Page 25 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET’S CURSE

W hen I awake and find we are yet again far from our mark, I grow angry. This is not where my task should take me.

I am surrounded by mountains and a thinning forest. It is cold, and that chill is only remedied by the warm, sticky wolf blood that coats my hands and fingers.

Mylegs pound, one after the other. The cold bites into me, and the blood dries, but there is something more powerful than the discomfort—the need to run, and the hunger.

Each step in the right direction causes a little thrill to snake up my spine. But then something reaches my tongue on the wind.

"I have sent help, fear not, little flower."

The first voice returns. I slow, and the scent of others reaches my nose—elves.

But why? The deeper, ancient voice asks. They are the obstacle. I have need of them.

I furrow my brow, confused at who to follow.

They stand in your way. Crush them, and then you can reach the voice and complete your task.

“I cannot kill them,” I whisper back, even as my mouth waters. “I have no weapons. ”

The deep, second voice inside me chuckles.

You do not need weapons. Let me show you.

My fingers curl into fists, and my teeth gnash as the bloodlust surges within me. It’s familiar, the need to rip and tear, to spill the life from others. My legs respond, driving me forward in a run.

Five elves stand at the base of the mountain. Three hold swords, two with bows.

They share the same glossy, unnatural features.

I should be afraid, and yet I am not.

“Little flower, wait,” the first voice says. “They are friends. Go with them!”

Instead, the rage builds inside of me, and with one violent motion, I lash out. My arm strikes like a whip, and before any of them can react, one elf falls. My hands grip his throat with unrelenting force. His windpipe collapses and I tear out a chunk of his neck. Blood sprays across the snow, warm and thick.

The remaining elves freeze, their eyes wide in shock. The scent of blood sates my hunger, and I can feel the fear radiating from them. They hesitate, but I do not.

I charge again, but this elf grabs me. Before he has time to think, I shove but he doesn’t let go.

I roar, my voice a violent storm inside the body, but the elf does not relent. He pushes me into the ground and brings out a blade.

It is pressed into my throat.

“Stay still,” he grits out.

A searing pain shoots through me.

“You do the king’s bidding, human,” the elf says with cruel certainty.

I writhe. The elf’s smirk widens, but it doesn't last.

Thud, thud, thud.

The ground trembles. A familiar, powerful force pounds through the trees. My vision clears just enough to see him before I retreat entirely.

I know him. Vann.

I snap back into full consciousness and find myself pinned under an elf. But King Arion’s soldier isn’t looking at me.

No, he looks up as Vann charges down the mountain. Vann leaps from a boulder with a roar, his cleaver raised high, his gaze dark and fierce. His tail whips behind him, cutting through the air like a living extension of his will, helping him balance as he lands with a heavy thud.

The elf with the knife to my throat snarls. Then he pulls me to a proper standing position. “We must go!” he demands, trying to move me.

But before he can pull me further, the first elf raises his sword. Vann is fast, his cleaver cutting through the air with deadly precision. His tail sweeps out behind him, steadying his posture as he slashes downward, parting the elf’s chest in one clean stroke. Blood sprays, and the elf crumples onto the dirt. Vann doesn’t stop.

Before I can even take a breath, the second elf swings his bow at Vann. But Vann is too fast. He arcs his cleaver downward, slicing the elf’s arm off. His tail lashes out in a whip-like motion, helping him pivot with fluid speed, and he drives the blade deep into the elf’s chest.

The third elf raises his bow, and just as I think he’s too late to react, he lets loose an arrow. It strikes Vann in the shoulder, the force of it shoving him back. He falters, but his tail snaps out again, pushing him on.

My breath catches, and the elf holding me captive yanks me again, trying to force me to run.

I dig my heels in, watching as my companion growls. He rips the arrow from his shoulder with a savage roar. Blood pours from the wound and the Fuegorra flares to life in his chest. It is bright enough to shine through fabric, and it causes the exposed flesh knit back together.

Arrow in hand, Vann charges. With a single, brutal motion, he stabs the shaft directly into the elf’s face. The point sinks into his skull, and the elf crumples, lifeless, before he even hits the ground.

The final elf, the one yanking me on, is quick to react, pulling me into his arms as if he’s going to carry me away. I barely have time to register the movement before I hear the sharp whoosh of metal cutting through the air. Vann is there—his cleaver flashing—and in a single, fluid motion, he decapitates the elf.

I flinch, but Vann’s strike is so precise that it misses me entirely. The man’s head falls with a sickening thud, and his body crumples beneath me.

I am unharmed but Vann immediately pulls me into his arms, lifting me effortlessly as though nothing had happened. The rush of adrenaline leaves my heart pounding.

Vann’s cleaver thuds to the ground and the clearing falls silent. His breath is heavy, and his Fuegorra still glowing though the wound in his shoulder is already closed. It leaves a faint, blue scar where the arrow once was.

His eyes meet mine, and he offers a look of reassurance that I don’t deserve but desperately need. Then he pulls me close. So tight he practically holds me together.

He is the exact shade of the sky right now. He is stunning.

“Are you all right?” he breathes. “I woke up and you were gone. I couldn’t… Fuck, I’m so glad I found you.”

I nod, breath still short, and hands still numb, but he looks like he’s falling apart.

“I am all right. I am here,” I say. “I am safe. With you, I am safe.”

He presses his lips to the top of my head. The action is rough.

“Always.”

I close my eyes at the word and sink into him.

We stay like that a moment longer.

Then I break the silence. “Arion spoke to me again. The curse forced me to kill a wolf. And then it made me walk until I met the elves. They tried to take me, but it doesn’t like them. The one—” I run out of breath. “Did you see what I did to that man?”

“You did what you had to do.”

“I hate this,” I sob.

“Don’t worry. We will stop this,” Vann murmurs.

The words strike me hard.

“We need to leave before someone else comes. But first, I must tend to the bodies.”

I close my eyes. “Whatever you need to do.”

He walks me to a tree, but then hesitates. I can feel his gaze on my face. His arms tighten around me, and I feel the shift in him—the change from practicality to something deeper, something vulnerable. He doesn’t speak right away.

But then he says, “I don’t think I can let you go. Not like this.”

I blink. His words wrap around me like a warm blanket.

“It is all right, I am here.” I thread my dirty arms around his neck. He shifts me to one side as if I weigh nothing, then stabilizes my legs with his tail.

“Close your eyes if you don’t want to see the blood,” he murmurs.

“I am all right,” I reply.

He doesn’t say anything else as he goes to stand over the bodies.

It is a gruesome sight. Crimson liquid and parts are scattered the ground, but he doesn’t look away. He quickly scans each elf carefully and his posture stiffens, and he moves almost... reverently.

He kneels beside the first elf he killed, and begins to check the body for any weapons or supplies. He moves efficiently, removing anything that might be valuable to us later.

Then, with a careful touch, he closes the elf’s eyes and murmurs something in his language—something I don’t understand, but it sounds like a prayer.

“Do you pray for the dead?” I ask, unsure of the answer I expect.

Vann tilts his head to the side.

“In a sense. They died serving their king, and I cannot fault them for that.”

“But Arion is the enemy,” I argue. “These men tried to kill you and take me to him.”

His expression tightens, his eyes darkening for a moment. “Yes. And they were wrong, which justifies the consequences of their actions. But they weren’t evil, not in the way some like to think. They are just people, much like us. Subjects to a poor ruler, caught in the machinery of something much larger than themselves. They have families and lives outside of their work.” His voice softens. “Their families would appreciate their bodies to be handled with respect.”

I pause, taken aback by the way he speaks. He reminds me that war is never just black and white, that we cannot reduce those we fight into mere monsters.

He thinks for a moment, but his words seem to hang in the air. “I was like them once. Under Teo’Lihk’s rule, during the Great War. I was raised in a time of insecurity, violence, and survival. It was the reason I became a soldier. When there’s someone at the top, they create the rules—the negative ideas, the stories that fuel their followers. Most people accept them without question. And then, what?”

He looks away.

“Again, I’m not saying we’re not responsible for our actions, but I can’t help but think that bad leaders are the root of a poisonous society. They are the ones who create the environment that breeds violence and war.”

His voice drops, and I can feel his thoughts swirling in the space between us. “Perhaps something greater than me will teach them one day—though I did all I could.”

Vann stands straighter, his posture returning to the familiar composure, but his eyes remain distant, thoughtful. “We are similar in the fact that neither of us take joy in killing them, but I’ve come to understand the necessity. They were a threat, and that’s what we had to do—what I had to do.”

His actions speak volumes of the man he is—honorable, even in the most brutal of moments.

I find myself drawn to him. The weight of the violence is still heavy on me, but his presence offers me a strange sense of peace.

Not just like a friend. A partner.

“Would you like to close the eyes of the man you killed?” Vann asks.

I don’t know.

“It might help.”

My mind churns for a minute, and then I nod. He sets me down and I approach the elf with the torn throat.

God, it hurts to look at. I close my eyes, then kneel.

The sight isn’t better up close, and I reach out, gently pulling down his eyelids .

I look up at Vann. “Now what?”

He presses his lips in a flat line. “Now you wish him well in the next life.”

It takes me a moment, but I do. Somehow, it feels as though the wind passes through me as I say the words.

I feel… changed. Lighter.

Once finished, I stand on wobbly legs.

I clear my throat. Then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, the words slip out in enduar, “Veyán dorath vel thun.”

Thank you for teaching me.

Vann’s gaze flickers to my lips, and I wonder if he misses hearing the old tongue spoken freely. I remember the comfort of coming home after a long day of speaking a language that wasn’t my own and settling into familiar phrases like soft pillows.

Perhaps we are similar in that way, too.

He swallows, his throat tight as he watches me. “Forgive me for sleeping last night,” he says, his voice low.

Then he picks me up again.

I shake my head and nestle into his arms. “You are allowed to rest.”

He grunts. Then says, “We need to go back to camp so we can keep moving. I can carry you for now, do not worry.”

Without another word, he stands.

I don’t resist. My body is heavy, my limbs ache from everything we’ve just endured. I rest my head against his chest as he begins walking us back toward the camp.

Strange, I think. I can’t hear his heart very well. But I let myself enjoy the moment. We needed to continue.

Arion wants me at his side, and I need to be fixed so that never happens.

Normally, I would panic, but right now, I feel a strange kind of safety that I haven’t felt in a long time. In a world that’s often been cruel to me, he’s a rare thing—someone who’s both the storm and the calm.