Page 40 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

VANN

W hen Arlet leaves, I feel cold. Chilled, but relieved. It’s easier to fight without her here.

The shore is chaos. A dozen ogres tower over the landscape, hurling massive rocks at the elven ships, their strength shaking the ground. One ogre stumbles, crashing into nearby huts, splintering them. The thatched roofs burn quickly, and the walls crumble.

The witches stand firm, casting protective spells, but the elven fireballs are relentless. One witch’s shield cracks as an explosion hits, and more huts fall as the shockwaves tear through the air. The walkways are broken, chunks of wood splintered and scattered.

A cenote nearby collapses with a deafening rumble. The ground shifts, and the water plunges downward, creating a violent whirlpool that sweeps away everything in its path. The once peaceful water is now a torrent, pulling trees and debris into its depths.

Smoke rises from the water as I race toward the battle. Three elven shoreboats, sleek and fast, speed toward the beach. Each boat is about twenty feet long, narrow, and with a sharply pointed prow.

The hulls are crafted from dark mahogany, streaked with silver veins that shimmer in the light. The wood has an ethereal sheen, catching the moonlight in strange, unnatural ways .

On the bow of each boat is a carving of a towering tree, its roots stretching out like delicate branches.

They would regret coming here.

I hold up my cleaver, it’s familiar weight solid in my hand, the edge gleaming. My heart pounds, adrenaline coursing through me. There’s no time for hesitation.

The first boat nears. Elves in dark, green armor stand along its sides. I don’t give them a chance to strike. I run, my feet pounding against the earth, and launch myself toward the side of the boat.

I land hard, the wood splintering beneath me. The elves freeze for a second—just long enough for me to slash through the nearest one. He crumples to the deck, blood spraying across the planks. The others react too late, reaching for their weapons as I cut through another.

I’m a blur of movement, my focus narrowed to the kill. Every swing brings me closer to Arlet’s arms. Elven magic crackles around me, but I’m faster. One elf raises his bow—but I’m already on him, cleaver slicing through his neck before he can release the arrow.

The second boat is close. I board it without hesitation.

The first elf I see is a woman, her eyes wide as she draws a dagger. She never gets the chance to use it—my cleaver cuts through her arm, disarming her with brutal efficiency.

The others hesitate, unsure whether to charge or retreat. They don’t have time to decide. I’m on them, cutting and slashing, each blow sending another to the ground, their blood staining the deck. The sounds of battle—screams, clashing steel—are drowned out by the roar in my ear.

The third boat. It’s here. Elves line up to fire, but I don’t care. I charge, cleaver raised, and leap into the air. The boat’s deck creaks beneath me as I land in the middle of their line, sending two elves flying with a single swing.

Blood coats the wood, slick beneath my feet.

Something thumps in my chest, and I push on.

I won’t stop until they’re all dead.