Page 27 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

VANN

T he air is thin and crisp as we ascend into the high mountains. The wind whips past us, and my stomach lurches as the dragon cuts through the sky, flapping its wings only occasionally.

Arlet sits in front of me, taking to the air like a bird in flight. She shifts from side to side, looking down at the ground, impossibly fearless on this creature of death.

“Stop,” I growl as she leans dangerously far over the side of her saddle. She lets out a laugh, strands of her hair blowing back, whipping me in the face.

“Look down!” she calls back. “Everything is so small!”

I decline with a firm, “No.” I don’t like heights, especially when all that holds us up are these leather scraps.

Arlet shakes her head. “Suit yourself! I feel lighter than a feather!”

She looks it too. I can see the worry, the panic, and the pain melt off her body as she lets out another whoop.

Good .

But then I catch another glimpse of the ground and groan, fixing myself firmly in the riding saddle to curl my tail tighter around her waist.

The elf leading us, Theren, lets out a high-pitched series of calls, ones that his dragon quickly repeats. Soon, the air is filled with the trilling sound, and slowly, the night shimmers.

Elven glamor.

Even I forget to be afraid as the city is revealed, its lights glittering against the dark cliffs.

“This is Dragon's Reach,” our rider turns back to say, his clipped voice carrying with the wind. He gestures toward the city sprawled across the mountain ahead, now laid bare in the moonlight.

I take it in, my gaze sweeping over the tiered city built into the rock itself.

Bridges of woven vines and reinforced stone span the gaps between cliffs, connecting a network of terraces carved into the mountainside. Buildings rise in elegant, twisting structures, their wooden spires curling like talons.

The scent of burning resin and crisp air fills my lungs as we descend the last ridge toward the city’s entrance.

As we approach, I see elves in sleek, layered garments rushing to the rails built into the cliffside. They point at us, completely awake despite the late hour. More dragons rest on nests above the city, their massive forms sticking out from the rock.

Gods on their stony thrones— dragons . What would Teo think of this? While it would be safe to assume that these elves are at least somewhat loyal to Mrath—did Arion have access to such creatures?

I’d never seen one. They weren’t used in the Great War. No, for us enduares, such a myth had been found in epic poems written by great lyricists from the past.

The crimson-colored dragon we ride stretches its wings out, swooping down toward a circular landing pad.

Arlet squeals in delight.

“It’s so beautiful!” she calls.

The onyx dragon lands first, and Theren leaps off, Lorien in his arms, in one smooth motion. His dragon flies away and they walk to the side of the landing area. A few other elves come to speak with them, each looking up at us before hurrying off.

The green dragon is next. And then the storm-grey one.

At last, it’s our turn, and we’re carried straight to the platform. My stomach drops when the dragon lands, the height making my legs feel unsteady. The rider slips off first.

“Follow, same as me. Then help your wife,” he says, his accent thick.

The word ‘ wife’ sends a jolt through me, and I turn back to Arlet. Seeing her illuminated by the lights from the city, I have the urge to pull out the sketchbook I’d brought from the Sisterhood’s Enclave. I want to capture this moment for her to enjoy, too.

A part of me feels like she belongs to me. It’s hard to describe—it’s just there .

I look away, and shift my focus to getting off the damned dragon. Balancing my weight in the saddle, I grip the rope they gave us tightly and I swing my leg over. My hands shake as I lower myself, and when my feet finally hit the platform, I hit the stone hard enough to make my knees groan. The world around me tilts, as if I’d forgotten what it is like to be on solid ground.

The elf behind me snickers.

I shoot him a glare. Then hold out my arms for Arlet.

“Come, Firelocks. I’d like to get you away from the edge.”

She grins down at me, windswept. As she slides forth, the rest of her hair comes out of its bun, spilling over her shoulders.

I marvel.

“That was… amazing,” she breathes, her voice hoarse from calling into the wind.

“I thought you didn’t like adventures,” I tease as she falls into the space next to me.

I hold out my arm. She slides her hand through, and then takes in the city. Her head twists right and left, and she grins.

The tall, slender buildings are everywhere, and an arch marks the official entrance to Dragon’s Reach.

After a moment, Theren and Lorien approach. Arlet stays at my side, her breath visible.

“It is my pleasure to escort you to your room for tonight,” Theren says. “There should be food waiting for you.”

“We would both appreciate a full night’s rest,” I respond .

The elf smiles and begins to escort us away. Lorien hangs back from his uncle’s side, sneaking glances at us both.

“Did you get in more trouble?” I lean over and ask him.

Arlet catches my movement and smiles.

Lorien looks up at us. “Yes. My uncle is displeased.”

The quick, matter-of-fact way he chirps his words makes me laugh, and then he goes to Arlet’s side to hold her hand.

“You will have to forgive us, as we expected you much earlier. We had planned an evening of feasting. Everyone is quite eager to meet you both,” Theren continues, pulling me away from Arlet and Lorien.

“Forgive us,” I say. “We were… detained.”

Theren glances over his shoulder. “One of our scouts saw the bodies.”

I pause. “Do you not fear getting caught by Arion?”

He shakes his head. “Arion is a fool, and our magic is strong.”

I consider this, remembering the heavy glamor that had been placed over the city. It might be some of the strongest magic I’ve seen in a long time.

What kind of artifact could hold such power?

“Fear not,” Theren continues, “for we sent word to Vaer’Tharion Selric around noon. Preparations will have been made for tomorrow.”

It takes a moment for me to place the title, the term roughly translating to ‘High Warden.’

“He is your brother?” I ask, wondering how old the king of these people would be if the elf at my side is already quite mature.

“Correct. Selric is Lorien’s father,” he says. Then, as if catching the way I stare at the buildings, he continues, “We are not a part of the Elven Dominion, so you can rest easy. They will not find you here. This land has been hidden for a very long time. Mrath is our only contact with the outside elven world. And, I must admit, I am quite eager to get to know you both. I know Lorien is too.”

He gestures at the way his nephew points out dozens of buildings and sculptures to Arlet.

“Thank you,” I say, my mind churning. “And that is good to know. We are not exactly friends with the current high king. ”

Theren laughs. “Who is?”

I smile, then return to gazing at the city. Visually, this place is different from the other elven factions I’ve encountered.

Unlike Mrath and her people, they do cut their wood—abundantly, in truth.

They bear no royal insignias to Arion’s court, though. But, from what I can tell, they share many of his ideals. Their social structure must lean heavily toward a patriarchal order if they had laws around the treatment of women without a husband.

“If you are not allied with Arion, then is Selric your King? Or… is Mrath your queen?” I ask.

Theren turns his head slightly. “Selric is the leader of the Vaer’Saryth, similar to a king. Mrath is a very close ally.”

High Saddles? Perhaps a council.

“And your ranking, that I might address you properly?” I ask, much to the chagrin of the man before me.

He smiles as he answers, “I am Theren Saryth’Vaan. I lead the Skyborne. But, the Vaer’Tharion rules over all, Skyborne and Grounded alike.”

I nod thoughtfully as we step through the carved archway leading into the heart of the city. Immediately, we are surrounded by more elves—some curious, others wary.

“We are almost to the room we have prepared for you. In the morning, I will answer any other questions and ensure you are shown a proper tour of the dragons. They are something, no?”

I laugh inwardly. “They are. I am sure my wife will like that very much.”

We fall back into silence as we walk through dimly lit halls carved from the mountain, the stone smooth beneath our boots. When we finally reach our assigned quarters, Theren pulls open a heavy wooden door and steps aside.

“Here we are. Thank you again for your service in saving this little hell-raised pup.” Theren nods his head to Lorien. “Till morning.”

I incline my head slightly and Arlet waves as he and Lorien leave.

Once the door is shut, we turn and look around. The room is sparse but warm, with a low-burning hearth and blankets folded neatly atop a stone-framed bed. Arlet releases a slow breath, then turns to me and smiles.

“Thrown together yet again,” I murmur.

She laughs. Some of the post-dragon riding glow has dimmed, but she looks mostly fine. Just tired.

“I’m ready to know what happened as soon as you are ready to talk,” she says.

I let out a long breath, pulling out one of the wooden chairs, and then sitting down.

“Well, he merely explained that we would be meeting Selric, their king, tomorrow evening. They are not affiliated with Arion, but they are allied with Mrath. Theren plans to give us a tour in the morning.”

I hesitate, then say, “Since Mrath told us they could take us to the witches’ island, in the middle of the ocean, I have been thinking that we will likely need?—”

“A dragon?” she squeals excitedly.

“Yes,” I grumble, but I turn my head to hide my smile as I start loosening my cloak.

“Gods, I can’t wait,” Arlet says.

“You won’t be so excited when your ass is rubbed raw and your skin burns from the wind,” I muse.

Her face falls, and I regret opening my godsdamned mouth.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself,” she states.

I purse my lips. The answer is, ‘no.’ But a twinge of guilt still radiates through my heartless chest at the thought of disappointing her.

“I don’t like heights.”

“Really?” she sits on the bed, and I’m struck by her unbound hair yet again. It cascades over her shoulders in wild waves of fiery red, the color almost glowing in the soft light.

“I live underground. Why would I need to worry about heights?”

She props her chin up with the heel of her hand. “I’ve seen enduares climb up the cave walls. It looks dangerous and it is, of course, very high up.”

“Well, I don’t perform those tasks, so,” I let myself trail off.

She lays back for a second, then forces herself forward to remove her boots. I watch how unconcerned she is with the prospect of sleeping tonight, since the last time she’d been awoken, it was brutal.

And yet… I’m not inclined to remind her.

I’m not prepared to bind her, either.

Though, a thought pops into my head, not for the first time.

What Daniel had done was wrong. But why bind her? It is such a specific act, especially having read that story she kept near her at night.

I can’t shake the feeling that her wound is deeper than she lets on. And I hunger to uncover its entirety.

When her eyes seek mine again, I catch her brow furrow.

“Vann, can I—” her lovely voice stops abruptly, as if she were gathering strength. “You had a wife once, didn’t you? A mate?” she asks.

The question catches me off guard. It was a moment where two worlds clashed into each other. On the one hand, Adra was known by Teo and, therefore, Estela. Most if not all of the original two hundred and eighty enduares knew about Adra.

Arlet and I had floated around in similar circles. We knew a great deal about each other, and perhaps she even knew who she was. But we hadn’t talked about this.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says suddenly, and I realize just how long I’ve gone without speaking.

“No. I am sorry. Adra…” I pause, and my mind begins to flip through memories like a scroll keeper flips through the written word. Adra, with her grey-silver eyes and dark blue locks.

“Her name was Adra. Li’Adra.” My throat bobs. “She was... Yes. We were together for many years. Around twenty, before the Great War ended.”

Arlet waits patiently, a strange look on her face. It’s bittersweet, perhaps tinged with something akin to jealousy.

It’s wrong that should soothe me, but it does all the same.

“How did you meet?” Arlet asks, her voice careful.

I pause, flipping through old memories. It takes me a moment to continue.

“She was born into silk and song as a nobleman’s daughter with soft hands and a sharper mind. But she never wanted the life that was laid out for her. She was restless, always looking beyond the walls of her father’s home, craving something bigger than the fate of a well-bred wife.”

Arlet raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t know enduares thought that of women.”

I shrug. “We were never as bad as the elves, but there were quiet customs observed by more traditional families that kept women at home. She didn’t like it. ”

Adra was so eager. So full of life.

My eyes find Arlet. Some might see similarities between their personalities and their ability to shine in any situation.

But Arlet was very different. She has a gentle calmness that Adra lacked.

Not better. Not worse. Just different. And my heart… Well. It doesn’t matter what my heart says because it no longer beats in my chest.

“She ran away from her father to join the military and that is where we met. Service was not easy for her, but she worked hard. I remember how she looked at me—like I was a world she didn’t understand but wanted to. Sadly, love isn’t armor. And it wasn’t enough to keep her safe,” I finish.

Arlet’s face grows serious. Then she reaches out, and places her hand over mine as it rests on my knee. It’s like a flame lights over my entire skin.

“Lo lamento, Vann,” she murmurs in her tongue.

I like the way she does that. Switching between words to suit the tone of the situation—enduar for sassing, human for soothing, and the common tongue for communicating.

There was a vastness under her smiling exterior that I crave to know.

Arlet shifts. “She sounds perfect. And…”

“Yes?”

“She was your mate?” she asks again.

I’d intentionally avoided the question before, but it’s impossible to do so a second time .

I hesitate, my mind racing. If I tell her the truth, she’ll know about the emptiness I carry with me, and she might press until I reveal my secret—that I don’t have a heart. If she finds out, she’ll want to help. She’s always trying to fix things, but this can’t be fixed.

Or worse… I’ll have to admit that there was—or maybe still is—a mate for me, and I rejected the goddess’s blessing to be with someone else. Someone long gone.

So, there were two options before me. Lie—a wrong thing that would save me trouble. Or tell the truth, and create more trouble.

I hate lies, but I don’t think I can bear what comes with the truth.

Not with Arlet peering up at me. Our tentative relationship had grown so much in the time we’d spent together. A part of me is frightened by what we could be, and a larger part fears hurting her.

So I decide. A lie, however bitter, will keep things simple.

I force a smile, even though it doesn’t reach my eyes. "Yes,” I say, my voice a little rough. "She was."

“Oh,” then she pauses. “For some reason, I had thought, since you attended the Mating Journey, you weren’t?—”

“I did that mostly to protect you,” I say. That isn’t a lie.

She nods, drawing in a breath.

“I’m sure it was a bond you cherished," she says, looking away, her hands folding in her lap. "Love is a strange thing. It can shape us, even when it’s gone."

I can’t stand the thought of her looking so down, so I reach for something—anything—to lift her mood.

“Hay heridas demasiado dulces como para borrarse,” I respond, playing her own game.

There are wounds too sweet to be erased.

Her honeyed brown eyes snap to mine, and she smiles—slow and languid. For some reason, it strikes a heat inside me, and guilt twists in my chest.

I wait for the ice to come, for it to crawl up my limbs as it always does, but it doesn’t. Instead, we sit there, staring at each other.

“That might be the first time you’ve ever said a full sentence in my tongue. Your pronunciation is good,” she says, shaking off some of the sadness .

I want to take my lie back, but all the reasons for saying them still stand.

“Thank you for being so open with me,” Arlet says, her voice quiet. “After last night, I don’t think it’s wise to sleep unbound... but we have no rope since I destroyed it.”

"You wish to be tied again?" I ask. I’m not surprised at her bravery, but this time I worry it isn’t just bravery, but more a way to create space between us. Space I am rapidly realizing I don’t want.

She nods, subdued but resolute.

I retrieve a few spare garments from my pack, tearing one into long strips for makeshift bindings. As I approach her, she stands, turning her back to me. She lets me secure the bindings around her wrists, and the feel of her skin under my fingers is like silk. I push the sensation aside, focusing on the task.

“There.” I step back to admire my work. “That should be enough for tonight.”

Arlet turns around, her wrists fidgeting with the bindings, and I notice the room is cold.

As I go to light the fire, guilt for keeping secrets, protectiveness for her well-being, and a growing, dangerous fondness swell inside me. These feelings, I know, are a danger. They collide with memories I can’t outrun, memories that pull me back when I want to keep moving forward.

As the fire crackles, casting shadows across the room, I see worry on her face.

“I’ll be awake if you should turn. You have nothing to worry about.”

The lines between her brows ease, and she breathes out slowly. “Very well. I trust you.”

I blink, realizing that she means it. Truly. And I had to live with the fact I’d already broken that trust by lying to her.