Page 133 of A Serenade To The Elf Queen
Run, little fawn.
Or don’t. That might be worse.
I might chase.
I punch the hardened marble and bury my claws deep to keep myself rooted in place. Rhianelle sidles closer to me instead of running. She touches my morphed hand softly. Her gaze is completely pure and innocent. “Calm down. It’s all right, Svenn.”
The terrible beast inside me who has brought down kingdoms to their knees, killed without hesitation, starts to purr.
They fucking purr at her. Like a murderous kitten.
“The curse must have shown you the abomination that makes up what I am.” My throat constricts at my admission.
Understanding fills her lilac eyes.
“Yes, I’ve seen the ritual. Hundreds of beautiful creatures sacrificed for the curse,” she says in a shaky exhale.
Beautiful?
No wonder they’re so eager to rise to her defense.
“Do I not frighten you, Queen of Elves?” I ask evenly.
Those extraordinary irises glint in the dim light.
“Sometimes it seems that you’re more afraid of me,” she answers with a resigned smile.
“That’s natural. Given what you can do to me,” I reply, my gaze falling over the Rhunhraefn.
“I will never hurt you,” she says softly. And I know it in my cold heart, she truly means that. It sickens me knowing that this sweet and kind person will soon disappear.
“It doesn’t matter,” I heave with a harsh breath. “The curse will alter you into something cruel. Like it did to me this morning.”
Rhianelle is listening to me raptly, but her gaze occasionally falls to my groin. My raging erection is pretty damn obvious now as I slowly shift into my mortal form. I slide into the water.
“I’ve had an elven mage for a master before. You might have heard of her in your legends, Darya the Huntress?” I quirk an eyebrow.
She shakes her head.
“The elf was one of the worst. She made us pull a single rib and present the bone to her every sunrise,” I say, and the girl visibly flinches at the horror.
I can feel the Rhunhraefn’s oppressive power as if it knows I’m talking about it. But Rhianelle’s face remains unbothered.
“Has the curse ever tried to control you?”
“All the time.”
I shudder at the reply.
“But I shove them in a box,” she quickly adds.
There she goes again. I don’t understand half of the things she says and I’m not sure if it’s the pendant’s fault. “You mentioned a worm before?”
“I know a thing or two about purging dark spells,” she replies in a low whisper. “Curses are like worms in their true form.”
Her light, childish take on the whole thing makes me wary again. The girl hasn’t fully grasped the situation. I wade the waters, bridging the gap between us.
“The curse on you is the Rhunhraefn, the primordial of curses, the culmination of the vilest of dark magic. It’s not a mere worm, Rhianelle. It’s a serpent, constantly coiling around your consciousness.” I lean closer to her, our breaths mingling. “It consumes its wielder. Most curse bearers died within three years.”
