Page 29 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

VANN

T he night drags on, and sleep evades me.

I roll onto my side, blinking against the dim firelight. I let myself look up at the bed, and there she is. Arlet.

Her breathing is soft and steady, and her lips are slightly parted in sleep. A strand of her copper-red hair has fallen across her cheek. The memory of the warmth of her skin lingers on my fingertips.

We’d almost kissed last night.

And she rejected me.

It fucking hurt.

It hurts almost as much as my stupid lie, and I worry I made a mistake.

Love is vast, like the ocean. It has unknown depths. It gives and takes, ebbs and flows.

Was my maintained loyalty to Adra just a way to staunch the flow of the waves? Am I… a fool seeking to hold back something as mighty as the sea?

The woman before me is just starting to find herself. Even without a heart, plagued by the constant pain, I have warmed to her.

She makes me feel like I am alive. Like it is all right to be happy again.

Perhaps it is time to lay to rest the ghost of what once was, and let the earth cradle the remnants of your past , a voice whispers. It is not too late to tell the truth.

I grit my teeth, frustrated and pull out the small pad and charcoal. It takes time to flip past the endless drawings of her. Lying in bed beside me, walking through the mountain pass, her hair tearing free of her bun on the dragon to whip over my skin.

Now, I capture this moment. Letting the brush of my hand craft another memory. Trying to get this all right because it was possible that one day, we would return to Enduvida, and everything would sink into the dull patterns we’d followed before.

Another ache blossoms in my chest. I will miss the constant companionship if that happens.

Arlet shifts slightly, the furs rustling as she moves, and a new pang of guilt twists in my gut as my charcoal traces the rise and dip of her form. One bare foot has snuck out from under the blanket to cross over her covered shin.

I keep thinking of last night. When the curse takes hold, when the hungry, foreign thing claws through her veins, it is my voice that calls her back. My hands that keep her tethered to herself.

Suddenly, heat blazes over my skin, and I remember her lips against my flesh. There had been no thought behind it, no calculation, just instinct. A desperate attempt to heal what she had broken.

She should’ve let me kiss her. I would’ve returned her sweetness with passion.

I could imagine her enjoying herself. I could picture moaning at the onslaught of kisses I’d gift her in gratitude.

If she wanted release, I would be there for her. I would draw her out of her head. Make her forget her sadness.

She would give herself to me in trust, and it would be my job to ensure every twisted fantasy in her head was completed to her satisfaction. I could give her what she needs.

Heat snakes through me, oblivious to how cold I’d been throughout the years. The adrenaline rushes to my cock, and my fingers twitch, eager to stroke her flesh. She could have been soft and well-fucked right now. But she’d rejected my advance.

Likely, because I am a bastard .

Arlet shifts under the blankets, her lashes fluttering before her gaze meets mine. I close the sketch book, and cast it to the side where my blankets are strewn. Then I adjust my pants.

Awareness dawns slowly, her breath catching as the space between us seems to shrink.

She swallows, her throat bobbing. The lamp light paints her in warm hues, and I wonder if she’s ever looked at herself the way I do.

“Good morning,” she murmurs, sitting up, her back arching slightly as she stretches the remnants of sleep away. “Are they here?”

They? Ah, yes.

Morning. Breakfast. Theren.

Time moves differently in this room, expanding and folding over itself.

“Not yet,” I say softly.

She reaches up, trying to comb through her locks, before giving up and falling back onto the bed.

So tired, little human.

“Would you like me to help you with your hair?” I ask, surprising myself.

She looks up at me, blinking rapidly.

“I—wouldn’t that be inappropriate?”

I shrug. “I’ve already seen your hair down. I only do it for your sore arms.”

She shifts on the bed, then reaches for her pack, wincing as she fishes out a stone comb. When her hand extends, holding it out to me, I smile.

Really smile. Perhaps she isn’t so mad after last night.

She looks unsure. “It’s simple. Just?—”

“I know how to do such things,” I murmur.

Silence falls over us as I untie the band around her locks, and let the red spill out over her shoulders. Gently, I work my way through the tangled tresses.

They are soft and carry her fragrance.

“Did… Adra teach you about these things?” Arlet asks.

I suck in a sharp breath. “Yes.”

She doesn’t respond again, as I twist the hair several times until it coils neatly around itself atop the crown of her head. She tucks a curl behind her ear, and I catch the scars over her fingers.

The ones I’d promised her such sweet things while holding.

“Lorien likes you very much,” I say. “It is sweet. You are good with children.”

I feel her soften at the compliment.

“I like them very much—and he is sweet.”

“You like them enough to give up time you could spend weaving. I can imagine.”

She shifts her head, and glances at me over the shoulder. “I haven’t given up on weaving. I just… think that Lorepath is more important right now.”

Lorepath. Hmm. “That is the name of your education project, no?”

“It most certainly is.”

I pull the comb close to her hairline, smoothing the edges. “It is very important to you.”

She hums.

Then, she takes a deep breath. “I think that proper education is one of the most important tools of a better life, you know? You probably learned practical skills like reading as a child, I was much older when I finally had the opportunity.”

She sounds defensive, so I tap her shoulder.

“I wasn’t trying to critique. You absorb information like no one I’ve ever met. You are witty.”

She pauses, and it’s like I can see the words tangling in her mind.

“I wish I could spend more time behind a loom… but I have the skills to make the program. I have the time. I want to give—to add so fiercely to the world around me that I won’t have to search for my mark. It will be a deep gouge, brimming with good things. And when I’ve done that, I will rest. I will weave a thousand tapestries just for me.”

When she talks, its like I can’t fucking breathe. She is so good. So so sweet. Perfect.

“That doesn’t sound like resting,” I tease.

She laughs .

After tying her hair, I reach down, and grab her hand, holding it up to inspect. I line hers up next to mine and find my palm completely swallows her.

I smile.

“But, jokes aside, I think that is beautiful. I can picture it.”

She relaxes against me, and it feels like a reward. Then her fingers expand, spreading my digits wide.

She looks up at me. “You know, I always wondered how you lost these.”

I hesitate. “It’s a gruesome tale, Firelocks. Not nearly as lovely as your gentle words.”

“How gruesome?” she pries, our hands still touching.

“Very.”

“I tell you my story if you tell me yours,” she says, the silhouette of her cheek pulling up in a smile.

We’d had such a strange, heavy night. I find myself craving an easy moment.

I like talking to her, even if she will not let me have her.

“A giant bit them off while I tore his head in two.”

She yelps and looks up at me. “Tore? How? His skull?—”

“At the jaw,” I murmur, touching the delicate hinge on the side of her face.

She frowns, then says, “The giants have always been cruel. One of the giant princes?—”

“Cut yours off. Estela sewed them back on,” I repeat. I’d asked about it the first week she came to Enduvida. “I already know.”

A moment of silence follows, but she stares at me, her hand against mine. I see hurt flicker in her eyes, and I feel it reflected in my gut.

I’d hurt her with a lie she didn’t know was a falsity. She’d hurt me with the kiss.

My sin is worse.

“Arlet, about last night?—”

A small knock sounds. She drops her hand and moves away, so I stand, frustrated, and get the door .

When I open it, I find a man with a tray of bread, fruits I don’t recognize, and water.

“Good morning,” the elf says with a bow. “I bring you breakfast. Vaer’Saryth Theren will arrive soon to take you on a tour. Enjoy.”

Arlet and I thank him and he leaves.

We eat in silence, and the discomfort grows.

Thankfully, it does not take long for Theren to make good on his promise. He arrives, dressed in dark leather and sporting a smile.

“Good morning, our honored guests,” he says brightly, using the common tongue.

Arlet is delighted, and we exchanged pleasantries.

“So, you want to see the dragons, yes? It will be a fun outing before the feast tonight.”

She looks up at me, surprised. “Can we?”

I make a funny expression. “Do you want to?”

She hesitates. “I thought you didn’t like them.”

“Yes or no, Firelocks.”

“Yes, let’s go,” she responds, really smiling for the first time all morning.

Theren smiles and gestures us forward.

The cold rush of mountain air bites at my skin as we leave. The city is quiet but not asleep. People move through the streets, some with wares filling their arms, others hurrying off as if to make it to their jobs in a timely manner.

We walk through the rows of buildings, and her small hand nestles in mine. We move swiftly through the winding city paths until the buildings thin and the scent of smoke and beast fills the air.

Theren takes a deep breath. “Ah, you smell that? Dragons. Nothing compares to this. Smoke and scale, I like to call it.”

I smile. The smell does cling to the wind, a heady mix of charred wood and molten rock.

“My wife is fascinated by them.” I turn back to Arlet who has her head upturned to the sky.

Theren smiles. “I am glad.” Then he switches to common tongue. “Did you enjoy the ride last night?”

She looks up, surprised again. Then nods .

His smile widens to a toothy grin, and he begins to spout off facts about the dragons. How long they live, what they eat, and even a description of the mating season.

I listen, translating as we walk and the ground beneath us changes from the smooth stone of the city paths to the rough-hewn trails carved into the cliffs. Ahead, the silhouettes of towering nests sit. Whereas the city is in the mountainsides, the nests are near the peaks.

They are massive structures, half-natural caves and half-elven craftsmanship, woven with thick ropes and reinforced with bones I don’t care to identify. Low embers glow within the depths of some, like houselights.

Arlet sucks in a short breath. I hear her mutter something.

“What did you say?” I ask.

“Madre mía,” she says, enunciating the words more clearly. “I’m just surprised.”

Nodding, I tuck away more bits and pieces of her, and slow our pace. I draw Arlet closer to me as we press against the shadows of a stone wall.

When Theren mentions that a mating season had just completed not too long ago, Arlet beams.

“I wonder if we’ll see any baby dragons,” she whispers, clearly excited.

I don’t answer. My focus remains on our surroundings, as we are close to the edge of the cliff. My tail instinctively wraps around her.

A soft rustle of wings draws my attention skyward. High above, a onyx black dragon from before shifts on its perch, its massive talons scraping against stone as it settles.

“There’s my dragon. Perhaps you recognize him,” Theren says. “Vyrenth.”

Arlet’s breath catches. “ Dioses míos ,” she murmurs, pressing a hand to her chest. “It’s so beautiful.”

Beautiful isn’t the word I would use. Terrifying, perhaps. Lethal.

I say the name to her and she tries to repeat it.

“The ‘ nth’ is lighter,” Theren says in the common tongue.

When she gets it right, he laughs .

“How old is Vyrenth?” she asks kindly.

“I am his second rider,” Theren continues. “He tells me maybe a thousand turns of the sun.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “He speaks to you?”

Theren nods but doesn’t elaborate. Instead he asks, “Are you interested in getting closer to the dragons?.”

Arlet tenses beside me, but not in fear. “Yes.”

I narrow my eyes. “I think it’s too dangerous.”

“No danger with me,” Theren interjects.

“Come on, Vann, don’t you like adventure?” she fires back.

I should argue, should put an end to this reckless idea before it forms further, but damn me , there’s something about the way her eyes shine that makes my grip loosen just slightly.

I exhale sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples. “Fine. But if you get eaten, I’m leaving your body here.”

Arlet beams. “I would expect nothing less, mi cielo .”

“Fucking hell,” I curse under my breath as she follows Theren..

We weave between the rocky outcrops, avoiding loose rock. Up close, I can see how the dragons rest within their nests. Their massive bodies are curled into a ball, and their breath causes the embers within to glow and fade with each exhalation.

Arlet stops abruptly.

“Are you well, human?” Theren asks.

I follow her gaze and my stomach tightens.

A dragon lies barely a dozen paces ahead, separated from the others, its body curled in a nest of dark stone and shattered eggshells.

“That dragon is… beautiful,” she exclaims

Its golden scales shimmer, and its wings folded are neatly at either side, but its eyes cause me to pause.

Open. Watching.

It isn’t sleeping. It knows we’re here. And yet, it doesn’t move.

“This is Seraph,” Theren says. Then he tilts his head to the side, making a tsking sound.

The dragon watches us with something between curiosity and patience. Its nostrils flare, inhaling, as if committing our scent to memory.

Then, a soft voice speaks.

“She doesn’t fly anymore.”

We all turn, and I spot a small figure stepping from behind a nearby boulder. Brown, wild hair, bright gleaming eyes.

“Lorien!” Theren laughs. “Your father told you not to sneak out today.”

The boy grins, squaring his small shoulders with the kind of bravado only children can muster. “I wanted to see our visitors.”

“Lorien!” Arlet repeats, drawing her attention from the dragon, and seeing the boy. “Hello again.”

The child is confused, but Theren translates for him as he scoops him up, balancing his nephew on his shoulders.

“You sure you want to stay?” he asks.

Lorien nods.

“Very well. But we must be sure your father doesn’t find out.”

Arlet’s attention goes back to the dragon, and I jerk my chin toward the beast. "What do you mean, it doesn't fly?"

Lorien glances at the dragon, his voice quieter now. “It is a mama dragon. Her babies died.”

Theren casts him a weary glance. Then he clarifies, “We have a problem with hunting birds. They like to eat dragon eggs, and this past mating season was… difficult. We have not been controlling their growth as we should. Seraph killed the thieving creatures and put the eggshells back. She is mourning.”

The words settle like a stone in my chest.

I turn to Arlet, who looks expectant. I hesitate. But I can’t lie to her again.

When I finish the story, she looks as though she might cry. Instead, she chooses to be brave.

“May I touch her?” she asks Theren.

He purses his lips. “She does not let others touch her lately. But you can try. Put your hand up, and approach. If she doesn’t look away, it should be fine.”

“What happens if she looks away?” Arlet asks.

“Then you retreat,” Theren says simply.

I watch her take a deep breath. That woman can't help herself but find a friend.

She steps forward, hand out.

The dragon, Seraph, watches. I keep waiting for the creature’s head to turn so that I could bring Arlet back to my side, but she doesn’t.

There were other things we needed to do, and being made to take a tour when the King of the Elves was hunting her seemed foolish.

But then, Arlet reaches the end of the nest. Her fingertips brush against golden scales. The dragon does not flinch. She only exhales, long and deep, as if waiting for something only Arlet can give.

“Very well done,” Theren says. “Come, I will show you the training area.”

Arlet reluctantly steps away, and then I fold her close to me again. I shouldn’t be doing that, not after the kiss, but she doesn’t fight me and I am on edge up here.

The trail narrows as we ascend, the air thinning with the climb. The city’s noise fades, replaced by the rhythmic sound of wind rushing through the cliffs. Theren sets Lorien down and the boy moves with ease, his small frame darting around jagged rocks.

Other elves pass us, calling out common greetings. We move at a slow pace compared to them, but at last, we arrive.

The path leads to a rocky outcrop, half-shielded by a crumbling wall of stone. Beyond it, a plateau stretches out like an open hand.

Arlet’s breath catches as she takes in the sight. Her neck tilts and she grins up at the clouded sky.

Five dragons—sleek, powerful creatures of varying sizes and colors—circle overhead. Their riders sit atop them with practiced ease, calling out commands in sharp, melodic elvish. The dragons respond in perfect harmony, banking left or right, climbing higher, then diving in breathtaking spirals.

Below, another group of riders stands in formation, their eyes skyward as they shout instructions to the airborne teams.

Lorien points upward. “I take lessons,” he proclaims.

Arlet looks at me for meaning.

“They are teaching him how to ride a dragon,” Theren says.

Her eyes go wide as stones. “Really? So young?”

Theren translates this time, and the boy puffs out his chest. “I’m going to be a Skyborne. Not like my father, who spends his time sitting on a chair.”

I translate for Arlet as she watches an emerald green dragon break from formation and dives toward the plateau. Its wings flare at the last second, stirring the loose gravel at the edge of the cliff.

The rider gestures toward the sky, and the dragon launches into the air once more, beating its wings with thunderous force.

Theren grins. “Now comes the fun. You’re own riding lesson.”

The blood drains from my face, but Arlet practically vibrates with excitement.

I let out a long breath. We would be riding one of these things to the Witch’s Isle anyway.

Better we learn now, surrounded by friendly faces.

“Excellent,” I say. “What should we do first?”

“We’ll get you suited. You’ll need a harness that will connect you to the riding saddle,” he gives an appraising look to Arlet, and I almost consider stepping in front of her.

Gods, I’m so on edge.

“Your wife will need new clothes. Enchanted leathers, so the scales will not cut into her skin,” he declares over the sound of wing beats.

He turns to shout at one of the other elves. Another man. The newcomer nods sharply, and runs away.

Theren claps his hands and whistles. His dragon, Vyrenth, appears a little while later, hovering above him and casting rough gusts in our direction.

“Now watch me!” Theren makes another symbol and the beast zooms down, almost touching the stone. The elf grasps onto his saddle, jumping on.

Theren lets out a whoop and Lorien cheers as his uncle soars into the sky.

Perfect. This day might kill me.