Page 32 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

VANN

T he fire burns low, casting a dim, crimson glow across the stone walls in our room. Outside, gusts of wind whistle through the mountain peaks, but here, in the shelter of the guest quarters, all is quiet.

I don't sleep, despite knowing we will leave in the morning.

Instead, I sit on the ground across from the bed and watch Arlet. I draw her again, charcoal scraping against a leafof paper.

My body thrums with energy. Anticipation.

She sleeps as she usually does—on her side, her breathing soft and even. The light catches the curve of her cheekbone, the straight angle of her nose, the strands of copper hair that have escaped her braids and now fall across the pillow.

Something deep in my gut tightens.

I remember her running away from me. She had raced through the gardens, darting behind corners and jumping over a bench. I hadn’t known she could move so fast. She’d told me to go and then begged for me to stay.

It was awful, but there was one thing she repeatedly called out for in distress. One person who put her at ease. One person she could trust.

Me .

I hope she will ask for me again when her mind clears.

I had told her to do so. But, like a coward, I only whispered the words after she had gone to sleep.

I shift against the wall. Not being near her hurts.

A soft sound breaks the silence.

I tense.

Arlet's breath catches. Her brows knit together, and her hands fist the blanket. Then she bolts upright with a gasp. Her chest heaves and her cheeks are flushed.

"Firelocks?” I ask, maneuvering onto my knees. For a second, I am cautious, but her eyes are brown and beautiful, not at all black. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at me.

"Vann," she says and relaxes back into the cushion. “Yes. Sorry. I just… had a bad dream.”

“I understand.”

We share a smile, but then her easy expression fades. Her mouth goes slack, her eyes widen, and her shoulders rise.

Mild horror. Over last night?

“Are you well?” I ask.

“Yes,” she breathes, and then rolls over, facing the window and wall. “I’m tired—we should both go back to bed.”

From the rise and fall of her shoulders, it looks like her breath is short. She seems totally lucid. Evasive.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t respond for a few minutes.

“I still feel… uneasy.”

I sit forward. “Uneasy how? Is the wine still?—”

“No,” she says quietly. Definitively.

“Are you in pain? Is it your gown? I should’ve removed it, but I worried about touching you during…”

I trail off and she doesn’t try to finish the thought.

This is clearly a point of pain—as is perfectly reasonable after the wine.

Giving us the drug doesn’t feel like it was a deliberate attack against us—it feels more like a cultural misunderstanding .

But I wanted to leave this all behind. I think she does too.

“I am so sorry. But I hope you know it wasn’t your fault.”

She stares at the wall for a long time. “Not my fault. Not in control.”

Her hand comes up to press against her eyes.

“I’m so tired of this,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

She turns to me, and each pop and crack of the fire punctuates my nerves as we stare at each other, suspended in something that stops time.

“I feel I must thank you again,” she says.

“For not taking advantage of you?” I ask, bewildered.

“For, once again, upholding my trust.”

Except, I had lied. I feel awful. Like I’ve sunk into the floorboards.

“I don’t like it here,” her voice sears through my thoughts.

“I don’t either. It’s around midnight, judging by the moon. We’ll leave in the early morning, and then, we’ll find your witches and go home,” I say. “Just a few hours, Firelocks. Just?—”

“Will you hold me?”

Relief floods over shoulders and down my arms. Without hesitation, I crawl over and climb onto the bed. Once there, I pull her against my shoulder.

Her skin is a normal temperature, not fevered like it had been last night. I let out a relieved breath as she presses her face into my chest.

"I'm here," I whisper, cradling the back of her head. "I've got you."

Her slender arms wrap around me, and her nails dig into my back. The scent of her hair, lavender and wood, fills my senses.

Her breathing slows, a soft rhythm that lulls me into the warmth of the moment. She shifts her body, curling into my lap like she’s finally finding a place where she belongs. The blanket falls to the side. Firelight flickers and dances over her dress. And soon, it’s just us. Arlet and Vann. Firelocks, and her sky.

There is utter abandon in how she holds onto me.

How could I have known that we would be here one day? That all the struggles, the misunderstandings, the walls we built between us— would fall away like the blanket had, leaving two people who needed each other?

I’d been a fool for fighting her, for pushing her away when, all along, we could’ve had some version of this—this peace. I could’ve held her a long time ago. But I hadn’t known how to let go, how to trust. And now...

She lifts her head. Her eyes meet mine. Then she flushes.

“Hostia,” she winces. “I remember a few things, from before I fell asleep.”

Me too. I remember how she smelled—sweat, heat, and something raw that lingered in the air. Gods, I can only imagine how embarrassing that must’ve felt for her. She’s always put in twice the effort, fighting to keep a tight grip on the world around her, striving to make sense of it all.

Letting go of control is worlds apart from losing it. One feels like a gift, the other a violation.

When I look down at her, I wonder what exactly she’s remembering.

“Put it from your mind, Arlet. It was the wine.”

She sneaks another glance at me. “The story…”

I go back to holding my breath.Why had I told her that?

“It was lovely. Thank you,” she whispers.

“You’re welcome,” I murmur, brushing my hand over her hair.

We stay like that for a long time, but she doesn’t move. She doesn’t go back to sleep, either.

Then she says the words I never thought I’d hear.

“There was something else you said—That if I still wanted you when I woke, I only needed to ask.”

Heat floods through me. I am only aware of the places where our bodies are pressed together.

I swallow thickly, and pull back. She looks up at me with bright eyes.

“Aren’t you tired?” I ask.

A dozen other reasons this is a bad idea parade through my mind. Adra, her curse, Teo, Estela, her hope for a child, matehood…

“Vann,” she starts. “You seem to understand me. This journey has been hard. But right now, I am just me. You have to know—You must know that I care for you. Yesterday,” she swallows, “wasn’t the first time I wanted you.”

I listen, repeating each word in my mind, as if to memorize her phrases. I scramble for my excuses, the ones that have served me well.

But she is warm. Soft. And, somehow, completely at my mercy. That level of confidence is rare. Precious. She deserves to know how sweetly I would honor that.

When she shifts in my arms, everything but two, bold words fade.

Fuck it.

I don’t need excuses anymore. Not with her.

“Are you asking me?” I retort.

“What would you do if I was?”

I wait for her to look away, but she doesn’t.

"You're staring,” I murmur.

Her lips part, but she doesn't respond. Her gaze flits to my mouth, then back to my eyes. Her breath is sharp and shallow and quick.

"You do this from time to time,” I murmur. "Watch me like you're trying to figure out what I am. Like you're unraveling a tapestry thread by thread." I tilt my head. "What do you hope to find?"

She swallows hard. "You're hard to read."

"Or perhaps," I drawl, “I’m not and you're simply afraid of what you see."

Her breath catches.

“Can I touch you?”

Her chest rises and falls.

Once.

Twice.

“Yes.”

I dip my head, my breath fanning over her exposed neck.

“Good.”

Letting go of her torso, I shift to the edge of the bed and she moves so her legs straddle my lap. She looks at me. Watching, again .

She still wears the gown from the night before, and my fingers graze over rough fabric, trailing up her thighs. Her pulse flutters at the hollow of her throat.

I can see it from here.

Then she draws her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I’m not afraid of you, Vann. If that’s what you’re implying.”

“Maybe not of my blade, but you fear something. Maybe you fear to know what I think when you speak? What I feel when you look at me like that." I reach up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger at her jaw, thumb tracing the soft curve. "What runs through my mind when you bite your lip the way you're doing right now.”

Her teeth release her bottom lip instantly, but it's too late. The damage is done.

“What do you mean?” she chokes out, breathless.

My thumb slides across her mouth, catching the faint warmth of where she'd been worrying the skin. I know she likes the written word. Likes it when I quote the poets. I can do that.

“For what feels like eternity, I have endured as my eyes seek you out.”

Her eyes flutter closed.

“Arlet, if you still want what you wanted last night, I will be the warmth of the sun on a winter morning, the kind you didn’t realize you were missing until it touches your skin.” I splay my fingers over her stomach, and she gasps. “I will be the moment when the avalanche tumbles down the mountain—unyielding, just for you.”

I press my teeth into the shell of her ear, barely enough to hurt.

“Last night, you begged me to kiss you. To make you come.”

She freezes.

“Is that what you are asking from me now?”

Her eyes flutter open and closed. She threads her arms around my neck. “Yes.”

A low sound escapes me—not quite a growl, not quite a laugh.

I reach out to cup behind her neck, guiding her mouth toward mine. I give her time to pull away. A chance to deny the electricity crackling across our skin. But she doesn't move .

“No hands between us tonight,” I practically purr.

When our lips meet, it's slow. Soft. A brush of breath and warmth, like the first touch of a flame to dry kindling. My body hums, arranging and rearranging my very essence to watch in awe. Her hands rise to my shoulders, tentative at first, but then her fingers dig into the muscles there, pulling me closer.

I oblige.

The kiss deepens. Her mouth parts beneath mine, and I taste her. Sweet, like sunshine. Her sigh melts into me as my free hand slides around her waist, anchoring her to me.

She shifts on the bed, her thighs spreading wider as I pull her closer. My body presses between her legs, and she gasps as I tear at the laces on the back of her dress.

Our lips crash together again. Heat burns my skin, but I don’t push away. I want more.

Her dress slides down her chest, and I take my time. Savoring. Exploring.

I’d already seen her bare, but a man didn’t tire of seeing a goddess twice. Especially in this context. One where she wanted me.

My hand slides over her ribcage, my thumb grazing the underside of her peaked breast.

"Arlet," I murmur against her lips. “I need you to answer one last question.”

“All right,” she says. Pliable in my grip. It makes my cock painfully hard.

“How do I make you come?”

She blinks, flushing harder. Then she squirms.

“Arlet,” I grunt when she brushes against my length, rocking once. White light fills the edges of my vision, but I don’t lose sight of her. Her brow, her neck, her eyes. They are warm and vulnerable and worried.

“There was a time when all I knew of you was gleaned through quiet observation. But we’ve moved past that. We talk— of everything.”

“Just do what you like,” she says quickly .

I shake my head, and put a finger under her chin, tilting her gaze to mine.

“No.” The tip of my digit trails over her jaw. “No. That’s not how this works.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “But I… can’t.”

I keep tight pressure on her hip to remind her that all of this is safe. Then I notice when she moves to cover herself.

Ah. Her state of undress. She would feel more comfortable if I joined her.

Pulling my braid over my shoulder, I yank out the leather tie and let hair unwind. She watches, eyes shining. Then I pull my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the bed.

“Of all the things I’ve observed, the thing that has always made me the most sad is knowing that you deny yourself the most. You hide bits of yourself in plain sight. I can work with that, but we only get one first time. So tell me. It would be a gift.”

Her bare chest rises once, causing her collarbones to become more prominent. The back of my knuckle traces one. Lovely .

“In the past, I have spoken,” she says.

“But your partner didn’t listen.”

She shakes her head, agreeing.

“Do you think I would be so cruel?”

She blinks, warding the tears. “Well—no. I don’t think so.”

I pull her forward, giving her a moment to adjust to how we feel pressed together. My skin. My hands on her.

Our breath.

Rise, fall. Rise, fall.

“I want to be… overwhelmed,” she breathes then stops. “I like pressure. Abandon. Surrender.”

I muzzle my nose into the side of her neck. “Those are vague words.” I graze my teeth against the column of her throat. “Be specific.”

A shudder ripples through me when her hands tighten on my shoulders. Sizzling energy moves back and forth between us, crackling across my ribs.

“My mind is cluttered, full of work and life and worry. I want to be free of that with you. I want your touches to rip me away from my life. Be gentle, or don’t. Just… take charge.”

My mouth goes dry.

“You are so fucking perfect,” I murmur into her hair. “But you refuse to tell me exactly what is going through your mind.”

She lets out a stuttered breath. “I’m afraid.”

“We go as far as you want.”

She shudders against me. The foundations of her walls crack in the distance, and she seeks refuge right here. As she should.

“If there is one thing I am almost sure of, it is that you know to do this. But I need you…” I hang on each word as she shifts her hips in my lap with another acclimating touch, “to make me stop. Hold me in place. Tie me to the bed. Force the world to go quiet. Give me a space where I can enjoy existing.”

The heat pulses between us. Insistent. Maddening. It lifts me up, higher. Bolder. Something rests over us. A hum.

I had been right. I had read her like the back of my own hand—it was as if she’d been made just for me.

She misinterprets my silence. “I know it sounds strange?—”

“No.”

“—I’ve just always been like this. I shared it with Daniel and then… you know. Sometimes I wish I could replace those memories with happy moments. Ones that I could control.”

“I think it is beautiful. I understand.”

She pulls back, flushed. “Wait. What? You don’t think me strange? I think I’m strange for wanting this. Sometimes I feel so scared. Scared of what I am, what I did, what I could do. Never having control again. But over the time I’ve spent with you, I’ve realized nothing scares me more than never being known completely. I want you… to be the one to know me.”

I kiss her again. “Then let me. Let me help you fight the monsters. Let me patch up that scar. Do you want me to hold your wrists?”

She nods. “And my legs.”

A smile spreads over my mouth.

“I will take care of you. Right now, you are mine to break. Mine to put back together. ”

I pull out the pins in her hair, letting it fall down. She watches me with wonder. Then I lock both of her wrists in one hand, and hold them above her head. My hand is so large it wraps around more than her wrist, covering her palms and fingers too. She tries to move, testing the strength of my grip.

“Is this still all right?”

Somehow. She manages to thread her small finger through mine and I stop breathing.

“I will tell you if I need you to stop.”

Another promise.

Trust. It ripples off her in waves, giving me an endless supply of intoxicating power.

I guide her backward onto the mattress. Her hair fans across the pillow, and for a moment, I can only stare. The firelight paints her skin in shades of gold and rose, highlighting the delicate curve of her collarbone and the rapid rise and fall of her bare chest.

Under my gaze, she holds her breath.

“You are beautiful. Please don’t forget to breathe.”

And then I dip down to kiss her again. Starting at her throat, I touch each part of her arms, shoulders, and ribs, feeling the softness and the muscle, and listening to her perfect heart.

Rising, I use my shirt to tie her hands to the corner of the bed.

She sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn’t tell me to stop. So, I push her dress down to where it snags on her hips, I trace words in her freckled skin that she would never identify. Sweet words in my language.

"You don't know what you do to me," I say hoarsely against her navel. “What you have always done to me.”

"I trust you,” she whispers, repeating those words once again.

Gods help me. I will follow her to the ends of the earth.

As the fire crackles and casts flickering shadows across the room, I continue my reverent exploration of her body—mapping every curve and angle. Then finally, I use my tail to push her dress to the floor.

I let myself take her in with total, undeterred admiration. My hand smooths over the funny little patch of curly hair that points toward her sex.

“Open.”

Her legs shift, giving me a perfect, undeterred view of her glistening heat.

Fuck.

My tail moves forward, wrapping around her ankles as I watch her arch. She gasps as my thumb grazes the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Her eyes flutter closed, a fresh flush painting her cheeks a rosy hue. The room is filled with the heady scent of arousal, mingling with the crackling fire that casts dancing shadows on the walls.

I lean in to capture her mouth in a searing kiss, pouring all the longing and desire I've held back into the fervent meeting of our mouths. The power of the moment sends shivers down my spine.

With practiced ease, I divest myself of my own pants, letting them fall to the floor in a forgotten heap. The cool air kisses my heated skin, but it's nothing compared to the scorching gaze she directs at me.

Heat, blessed heat, after an endless season of cold.

Then I cover her body with mine to kiss her again. Her neck. Her shoulders. One for each freckle. She gasps at my onslaught, writhing against her restraints.

“What do you prefer, mouth or fingers?” I murmur into her ears. The peaks of her nipples scratch against my chest.

“Fingers,” she breathes, decided. Unapologetic. Gods, if I’d known she’d be decisive in this moment… my grip tightens.

Bringing my hand back to her curls, I trace the curves where her thighs meet her pelvis. And then, I seek out her warmth. The slickness coats my fingers. I take extra care to watch her movements. I look for where she takes a sharp breath, and what makes her squirm.

“Are you trying to torture me?” she chokes out after a second.

“You, my lovely Arlet, do not get to dictate how fast or slow this moment passes,” I growl. “And right now, you are doing so well.”

She freezes, and then a fresh wave of slickness coats my fingers.

“Nisera Hhalen,” I murmur. “Beautiful woman. ”

She beams, and then I reward her by inserting one finger. She arches up, crying out.

Hmm. Sensitive. So beautifully sensitive.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in.

Then I use my thumb and finger to work. It only takes moments, for how tightly she was wound, for her to come apart around me.

I feel it. The way she flutters and dances. The shift in the air.

The feeling of guilt doesn’t come, leaving me free from the pain. I just look at her, mouth parted.

I kiss her again. Fiercely. Our tongues tangle. She bites me. I groan.

“Again?” I ask.

“Yes.”

It turns out that her body is made for mine, because I barely have time to insert a second finger before she spasms again.

She comes so hard she goes taut as a bow above the bed. My chest floods with pleasure. My cock strains against my under shorts, and I shift against the bed, enjoying the little bits of friction I can glean.

I haven’t experienced anything like this ever.

The years alone, waiting, what were they for? I needed a woman under me.

I needed Arlet.

“It’s like you’ve been waiting for me to do that since we met,” I say into her throat. “You're soft and slick for me, Firelocks. Like a rainstorm beating on stone. Your body tells me stories your mouth would never dare utter.”

She pants.

“Is this enough showing?” I nip at her neck, almost without thinking.

“Vann.” Hesitation lingers in the last bits of her voice.

“Yes…?” I coax, still not thinking as I lavish wet kisses over her shoulder, down her sternum and up to a breast.

She takes a deep breath and her soft body goes rigid. I pull back immediately .

Her eyes glisten as she looks up at me. Her cheeks are flushed, and there is something akin to regret in her eyes.

And then tears fall down her temple.

“Firelocks, why do you cry?”

"Because this might be the first time I've ever felt completely, utterly known by another."

“I see you, and gods, it’s the most breathtaking sight.”

A smile breaks through her tears.

I shift our positions immediately. Propping her up, I reach for the folded nightgown she’s worn the past few nights and begin to slip it on, threading her arms through it.

She lets me do it all, and it fuels this need in my gut—an instinct to care for her, to be the sole person who would be hers.

A darker, more possessive thought creeps in. That all her passion and pleasure would be mine alone. As if I could make up for time lost being angry when we could’ve been this.

I would try.

I curl my body around her. Despite the moment of hesitation before, she pushes into me.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I press my nose into her hair, loving how it brushes against my chest.

“Tavra sathen ri, fel avel'dras mivara.” I say into her essence, breathing it deep.

Sleepy eyes look up at me. “I’ve given you back a… piece of yourself?”

I smile down at her, throwing a leg over her hips.

“Yes. And now you own it, too.”