Page 8 of A Cursed Bite (Bound to the Enduar #1)

VANN

Earlier that day,

I wake at four in the morning, ready to find Daniel before I need to report to Teo in a lower level of Enduvida. The city is still, the cavernous halls bathed in dim combination of crystals, spell lights, and giant lumikaps —massive mushrooms with glowing tops. Each flickers or glows like a distant star.

As I head towards the prison in the forging section, I count my steps. It’s a long walk and my breath fogs in the brisk cave air.

Daniel should be there. I intend to learn what his relationship with Arlet had been and why he is still terrorizing her.

Yesterday, Faol, one of the hunters, had told me that the night Daniel showed up outside Arlet’s home, he’d been detained.

He was supposed to stay for three days, and tonight, Endu willing, he would spend his time in pain.

As I pass clusters of buildings and the Ardorflame temple, I think about how, just a year ago, the caverns didn’t even need a prison. There were so few of us then—just survivors, bound by the simple fact that we had each other. Now, with so many new people, we have one yet again.

It reminds me too much of the past. Of the way things were under Teo’s father. Walls, punishments, control—it all served to divide us.

There is war to worry about, but now we must also be concerned about crime creeping in like rot beneath stone.

And I don’t like it. Not one damn bit.

My boots echo against the stone as I cross into the prison corridor, nodding to the guards stationed near the gate. A large, square-jawed ocean-risen enduar—Ce’Olarin—straightens when he sees me.

“Lord Vann,” he greets.

I don’t waste time. “I believe a human man was brought here two nights ago. I want to speak with him.”

Ce’Olaric frowns. “Which one?”

I pause. “I only know he is called Daniel. He has pale hair.”

The guards exchange a glance before Ce’Olaric tilts his head toward the cells. “Hmm, I don’t know any humans by that name. It’s a light night. One of the ocean-risen is in for running through the street naked. There should be a handful of humans, though. Go on.”

I step past Ce’Olaric and walk into the cellblock. It smells of damp stone, iron, and piss. The walls are carved directly from the cavern rock, rough in some places, but smoothed by the passage of countless hands in others. The glow of embedded crystals provides dim, uneven lighting, casting long, fractured shadows across the narrow corridor lined with iron-barred cells.

Each cell is enclosed by a combination of metal gates and reinforced stone, designed to hold even the strongest of enduares. The air hums faintly with magic, the warding glyphs etched into the archways pulsing with the slow rhythm of a binding spell song.

Some of the cells are empty, their doors left slightly ajar, while others hold murmuring figures—one or two humans and several ocean-risen. I see the one Ce’Olaric mentioned, an ocean-risen sprawled lazily on a bench, still reeking of salt and alcohol with only a thin, short blanket covering his cock.

Fucking idiot.

I recognize most of the trouble-makers from previous visits. All of them are usually tucked away for minor offenses—brawls, stealing, excessive drunkenness.

I flip through my memories as I move, pulling up Daniel in my mind’s eye. Yellowish white hair, flat features. He looked like someone had stomped on his face a little too hard—and I was upset it hadn’t been me.

Scanning the rows, I frown. Daniel is nowhere to be seen.

A slow, burning unease creeps down my spine. I head back out into the reception room.

“He’s not here,” I say.

Ce’Olaric shrugs. “Someone probably came to get him during the night. I just got here an hour ago.”

“Who gave the order?” I demand.

The man next to Ce’Olaric shakes his head, and I realize I don’t know him. “Faol Scar-Eye. You’ll have to ask him.”

I look back through the doorway and stare at the empty cell, my pulse hammering.Faol told me that he had taken Daniel here, not that he’d let him free.

Gods on their stony thrones, I’m going in circles.

“Very well. Thank you,” I grind out. I turn sharply and stride back into the city streets.

I had a meeting with Teo soon.

As I head toward my home, unease curls tighter in my gut with every step. But just as I reach the residential section, I see her.

Arlet stands on her doorstep, frozen. She’s completely ready for the day, but her skin is pale in the dim morning light. Her breathing is fast—too fast.

Then I see why.

The thick, jointed limb of an aradhlum lies across her doorstep, its deep-purple blood seeping into the stone in pools. From what I see, she hasn’t touched it.

I pick up my pace.

Is she all right? I myself have been bitten by the spiders on several occasions and the venom can be deadly if not treated immediately.

I reach her side, and before I can think, I say, “What the hell are you doing? ”

She jolts, body seizing like a string pulled too tight. Her gaze snaps to mine, wide and unsteady, her hands curling into her palms as if to hide something.I don’t see any signs of the venom on her face, and her coloring is better.

I frown when I notice the dots on her face are less visible.

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

“We are neighbors,” I say simply.

Her lips part, and then she forces a smile—too bright, too easy. “Oh, this? I—I imagine some creature killed it and left it as a gift. I do tend to be perceived as friendly.”

I scoff. She’s fucking sunshine in this place.

We go back and forth a bit longer, but it is clear to me she’s lying. She’s never been a good liar. On the one hand, this spider could’ve attacked her. Why would she lie about that?

She needed protection, in that case.

But if she was hiding something… maybe it was because she had something to do with the death. Something inside of me, a nagging feeling, tells me that Daniel had something to do with this. Maybe there are signs of a struggle in her house. I need to get inside.

Then she says the words that draw me back to the conversation, “...if you treat someone poorly long enough, they won’t want you anywhere near them.”

I go utterly still.

Excuse me?

I tilt my head slightly, watching her closely. Keeping a tight monitor of my breathing to ensure I don’t get overwhelmed by a numbing attack again, I carefully say, “I have not always treated you poorly.”

She blinks. A flicker of something crosses her face. She looks at me for a moment longer, then breaks away, and bids me goodbye.

I tell her I’ll clean the mess and watch the tension build in her shoulders before she moves with a barely contained urge to flee. She turns sharply and strides past me.

It’s so different from how she’d reacted in the council meeting. That night, she’d leaned toward me when she felt danger. Why so run away now ?

Did I make her nervous or safe? Or perhaps, both?

She shouldn’t fear me—she’d been in my old house. Had helped nurse me back to health from an infection when I’d almost died.

Once she’s out of sight, I turn to the mess. In truth, aradhlum blood isn’t that hard to clean up, and I make quick work of it.

When the clock tower chimes eight thirty in the morning, I decide I still have time to sleuth and turn back toward Arlet’s house.

Was there blood inside? Perhaps there was some threatening note from the ass-face. Or maybe a cursed object?

She wasn’t ready to accept that something could be seriously amiss, so I needed to find proof. She’d listen to Teo or Estela.

Checking to ensure no one else is out and about yet, I hurry around to the door at the side of the dwelling. It’s unlocked.

Really, it’s her own fault for not locking both doors.

Still, a sharp pang of guilt twists in my chest the second I cross the threshold. I shouldn't be here.

Her home is… beautiful, though messy with gifts strewn about.

It feels personal being inside, like stepping into someone’s mind without permission. She had only been in this home for one month before her appointment with the council, yet she had already built something infuriatingly artistic.

The walls are painted deep blue, streaked with red, orange, and emerald green accents. Light filters through woven curtains, casting soft patterns against stone.

I run my fingers over a gilded embellishment on the wall, wondering where she got such a large quantity of gold paint. Then, I think of the home I once shared with Adra.

It was different from this. The memory was perfectly intact, as all mine were. It had been smaller—for I’d merely been a soldier. It was a shame, as she was the only daughter in a wealthy family up north.

Most of what I made went to giving her jewels and dresses. She’d won my heart, and everything I owned belonged to her.

When she expressed interest in my sketches, and surprised me with a basket of paint pots, I painted everything that pleased her. And those pieces had always been displayed.

While none of those portraits exist anymore, there is artwork all over Enduvida, and yet Arlet's home is void of them.

I shake my head. She probably just didn’t have time to select any. Logically, I know she takes on the work of three people.

Why should bare walls bother me? She could fill it with her own art.

I have seen her loom, her hands pulling glorious works from mere thread. She possesses a gift that would have made the master artisans of the Golden Age envious.

But still—no paintings.

Did she not think them worth her time or space?

My jaw tightens as I move through the weaving room. It isn’t why I’m here.

Searching the floor for any trace of bloodstains, I move carefully.

I find nothing. The floors are clean, too clean. If there was a struggle, she—or someone else—had already erased the evidence.

Or maybe the struggle was contained upstairs?

I lift my chin, inhaling deeply. The scent of her home is distinct—it smells like her perfume, the faint trace of something floral and the lingering warmth of woven fabric. But beneath it, barely detectable, is the sharp, metallic tang of aradhlum blood.

It’s faint, but unmistakable.

My pulse thrums and my tail twitches as I approach the staircase leading to her private quarters. For a moment, I hesitate. This is more intrusive than simply searching for evidence on the main floor. But something compels me forward—a small, barely perceivable touch.

Awareness that my god is urging me on washes over me.

I take the steps slowly, deliberately. The corridor is narrow as it leads into her bedroom. The scent is stronger up here, and the door is slightly ajar.

Pushing it open, I step inside.

Her room is… warm. Cozy in a way I didn’t expect. Woven blankets drape the bed, the frame itself carved from dark stone. Shelves line the walls, filled with fabric, tools, and carefully arranged scrolls.

But what catches my eye first are the bottles of mead on the small wooden table near her bed.

Half-empty.

I walk over, picking one up, rolling the bottle neck between my fingers. Mead is not an unusual drink, but I’ve seldom seen her drink so much. The presence of multiple bottles suggests trouble.

Was she drinking to forget? I could relate to that.

I set the bottle down, exhaling through my nose. Curiosity pushes me onto the scrolls on the side of her bed. All of them clearly came from the royal library, and I wonder if this has to do with her work with the school. When I twist the cap on one, I see the title, “My Tangled Desire.”

I blink.

The script is in an elegant, swirling font as though written by a master scribe. Even more so, it’s written in my people’s language.

Was she really so fluent in enduar? I unroll a bit and begin to read.

“He yanked down the neckline of her dress, one perfectly azure breast spilling out. With her hands bound behind her back, she could do little more than arch her body into his touch. His fingers trailed lower, tracing patterns down her stomach as his lips found purchase against her neck. Her breath hitched, and she let out a small gasp as he ? —”

I drop the scroll, a flush spreading up my neck and heat rushing to my groin. I wasn’t a prude—but this?

After scooping up the text, I grab another. I find her marking spot—it’s a metal clip with a ribbon and… the contents are similar.

Hell, I didn’t even know the library stored books like this. Mind churning, I can’t seem to parse this out. Wasn’t the library supposed to be full of annals, maps, diaries of previous sovereigns? Scientific fact?

I hesitate a moment more, then place both back on the nightstand and look to her bed.

Did she read those words before bed? Did they stir a heat in her?

Was it a desire of hers to be bound that she might surrender to another’s touch and care? Is she hungry for an intense passion borne of trust?

It… is easy to picture her enjoying that. She is a hard worker, of ten pushing herself to impose order on chaos. Something in me recognized that a life like that leads to few moments of respite.

I too wished for the sweet, consuming oblivion that pleasure could provide. It had been a long time since?—

Clamping down swiftly on those thoughts, I turn away and adjust my pants at the groin. With another deep breath, my gaze landed on the large frame loom standing in the far corner of the room.

My chest tightens.

I approach it slowly, my fingers brushing over the sturdy stone frame. It has been a while since I’ve seen her working with cloth. The vertical threads are stretched taut, frozen in time, while the shuttle rests mid-weave, abandoned as if she had left in a hurry. The half-formed pattern lingers—a story interrupted.

The colors are breathtaking—deep indigos, rich crimsons, and streaks of gold woven together in intricate patterns. A river. A meadow. And… a barren mountain?

Was that blood staining the top?

No, just thread.

The craftsmanship is impeccable. Even half-finished, it is a work of art.

My fingers trace over the strands.

For all my time in Enduvida, for all the painful distance between us, I have never been allotted much access to her thoughts or hobbies. Part of that is my fault.

I wonder what she would create if she weren’t carrying a thousand responsibilities. If she weren’t constantly working herself to exhaustion. If she weren’t… alone.

A cold ache presses into my ribs, but I shove it away. I am not here to marvel at her skill. Nor am I here to ruin my day before it’s fully begun.

I am here to figure out what’s happening.

Turning, I scan the room again—and that’s when I find a crate filled with crumbled clothes. I stride closer, realizing the smell of blood is more potent in this area.

Pulling out a handful of garments, I spot a white nightgown, similar to the one she wore last night. I crouch as I lift the delicate fabric between my fingers. It’s stained with deep purple that’s nearly black.

I inhale sharply, and her scent floods my senses.

Warm, soft, something distinctly Arlet beneath the sharp, pungent tang of spider’s blood. Her scent hits me harder than I expect, wrapping around my throat, stealing my breath.

For a moment, my grip tightens on the fabric. My body is betraying me, reacting to something it shouldn’t.

Damn it.

I force myself to crumple it up as my fingers curl into fists. I try to steady my breathing.

Who gives a sparkling fuck what she smells like? This is about what happened last night. Daniel is missing. The aradhlum was butchered. And Arlet acts like she doesn’t remember an entire day, nor how the spider died.

I rise to my feet, rolling my shoulders. I take one last glance at the room—at the loom, at the mead, at the nightgown—then exhale slowly.

Never in the history of my recollection has something like this happened in the caves.

I’ve never seen someone forget so much time from drinking alone. Never seen someone cold and pale and screaming in the middle of the night.

She wasn’t bitten by a vaimpír, not with those black eyes. Maybe it was a trick of the light?

In the past, I had seen a soldier on the battlefield go mad after days without sleep paired with intense bloodlust, but Arlet isn’t in that position.

Something is wrong, and that worries me.

I can’t be in this state, constantly wondering if she is going to walk off a cliff. She isn’t ready to face whatever is happening. But I am.

I step back toward the door, my thoughts already spinning through the possibilities. Looking down at the gown, I decide I will give her one last chance to talk to me .

And if she didn’t? I would take this to Teo. She might listen to him.

If I have to go through the queen herself to get answers, I will.

I owed Arlet my life, and I’m not about to let her be hurt. Perhaps, if I can solve this mystery, my mind will stop bending toward her memory. Perhaps I will feel free from the… longing that aches in my hollow soul.

With one final look at her home, I leave head toward the weaving cavern.