Page 28 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

ARLET’S CURSE

T he curse calls me awake once more. It’s a stabbing pain that shoots through me as I realize we are even further from our mark. Much further.

So far I can hardly tell which direction to run.

Fuck.

The room is still. The fire in the hearth burns low, casting flickering shadows along the wooden walls. The air is filled with the scent of smoke and aged timber, and the furs beneath me are soft but cold, unable to hold the heat of my body. I lie on the bed, wrists bound.

"You were so close, little flower. Now I can hardly feel you."

I groan. Irritated, and reluctant to move. But the mark on my ankle burns. The room vanishes. The furs, the firelight, the walls—all gone.

Heat flares, burning through my limbs like wildfire. It spreads like a sickness, an aching, searing hunger. The shadows shift overhead.

"Come back to me."

His voice is velvet and steel, honey dripping over poison. The first voice pulls, wrapping around my thoughts, will, and breath .

I inch upright, chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. The air is thin, my skin is sweaty, and my mouth waters.

The hunger returns, along with my ability to see the room. I want blood.

I yank at the bindings on my wrists. My breath comes in sharp, shallow gasps. A snarl rips from my throat. My arms strain. I pull harder, but my body remains bound.

Bleed. I will make whoever did this bleed.

One more violent yank, and the fabric gives way, then falls.

I stagger forward, my vision swimming. I see nothing but the door. The way out. The way back to the voice, to be free of this task.

Vann is on the ground, and near him lies his weapon. I snatch it up. The blade hums against my palm, its power seeping into my bones, feeding the flame roaring through my blood.

Yes. My grip tightens. Yes.

Kill. The demand hisses through me.

Vann wakes, moving with the speed of a warrior. He crouches, across the room and takes me in.

He does not fear me, even though he should.

"Firelocks,” he says. “Dammit. Put my weapon down.”

I hiss at him. He was the one who tied me up.

Angling the weapon, I narrow my eyes in his direction.

His muscles shift under his shirt, preparing to charge. He is much larger than me. But I knew that I could kill someone larger than me—I’d done it before.

The second, ancient voice, chuckles.

I lift the weapon, and charge.

Somehow, Vann is faster. He tackles me.

The world tilts. I thrash. Light crashes into my eyes, a heat pulsing within my chest. I drop the weapon.

I kick him out of the way. My rage mounts, but Vann’s voice is steady. “Stay. You are stronger than this."

Sweat beads on my forehead. I try to tear his hands off.

“Arlet,” he begs.

That name . My fingernails dig into his flesh, scratching. I feel the blood well, feel the urge to kick. To bite.

He cries out.

Good.

But then, somehow, I am pushed to the side.

The knowledge that Vann was hurt crashes over me like a bucket of ice water.

Despite it, the heat doesn’t vanish entirely—it lingers, sitting inside me like an ember waiting to catch flame again. But the hunger ebbs. It no longer claws at my insides, no longer demands I run.

I breathe in—smoke and stone and leather.

And blood.

Vann .

He is on his knees before me, but the blood in question leaks from a wound that has already started to heal thanks to the glow coming from his Fuegorra.

"I'm all right, Firelocks. And you are too," he murmurs, his voice rough but calm. His breath is slow, steady, grounding.

I shudder, the last of the tremors shaking loose from my limbs. Then I turn, pressing my forehead against his chest. A choked sob escapes me.

My breath evens out as I press my fingers lightly over the gash I left on his arm, the wound already mostly healed.I pull back and bring his skin to my mouth, brushing my lips over the hurt. Soft, small, useless gestures against something almost fixed.

But the need is there—this quiet ache inside me, whispering that if I could take the pain back, I would.

I kiss the mark again.

Vann exhales sharply, but he doesn’t pull away.

His hand goes behind my head, his thumb pressing lightly against my pulse.

“Firelocks,” the name is too rough. Too ragged. All I know is that I wish to be closer to him.

I press my lips to his arm once more, the warmth of my breath spilling over his skin.

My fingers tremble where they rest against his forearm, and I close my eyes. I was more awake for that awakening than I had been for any of the others.

I could feel the curse inside of me, how it forced my body to work.

It is dangerous.

Vann’s hand slips from my pulse to tilt my chin up. His silver eyes pierce mine, sharp as steel, unreadable as the night sky.

I swallow thickly, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “You pulled me back.”

Something flickers behind his eyes—something reckless. His hand lingers at my jaw, thumb brushing over my cheekbone in the faintest ghost of a touch.

“You need to rest,” he says, voice rough. His eyes drop to my lips.

I suck in a breath.

I recognize this moment from previous moments with lovers, and I know what comes next. My head spins, and I lean forward.

But things weren’t so simple between us.

In a strange moment of clarity, I remember him talking about Adra, the woman he loved before.

His mate—enduares were only recorded to have one.

That leaves me in the same position I’ve been in before. Eventually, there would come a point between us where it would end. And it would hurt.

I was coming to rely on Vann. Our friendship is… important to me.

I need to stop putting myself in positions where I can get hurt.

Vann moves quickly, leaning in to brush his lips to mine.

At the last moment, I reach up, placing my hand over his mouth, though not so soon that he stops his trajectory.

My palm pushes into my lips as he kisses me through the barrier of my hand. I expect him to pull back, but he doesn’t immediately.

There’s too much pain in the action.

For a second, I think about letting my hand slide down, and opening myself for him, the rest of the world be damned.

But, finally, he pulls back.

His brows draw together and his mouth is parted. His chest heaves.

“Arlet,” he groans. “Forgive me.”

“I can’t,” I bite out. “Because you did nothing wrong.”

He looks at me like a lost man. If he could, I don’t doubt he would’ve tried to bolt. To run far from both this place and me.

But he can’t. We have to stay here.

I sit there, waiting to see what would happen next. Would he try to kiss me again? Or skulk away to the fire?

His throat bobs.

“You need to sleep, Arlet. We both do. We’re just tired,” he chokes out.

I nod my head, then glance back at the bed. “Would you?—”

“I’ll be more attentive this time. I’ll wake if you turn again,” he says quickly. “No need for the bindings.”

Accepting his answer, I dip my head once more, and push towards the bed. I slide under the blanket, and close my eyes.

My mind stays totally awake for hours.