Page 124 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
“What just happened?” he rasps.
“It’s cursed.” I exhale, trying my hardest to breathe normally.
He turns to me, utterly confused.
“Your armor is cursed.”
Chapter 36 Svenn
I’ve decided my volatile hate for the curse cannot win against the ferocious longing clawing at my heart for the girl.
But the moment I wear the armor, an overwhelming rage takes hold of me. The word in my mouth becomes raw, polluted, and vicious. All I want to do is lash out.
Darkness blankets me.
Three seconds later, the elven queen is in my lap with blood dripping from her wrist. I quickly seal the wound with my venom.
“What just happened?” I can hear the horror in my own voice.
“It’s cursed,” she whispers with a shaky breath. “Your armor is cursed.”
Her words take a moment to sink in until the last drop of my confusion bleeds away. I regard her steadily.
“Do you feel that consciousness?” she asks.
Every awareness in me focuses on the metal covering my body.
I want more lives. Give us blood, give us chaos.
A mixture of surprise and rage fills me. I am no stranger to all manners of fuckery, but what strange abomination is this? The presence whispering through the armor is sickening and vile.
“I tried telling you. Curses feed on your emotions and dark thoughts,” the girl says, wiping her bloodied wrist with a napkin from the table. “They will inch their way into your brain to control you.”
I fail to utter a single word as Rhianelle Wiolant explains the nature of curses to me.
Yes, to me.
A Strigon created by the most powerful spell known to the world, the Rhunhraefn.
Another shocking realization stabs at me. Rhianelle’s blood is completely pure and untainted. She has not been poisoned by the Rhunhraefn. I don’t understand a damn thing. How is this even possible?
“There’s no puncture wound,” she muses, marveling at her healed hand. The girl seems to have absolutely no clue of the things I can do.
“My venom has healing and clotting ability. It also has sedative and— You should know all these things,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
“There is a door to that knowledge. I didn’t open it,” she confesses easily.
“So, you know nothing of me? My past? What I’m capable of?”
“Not much. I was hoping you would tell me when you’re ready.”
Her answer stuns me to a near silence.
“There is hunger, thirst, and cravings like any Nightwalker but my existence does not depend on blood,” I say after a while.
Her mouth parts with an ‘oh’.
“No need for seconds then?” she asks, touching the reddened skin of her wrist.
