lounge in their seats, draped in silks and woven garlands of leaves, their laughter sharp. The air smells of incense, something being roasted, and sparkling wine.

And then, there is Mrath. The leader of the rebellion.

She is precariously perched atop a throne of thorns, each cruel barb twisting beneath her. A crown of the same jagged thorns rests upon her brow, dark and glistening against the silvery blond hair that cascades down her back.

She looks entirely at ease, legs crossed, a blade strapped to her thigh, and her fingers drumming idly against the armrest. Her green eyes find me immediately, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across her lips.

“Well, well, well,” she purrs, clearly amused. “More trolls come to visit. Step lightly, I only respond to begging.” She winks.

Vann moves forward, his voice steady. I notice his height. Was he always so tall?

“We’re not here to beg, Mrath. With all due respect, we seek information.”

Mrath tilts her head. “Oh? And what could possibly bring the great Cleaver and this lovely human to my doorstep? Could it have anything to do with the message I received from my darling Thorne that said, and I quote, ‘A cursed human comes to darken your door.’ ”

Then she leans forward. “I don’t mind a visit from my allies—in fact, I welcome it, so long as it is good news about your efforts to slaughter my brother. I doubt this is that. So, why should I care about a cursed human?”

Vann’s jaw tightens. “The enduares are grateful for your assistance, as we have made clear several times, one of which risking the lives of both our king and queen to retrieve an artifact precious to you.”

Mrath smiles, then nods her head. “Ah, yes. Well, I suppose you may explain.”

Vann dips his head forward. “Thank you, Mrath. Arlet is a member of our council, and she is important to our people’s growth. Within the last two weeks, she was cursed. It seems to turn on or off at random, and only when she sleeps. At that point, she turns violent. We believe that it was a human witch. We do not know how to locate one, but you are skilled in trading information. We would only ask you to tell us where one is, that we might reverse the curse.”

I straighten, pleased with Vann’s words. He has a talent for diplomacy, when he needs it.

The mirth in Mrath’s expression vanishes, and her idle drumming comes to an abrupt stop. The entire court seems to hold its breath.

“Was Arlet cursed in Enduvida?” she asks, voice low and measured.

“Yes. She was marked by dark human magic. The mark is a snake curling around her ankle.”

Mrath’s eyes narrow as she considers his words. “A snake? The human witches are fond of the ugly things.”

She purses her lips, her mind clearly churning over the revelations. Had Thorne not already told her everything?

“Go on, little ruby. What else does this curse entail?” she snaps, this time directing her words to me.

I swallow, uncomfortable, and move closer to Vann without thinking.

“It was after a night when I’d gotten drunk. At first, there were stretches I could not recall. But then, during one of the nights when the curse stirred, I killed a man. ”

She grins. “I was older than you the first time I’d killed someone. Did the man hurt you?”

My heart races. How could she be so… cavalier about death? The memory tears me apart every time I touch it.

I clear my throat.

“No. He was a friend.”

She looks disappointed. “Ah, well. Pity. Anything else?”

I take a deep breath, not wanting to talk to this woman anymore.

“A few memories remain—a hunger, a desire to kill—and a voice.”

Mrath raises one perfectly pale eyebrow.

“A voice?” she asks.

In the corner of my eye, Vann looks down at me, confusion etched on his face. I shift my gaze from him to Mrath and nod. “Yes.”

“What did the voice say?”

I furrow my brow, glancing at Vann again. Should I tell her everything? I doubt he hears my thoughts, but he offers a reassuring nod.

My gaze returns to the leader. “It told me to return.”

“And you have no idea where you are to return to?” she asks.

I shake my head as distant voices filter around me and the light overhead grows uncomfortably bright.

“It told you no name, no location, no direction?” she presses.

I reach into my mind. The memories are slick and hard to grasp. But the thing inside me was pleased with our direction. It wanted to go faster.

Mrath clears her throat, impatiently demanding a response.

“Maybe?” I start, “It seemed to like where we were. It just wanted me to go faster.”

A dryad, with skin like polished bark and hair woven of shimmering leaves, glides forward gracefully bearing a crystal goblet filled with ruby wine. Mrath leans over, gesturing to a few women at a nearby table.

The leader begins a long stream of elvish. I catch a few words— fragile and cock . She grabs the goblet, then drinks deeply.

Finally, she looks back at us, and point a finger at me. Her tone turns brisk.

“Emissary Thorne has also told me that King Arion has declared he will hold off on a siege if you, specifically you , would be his bride.”

My skin goes cold. I didn’t want to talk about this.

“We considered Arion, but we have reason to believe he would not work with the witches. We are seeking other options,” Vann says.

Mrath huffs.

“Well, I have no hard proof other than being raised alongside the cuck, but Arion doesn’t let requests go unanswered. He would have claimed you without delay if he truly desired you.”

“What do you mean?” Vann says.

“The magic may belong to the witches, but what if he has stooped to the Giants’ level and asked for Abhartach’s help?”

The room spins around me. Vann thought it was Daniel somehow. Liana believed it was just the witches. Now Mrath thinks it is Arion.

Facts spin through my mind, but no matter how much knowledge I have acquired, it never seems to be enough.

Elves did not look for their brides among nobility since the daughter of a courtier is just as likely to stab her husband on the wedding night as a snake is to strike when cornered. No, they found women in the mountains and fields. They threw them over their shoulders, and ran to be married.

Is my curse some version of that tradition to Arion?

“I… I do not know. We met for one evening—I did nothing to encourage this .”

She frowns. “You didn’t have to. The world has gone mad for humans, and with the dwindling numbers of women in the elven court—lost to death or defection—I’m sure Arion is afraid,” Mrath says. “Can’t promise a new supreme reign of the Elven Empire without soldiers. Believe me, I despise it like a weak fuck, but you humans are the only ones left who can bear so many races’ children.”

My stomach twists violently. The urge to tell her I can’t sits on the tip of my tongue—not without the magic that comes with matehood.

“I wouldn’t bear his child,” I fumble .

Vann stiffens beside me, his head snapping in my direction, but I can’t meet his gaze.

Mrath tilts her head, her voice hardening. “And you think that matters?”

A bitter laugh escapes me. I still can’t believe this is happening. My time with the Elf King lasted one night? He called me pretty. Loyal. And?—

Suddenly, fragments begin to coalesce in my mind. It’s like I am transported to his side at the festival a year ago. We’d just finished dancing. There was something he said—something I couldn’t catch. I’d thought of it a few times since then, but it comes to me now, clear as the dawn.

“There will come a time when I will need you. Fear not, for I will bring you to my side without injury.”

Oh gods. My hands go numb.

After I’d killed Diego, I’d heard a voice upon waking.

“I am so pleased you didn't get rid of my gift.”

A gift. Hostia . He’d given me a stone with a snake on it. It’d been on my dresser the night I got cursed. And now, I realize the whispers, the fleeting promises—they all point toward this. Arion is controlling me like a puppet.

Vann, likely noticing the tremor in my hands, reaches out and cups my wrist. It is a small thing, but it gives me strength to speak again.

“It doesn’t make sense that he would fight so hard for me. It’s trivial. Kingdoms should only wage wars over things far greater than me and my womb.”

Mrath’s gaze sharpens. “Trivial?” she echoes. “To give life, to create something where there was nothing—that is not trivial, girl. It is power. The most sought-after power of all, as it is one a man cannot carve out himself. A man is nothing if his line dies with him.”

Her words pierce me. What she says makes sense. But, if that is true, what does it mean about me?

“I think you might be right,” I declare, even though bits and pains are pricking at my conscience. Small cuts that never healed—that make me wonder about my place if I can’t easily do this thing that others seem to be able to do with painstaking ease.

A slow, frown spreads across Mrath’s face. “Then we have a problem. I do not keep company with witches any longer, and there are none in my Enclave.”

Disappointment curls in my gut. If she didn’t know, what was I to do? This was my only plan? The only other option could be going to King Arion.

“But, fear not. Mrath to the rescue,” she chimes back, and a few other elven women titter. “The last I heard about the witches, they had retreated to some small speck of an island in the Sea of Sorrow. To reach it, you must go west. There is a city, I will inform my contact there to find you. They will take you to see the witches.”

I swallow hard, my mind racing with the implications. Another journey means I’m not returning to my home for a while longer. In scrolls, heroines seemed to be so adaptable under such conditions. But I feel like weeping.

I wanted this to be over faster. I wanted to be whole.

Instead of crying, I lift my chin and ask, “What if we get to the island and the witches refuse?”

Mrath smirks. “Then you had better learn how to be persuasive, little ruby.”

I almost think she’s done, as she takes a long drink from her neglected goblet, but she sets it back on the dryad’s tray and says, “A word of advice—Stay as far away from Shvathemar as possible. My brother must not have any claim to you; if he sires a child, my own bid for the crown will become that much harder.”

She fixes Vann with a piercing stare. “And you, Lord Vann—you are not a king, but you have his ear. I was serious when I told your king that we should’ve killed Arion immediately after the war with the Giants. I will not be patient much longer, nor will I be so generous as to indulge other little favors .” Mrath sits back on her throne.

She exhales sharply, then makes a shooing motion. “If my brother has cursed you, he might figure out where you are if you linger longer. Leave now. I have matters to attend to, and you are using my people’s resources.”

“Wait,” Vann exclaims. “I need you to send a message for me to the king. Tell him where we go, that we are well.”

Mrath rolls her eyes. “I’m not a messenger.”

“Please,” Vann pleads.

She sighs. “No.” Then she snaps her fingers once, and the world around me goes dark.