Darling - x_Femme_Fatale_x - Baldur's Gate (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: The Beach

Chapter Text

The sun is magnificent.

I have not felt the sun on my skin in over 200 years, and though my current situation is not ideal, I cannot prevent myself from taking a beat and lifting my face to the warmth. The questions rage in my head, and I find it difficult to gather any normal semblance of a thought as to what has happened to me. Still, I stand there, on a strange beach in a strange territory, basking in the sun for the first time in centuries.

Eventually, I pick myself up and evaluate for any injuries. Just yesterday, I had been on the streets of Baldur’s Gate, chatting up a rich gentleman that my master, Cazador, had ordered me to bring him. As a vampire spawn, I am at the mercy of Cazador’s every whim, physically unable to refuse or disobey him. He has seven spawn total, but I am his favorite. He loves the sounds of my screams, he tells me often. I try not to think about that now.

One moment, I had been faking a laugh to the entitled young man/victim at my side, and the next I was encased in a pod, a glass window the only visuals I had to my location. The room was dark and alien to me, and lined with pods that I assumed matched the one where I was currently imprisoned, many with struggling figures incased inside. There were horrifying grey creatures surrounding the pods. They had large, bare heads, and tentacles coming out of the lower portion of their faces, though their figures were tall and upright, two-legged, with long, sharp talons coming out of their hands. I had seen these creatures in a book once… illithid, I believe they're called.

One by one, these creatures opened the pods, inserting their hands inside. When they got to me, I found out why when a squirming, slimy tadpole was inserted into my eye. A sharp pain screamed through me, then… nothing. Nothing but an awareness of an alien form inside of my body, in my brain. I was shaking, being shaken, and I could not think or feel anything but pure terror... though there was a part of me aware that the shaking was happening all around me rather than just in my now-infected brain. The ship where I was being held captive appeared to be crashing. Of course.

I had been a slave for 200 years, and death did not scare me. When the glass of my pod cracked open, and I was sucked out and into the open air, I closed my eyes and welcomed death as an old friend. Yet, death did not come. Instead, right before I would have crashed to the ground at a speed that even a vampire could not recover from, I slowed mid-air and landed on the ground as if I were being cradled. Softly. Gently.

And when I landed, it was daylight, and I did not burn.

~*~*~*~

Now, here on the beach, the initial joy at seeing the sun is starting to ebb, and I am starting to panic.

Where am I? What is this thing in my brain? Why isn’t Cazador coming to snatch me up? Surely he won't allow me to be away from his control for so long. What had happened to Baldur’s Gate? Were there more who survived that crash?

A quick check tells me that I still have the dagger hidden in my boot, but that is all I have in my possession. The hunger pangs that are a constant are starting to claw their way to the surface, and I realize that my first step should be to find blood.

In the distance, towards the ship wreckage, I hear muffled voices, and the distinct sound of weapons hitting flesh. Suffice it to say, my vampiric hearing is excellent.

As a rogue, I have the ability to move quietly, finding shadows to obscure myself. This is a skill I take advantage of now, slowly making my way back to the ship just in time to observe two figures fighting with… are those brains? Yes, walking and attacking brains. In 200 years, I hadn’t seen anything like it.

Ensuring that I can not be seen, I watch as the two figures manage to take out the brains, just barely. Are they with the ilithids? I wonder. Did they help those monsters put that thing in my brain? Then, they start heading in my direction, so I hurry back to my original spot on the beach, still unseen, and put a quick plan into place. I need help, after all, and it is in my nature to deceive to get what I need. I do not feel bad about it, not in the slightest.

Listening for the sound of their steps, I crouch down slightly, but keep myself in their path. I clear my throat to draw their attention, which works.

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those brain things cornered,” I motion to the two strangers frantically, careful to keep my fangs withdrawn. We don’t need to open that can of worms yet. “There, in the grass,” I point. “You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.”

One of the two companions steps forward, though I don’t look at him directly, as I am so deep into my helpless role.

“Easily,” his deep, silky voice replies, a little pompously. I don’t hear him pull a weapon. Good. “Stand back.” He walks past me with his shoulders high, looking for the fictional brain I am panicking over. A boar runs by, and I make a mental note that boar blood would be an excellent choice to ebb my hunger later, even though this boar helps me by startling the man. I point again.

“There, can you see it?” I am trying to get him to turn his back. He does. I take the opportunity to grab him from behind, my dagger to his throat as I pull him to the ground. My arms tighten around him, holding him in place. “Shhh,” I whisper into his ear. “Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” He struggles against me, understandably.

“And you,” I call backwards to his companion, not taking the dagger from the man’s neck. “Keep your distance! No need for this to get messy.”

The female companion scoffs.

“I need him alive,” she says. “Stow that blade or I’ll show you just how messy things can get.” A complication, but nothing I can’t handle.

“Promises, promises,” I say, still attempting to subdue my struggling victim. “But I have other business, I’m afraid.” I look back to the man, his bright green eyes staring into my red ones. “Now, I saw you on the ship, didn’t I? Nod.” The man nods, careful not to nick his throat on my dagger. “Splendid. And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

“You have it backwards,” the man says, surprisingly calm considering his situation. “They took me prisoner, just like you.” This makes sense, but I can’t be too careful.

“Don’t lie to me,” I start, but grunt as he kicks me in the shin, then rolls away from me, jumping to his feet. I also rise, my dagger still pointing at him. Suddenly, there’s a flash of light, a sharp stab of pain in my head, and then I’m not seeing the beach anymore, but a dark and rowdy tavern. People are screaming, a fight is breaking out. Then, just as suddenly as the vision began, it ends and I’m back looking crazily at the stranger, who is also grabbing his head in pain. “What was that? What’s going on?”

He grunts in pain, then shakes his head as if to clear it.

“It’s the mind flayer’s worm – it connected us,” he says, his body relaxing, clearly having decided that I am no threat to him. Mind flayer? Oh, the ilithid. If that’s the case, then he is telling the truth. The vision I saw, it was his vision, his memory. Somehow, I know this without confirming. I lower my dagger, slowly.

“You’re not one of them,” I say in relief. “They took you, just the same as me.” He doesn’t answer, so I try a small smile. “And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies.”

“Apology accepted,” the man says, straightening his shirt and dusting off the dirt from our roll on the ground. “I might have done the same were the roles reversed.”

“Ah, a kindred spirit,” I smile genuinely. I am curious about the rest of the scene I saw in his mind, but don’t press.

He doesn't return the smile, but instead is looking at my chest. Typical. My current state of dress had been quite intentional to draw the eyes of my victims: a lavender blouse with a tight dark brown leather corset pulled over it, and an olive skirt meant to draw eyes to my hips. The blouse is now ripped at the top from my adventures with the ilithid, and the top of my cleavage is in full view.

I clear my throat, drawing his green eyes back to mine. He at least looks somewhat apologetic, though says nothing. His curly silver hair is blowing slightly in the breeze, and I note that he is very easy to look at, now that I’m actually looking. Beautiful, really, with a strong face and jawline, straight aristocratic nose, pointy elf ears, full lips, and expressive full brows.

“My name is Darling.” I say with a slight curtsy. “I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

“Darling.” He seems to test the word on his tongue, and I like how it sounds. “I’m Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate, too.”

Chapter 2: The Hunt

Chapter Text

So Astarion, the silver-haired elf whose throat I almost slashed, is also from Baldur’s Gate. We must not run in the same circles, I decide, my eyes looking over his dusty ivory-colored blouse with leather ties at the top. They are undone, and surprisingly smooth, toned skin peeks out from his untied shirt. He is pale, though not as pale as I am to be fair, and it works on him. I try not to stare as he tells me that the tadpoles in our brains are meant to turn us into ilithid.

Of course. Of course it would turn me into a monster, as if I wasn’t already monstrous enough. I’m sure I look disgusted at this information, but I do not say anything. I can’t. If they find out I’m a vampire, who knows what they’ll do – kick me out of their traveling party for certain, death a definite possibility. I will have to find that boar when they’re not looking, I am ravenous. Monstrous.

Oh I certainly don’t look monstrous, of this I am fully aware. I look every bit of the seductive bait I am meant to be, my human body stuck at the age of 39.

Not that I’ve seen this face in centuries, but I have had many portraits painted over the years, and I know what people see when they look at me. My skin is pale and smooth, my full lips a natural pout, my nose straight, high cheekbones, and hips curvy enough to draw eyes, but the cellulite I remember from my human years no longer exists.

My hair is my pride. I spend hours brushing and caring for it in the rare evenings I am given to myself. It is quite long, wavy, and shockingly black, usually piled atop of my head in the latest trends. The clothes - corsets and skirts and feminine pastel colors - are specifically chosen for me by Cazador, and meant to draw eyes to my bosom and hips. People see what Cazador wants them to see, what he sees. Desire. Flirtation. Sex.

He calls me his “treasure”, and he means it – only in that by dressing me like a whor*, but teaching me to act as a “lady”, I am able to bring him the highest quality victims… when he isn’t sampling the goods himself, of course.

He does like to hear me scream.

Often.

It is for this reason that I am not phased by the tempting man in front of me, nor anyone else. Sex and intimacy are no longer of interest to me. That was taken away long ago, and not just by Cazador, but the handsy people of Baldur’s Gate, many of whom take pleasure in dealing pain. His victims sometimes deserve their fate.

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I turn my attention back to Astarion and his female companion, Shadowheart, I learn. They are still filling me in on what they had learned while escaping the ilithid ship, along with a githyanki fighter who they lost in the crash.

Seeing as we are in the same predicament, they both agree that we should travel together to search for a way to extract the tadpole, though Shadowheart seems to do so reluctantly. I, of course, act as if I am fully on board. I need the protection. BUT…

What if it’s this tadpole that is allowing me to feel the sun on my skin? I can feel a tingle of power from within me that didn’t exist before, and it excites me. What if it can release me from Cazador’s grip? I will need to learn more, but in the meantime… in the meantime, at least I am not alone.

“Shall we continue, then, Darling?” Shadowheart asks with an eyeroll. She seems to do that the couple of times she’s said my name so far, which is fine. I’m used to it. I make a mental note to become her best friend. She could be useful to me, after all.

I've learned that Shadowheart is a half-elf cleric, but not much about where she's from. She has striking dark hair, tied into a long elaborate snake down her back, and harsh bangs that do nothing to hide her beauty, though it seems that is her goal. She has an air of mystery about her that I haven’t yet decided is worth my time. She is also pragmatic as hells, which I appreciate.

We are speaking about finding a place to set up camp when we add two others from the crash to our group: Lae’zael, the githyanki fighter Astarion and Shadowheart met on the ship, and Gale. Gale is… well, he’s human. He’s a wizard. He’s eccentric. And he’s eyeing Shadowheart like she’s on the dessert menu. A strange fellow, to be sure, but another quite useful addition to our little band of “warriors”.

Warriors, I laugh to myself as everyone searches for a camp site. More like a band of misfits.

~*~*~*~

The hunger. It’s all I can think about. All I can focus on. My throat burns with need, and my weakness is becoming apparent. I would not survive battle in this condition, even with my vampiric powers. I am just a spawn, after all.

We have finally set up camp, and have looted the beach area for anything we could find – food, potions, equipment. Gale is very handy with gathering firewood, and Astarion is already cooking some fish for dinner that he managed to shoot with his bow.

Yes, he shot a fish. With his bow. It was quite the sight to behold, honestly. He had pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, his forearms taut as he drew back the string, the veins in his arms prominent, his eyes completely focused on the task. He licked his bottom lip just before he let the arrow loose, and I briefly imagined biting him there.

It's a good thing I no longer have an interest in such things. It really could be an unfortunate distraction.

Still, the sight did nothing to curb my hunger, and I mumble an excuse before darting into the woods. I can see perfectly in the dark, and my blood-red eyes are searching desperately for sustenance. I find nothing but a single rabbit. This saddens me, as I vaguely remember having a pet rabbit as a child. I catch it easily with my hands, thank you vampire reaction time, and give it a loving pat before snapping its neck and draining it of blood. I do not enjoy killing innocent creatures.

The rabbit barely touches the burning in my throat, but it will have to do for now. I look at the body sadly. It wasn't even worth it.

“Darling, what are you doing out here by yourself?” a deep voice startles me and I quickly wipe my mouth on the back of my hand before turning to greet Astarion. He has an armful of smaller branches and dry sticks, and a slight smirk on his face before he sees the body of the rabbit in my hand.

“Did you catch us a rabbit?” he asks in wonder. “How?”

“It was already here,” I say, quickly. “It must have been attacked.” I hold the rabbit up to his face, and he grimaces.

“That’s... gross,” he mumbles, a flash of... was that excitement?...coming across his face. That doesn't make sense.

“Well here, why don’t you take this kindling, and I’ll take the rabbit back to skin," he offers, stepping closer to me to deposit the items from his arms into mine

That’s when I smell him for the first time.

He is… intoxicating. Rosemary, bergamot, brandy and… something I can’t place. Something dark. Something heady. Something that lights my throat on fire.

I lean closer to him involuntarily, my fangs protruding. Thankfully, he is taller than I am, and I am able to look down to cover them, gasping, the branches falling from my arms as I try to gather myself together.

“Darling, are you ok?” He is by my side again, his hand on my elbow.

He really needs to stop saying my name. It rolls off of his tongue smoothly, like a caress, like he is meant to say it.

I swallow, with difficulty.

“I’m… I’m fine,” I stammer, still looking down while I will my fangs to contract. “I just… don’t like to see dead animals.”

That’s a laugh. I had never fed on a human before. I know, I know. 200 years and not a single drop of human blood. Cazador only allows me “non-thinking creatures”, which are mainly rats and vermin. So yes, I have seen many a dead animal. Luckily, this also means that the hunger is something I am used to controlling, as I cannot even feed off of my victims (Cazador’s victims). I can smell them, certainly, as their sweaty, dirty bodies press against me, but I am compelled not to drink from them.

It does take great effort for me to step away from him, though.

“Well, that’s quite… sweet,” he says, tucking the rabbit into his pack. “I can handle this part if you’d like from here on out. I’m decent with a bow.”

Decent? He is clearly a highly skilled ranger. He shot a live fish.

“I saw your prowess with that bow, and I will happily let you take on the task,” I smile, thankful my fangs have retracted, then bend to gather the fallen sticks.

A sound to my right startles us both, and before I can look up, a boar has crashed through the trees, its jaw clamping down on Astarion’s left arm.

Chapter 3: The Boar

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Fire. Burning. Pain. Blood.

~*~*~*~

The only sensations within me are in my throat as the boar bites Astarion with such force that blood spurts out from around the beast's mouth. His blood. His blood that smells like chocolate and steak and warm nights by the fire. His intoxicating blood.

His yelp of pain brings me back to myself, and it’s the only thing preventing me from joining the boar in attaching my teeth to his skin.

“Darling,” he grunts, struggling with the boar, who is still latched onto Astarion’s arm, trying to shake its head back and forth. “My dagger… it’s… in… my boot… I can’t… reach…”

Dagger? Blood.

Oh, sh*t. Blood.

I should probably help him. Blood.

Without thinking of the consequences, I instead grab the boar by its tusks, prying its foaming mouth from Astarion’s arm and throwing the beast to the ground. It lays still. I let out a breath, blowing a lock of dark hair out of my face.

“Are you ok?” I ask Astarion. He is staring at me in complete shock. “Um...” I wave my hand in front of his face. “Astarion?”

“How…” he looks from me back to the boar, lying still on the ground. He is clutching his arm to his abdomen, and there is blood leaking from beneath his fingers. “How did you…”

How did I, indeed? The boar probably weighs 150 kilos, which is nothing for my vampiric strength, but… to Astarion, I am a mere elf. Still, that isn’t my main focus right now. I am staring ravenously at his arm, my breath coming in heaving gasps. His scent is exhilarating, almost provocative.

“I…” I start to say, turning my head quickly as I feel my fangs protruding. I start to cover my mouth with my hand, but just as I turn, the boar jumps to its stubby legs, and makes another run for Astarion.

I block it by grabbing its tusks again, halting it mid-jump and wrestling it to the ground. The boar squeals loudly, and I growl in return. I am no longer thinking, I am no longer feeling. I am a predator, and the boar is my prey. I jam my knee into its side, snarling while I dig my fangs into its grisly throat. Warm blood spurts into my mouth, and I drink greedily. I am so very hungry, and the boar is much better than the rats I’m usually fed.

I feel, rather than see, Astarion drop to his knees next to me. Oh Gods.

Slowly, carefully, I withdraw my fangs back into my mouth and turn to look at him.

“sh*t,” I mutter.

He is stunned, to say the least. His wide green eyes are gaping at me, his mouth open, his arm still cradled to his chest. He should be running away, but he’s not. He is sitting back on his legs, staring from the boar to my blood-soaked mouth, neck, and now clothes.

“What the actual f*ck?” he finally asks.

I swallow, lower the boar to the ground, clear my throat, and turn to face Astarion.

“Um… well… so… there’s something I should probably tell you…” I stammer, my hands fidgeting in my lap, eyes cast downwards. I am annoyed with myself for not preparing for this conversation. I am always prepared.

“You think?” he almost yells, throwing his hands in the air, then wincing at what I’m sure is a great amount of pain.

"We should get that looked at," I reach for his arm, but he quickly yanks it away.

“Let’s not touch me until we figure out if you’re going to kill me or not, ok, Darling?” he says, his brows furrowed. That’s fair, I think.

“That’s fair,” I say with a nod. “But don’t worry. I can control myself.” The rousing scent of his blood has not ebbed, though, and I have to wonder myself if I do have the will power to stay away from him. Why don’t the others smell like this? No one smells like this.

“Can you?” he asks, looking at his bleeding arm. I have not buried myself in the wound, as would be my instinct. “I suppose you can.”

“You probably have questions,” I start, fully sitting on the ground now, crossing my legs in front of me. The initial desperation of hunger has ebbed slightly, allowing me to hold this conversation without being completely distracted by his blood... though I still smell it. I still crave it. But i have priorities, and right now, I need this man to trust me.

Devouring him above would likely put a damper on this plan.

I’m preparing to charm him, to flirt with him, to seduce him, if needed. Then, he won’t turn on me.

“Oh, a few questions, yes,” he laughs. “Though the blood on your face is a bit of a distraction, Darling.” I wipe at my mouth, chin, and neck.

“Sorry,” I mutter, lifting a piece of my skirt to try to wipe some of the gore away. “It's just... I just needed… well, blood.”

“Clearly,” he shakes his head. “You... were quite the sight.” He looks towards the body. “He’ll make a good meal for us at camp, too.”

“Your arm…” I start, reaching for him again, but he pulls away… again. I pull a red vial from my pack and hold it out.

“I’ll be ok,” he says, though he takes the healing potion from me, uncaps it with his teeth, and gulps it down. “We have a cleric back at camp. Though we should figure out what we’re going to tell her, shouldn’t we?”

“Right.” I look at the ground again. “So…about that...”

“Vampire?” he asks outright. I nod.

“Vampire spawn, actually. But a slave to sanguine hunger, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asks. "Were you planning to attack one of us?"

“No! It’s not what you think,” I insist. “I’m not some monster. I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds… whatever I can get.”

“Is that enough?” he asks.

“Usually.” I have to consider this question. “But I am quite weak right now. Slow. I won't be able to fight as well. A little blood will help me to think clearer. Fight better.” I look to the boar. “I hope he’s enough. It’s… it’s why I came out here in the first place. To hunt.”

Astarion nods in brief understanding, but after a moment, I feel something... feel him... push into my mind, probing, seeking entrance. I gasp, and feel the door open to him, revealing cracks and quivering memories.

We both see the scene: Cazador’s eyes, dark and narrow, commanding me to feed. In my mind, I open my mouth and bite down into the twisting body of a rat, the only thing he allows me to eat. While I feed, Cazador removes my clothes, his smile cruel and anticipatory.

"No!" I yell, pushing the invader from my mind. I was grateful at this moment for my condition, or my face would have been bright red. I cover myself instinctively, even though I'm wearing clothing. I don't look at him.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shake his head as if to clear it, then I feel him looking at me. Not staring, just watching. Maybe to see if I'll break.

I won't break.

"I'm not a monster," I finally whisper. His brow furrows questioningly, then he grasps my hand in his good one, the warmth of his skin a surprising comfort.

“No, Darling. You are no monster. You ate animals because you were forced to, from what I just saw, ” he says, spitting the word "forced". “Not because you wanted to.”

“I… yes,” I admit. “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So you can see why I am slow to trust anyone.” I’m looking back down again, in shame.

“You can trust me,” he says, fiercely, his grip tightening. “As I will trust you.”

Blood. His blood is now on my hand, transferred from his own, and I long to lick it off. Long to throw him to the forest floor and drain him of every drop of the delectable blood flowing through his veins. Instead, I clear my throat again and meet his eyes.

“I do trust you,” I tell him. “Could I… trust you not to tell the others quite yet? I don’t want to wake up to a stake in the heart, and I just need time to figure out what to say.”

He nods in agreement, starts to speak, then stops himself, withdrawing his hand from mine.

I stare at his arm. My fangs seem to have protruded without my knowledge. I might be drooling.

“Darling?” he asks, softly. I snap my eyes back up.

“Sorry,” I murmur. “Your blood… it’s… I've never smelled anything like it. It's... a challenge to resist.” He raises an eyebrow, looking amused by this.

“Intriguing," he muses. "So if you were to... feed on me... you won’t kill me, though, right?”

“No,” I shake my head. “I won’t kill you. You’re kind of the de-facto leader of our little group, so I kind of need you alive.”

“Good,” he nods. “Then you should.”

I gasp.

“What?”

“You should feed on me. You said it makes you stronger,” he shrugged. “And you said you won’t kill me.” He leans closer to me, his neck within reaching distance.

“True,” I stammer. “But…”

“No,” he holds up his hand to my mouth. Oh Gods, the blood on his hand is now on my lips. “We won’t tell the others anything, but we need to keep you strong. This is the way to do it.” He isn’t wrong, but I have never in my centuries met anyone who just… offered to let me feed on them. It is ludicrous. It is dangerous. It is… exhilarating.

“I… I only need a taste, I swear,” I say, staring at the vein in his smooth neck. His Adam's Apple bobs as he swallows his nerves, and I can hear his heart beat faster. Yet, he moves closer.

“Not a drop more than you need?” he confirms. His heart is racing now.

“Of course. Not one drop more.”

He nods. "Ok, then.”

Staring into his eyes, I nod, then rise to my knees and scoot towards him, knees settling on either side of his thighs. My hand reaches up to the back of his head, my fingers lacing into the curls, pulling his head back.

“This is a gift, you know,” I murmur against his neck. “I won’t forget it.”

Then. Then I bite.

Chapter 4: The First Time

Chapter Text

~*~*~*~

My fangs sink into Astarion’s neck, and I instinctively seal my lips around the wounds so I can draw his blood into my mouth. I am not at all prepared for the rush of sensations that slam into me, jumbled together into a tight knot. A boar is one thing… an elf is entirely another.

The gratification from the thick, sweet liquid sustenance gives way to exhilaration from the intimacy of the act, and I feel a flutter, a clench, below my abdomen. I am straddling his lap, my hands in his hair, drawing him in like a woman possessed. A vampire possessed.

His sharp intake of breath morphs into a sigh, and then his hands press against my lower back, blood from his arm wound staining my shirt. I suck at his throat harder, grasping the back of his head as I gently push him until he is lying on his back, and I am looming over him like a savage, drawing in his life’s essence as if it is the only thing keeping me anchored to this world.

I continue to feed, contentment and pleasure coursing through me as I taste him thoroughly, my tongue sweeping across his skin in between suckles. He groans now, emits a shake of excitement, and I feel him growing in his trousers, straddling him as I am. This would normally repel me, but his blood is all consuming, and I find myself pressing against the length of him as I devour him.

“Darling…” he rasps, his hands on my back now weakly grasping at my hips. “That’s enough.”

I barely hear him, the strength coursing through me matching the desperation of my lips and tongue on his neck. Finally, I feel him grasping at my shoulders, trying to push me away, and I snap back to reality.

“Of course,” I say, scrambling off of him and rising to my feet. “Apologies.” I wipe my mouth, coming back with more blood than expected. I was messy. “That… that was amazing. Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

My mind feels clear. I feel stronger. I feel… happy.

He is still on the ground, holding his head, but he sits up slowly. I reach down to help him stand, trying not to look at the arousal that is prominent in his trousers. We stare at each other for a moment, neither quite knowing what to say.

“I’m…” he finally says, clearly searching for something to say. “I’m... looking forward to seeing this strength of yours, to seeing you fight.”

I grin, wickedly. The power coursing through me is heaven, and I feel invincible and confident.

“Well that shouldn’t take long,” I laugh, glad for the ease in tension. “So many people need killing.” He nods in agreement, then stumbles slightly. Quickly stepping around the boar, I move under his arm to prop him up.

“Just a little woozy,” he says, his voice soft. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I went overboard,” I shake my head, still holding him on his feet. “You… that… it was my first time.”

He looks quite confused at that.

“Your first time what?”

“Feeding from a thinking creature,” I mumble, my thoughts moving elsewhere. “Cazador… the vampire you saw in my memory… he didn’t allow such things. Only vermin. I have never tasted a person before.”

He stares at me for a moment, first my eyes, but then his gaze drops down to my mouth. I self-consciously wipe at the blood.

“Well that explains the mess then,” he teases. “How long were you under this… Cazador?”

“200 years.” I straighten up a bit, and start to walk with his arm draped over my shoulders, still holding him on his feet. “Let’s clean up a bit, tend to your arm and neck wounds.” I feel a small pang of guilt at the mention of his neck wounds, caused my me, but I brush them aside. I feel too remarkable to consider regret.

“200 years? Eating vermin?”

I nod, guiding him to the nearby creek where our camp gets our water supply.

“Well you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

~*~*~*~

I leave him at the creek to run and fetch supplies, using my vampiric speed to avoid any of our companions seeing me in this bloodied state. I stumble at first, not used to the power flowing through me. I am faster. I am stronger. I am… satiated. I don’t remember ever feeling satiated.

When I get back to the creek, Astarion is on his knees at the bank, splashing the cool water onto his face and neck, his back facing me. He straightens to pull his shirt over his head, then leans forward again to wash it in the creek.

I shamelessly stare. His back is smooth and strong, the muscles of his shoulders working under his skin as he scrubs a rock across the fabric. A small scar, likely a dagger, across the back of his neck, peeking out from under his white curls, is the only imperfection. Feeling like an interloper, I clear my throat to signal my return and join him at the bank, holding out the soap.

I avoid looking at him for as long as I can, which isn’t long.

“Oh perfect, thank you,” he says, taking the soap and continuing to scrub his shirt, completely unaware of the image he portrays. His chest is even more impressive than his back. I had thought him thin, but he is toned and sculpted, his abdominal muscles bunching with his every movement. I notice veins there as well, creeping down his abdomen and disappearing into…

“Darling?” sh*t. Busted.

He sounds amused. He should sound amused. My mouth is actually watering.

“Sorry!” I stammer, looking away quickly, thankful I am unable to blush. “I was just thinking…” I search my brain for an excuse for my wandering mind – and eyes. “That… I don’t know anything about you.”

He raises an eyebrow, holding up his wet shirt for inspection.

“Like what?” His green eyes connect with mine, and I see trepidation there. Strange.

“Like… where are you from? What did you do there? Do you…” (have a lover?) “…have a family?”

He rises to his feet with surprising ease, considering he must be weak from the blood loss, then moves to hang his shirt over a nearby branch.

“I’m not sure,” he finally answers, his back to me, his shoulders slumped more than usual. “I can’t remember.”

“Any of it? What do you mean?” I ask, and he combs fingers through his hair before turning to face me.

“Ever since the crash, I… I can’t remember anything. About my past, about who I am. I know my name, I know my bow, I know the basics of survival. The rest is blank.” He is searching my eyes, likely hopeful that I will have an answer.

“Did you hit your head when we crashed?” I ask, moving to the creek to wash my own skin of the drying blood. He shakes his head.

“I was thinking maybe it was the tadpole those beasts put inside of our heads.” He leans down and starts to remove his boots. Why is he removing… “Are you having any odd manifestations?”

“Well, the sun isn’t burning me alive,” I shrug. “Though I still hunger for blood. So it didn’t turn me back or anything.” He looks pained. Worried. “Hey,” I say, softly, and he looks at me. “We’ll figure this out. Looks like we’re all in this together now.” He nods, attempting a smile.

“I’m sure we will,” he says, tossing his second boot to the side, now shirtless and barefoot, looking like some white-haired God with a gash in his arm and wounds on his neck. “And thank you.”

He reaches for the top of his pants, then, untying the leather straps.

“What are you doing?” I can’t help blurt out, turning away quickly.

“Bathing, of course,” he says, and I can hear the grin. It’s mischievous. Chaotic. “While I wait for my shirt to dry, and then I can get the blood out of my hair. How did you get it in my hair?”

“Pure talent, I suppose,” I answer, daring a glance backwards at him.

“Am I embarrassing you?” He is actually smirking at me, his hands still on the top of his pants. “I figured a woman of such experience as yourself would not be bothered by a little skin.” Smooth skin. Beautiful skin. I know how it tastes under my tongue.

“Not at all,” I answer, holding my chin up. “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” This, at least, is truthful. I have seen many men in an undressed state, most intentional seductions for Cazador. They did not interest me in the slightest, and hadn’t in centuries. So why could I not look away from this man?

“Oh really?” he bursts out laughing. “Well far be it for me to add to the utter mundaneness of nude men.” I shrug casually.

“Go right ahead and bathe. The water might help get your blood flowing.”

“There are many things that would get my blood flowing,” he answers, softly, proceeding to lower his pants. I turn swiftly away again, and I hear him chuckle.

As he pads into the creek to bathe, I go back to myself, scrubbing my face and hands. We exist like this, in companionable silence, for several minutes before he speaks again.

“Your shirt is stained,” he says, and he is closer than I realize. I look down.

“So it is.” There is a large blood stain on my side, from his arm when he was clutching me while I... “I will tend to it later.”

“Why not now?” he asks, trailing his fingers along the top of the water, his lower half hidden beneath it. “We’re here. You have soap.” His eyes find mine, and I once again sense the chaos beneath.

“Believe me, Darling, I won’t mind. Take off your clothes and join me.”

Chapter 5: The Flashback

Chapter Text

I never could control my facial expressions.

This had delighted Cazador. He always knew when I feared him. He always knew if I was in pain, though I eventually learned to silence my screams. He loved the screams the most.

One night, with me bent facedown over his desk, my skirts pushed up to my waist, tears streaming down my face, Cazador tired of trying to push himself into my dry canal. He withdrew his half-flacid penis, and ordered me to stay exactly where I was. I was compelled to do so.

"I do hope you will be more... cooperative... once I return, pet." His voice was raspy. Menacing. I heard him exit the room. I did not move.

~*~*~

Cazador returned after awhile, and my legs were trembling from exertion. I had not moved, still bent over his desk with my skirts around my waist.

"Are you wet yet, my pet?" he snarled, sharp nails gripping my ass. He shoved one of them between my legs and forced me apart, tutting his tongue at the dryness.

"Such a shame. Such... ingratitude for the eternal life I've given you. Perhaps a year in solitude would teach you manners, girl." Another finger joined the first, and I felt raw burning as his sharp talons scraped my inner vagin*l walls.

"No, Master," I gasped, the first words since he had forced himself on me. "Please no. I'm sorry. I will try harder." I wiggled my hips at him, a shameless attempt.

"Yes, you will," he hissed, his fingers withdrawing from me. I turned my head to see him step back and pick up a wine bottle.

"You will succumb to my every desire, girl." He turned the bottle so he was holding he bottom, and the bottle's silhouette in the darkness gave the illusion of Cazador having a straight, erect dick.

I almost chuckled at the irony. Almost.

Then, the bottle moved towards me. It shoved between my legs, poking at my labia.

"Now," he whispered, shoving the bottle brutally inside of me, ripping my walls, damaging my cervix.

"Scream for me."

I screamed.

Chapter 6: The Creek

Chapter Text

~*~*~

“Believe me, Darling, I won’t mind. Take off your clothes and join me.”

It’s a challenge, and I am not one to back down from a challenge.

Astarion is grinning at me mischievously, his smooth upper half exposed and dripping from the cold creek water, tiny goose pebbles forming across his chest.

I react as I usually would, smirking back at him, and lifting my shirt over my head. My hair falls back across my shoulders in soft waves, caressing the undergarments that are now under his intense gaze.

This new plan of mine to gain his trust through seduction is going to be easier than I thought, I muse as I remove my shoes and drop my nearly-ruined skirt to the ground. Easier than avoiding him completely, anyway. It might even be… fun?

“Very nice,” he murmurs his approval. I step into the water, feeling completely at ease with the cool water temperature.

“And to think, just this morning, I was holding a dagger to your throat,” I comment, taking the soap from his hand and lowering myself under the water to wet my hair.

“Just this morning, I had never had a vampire feed on my blood before,” he adds, watching me. “Especially not a vampire who… looks like you.”

I scoff, waving my hand at him.

“Beauty means nothing.”

“Doesn’t it?” he inquires with a tilt of his head. “Then why do you wear beautiful clothes? Do your hair in such a way meant to attract?” Ok, he sees too much. Noted. I decide to be honest.

“Cazador demands it,” I answer, softly, looking down at the water. A finger catches my chin and lifts my face back up, meeting his eyes.

“Cazador isn’t here,” he says, gruffly. “Let us hope you never have to see him again.”

Let us hope.

~*~*~

We each finish our needed scrubbing in companionable silence, stealing glances at each other as we do. When I feel as if my skin is raw from scrubbing, I throw the soap back to the bank of the creek, and lean back to float on my back.

The air is crisp and losing some of its warmth. The sun is disappearing behind the trees, creating daggers of light that pierce through the branches. One finds me, and I sigh, lifting my face into its glow.

I don't think I will ever be sick of the sun. It's as if joy and warmth were bottled together to dance across my face. I never thought I would feel warm again.

I stand back up in the water. The setting sun is glistening in my wet hair, and I am smiling like an absolute lunatic.

“You are exquisite.” Astarion’s voice is low, sultry. Close. I look to find him staring at me, lust in his gaze. Lust, I know. Lust, I can manage.

Plus, I'm not even trying with him. It is effortless. Easy. Instinctive.

“Thank you,” I murmur, moving closer to him. “So are you.”

I do not need to lie in order to flatter him. He truly is beautiful, with his haunting green eyes, and the unique white curls that shine in the rays of the falling sunlight.

“I’m glad we ran into each other, then,” his murmur comes even lower than before, and he’s now standing in the water directly in front of me. A hand reaches out to caress my jaw. "Even if you did try to slice my throat".

"I'm not even sorry," I chuckle, closing the distance between us. My face reaches up, my lips pressing firmly against his. The plan was to seduce him, after all. That's all this is. So I tell myself.

Astarion sighs his approval, one arm wrapping around my waist to draw me closer, the other continuing to stroke my jaw. He takes immediate control of the kiss, moving his lips against mine slowly, tenderly, as if I might run away at any moment.

I don’t need slow or tender, though.

My lips part under his caress, my tongue flicking against his lower lip. He groans softly, pulling me against his chest as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, exploring urgently. I briefly wonder if he can taste his own blood.

The kiss deepens. His tongue sweeps gently across my fangs, and I must concentrate on keeping them retracted, though the intimacy of the action draws a moan from my throat.

He swallows the moan, and answers with one of his own. Our mixed breath comes in gasps. My hands snake around his back, splaying across the skin and pulling him closer, skin flush against skin. He lets out a groan, his lips moving to my neck, worshiping the sensitive skin below my ear.

"I loved it when you bit me," he growls into my ear, nipping at the lobe. I tremble under his touch, gasp. "It made me...so hard." He presses his hips against me so I can feel the evidence.

"You tasted delectable," I answer, both hands wrapping into his hair. I grab his shoulders and push myself up in the water, my legs wrapping around his waist. I still have on my undergarments, but he... he does not.

I feel the hot length of him, such a contrast to the cool water, press against my thigh. His hands move to my ass, and he kisses me again, though that is an understatement for what he does. He *claims* me, his breath hot against my mouth as the heat between us escalates in intensity.

He tilts his head slightly to look into my eyes, his hands still kneading the muscles of my rear, his co*ck pressing against me. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against mine.

“Wow,” he breathes. “You are incredible.”

“I want you,” I murmur, truthfully. I haven’t wanted anyone in so long, I had forgotten what real desire felt like.

His hand moves from my jaw down my body, lightly trailing in between my breasts, down my stomach, and finally pressing into my soaked underwear. His finger pushes the fabric roughly aside so it can slip inside of me. I groan, loudly, and wrap my arms around his neck. The water sloshes around us.

“Darling,” he moans, his finger pushing in and out in a delicious rhythm. “You are already so wet for me.”

I freeze.

Are you wet, yet, my pet?

Astarion doesn't notice a change, as his hands are exploring again, his mouth and tongue trailing kisses along my jawline. He moves up my back, caressing my skin.

I tense even more. The scars. He’s going to touch my scars.

Perhaps a year in solitude would teach you manners, girl.

“Stop!” I grunt, pushing at his chest. My breath is coming in pants, now, but they are not lustful pants.

They are panic.

I am panic.

“Darling, what…” he looks so terribly confused, even a little hurt, but I can’t worry about that right now.

“I can’t.” My voice comes out as a sob, and by the time he registers what is happening, I have already left the safety of his arms and am backing towards the shore.

Regret fills me, seeing the lost and confused look on his beautiful face, the setting sun behind him shining through his hair like a halo.

“I’m sorry." I stammer, grabbing my clothes and shoes. "I'm so sorry. I can’t.”

Hoping my hair is covering the scars on my back, I turn away from him.

And I run.

Chapter 7: The Tension

Chapter Text

As I run, visions swirl through my mind; visions of Cazador’s cruelty juxtaposed with Astarion’s warm gaze and gentle touch, of forced encounters and groping hands, of male laughter and my own screams... of green eyes, white hair, and strong hands.

By the time I reach camp, I am clothed once again, but far from composed and more than a little bit wet. Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Gale are sitting around the fire, talking softly. They all look up as I approach, eyes widening at my dampened appearance.

“Tsk’va. What has happened?” Lae’zel asks, standing quickly, her longsword somehow already at the ready.

“Where did that come from?” Gale gulps at Lae'zel, also standing to move away from her and her sword. Shadowheart frowns at them both, studying me carefully.

“Darling, are you ok?" She looks behind me. "And where's Astarion?"

“I’m fine,” I say through chattering teeth, ignoring the last question. Gale grabs a blanket by his feet and moves to wrap it around my shoulders. “Thank you,” I murmur to him, pulling it tightly around me.

“Come sit by the fire with us,” he suggests, patting my back through the blanket. “You are freezing.”

I’m not actually freezing, of course. My skin is naturally cool to the touch, but they don’t know that yet. My chattering teeth help me seem more human, and I can't control it anyway. The visions are still fresh. The feeling of his hands on me.

“I’m ok, really,” I insist.

“There is no danger?” Lae’zel confirms. I shake my head, and she lowers her sword.

“Just an angry boar, but it’s dead," I say. And its meat is still by the creek, I realize with a frown. I was in such a hurry to be out of Astarion’s arms that I forgot the reason for venturing into the woods to begin with. “I… I still need to collect the meat. I got a rabbit, too. Just let me change and I’ll go back and grab it.”

I have barely gotten the words out when everyone’s attention turns to rustling at the treeline. My heart jumps into my throat, my breath catching. Astarion emerges, dragging the boar, and carrying the rabbit and various kindling I had dropped on the creek bed. He is also obviously wet, a fact that escapes no one’s attention as they all consider us both. I look down at the ground, deliberately away from him.

“Thank you for the blanket,” I murmur to Gale, handing it back to him. “I’m just going to change into some dry clothes.”

Astarion’s deep green eyes are on me when I look up, and I can't help but look back. His expression is confused, and concerned. The fabric of his white blouse clings to the muscles of his arms and chest. I swallow.

“Darling,” he starts to say, his arms still full, but I hurry away before he can finish.

“A boar!” I hear Gale exclaim brightly. “Let me help with that, old chap. We’ll eat like kings tonight. Wait'll you taste my roasted boar.”

~*~*~*~

I am just pulling on a dry shirt and trousers when Shadowheart pushes back my tent flap, peering in.

“Are you decent?” she asks.

“Depends on who you ask,” I say, tucking in the shirt. “Come on in.”

She does, looking me over thoughtfully.

"I was hoping we could talk," she offers. Great.

"Um... sure," I sigh. "What would you like to talk about?" She scoffs.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” she says, helping herself to a cushion and sitting down next to my bedroll. “You’re wet. Astarion’s wet. He has a gash on his arm and wounds on his neck. You are splattered with blood, your shirt is stained red. You barely looked at each other. You killed a boar, but I don’t see a weapon…” She trails off, seemingly waiting for a response. I say nothing, so she continues. “There’s a story here, right?”

I have yet to decide if I should trust Shadowheart, but I admire her keen sense of observation, and find that I desperately need someone to talk to. Still, is it safe?

“There are many stories,” I admit, running fingers through my hair. Sure enough, there are still specks of blood. We were not very detailed in our cleaning, it seems. Distracted, perhaps. “I… I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“How about with what happened in the woods?” she suggests.

It’s decision time. Do I tell her I’m a vampire? Will she drive a stake through my heart now or wait until I’m asleep?

“What if I ask you to keep a very open mind? Would you be able to do that?” I ask, sitting cross legged next to her and looking her in the eye. She nods, her brow furrowed.

So I tell her. I tell her everything. I tell her about the boar, about my visceral reaction to the blood. I tell her about Astarion offering his own blood to me, and I tell her about the creek.

I do not tell her about the explosive kiss and subsequent… activity. I need to keep that to myself for now.

After 200 years of thinking the passionate side of me was as dead as I am, I need to process what happened in the creek, to understand why I reacted to him as I did.

Shadowheart only stares at me as I reveal my secrets, processing what I’m saying silently. Finally, she sighs.

“Hells. Why can’t I just have normal, boring companions?”

I can’t help it, I burst out laughing.

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” I answer, wiping a tear. “Though you’re not wrong.”

“I should be grateful you told me, at least,” she says. “A vampire spawn. Is my throat safe?”

“Your throat is perfectly safe,” I assure her. “I really only need to feed on animals, but once I tell the others…” I raise an eyebrow.

“Go on…” She raises hers back.

“Well then I can use my… skills… in battle. What does it hurt if a bandit we kill dies with less blood in him?” I tell her, eyes shining. “Plus blood makes me strong.”

“A bandit, right,” she nods. “Or perhaps… Astarion?” Her question surprises me, and my eyes widen. I swallow.

“Um…” I stammer. She waves her hand at me.

“I saw his neck, Darling,” she points out. “And the blood on your mouth. And the tension… my gods. What happened out there with him?”

I take a moment before responding.

“Well,” I sigh, getting to my feet and rifling through a crate I stashed in the corner of my tent. “I think we’re going need some wine for this.”

"Your name is what?" she asks again.

"Darling Octavia Featherwine," I announce with a flourish, taking a swig of wine. "But I hated Darling growing up, you know... before I was turned... so I used my middle name."

"Octavia," she slurs with a slight bow.

"Tav, actually," I grin. "They called me Tav." I hand her the wine bottle. "It was so long ago, I barely remember it."

"To Tav," she cheers, holding up the bottle before drinking. I tilt an invisible hat her way.

"So wait," she says. "Don't change the subject. We were talking about Astarion."

"Who?" I tease. She gives me a look.

"Elf," she states. "White curly hair. Green eyes. Nice lips."

"Nice everything, really," I mutter, which she ignores.

"So he actually told you to take off your clothes?"

"Well we were BATHING," I explain weakly. "There was blood everywhere. It was quite a mess." A pause. "I loved it." A giggle.

"Well sure you were bathing," she laughs. "Seeing as you justdrank his blood and all." She stops laughing. "That's so strange, honestly. What does it taste like?"

"I've never tasted a person before," I admit, holding my hand out for the wine, which she hands over. "It was..." I struggle to find the right word.

"Delicious?" she offers.

"Delectable," I say.

"Appetizing?"

"Luscious."

"So it was tasty then?" She wrinkles her nose, smiling.

"It was succulent." We both are laughing now.

"He is not difficult to look at," she admits, taking another swig. "A little short for my taste." I swat at her.

"Stop it, he isn't short."

"Well you're really short, so..." She leans forward, meeting my eye and wiggling her eyebrows. "How was it?"

"How was what?"

"Thekiss of course!" Shadowheart's pragmatism has left her with the consumption of the wine.

"It was..." I trail off, my visions now shifting to smooth skin and tight muscles. Hands exploring. Tongues tangling. The feel of him against my thigh. "Pretty great, honestly."

"Great?" she scoffs. "That's all you've got isgreat?"

"Well maybe it was more like exceptional," I grin.

"Stupendous?"

He looks surprised, as if he expected a battle, but instead found a couple of giggling girls with a bottle or two of wine.

"Um... hi," he starts, and Shadowheart bursts out laughing so hard, she falls over. One side of his mouth curls upward in confusion, and he glances at me carefully. "What did I say?"

"Nothing," I sputter, covering my mouth to stop laughing. "We're just... we're just drunk." Shadowheart laughs again.

"We'restupendous," she hoots. I shoot her a glare.

"Well," he smiles. "I'm glad you're having fun." A pause. It's awkward. "Um... Darling, I was hoping we could talk." sh*t. That sobers me up a bit.

"Right. Talk." I can barely form the words. He shakes his head.

"Right. But maybe let's wait for you to have a bit of a clearer head," he says, not unkindly. "I would hate to interrupt such a... delectable party."

"DELECTABLE!" Shadowheart screeches, her laughter now becoming hiccups. I cough, covering up my own chuckles.

"How about in the morning, before we pack up?" I offer, finally meeting his eyes. He looks back, studying me, then nods.

"That would be great," he says.

"Exceptional," adds Shadowheart, which he ignores.

"How about I bring you some..." His eyes dart to my mouth. "...um, breakfast? It looks like you'll need it," he adds, a half smirk crossing his face. My stomach swirls at the site.

"That... sounds fine," I say, uncomfortably playing with the blanket that's draped across my lap.

"Ok," he nods, then says, softly, "I'll see you then, Darling."

"Tav," Shadowheart corrects him. "Her name is Tav." He gives me a questioning look, and I just shrug.

"Shadowheart, Gale was looking for you," Astarion says, changing the subject.

"Really?" she asks, too quickly. "What for?"

Astarion shrugs.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's sensitive, intellectual, and utterly boring."

I choke out a laugh, and he grins at me. We must be staring at other stupidly for a moment because Shadowheart suddenly coughs loudly.

Astarion looks at her starts to speak, then shakes his head, giving us both a wave with his uninjured arm.

"Good night, ladies," he bows, disappearing into the night.

Shadowheart grins at me.

"Breakfast!" she says, poking me in the side. "I'll bet that means you're going to drink his blood again, right?

"Oh come on, Shadowheart," I roll my eyes. "Now what's this about Gale?"

I continue to tease her, but my mouth waters, thinking about breakfast.

Chapter 8: The Grove

Chapter Text

The next morning, Astarion shows up at my tent as promised. I see his white curls before the rest of him.

“Good morning,” he says, softly, pushing aside the flap. “How are you feeling?”

I am still in my bedroll, covered by a blanket, wearing my blood-stained shirt without the corset underneath. My skirt is in tatters, so I will have to find an alternate solution. I don’t need a mirror – cause vampire – to note that my hair is flying out in every direction. I’m sure I look frightening.

“Hi,” I answer, equally as softly. “I’m fine. The benefit of vampirism – I don’t have a working liver, and my blood circulates quickly or not at all, so there are no hangovers.”

“That’s actually fascinating,” he chuckles. “The science of vampires.” I shrug.

“How’s your arm?” I motion to the bandage. “Did the boar cause any permanent damage?”

He looks down as if he forgot about the injury.

“It’s nothing, really. With your healing potion, and then Shadowheart taking a look at it this morning, it doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“That’s good.” We fall into silence, both remembering the evening before, both hesitant to bring it up.

Astarion clears his throat eventually.

“I realize I was supposed to bring you breakfast,” he says, sheepishly. “And when I went to collect a plate from Gale, I also realized…”

“I don’t eat?”

“Right. That’s what I thought. So, um…” He’s blushing slightly, and it’s absolutely adorable on him. I smell the blood rushing to his face, and it’s just as potent as the day before. “Do you need…” He trails off, motioning to his neck.

“How about your wrist?” I suggest, thinking that if I bury myself in his neck, if I feel those shakes of excitement again, that we will end up right back where we were in the creek.

“Sure,” he nods. “That makes sense.” He rolls up the sleeve of his uninjured arm, revealing tight muscles and visible veins running down his forearm. My fangs extend uncontrollably, still unused to a thinking creature’s ichor.

He sits next to me, and holds out his wrist in offering. A peace offering, perhaps, I think. I hesitate, looking up at him, but I can’t turn down the offer of sustenance, and I take his wrist gently, bringing it to my lips.

His taste is even better than the day before, and I sigh against his skin, pulling his blood into my mouth as softly as I can. I hear him choke back a sound, perhaps a moan. His heart is racing. I drink my fill, swipe the wounds with my tongue, and slowly withdraw, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Thank you,” I tell him, my voice barely audible. He nods, pulling his sleeve back down his arm.

“You’re welcome.” He doesn’t move, staring into my eyes. “Should we talk about what happened last night?”

I wrinkle my nose, which makes him chuckle.

“Look, Darling… or is it Tav?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You can call me whatever you’d like,” I tell him. “My actual name is Octavia, Octavia Darling in full. Tav was a childhood nickname, though that was two centuries ago.” He nods, and continues.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he says, nervously, a hand combing through his hair. I blink at him. What would he have to apologize for? “I didn’t mean to take advantage or make you uncomfortable,” he continues. “I completely lost control, and it’s not excusable. I’m so sorry.”

He's sorry. I can’t even comprehend it. I drank his blood, I kissed him, I teased him, and... I ran. Cazador would have flayed me for less, and no one has ever apologized for touching me before. Most found it to be their right.

“Oh no, Astarion,” I put a hand on his arm. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I was there, too. I also… lost control.”

“Well it was your first time drinking elf blood,” he says, reasonably. “I’m sure that comes with new… sensations.” I nod in agreement. “It’s just, when you ran, I thought I had crossed a line, and I feel awful about it.”

“Please don’t,” I try to smile at him. “Me running away was about me, not you. About my past."

He is quiet for a moment, then says,

“Is it about what I saw when our tadpoles connected? Your master? Cazador?”

I swallow, then nod. He continues.

“I won’t pry, but if you ever feel like sharing, I’m a pretty good listener.”

“Thank you.” I look down at my hands, considering my next words. I want him to know how wonderful last evening had been, how I'll never forget it. “I… it's just that... ” My voice trails off.

“Well that clears it up,” he grins.

“It wasn’t you, that’s all. I want you to know that. What happened was… pretty amazing, actually.”

“I feel the same,” he says, the grin getting wider. Something in my dead chest flutters. “Pretty f*cking amazing, really.” His voice takes on a husky quality.

“Right,” I agree. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t... you know…” Astarion holds up his hand.

“Do not apologize for that. Ever,” he says, firmly.

“Alright,” I agree. “You either. You did nothing wrong.”

“Alright.” We sit there like idiots for a few moments, then he stands up and holds out his hand.

“Shall we see if the others are ready to go?” he asks. I smile and take his hand, allowing him to pull me up. I feel warm and satiated and, dare I say, happy.

“I have something for you first,” I tell him, moving back to my crate where I’ve stored important items.

"Really?" He inquires. "For me?"

I pull out a gold amulet with a shiny jade stone in the middle, and hold it out to him. “I was wearing this when we were snatched,” I say, and he takes it in his hand. “It's the Amulet of Silvanus." Astarion's eyes widen.

"Wow! The Amulet of Silvanus!" He holds it up, considering. "What is the Amulet of Silvanus?"

"Anyone wearing it can cast a small spell, it's nothing, really.”

“What kind of spell?” he asks, examining it.

“It’s a restoration spell. It will… reduce the effects of blood loss.” I cannot look him in the eye, but I can feel his smirk.

“I see,” he murmurs, turning it over in his hand. “So this amulet is useful for anyone who has future intentions of being… bloodless often, then?” Still smirking. I roll my eyes.

“Yes,” I say. “We can’t have both of us weak in battle, can we?”

“No, I suppose we can’t.” Still smirking, he puts the amulet on. “Well thank you for this.”

“Thank you for breakfast.” We’re grinning at each other now, and the temperature in the room rises a couple degrees.

“So… I’ll see you out there,” he says, ducking out of my tent a little too quickly, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

It’s way too crowded.

~*~*~

Hours later, our little party of five comes across a herd of goblins and embark on our first battle as a group. I still am not using my fangs, as I need to talk to Gale and Lae’zel, but with my daggers and Astarion’s bow, we make quick work of them. We exchange a look when it’s over, both of us breathing hard and exhilarated. He seems to enjoy the battle as much as I do, which I find extremely attractive.

“You hardly needed our help,” Gale says. I wipe my daggers and put them back into their hidden holsters.

"Yes," Lae'zel says, drawing it out as she sheathes her greatsword. "Quite disappointing."

“We are a dangerous group,” Astarion says with a smile, tucking his bow behind him. “That was fun.”

“Fun?” Lae’zel scoffs. “Battle is not fun. It is necessary.”

“It’s ok to have a little fun, Lae’zel,” he says.

“I do not fight for fun. I fight to win. Not make spectacles,” she says, turning away from us, effectively ending the conversation. I hold back a laugh.

The goblins we fought had been attempting to attack a grove that the residents here call “Emerald Grove”, and we quickly decide that we won’t be dawdling. It is nice to have a place to refresh our supplies, sharpen our weapons, and rest, but there are tensions between the resident druids and a band of visiting tieflings, and we do not wish to be involved.

After meeting the Grove’s leadership, we learn that their First Druid, Halsin, is an accomplished healer, but he has gone missing. He might be our only chance to find a cure for our illithid visitors, so we agree to help find him as long as they provide us with a place to set up camp, and supplies for the road ahead.

Both the druids and the tieflings are grateful for our help with the goblins, so they cook up a large feast for us that evening, which I pretend to eat, and there is even a bard named Alfira entertaining us well into the night. She is a delight, and we decide to invite her to join us. We could use a bard, after all.

In my tent much later, I trance deeply, waking before dawn. I peek out of my tent to see evidence of the night’s activities, and yawn with a stretch. Deciding to see if Astarion is awake for some… breakfast… I start towards his tent, but i do not get far.

There is a body next to the still-smoking campfire.

It is surrounded by gore. Intestines spill from the open abdominal cavity. There is so much blood. I lick my lips.

Then I look at the face.

It’s Alfira. The pretty bard who had been so excited to join our adventure only the night before.

Even worse, Astarion is standing over her. And he is covered in blood.

Chapter 9: The Darkness

Chapter Text

There is blood… everywhere.

It seeps out of Alfira’s desecrated body. It leaks out of her disemboweled abdominal cavity. It spills from her lips. It drains from her eye sockets, of which the eyes themselves are missing. The dark caverns stare into nothing, her mouth open and frozen in what was likely a scream.

There are dozens and dozens of wounds on the corpse. Whoever did this did not stop savaging it, even when she was long gone.

The blood still smells warm, like the embrace of an old friend. I swallow down the urge to consume it all, to suck it from her organs, to lick it from Astarion’s skin.

Astarion looks like he is in shock, covered in blood, and staring down at the fresh corpse. He holds his head as if it aches. I approach him quietly, but his head snaps to me, backing up in fear.

“I… I don’t know what happened,” he chokes out, a sob catching in his throat, his posture defensive. I hold up my hands.

“It’s ok,” I say, soothingly. “We’ll figure this out. I’m not going to hurt you.”

His body does not relax, but he looks somewhat relieved. At least it’s me, Darling the Monster, and not another of our companions.

“My arm, Darling,” he sobs, holding it to him, his eyes wild. “It aches. It aches as if it was stabbing someone. Why can’t I remember?”

I take a step closer to him, and he flinches, so I stop.

“Because something is happening to you,” I say, softly. “But you aren’t alone. I’m going to help you. Do you remember anything?”

“No,” he says with regret, then pauses. Another sob. “Who am I? Who could do something like this? What darkness lurks inside of me?”

This time I close the distance and wrap my arms around his waist, instinctively. This is a new sensation for me, and the reaction to pull away is strong. Still, I hold him to me, feel him shaking in sobs against my hair.

“How could you even stand to touch me?” he asks, his voice low and fraught with tears.

“Maybe we’re more alike than I thought is all,” I say, finally stepping back and regretting the loss of his touch. “I have darkness in me, and it seems you do as well. Perhaps we can help each other.”

He swallows, looking back towards the body.

“Your darkness was forced on you,” he says, the tears now gone. “Mine is deep inside of me, Darling. Even now, looking at her… I have no regrets. I crafted her in one night. What masterpieces might I have sculpted in my forgotten years?” He lets out a breath. “What kind of madness would cause thoughts like these?”

“We will figure this out,” I assure him. “But for now, we need to act. We only have a short time before the others awaken.” I grab a bucket amongst Gale’s cooking things and shove it at him. “Hurry and get yourself washed up.”

Astarion blinks at me, staring down at the bucket.

“I probably murdered this poor girl, and you’re helping me to cover it up? Why?”

“We’re in it together now,” I tell him, tossing him a washcloth and soap. “Call it a blood bond.”

He still looks horrified.

“I told you,” I continue. “You have given me a gift, and I will not forget it. Now go to the creek. Bury the cloth and bucket. I will handle the body.” He doesn’t move. “Go!”

Finally he turns and hurries away towards our creek – when did I start thinking of it as “our creek”? – and I get to work on doing what I have been trained for centuries on doing. Hiding a body.

~*~*~

“I had a nightmare last night,” Astarion tells me later, his face in profile, lit only by the candlelight of my tent. “I don’t know if it was a memory or just a dream. But it was quite vivid.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, softly.

We decided to await dawn and the rise of our companions here. The evidence of Alfira’s mutilation is gone. Astarion hadn’t wanted to be alone. Neither did I, if I'm being honest.

“I was at the front of a band of… goons is the only word to describe them,” he starts. “Cultists, I think. Wearing dark cloaks and hoods, myself included. I was at the front. We were walking… no, forcing our way into a tavern called The Blushing Mermaid. I can still see the sign.” He shakes his head.

“Once we were inside, I pointed. That’s all I did, Darling. I pointed. And they… they glided into the tavern. As if they were floating. They split up without a word.”

“What were they doing?”

“Killing,” he spits out. “We murdered everyone in the tavern. Every last soul. It took surprisingly little time." A bitter shake of his head. "I can still see their wide, staring eyes. I can still smell the coppery tang of the blood, and the sweet sickness of death. We cut them all down, and we… we laughed.”

I feel a thrill as he mentions the blood. I wonder if i would have laughed, too.

“Do you know why you were there?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It felt ritualistic. Like we were there on orders from a power I still can’t see.” He grasps his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees.

I move closer to him, and put a hand on his back.

“There’s an explanation,” I tell him. “We’ll find it.”

His eyes meet mine suddenly, and they are haunted. He reaches back to my hand and takes it in his.

“I feel like I’ve known you for a long time,” he murmurs, tracing circles on my skin with his thumb. “Do you think that’s possible?” I squeeze his hand.

“Maybe,” I say. He’s right, it does feel that way. “I still have my memories, though. And I would remember you.”

“Perhaps we had a scandalous night together, and I didn't measure up,” he teases. I attempt a smile, but it's forced.

“If that was the case, Astarion, you would not be alive to be here with me now,” I say, flatly. “Those who were subject to my charms ended up as victims for my master. It was my job. He compelled me to seduce them, weaken them, and deliver them to his chambers.”

“That’s… awful,” he says, looking down at our hands. “We must make sure you never see him again.”

This time, I do smile, though with patience rather than joy. His hope is so very refreshing. And foolish.

“One can only hope,” I say, though I can't let myself wish for it. My hope died many decades ago.

After a moment, he whispers,

“I can still feel her under my hands.” His hand grips mine more firmly. “I can’t remember it, but I can still feel it, and… it excites me, Darling. It thrills me. I am disgusted with myself.”

“I understand,” I tell him, my arm brushing his. “There is nothing like the thrill of blood when you feel the darkness inside of you. Look what happened at the creek after I fed on you. It’s…”

“Intoxicating,” he cuts in. I nod.

“Arousing, even," I add. He chuckles, then meets my eye again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I did at the creek with you,” he confesses. “I have never wanted someone like that, with such a wild ardency.”

Our eyes lock. I let out a breath.

“I felt the same,” I admit, his green eyes glowing in the candlelight.

"Was it the blood?" he asks, huskily. "Or... was it you?" He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

"I... I don't know," I admit with a sigh. "Maybe it was both. You did taste so..." I don't finish my sentence. My eyes speak for me.

“I feel it now,” he murmurs, his face moving closer to me. My gaze drops to his full, perfect lips.

I swallow. Hope I can keep it together.

“So do I.”

He doesn’t wait for further confirmation, lowering his head, eyes probing mine for consent, and finally, finally capturing my lips with his in a fervent and hungry kiss.

Chapter 10: The Knee

Chapter Text

Admittedly, I have never understood intimacy. Perhaps, 200 years ago, a boy may have stoked my fancy here and there, but that was another life. In my memory, sex has always been a tool. A weapon. A way to manipulate and destroy.

When Astarion's mouth meets mine, and his fingers tangle into my hair to pull me closer, the shivers running through my body are real. Pleasure builds in my abdomen.

My lips part beneath his, and he pulls back slightly.

“Are you sure this is ok?” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing across my lower lip. “We don’t have to…”

I stop him with another kiss, which he returns deeply, his tongue slipping into my mouth to explore. I can feel his grip on the back of my head tighten as he pulls me even closer, a low moan escaping his lips. He breaks away yet again, prompting a whimper of disappointment from my throat.

“I need you to say it,” he says, his breathing heavy. “And even if you do, it's ok to stop me at any time. Because, Darling… I won't be able to stop myself once my hands are on you.”

“It’s more than ok,” I murmur back, hands sliding up and down his arms, feeling the tight muscles through his shirt. “I want this. I want you.”

He needs no further encouragement. This time when he kisses me, it's rougher than the last, his lips and tongue exploring my mouth ravenously. One hand remains tangled in my hair, while he other slides down my back, pulling me tighter against him so I'm almost laying on my back.

He gently pushes me to the ground, crawling up my body and taking my lips yet again. His leg is between mine while his other knee casually moves upward, catching behind mine and pushing my legs apart.

What a slick move, I think before he’s taking fulladvantage of the position to lower his weight onto me, evidence of his arousal pressing against my entrance through the cloth of our trousers.

I moan into his mouth, rubbing myself against his erection. His hands lock onto my hips, holding me in place.

“If you keep that up, Darling, this will not last very long,” he grunts into my ear, his tongue catching the lobe and pulling it between his teeth.

“Don't be gentle on my account,” I murmur against his neck, and his hips pin me to the ground, his eyes dark and predatory as he pulls back to look at me. He doesn't speak, only presses his hard length against me again, more urgently, eyes still boring into mine as he moves, the delicious friction pulling a gasp from me.

I could cum from this, from only this. I hadn't had an org*sm in decades, but this man was about to give me one with our clothing still on.

His lips move to my collarbone, kissing the skin there, then moving to my neck and throat, his tongue swirling and his hands moving up my body, pulling my shirt with them. He removes it with ease, tossing it to the ground, and lowering his head to my breasts. One hand cups, then squeezes, his mouth closing around a nipple to suck lightly.

I squirm under his touch, my legs fully parted now, and my hands tugging his shirt over his head.

Gods, he’s beautiful.

Now bare from the waist up, he lowers himself so his chest is pressed tightly to mine, my breasts crushing against him as his mouth captures mine in a feral, desperate kiss. My legs wrap around his waist, and I'm making mewling sounds that must be coming from someone else, they are so unfamiliar.

Clutching at his back, I writhe under him, pressing upwards and begging with my body for release. My tongue is inside of his mouth now, exploring, tasting, then pulling his bottom lip in between mine, sucking, wishing I could draw his life blood into me.

I grab the back of his head and pull his hair back, giving me access to his flawless neck. I hum against his skin in pleasure before pressing kisses to him, licking his Adam’s Apple, nipping at the puncture wounds I gave him only the night before.

“You're driving me crazy,” he gasps, his hands suddenly groping inside of my pants, a finger pushing inside of me easily. “Gods, Darling. You're so wet.”

“Are you wet for me pet?”

I do not panic as I did the night before, but I feel myself slipping away, into the safe space reserved for all of the times in the past that I did not have control over my own body. I squeeze my eyes shut. Drift away. Let my body resume the activities through a foggy haze.

“Look at me,” Astarion suddenly growls, his voice dripping with lust. I look at him. There's a tear in my eye. He wipes it with his thumb, then leans down to kiss it away. “Are you ok? You went somewhere else for a moment there."

This man. Gods. I don't deserve him. I wrap my arms around his neck.

“I am now,” I assure him, squeezing my legs around his waist and rubbing myself against him, pressing a kiss to his chin. “I promise. Please, don't stop.”

His answering smile is all I need, and we are back to ravishing each other, our limbs and mouths tangling together in a passionate embrace.

He is tugging on my pants now, lifting my hips to push them down, then frantically scrambling out of his own before he falls back onto me, his co*ck nudging insistently at my entrance. His elbows are propped on either side of my head, his hands smoothing my hair. He kisses my forehead, once, before thrusting inside of me.

He had been right. I am wet. So wet, he slides in with ease, and we both moan as he fills me completely. He reaches down to grasp my ass cheeks in his hands, pulling me apart so he can fit even more deeply. The impact sends a jolt through me, and I feel his co*ck twitching in response against my inner walls.

“Gods, you feel amazing.” His voice is low and rough as he begins to move inside of me, his strokes powerful, each one sending waves of pleasure through my body.

“f*ck,” I hiss through my teeth, my hips rising to meet his thrusts. My hands are all over him, one pulling on his back while the other grips his ass to press him harder against me.

This is what sex is supposed to feel like? I wonder. No wonder it turns people into blithering idiots.

A gasp escapes my lips as he increases the pace, his hands gripping my hips roughly.

Ecstasy races through me. I clench around him, and he moans, now pounding into me with a feral intensity.

He presses his forehead to mine, and I hear his heart racing, smell his arousal, his org*sm close.

“Darling," he gasps, fingers sliding between our gyrating bodies until he finds the sensitive nub of my cl*t. Still driving into me, he moves his fingers at the same brutal pace, circling and pulling until I'm clawing at him, hips churning and desperate for release.

“Cum for me," he growls in a low, husky voice, now f*cking me into the ground from the force of his thrusts. “Let me feel you around my co*ck.”

"Yes," I moan, almost sob. The pleasure tightens, curls, then releases as I climax violently, my inner walls pulsating around him in wave after wave of pure ecstasy. I cry out, then press my palm against my mouth to silence the sound.

Astarion lets out a strangled groan, thrusting wildly as he begins to swell and twitch inside of me. I grab his face and jam my tongue deep into his mouth as he c*ms, his hips jerking madly, his co*ck pulsating until we're both gasping for breath and clutching each other.

He stays on top of me for a few moments, still inside, staring down in awe. I smooth the curls back from his forehead, wiping away sweat.

I am grateful to have already fed. I smell the blood pumping through him in time to his racing heart. It is sweet with his arousal.

“Well,” I stammer. “That was… unexpected.”

“Incredible,” he murmurs, pressing his nose into my hair, breathing in my scent. “You're incredible.”

“So are you,” I assure him. He doesn't believe me, I know, just as I don't believe him, but one thing is certain. We are incredible together.

“What are we even doing?” I wonder aloud.

He kisses me on the mouth, softly, and says,

“I don't know what we're doing.” He slowly pulls out of me, then lays down and pulls me into his arms, my head on his chest.

“Or what comes next,” he continues, kissing my head.

“But I know that this?” His arms tighten around me, and he pulls a blanket over our bare forms.

“This is nice.”

It certainly is.

Chapter 11: The Scars

Chapter Text

“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Astarion says into my hair. We are still under the blanket, and I am laying with my head on his chest, my arm around his waist, and my leg draped across his thigh. The rays of the morning sun are showing though the fabric of the tent.

“Well, now’s a good time to tell me you’re thinking of another woman,” I tease. His arms tighten around me in a squeeze.

“Alfira,” he says. “I’m talking about Alfira. I keep seeing her body, and my hands, covered in blood. My arm still aches. I... I must have killed her, Darling.”

“You haven’t tranced either,” I point out. I had been able to rest for a bit after our evening activities, but when I awoke, he was stroking my hair and absently staring at the ceiling. “You need rest.”

“I can’t,” he says with a sigh. “After that nightmare, and then this… I’m afraid to trance at all. I’m afraid of what I’ll do.”

“Well, then, I have an idea.”

The tent is heating up from the morning sun, and the friction between our bodies is becoming uncomfortable instead of sexy. I pull away, bringing the blanket with me. Astarion yelps, covering himself with his hand. I just smirk at him, a look that clearly says, “I’ve seen it”, then stand up with the blanket wrapped around my body. I toss him his pants.

“Let’s move your tent next to mine,” I suggest. “I’ll fashion a trap that will warn me if you venture outside. And I’ll stop you.” He wrinkles his nose.

“We can try it,” he says with a tired sigh, not getting up, but pulling on his pants, then reaching out to caress my calf. “Or you could just stay with me.” A mischievous grin.

“We’ll see,” I admonish, pulling myself out of his grip. “But we will keep you safe.”

“I’m more worried about keeping everyone else safe from me.” He stands then, his bare chest shining with a thin layer of sweat. I swallow, then toss him his shirt that I’ve found next to the bedroll. He pouts, but pulls it over his head.

“That, too. We will figure this out,” I assure him. “Now go on, I need to get dressed.” I turn around then, to grab clothes, my back to him, and I hear him gasp.

“Darling…”

The blanket has slipped down, and my back is facing him, bare and ominous. I whip myself around, eyes wide. His face shows concern, care, and probably pity. I hate pity.

“Don’t.” I choke out, quickly pulling the blanket around my back. “Please.”

“We all have scars, Darling,” he says, softly. “Some are just more visible than others.” I blink at him, then nod, turning so my back is facing him. I let the blanket fall with a wince, and I hear him suck in his breath, feel him move closer to me.

A warm hand touches my shoulder, and I shiver slightly. Then, a soft kiss on the back of my neck before I feel a finger trail lightly down my back, grazing over the scars.

“Where did you get them?” he asks, softly, already knowing the answer.

“Cazador,” I mumble, looking at the floor. “He sees himself as something of a poet, and he likes to carve his poetry into his spawns’ flesh. This one took an especially long time. He made… a lot of changes as he went.” I turn to face him, and see his face clouding in anger.

“Why did he write it in Infernal?” Astarion asks, then shakes his head in surprise. “And… how do I know what Infernal looks like?”

“Another clue in your puzzle, maybe,” I offer. “I didn’t know it was Infernal. I have never seen it.”

“What? Really?” He looks shocked. I shake my head.

“Well I can’t exactly see my back, can I? And no mirrors, cause vampire, so…”

A silence falls between us, as his face becomes pensive, thinking.

“Would you like to see it?” he finally asks.

“How?” I whisper.

“Well we can connect to each other’s heads, can’t we? So why not try to connect while I’m looking at your scars? Maybe you can see them through me.”

How had I not thought of that? A chance to see the massacre that Cazador carved into my back?

“I… I would like that.”

~*~*~

We decide to try our experiment by our creek a bit later, as the light in the tent is more shadow than light, and I don’t exactly want to take my top off in front of our companions.

“Delightful, you without a shirt again. Something to look forward to,” Astarion teases before exiting my tent. I smile as he goes, then my ears perk.

“Astarion,” I hear Shadowheart click her tongue. “That is NOT your tent.”

“Good morning, Shadowheart,” he answers, and I smile to myself as I get dressed and pull on my armor.

Infernal? I wonder to myself, stepping out of the tent and lifting my face into the sun. I will never tire of the sun. What was Cazador doing writing in Infernal?

The language of the Hells.

Nothing good could come of that.

~*~*~

Walking to the center of camp, I notice everyone standing around a firepit, talking to a man I vaguely recognize having been in the goblin battle the day before. He is handsome with chocolate brown skin, one brown eye and one scarred, and he carries himself as one would in high society. Well spoken, shoulders straight, chest out.

"You seem like a capable group," he is saying. "I will offer my blade to you, if you help me on my quest."

"What quest?" Astarion asks, his arms folded over his chest.

"There's a devil named Kar..." the man begins, but then him and Astarion both cry out, clutching their heads. I exchange a look with Shadowheart, who motions to her forehead. The tadpoles. This man must be infected, too.

"Hells' great fires - you were on the ship," he says, looking us all over.

"Yes," Astarion confirms, rubbing his temple. "And we all carry parasites."

"Right. Doomed to shed our skin and become illithid, or so the stories go," the man confirms. "But we haven't sprouted any tentacles - not yet, anyway."

"Our mission is to find a cure," Astarion tells him. "We don't have time to chase devils." His gaze collides with mine,

"Advocatus diaboli," the man corrects him. "A devil's advocate. A champion in the Blood War between diabolical forces and demons."

"Chk. Not our problem," Lae'zel scoffs.

"We do have rather important things to focus on right now," Gale adds.

"We'll help," I cut in, suddenly, drawing the eyes of everyone around the campfire. Lae'zel looks especially annoyed at me. "We need all the allies we can get," I tell my companions. "This man can fight, as we saw, and our top priority should be to get rid of these tadpoles, right?" I am starting to think that perhaps my own priorities should be the opposite, if this tadpole is what is allowing me to enjoy the sun.

Astarion searches my face, then slowly nods.

"Fine," he says. "We find Halsin the healer, that is our top priority. If we find this devil..."

"Karlach," the man says. "And I'm Wyll."

"This devil Karlach on the way, we will help Wyll dispose of her." His eyes shine with excitement at the idea of killing, I am guessing. I wonder if his arm is still sore.

"Excellent," I chime in, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. "Wyll, I'm Darling." He shakes it with a smile.

"Call her Tav," Shadowheart says, stepping forward to shake his hand as well. "Shadowheart."

Once introductions are made, and we show Wyll a spot where he can set up camp, we are ready to begin our search for the druid Halsin, and hopefully for the others... a cure to our affliction.

I only see it ending with me back in Cazador's arms, and I vow to do whatever I can to prevent that from happening.

Chapter 12: The Reveal

Chapter Text

When the others learn the truth about me, we are in the middle of a heated battle against a horde of drunk goblins. I have a dagger in each hand, blood splattered on my clothing, and I’m sure hunger in my eyes.

“Well go on, then, luv,” the goblin I am currently battling calls out to me, mockingly. She evades another swipe of my blade, and I curse. She laughs. “Pathetic! Go on, then! Give it yer best shot!”

I snarl at her, then she blinks and I am at her side. I grin at her then, making sure to flash my fangs.

“If you insist,” I purr, then my teeth are at her throat. I hear a gasp behind me, and turn, blood dripping from my fangs and mouth. Gale is staring at me, his mouth open, with Lae’zel shaking her head behind him, looking into my crimson eyes. A goblin sneaks up behind her, and she cuts it down with ease, not breaking eye contact with me.

“Tav…?” Gale asks, astonished. The companions have all taken to calling me “Tav” at Shadowheart’s insistence. “Octavia Darling”, she tells them, is too much of a mouthful, so “Tav” I become for the first time since before I was turned.

“I…” I start, but our attention is needed on the battle, so I turn back to it.

“This isn’t over!” Gale insists, throwing a fireball at an approaching enemy.

After the last goblin is finished, the companions and I re-convene at the center of the goblins’ camp. Gale, it seems, has prepared a speech and looks my way, opening his mouth. Lae’zel, though, doesn’t have the patience.

“Tsk,” she says, loudly, commanding everyone’s attention. “Tav is a vampire.”

"Thank you, Lae'zel. That delivery was... quick, fast, and without lube," Astarion quips. Shadowheart snorts back a laugh, and Wyll looks at Astarion in disapproval.

"It's true, though," I admit. They all look to me, the blood drying on my face. I wipe at it self-consciously.

“So it is,” Astarion comments, casually, earning himself a skeptical look from Shadowheart. They are the only two who already knew. “How very useful, clearly.” His mouth lifts at the corner in a smirk, and I want to kiss him in appreciation.

“I did use my teeth in battle today,” I say, and everyone’s eyes are on me. “But I assure you all, I pose no danger to you. I mainly feed on animals normally, but if we’re going to be fighting, a thinking creature’s blood will make me stronger.”

“You ripped out a goblin’s throat,” Gale cuts in. “Just like that!” He snaps. I shrug, not even trying to feign regret.

“Right, Gale,” Astarion speaks up again. “A goblin. An enemy. How is everyone’s throat here?” They all murmur in agreement, a few hands flying up to check their throats.

"I won’t hurt any of you,” I promise. "I swear."

“Feed if you must, Tav,” Lae’zel says, impatiently. “But give me so much as a hungry look, and I’ll drive a stake through your heart.”

“Fair enough,” I tell her. “I’m sorry you all had to find out this way, but hey… now you know.”

“That’s why you don’t eat,” Gale mutters. “I’m glad it’s not my cooking.” I grin at him.

"Your cooking always smells divine, Gale."

“How can you walk in the sun?” Wyll suddenly cuts in, his voice curt, his body tense. I briefly try to explain my theory that the tadpole is protecting all of us, and that seems to include pieces of my vampiric affliction. He still studies me, unconvinced.

“I trust Darling… Tav… completely,” Astarion says. “If anyone disagrees, you can come to me directly.” He looks pointedly at Wyll, who holds his hands up in a peaceful gesture. No one speaks up, so Astarion shrugs and changes the topic back to the goblin camp.

And that’s it. It’s over. Everyone knows.

~*~*~

Turning my attention back to the camp, I rub my hands together in joyful anticipation. There are bodies everywhere, blood everywhere, chaos everywhere… and loot everywhere.

“Oh far be it for me to get in the way of your fun,” Astarion tells us all with a grin. “Plenty of loot to be had, and lots of food… for those of us who eat food.” He looks to me. “But lots of blood as well. Let’s gather what we can before we finally track down this Halsin person.”

We spend so much time looting their camp that we have to call it a day before continuing our search for Halsin the Healer.

Part of this is due to… well, me. I stall everywhere I can, searching every barrel, every crate, every body. If we get another night with the tadpole, that’s another night I get to spend in the sun. Another night without Cazador. Perhaps… another night in the arms of a handsome elf.

Shadowheart and Lae'zel are bickering off to the side, as usual, and Wyll has Astarion wrapped up in a conversation about some sort of monster he had hunted. Astarion looks positively bored, and catches my eye with a slight upturn of his lips. Gods, he's beautiful. I want to lick the smirk. He was magnificent in battle today, his bow loosing so often, the movements blurred. There is still blood splattered in his hair. I want to lick that, too. I want to pull him down next to the fire and have my way with him.

Instead, I turn to Gale and offer my help with dinner, to which he laughs and shoos me away. Something about seasoning with salt, not blood.

The mood is light as everyone eats supper, roast boar by Gale, and this time, I don’t have to pretend to eat with them. Instead I sit, sipping on red wine while laughing at stories of Baldur’s Gate and battles of the past. My belly is full of goblin blood, and I am genuinely enjoying the company of my companions. It is a good night, and when we all split up to head to our tents, many are smiling. Myself included.

~*~*~

A hard shake rises me from the trance, and I blink sleepily at Astarion, who is standing over me.

“Well hello,” I yawn. “Looking for a cuddle?”

Then my eyes focus, and I can see his expression. His eyes are wide, his lips parted, and he looks positively terrified. His hands flex near my throat, as if he wants to grab and squeeze.

“Although,” I add, sitting up. “You don’t look entirely yourself. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I think,” he swallows. “I think I need to protect you. Something horrible might happen.”

“More horrible than our day-to-day lives?” I ask. “Well this I have to hear.”

“I can feel the darkness inside of me, Darling,” he says, desperately. “Only I’m awake this time, and… I can’t resist it. It’s too powerful.”

“I have darkness inside of me, too,” I admit to him softly. Like a dark power that's been inside of me for 200 years.

"I’d rather be the only dark power inside your body, if it’s all the same to you," he says, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face.

An involuntary shudder runs through me. How is he threatening and so sexy at the same time?

"It's... absolutely fine with me," I smile, and reach for him, thinking it an invitation. He pulls away.

“No. This is serious. The beast that killed the bard, he is calling again. Only this time, he wants me to kill you.”

“Me?” I laugh, then stop at the look on his face. “Well you’re welcome to try, but I don’t die easily these days.”

“I don’t want to kill you,” he snaps, his hands on his face.

“You could have talked to me before things got murderously bad, you know,” I tell him. “We are technically in this together.”

“I thought I could fight it on my own,” he says, his face pale. “But I don’t even know what it is I’m fighting. What is controlling me.”

“Whatever is controlling you, we can fight it,” I say, fiercely. “I know that better than anyone.”

“Darling,” he begins. “It… this thing, this voice in my head… he wants me to kill the person that matters most to me. The one I care the most about.” A pause. Then, softly, “You."

"Me?" I whisper.

"Unless you can stop me.” He lets out a groan and clutches his head, as if in pain.

I blink at him. He cares about me? Well this was a fine time to discuss the status of our relationship, as it were.

“How... flattering,” I murmur, unable to find the right thing to say to his confession. It doesn’t matter, though. Astarion’s eyes unfocus and he lets out a gurgle, stumbles… and faints to the floor.

I immediately jump up and rush to his side, shaking him.

Thank you, vampiric strength. I push him away with ease, then grab both of his wrists.

“Now, now,” I tut at the thing that is not Astarion. “There will be none of that.” Turning him, I pull his arms behind his back and tie them together with rope I keep by my bedroll. He growls and struggles against me.

“You will die tonight.” His voice. It’s him, but not. It is rough and throaty, and he turns to glare at me with murderous intent in his eyes.

“Probably not tonight,” I reply to the thing inside of him, and force him to his back. He writhes and bucks, but cannot match my strength or sever the ties keeping his arms behind his back.

He snarls at me again, and I sit cross-legged at his side.

“This thing won’t have you,” I tell him, smoothing his curls back. There is a glimpse of recognition on his face. “It won’t win.”

His jaw clenches, and he leans up, trying to bite my hand. I pull back.

“Ah ah ah. We ask before we bite.”

His body convulses. I hear his teeth gnashing together.

“I will scoop out those watchful eyes and toss them to the dogs,” his demon voice growls at me. I try to shake back the hint of fear climbing up my spine.

“You’re cute, you know,” I say, pushing the fear far down, so the thing doesn't sense it.

“Your blood will clot for me like liquid rubies,” snarls the disembodied voice.

“A little late,” I smirk. “But good effort.”

He still struggles violently, his wrists becoming raw and bloody as he pulls at the rope.

“Easy now,” I shush softly. “You’ve got this. Dawn will be here soon.”

His bloodshot eyes meet mine, and I see violence and malice. Then, beneath it… terror. Horror. I swallow.

“And I’ve got you.”

He growls in response.

Chapter 13: The Dark Urge

Chapter Text

The night passes sick and sweating for Astarion, but bloodlessly. He writhes and thrashes throughout, and I wipe his head with a damp cloth, murmuring encouragement. I often check his ties to make sure they are secure. There is no need to welcome danger, after all.

When dawn finally breaks, he stops struggling and his body slumps to the mat in exhaustion. I study his tired face, and his eyes open to meet mine. It’s him. He once again inhabits his own mind. I lick my dry lips.

“Hi,” I say softly.

“Hi,” he croaks back, a slight cough emerging from his throat.

“It’s you?”

“It’s me.”

I nod, and move to his back, carefully untying my effective knot and releasing him. He sits up, rubbing his wrists, and I move to sit cross-legged in front of him, handing him a water skin as I do. He takes it gratefully, taking long gulps.

“Now that you’re back with us, we should have a talk,” I say, still soft and careful. I am unsure of the state of his mind right now, and don’t want to set him off again. He looks down at the water skin, placing it on the ground between us, then nods, not looking at me directly.

“Well, I felt for the bard, seeing you like that,” I start, trying to keep my tone light. “Poor Alfira never stood a chance, did she?” His eyes shoot up to meet mine, glaring.

“That’s not funny,” he says, his voice clearer, his green eyes dark. “This isn’t funny, Darling. I could have killed you.”

I hold back a smirk, thinking good luck.

“Tell me what happened,” I say, instead. “Before you showed up at my tent.”

He rakes his hand through his white curls, looking away from me again, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he sighs.

“The beginning is usually the best place,” I offer.

“I told you that I’ve had these urges, this darkness inside of me,” he starts, his shoulders slouching. “That I can’t remember anything before being captured.” I nod, encouraging him to continue. “That is all true, but…” He trails off.

“But?”

“There’s more I haven’t told you,” he admits. “It’s… it’s embarrassing.”

“I think we’re passed ‘embarrassing’, don’t you?” I offer, while my head swims with memories of his wet, slick skin under my fingers.

“I have what I can only describe as… an imaginary friend,” Astarion says, sitting up further and pulling up his knee, wrapping an arm around it. “He claims to be my butler.”

“Your butler?” I scoff. “So he serves you, this imaginary friend?”

“You might think so, but it seems not. He calls himself Sceleritas Fel.”

“That is oddly specific for an imaginary friend, Astarion,” I observe.

“I know,” he mutters. “I’m starting to think he’s not as imaginary as I might have thought.”

“What does he have to do with all of this?”

“I think he’s the one behind the murders. Or, rather, he’s the one compelling me to commit them.”

I nod at this. It sounds only too familiar.

“Astarion, if anyone understands an internal voice forcing your hand, I do.” His eyes meet mine, and he says, softly,

“I know. We clearly have a connection, though I think that’s why… why it was you he chose as the next victim. I care about you, and Sceleritas used that to encourage me to, what was it he said? ‘Be true to myself.’”

“What do you think he meant by that?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “He must be a part of my missing past. Part of who I was.” He pauses. “I was a monster, it seems.”

“But that’s not who you are now,” I tell him, aching to reach out and take his hand. “Who we are now. We make our own choices, and you made the right one last night.”

Again, I think of the tadpole and the positive effects it has had on my life. Perhaps it has helped Astarion fight his dark urges as well. Maybe he would even be willing to help me…

“I’m just grateful,” he says, picking at his fingernails. “That it didn’t end in blood.”

“It still could, if you’d like,” I offer, flashing him my fangs. He rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“End in your blood,” he adds. “I would never be able to forgive myself if…”

I finally do reach out and take his hand in mine.

“That's not going to happen," I assure him. "First, you can't take me..."

"Oh, I can take you." Finally, he grins, and there's a tightening in my abdomen. "In fact, I'm pretty sure I took you right over th..."

"In a fight," I interrupt. He shrugs.

"You’re not alone in this,” I assure him. “None of us are.” I give his hand a squeeze, then let it go, leaning back on my hands. “We could even compare notes, if you’d like.”

“I tried to kill you,” he shakes his head. “You are allowed to hate me for this.”

“But I’ve killed so many people,” he protests. “You should just end me now.”

“Oh please,” I roll my eyes. “How many lives have you taken? Dozens?” He shrugs. “I must have brought Cazador a thousand souls,” I continue, my voice lowering, the familiar guilt creeping in.

His jaw clenches.

“That bastard,” he mutters. He doesn’t know the half of it. My mind wanders to a candlelit room, to the desk Cazador had me bent over, and the wine bottle he brutalized me with.

“Scream for me.”

“Darling?” Astarion has noticed my distraction, and thankfully pulls me out of the memory.

“Sorry,” I stammer. “Sorry. Look. Whatever this is, you will get through. And I’ll be here to make sure you do.”

He looks relieved, and more than a little exhausted.

“Besides, it’s a brand new day,” I continue, brightly. “I’m sure we’ll find lots of people for you to kill.”

Despite dawn breaking, we decide that we should both trance for a couple of hours, just to get some rest before the search for the Druid Halsin continues. I do so fitfully, dreaming of blood and wine.

When I awake, I grab my armor and quickly pull it on, stumbling out of my tent and surveying the campsite. Gale is stirring something on the fire, Shadowheart is reading a book nearby, Wyll's tent is still closed, and Lae'zel is off to the side, sharpening her sword. They all look up when I emerge, worry etched on Gale's face. Shadowheart raises an eyebrow at me, casually looking to Astarion's tent and back at me. Lae'zel doesn't even look up.

"I almost came to see if you were ok," Gale calls with a wave. "You tranced late today."

"Sorry," I mutter to them all. "I... had a rough night." Then, before Shadowheart can make a remark, I add, "Nightmares."

"Well you should find some blood that's as good as this stew," Gale quips cheerfully, taking a sip of the broth from a long wooden spoon. "I used the last of the rabbit, she is delicious."

"I will hunt in a bit," I smile. "I want to check on Astarion first."

Shadowheart coughs to cover up a laugh.

"He's not in your tent?" she questions. I shoot her a look.

"No, Shadowheart, he's not in my tent."

"Anymore," Lae'zel adds, still not looking up from sharpening her sword.

"What's that?" Shadowheart asks, amused.

"Anymore," Lae'zel says again. "He was there at dawn. I saw him leave."

"Well that explains the late morning," Gale says, shaking his head. "But don't worry, Tav, not that we have anything else more important to concern ourselves with right now." He taps his head with a finger, clearly indicating to the tadpole.

I don't bother explaining myself.

"I'll make sure our leader is awake so he can eat," I say, turning my back on my snickering companions. I'm glad they think last night was an innocent tryst. They have only just learned of my vampiric proclivities, they do not need to know about Astarion's dark urges quite yet.

"Be quick about it, we do not have time for your sexual needs," Lae'zel snaps, then mutters, "Vlaakith guide me."

I can't help but smile at her.

"Lae'zel, are you jealous? You have a beautiful neck. I could..." She glares at me.

"Give me so much as a hungrylook again, and I'll drive a stake through your heart," she announces, turning back to her sword.

"Oooh I do so very like spicy food," I grin at her. "Too bad it's so prickly. I imagine much like eating a cactus."

"I am perfectly charming, I'll have you know," she says, matter-of-factly. "On Crèche K'liir, I was known for my dazzling smile and charisma."

"Really?" Shadowheart asks, skeptically.

"No." Lae'zel rolls her eyes in a gesture that can only mean, Obviously.

Chapter 14: The Almost

Chapter Text

“Good morning!” I say brightly, pushing back the flap to Astarion’s tent. “Thank you for not killing me the other night.”

“That’s not funny.” He is awake, sitting on his bedroll, and frowning at me. There are candles lit all around him, providing just enough light for him to read without leaving the security of his tent.

“It’s a little funny,” I shrug. He sighs, and motions to the book in his hands. The cover reads, "History of the Dead Three".

“I am trying to figure out what in hells is wrong with me,” he says, exasperated. There are books piled into all corners of his tent. “I’m so worried about you! What if I get possessed again?” I see the panic in his eyes, and I move towards him, sitting beside him on the bedroll.

“I’m worried about me, too,” I say, honestly. “But I seem to somehow be worried about you more.”

“About me?” he asks, looking up at me. “Well that’s ludicrous. You aren’t the one going around killing people in your sleep, or being compelled to kill the one person…” He trails off.

“The one person what?” I realize that he told me last night that thething that compelled him, thisbutler,had urged him to kill the person he cared about most. I have not forgotten this, of course. I just want to hear it again. I need to know that the startling feelings I have for this man, a stranger really, are not just mine.

“This only happened because I care for you.” He studies my face, then looks back down at his book. “I almost left last night, you know.”

“Left? Left camp? Left us?” I can’t hide my surprise, and something tightens in my chest at the thought. He nods, motioning to the corner where there is a backpack clearly stuffed full. I continue, softly, saying,

“I’m very glad you didn’t.”

“I’m just a danger to you, to all of you. It would be best for everyone.”

“It would not be best for everyone,” I argue. “Especially not for me.” He raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize that though he has been honest about his feelings, I have held back. “Look, I… I don’t know what is happening here.” I motion between us. “But I don’t think it was just a casual one-time thing. Do you?”

“No, I don’t. I hope it’s not.” His eyes are wide and sincere, and I momentarily forget about the night before, his hands tied behind his back to prevent him from choking me.

But I can't forget that. It did happen. It could happen again.

There is a pause between us, until I finally speak.

“I spent centuries, literal centuries, with men pawing at me against my control,” I murmur. “Some were clumsy, some were aggressive, some didn’t know what they were doing. But I felt nothing but contempt and loathing for all of them.” His wide eyes fall in sadness. “Until you.”

“Really?” His voice is husky, soft, disbelieving.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” I admit. “Or what comes next, but can we at least agree that we will figure it out together?”

“Even if I am a danger to your very life?” he pleads desperately, reaching out to take my hand in his. I look down, squeezing his hand softly.

“What if it’s worth it?” I ask. “What if this, whatever this is, is worth it?”

His fingers lace into mine, then he brings my hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on my knuckles. Then, he says,

“I don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I come from, or what horrible atrocities I’ve committed. But you give me something to care for.” A soft smile, and his eyes meet mine. “And that’s worth the peril.”

I close the space between us, loosening our clasped hands and grasping the back of his neck, pulling. He is already there, his lips on mine, soft and probing. I sigh, melting into the kiss, and he wraps his arm around my waist, drawing me closer to him as his hand moves to the side of my face and into my hair.

The kiss deepens, his tongue probing my lips. I answer voraciously, my hand still pulling at his neck, my head tilting and lips parting. He groans softly, and sweeps his tongue into my mouth, a move which I meet hungrily, tangling my tongue with his and sighing when I finally taste him.

He kisses me as if I am the very air he breathes, the very sustenance he requires to survive. He clings to me, devours me, as my breath catches, and his quickens. I lay backwards on the bedroll, not breaking the kiss, but pulling him with me, on top of me. I want to feel his weight on me, his body pressed against mine. I ache for it. For him.

He follows obediently, his hands sweeping down my sides, then parting my legs so he can settle his hips in the space between them. He is fully aroused, and his erection presses against my core, insistently nudging through his trousers and mine.

I groan into his mouth, finally pulling my mouth away so I can suck softly on his bottom lip. His co*ck twitches in his pants, and I press against him, rubbing myself over his length and drawing a gasp, then a growl from his throat.

I can’t believe how much I want him. How much I yearn for him. How much I need him.

“I need you,” I breathe against his lips, and he draws back only slightly to look at me, his eyes heated and pupils wide with arousal.

“I need you, too,” he whispers, then lowers his head again, this time to worship my throat and jaw with his mouth and tongue, then moves to my ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thank the gods.

He captures my earlobe in his lips, and sucks softly, his tongue darting into the sensitive cavity, and I gasp involuntarily at the sensations coursing through me, drawing a smile from his beautiful lips.

“I can’t give this up,” he continues, his voice low and hot in my ear.

“Your neck.” He kisses my neck, his tongue flicking out to caress the skin.

“Your amazing lips, made for mine.” He kisses my lips, once, then twice, teasing, and I strain for more.

“Your lovely breasts.” His hands move to cup them through my shirt, kneading and pushing the soft orbs together so he can kiss down my throat and lick the skin at the top of the cleavage.

“Your legs.” He travels down, pulling up my legs around him so he can place a kiss on my knee. My pants are still on, but I feel the touch to my very core, and my abdomen tightens. He pulls my legs around him then, and looks me in the eye before huskily murmuring,

“Your body.”

Then his head lowers, and he is kissing me there, over my pants, his mouth hard and insistent. I gasp and my hips raise off of the bedroll. I cling to it with both hands as he continues teasing me, his teeth now joining his lips and mouth in his assault on my aching core, his hand rubbing roughly, pressing the top of my mound as my hips undulate beneath him.

“Astarion,” I groan, louder than I intended, and he lifts his head to smirk at me, his fingers moving to untie the leather cord of my pants.

“You are stunning,” he murmurs, his seeking fingers pushing inside the fabric, finding my cl*t through the slickness of my arousal and flicking it with soft, slow circles. “So wet. Gods, you’re so wet.”

For him. Only for him.

He is tugging at my pants now, frantic, and I rise to my elbows to watch him hungrily, lifting my hips to help him.

He has just lowered them to my ankles, his green eyes flaring with uncontrollable heat, when there is a sudden stream of light piercing through the tent, and a surprised yelp.

Astarion and I both jump, heads turning towards the intruder, both scrambling to cover my lower half.

“Oh sh*t. f*ck. I’m so sorry, you guys.” A fumble, another curse, and Wyll disappears from view.

Chapter 15: The Blade

Chapter Text

Nothing kills a mood more than being caught with your literal pants down, and I don’t think I’ve ever re-dressed more quickly than in that moment.

I smell the blood as it rushes to Astarion’s cheeks, and he’s fumbling about the tent, adjusting his trousers, which are stretched tightly over his erection. I chide myself internally for nearly getting carried away with him, again. There is so much at stake now, and so many unanswered questions. We should not be complicating it with something as simplistic as desire, and I can’t believe how easy it is to lose control with him.

“Well,” he finally says, his throat still thick. “Perhaps we can resume our… discussion… a bit later without the prying eyes.”

It’s a bad idea. I know it’s a bad idea. But his green eyes are pleading, his hair is tousled, and his lips still swollen from our fervent kisses. There are also still marks on his wrist, from the ropes I had used to tie him up as he thrashed against the darkness inside of him… the very darkness that wanted me dead.

Complicated? Oh yes.

Worth it? I’m still not sure, but my body certainly seems to think so.

“Of course,” I murmur, pulling on my boots. “We just got a little carried away.”

“I always get carried away with you, Darling.”

He really needs to stop saying things like that.

“We should go see what Wyll needed,” I say, standing up and smoothing down my clothing. “He’s probably more embarrassed than we are.”

“I think I know what he needed,” Astarion says. “Wyll is a monster hunter.”

Silence falls between us as I process this. Monster hunters slay beasts, devils, and monsters for coin, but also for clout. They like to be seen as heroic, and often brag about their deeds. Many a vampire has fallen to a monster hunter, but more monster hunters have fallen to vampires.

Our interests do not align.

“So you think this is about me?” I ask, and he nods.

“I was wondering if he might approach me about it. Which is ironic, really, as it seems he has much more to worry about from me than you… in the monster category.” His eyes lower, his face saddening.

“Well let’s go talk to him together,” I offer, lifting the tent flap. “Perhaps I can help to convince him that some monsters deserve to die, and others…”

“Others are not monstrous at all,” Astarion says softly, leaning in to kiss my cheek before stepping out of the tent.

~*~*~

With everything that has been happening, I realize that I have not really had a chance to talk to our new companion yet.

Wyll Ravenguard, he introduces himself, has dark skin and black braided hair with a pencil beard and two different color eyes. One is a deep dark brown, and the other white and soulless – perhaps a prosthetic. He dresses as a nobleman, a black jerkin with golden patterns running through the fabric.

The three of us have settled on the far side of the camp, where there is a grouping of logs for us to sit and chat in semi-private.

“My father is the Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll tells us in a confident, steady tone. “I found myself in need of more adventure, and studied to be a warlock. ‘The Blade of Frontiers’, they call me.” He looks at us expectantly, clearly assuming we have heard of him.

“Of course, The famed Blade of Frontiers!” I say with an appropriate amount of excitement without going overboard. I read people easily, it’s part of what made me so successful in capturing Cazador’s victims. Pleasing them, especially men, is not a difficult task when you know what they want to hear. “I did not know the Blade and the son of the Duke were the same person.”

Wyll nods, obviously pleased.

“No one does,” he says. “It is quite a long story, and I do not wish to bore you with the details.” Of course he wishes to bore us with the details.

“Please, continue,” Astarion says.

“Several years ago, while my father was away from the city, I heard whispers of a dragon cult trying to summon Tiamat to Baldur’s Gate.”

“Tiamat?” I cut in, surprised. “The dragon?”

“The dragon queen,” Wyll nods. “Goddess of greed, and servant of Bane.” Bane is one of the Dead Three, and I remember the book Astarion was reading: “The History of the Dead Three”.

“That would have been bad,” I observe, obviously.

“Quite,” Wyll agrees. “And we were powerless to stop them from summoning her. So I did the unthinkable. I made a deal with the devil.”

He continues to tell us that a cambion names Mizora offered to grant him the power to destroy the dragon cult, but the price was his soul. They wiped out the cult, Wyll losing an eye in the battle.

“But the devil was in the details,” he says with a sardonic smile. “The pact forbade me from speaking of the details to my father, and he cast me out of Baldur’s Gate when he saw that I was aligned to Mizora. That tickled her to no end.”

I’m sure he’s right. Devils love to create chaos.

“I ended up in Cloakwood,” he continues. “Which is where I fine tuned my skills and slayed a minotaur, earning myself the ‘Blade of Frontiers’ title. The people saw me as their hero, a slayer of monsters.” His eyes fall on mine. I do not break the contact, and nod for him to continue.

“But Mizora will always collect. She tasked me with hunting a tiefling named Karlach, who serves under Zariel in Avernus.”

“Avernus?” Astarion repeats incredulously. “The first layer of hell?”

“The first of nine layers, yes,” Wyll says. “It was there that I chased after the tiefling, and we both escaped Avernus only to end up on a nautiloid ship.”

“Implanted with tadpoles for possible ceremorphosis,” I finish and he nods. “That is quite a story, Wyll.”

“Quite,” Astarion agrees. “So what did you need to talk to us about?” I once again smell blood rushing to his cheeks, likely remembering what we were in the middle of when Wyll came calling.

“Mizora is relentless,” Wyll admits. “And if I do not capture this tiefling Karlach, I fear I will end up back in Avernus, or worse. I come to you asking for your aid. In return, I offer you my blade for the many battles to come in our quest to rid ourselves of these things.”

“I don’t think we have time to worry about…” I start, but Astarion holds out his hand.

“This Mizora,” he starts, catching my eye. “A devil, yes? Do you know if she speaks Infernal?”

A breath catches in my throat from his question. With the distractions from the past couple of nights, I have almost forgotten of Astarion’s promise to look at the scars on my back, the very scars he claims are written… in Infernal.

“Infernal?” Wyll asks, questioningly. “I’m sure she does. But why?”

“For my own purposes,” Astarion says. “But important enough that I would be willing to offer our assistance if we are able to speak to this Mizora.”

Wyll nods, thoughtfully.

“Mizora does love to be entertained,” he says with a scoff. “I will summon her to our camp this evening. Perhaps away from the others?”

Astarion agrees. “We’ll pick a spot in the woods and tell the others we’re hunting.”

We all agree, and stand as Wyll makes a hasty exit back to camp, leaving Astarion and I alone once again.

I turn to him, looking up into his face. I start to speak, but he interrupts me.

~*~*~

I blink at Astarion, almost laugh.

“My shirt? Astarion, now is hardly the time to continue…”

“Just to see your back, Darling,” he says, softly, hands on my shoulders. He turns me around gently so my back is facing him. “May I?”

I am not mentally prepared for this sudden topic change, but still nod in silence, swallowing. He slowly untucks my shirt from my pants and pulls it over my head. He then hands my shirt to me, pressing it gently to my chest so as to cover me from any passersby. It is a sweet gesture, and I become more relaxed as he leans back to study my scars.

I do not need to breathe, as a vampire, but my breath catches anyway as I feel his gaze on me, on the one place on my body I will not show to anyone. Only Cazador has seen these scars, and only because he created them.

“Darling,” Astarion whispers finally, and I feel a finger lightly trail across the bottom of my neck and down my back. “What cruelty you have endured.” I shiver at his touch, but do not move.

“Can you read it?” I ask. The finger leaves my back, and he steps away.

“No, I’m sorry,” he admits, motioning for me to put my shirt back on, which I do gratefully. “It’s definitely Infernal, but whatever my past mind knows of the language, it is not enough to understand the text.”

The desire to know what is carved into my flesh is intense.

“So I need to talk to this devil Mizora,” I shrug. “It looks like we did meet Wyll for a reason, after all. And he didn’t try to kill me, so bonus for him.”

“We will talk to her,” Astarion assures me. “We will find answers.”

“For you as well,” I say, attempting a smile. “We will find your answers, too.” He only nods, looking away.

“Hopefully before someone else has to die,” he mutters, looking pained.

“I will keep ropes on me at all times just in case,” I tease, turning my tone into flirtation. “You just let me know the next time you need to be tied up.” My strategy works, and I earn a smile from him. My dead heart warms slightly. It is a beautiful smile.

“Thank you,” he says with a shake of his head. “For being you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He steps closer, his face hovering above mine.

“Your eyes are especially red this morning,” he observes, lowering himself to his knees in front of me, and baring his neck. “Might you need some breakfast?”

Now, the smile is mine.

Chapter 16: The Demon

Chapter Text

Satiated with Astarion’s blood, I am smiling and happy when we arrive back at camp. Shadowheart shoots me a look, her head tilting towards Astarion in question. I shoo her off with my hands, feeling bad that I haven’t spent a lot of time with her lately.

I mean, between the murderous lover and blood cravings, who has time?

Still, I grin at her mischievously, silently promising details later. She smirks and nods.

“Everyone, let’s gather round,” Astarion calls out, motioning all of us to the center of camp. “We have a druid to find.”

“What’s on your neck, Astarion?” Gale asks, immediately. Astarion’s hand flies up to the two puncture wounds at his neck, and he clears his throat.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Now, I suggest we split up once inside the temple…”

“You’re bleeding!” Gale insists. “Shadowheart, you should look at Astarion’s neck.”

“I see nothing wrong with his neck,” Wyll counters, and I hide a snicker, grateful for the new ally.

“He is clearly injured,” Gale says, determined.

“What do you think, Tav?” Shadowheart grins, and all eyes are on me.

Gale looks scandalized.

Wyll and Shadowheart look amused.

Lae’zel looks bored.

“I think… breakfast was lovely today, Gale.” I shuffle my feet back and forth uncomfortably.

This brings a low chuckle from Astarion, and I feel it to my toes.

“Well what does that have to do with…” Gale stops, then his eyes widen, looking from my mouth to Astarion’s neck. “Oh. Oooooh.”

“Right, so about our mission,” Astarion tries to cut in, but Lae’zel interrupts.

“We are wasting time with this. Tell me where to point my sword.”

~*~*~

In the end, we search the goblin temple in pairs, picking off stragglers until we all reach the back of the temple. So far, no Druid Halsin.

There is a worg pen in the last room, and it is littered with bodies. Goblins, worgs, large spiders. The blood that paints the floor saddens me.

“Wasteful,” I mutter to myself before examining the barred cells at the far end of the large room. The iron bars are bent, a very large hole to a cell that once contained prisoners. Worgs, perhaps, judging from the bodies, but worgs are not strong enough to break through these bars.

I test them with my strength, and they only bow slightly. No, this was something else. Something much stronger. A tuft of brown fur is stuck to several of the bars, but it doesn’t match any of the bodies scattered on the floor.

“Another dead end,” Shadowheart sighs.

Good, I think. Another dead end, and more time with the tadpole that allows me to walk in the sun.

“Damnit.” Astarion sends his fist into a wooden table with a ‘thunk’. “More wasted time.” He runs his fingers through his white curls in frustration. “I’m sorry, everyone.”

I tuck a piece of the brown fur into my pack, and walk over to where they stand around the table.

“It wasn’t wasted,” I say, cheerfully. “Look at all of this loot we found. This place is full of it!”

“We wouldn’t need the loot if we found someone to heal us of these tadpoles,” Gale says, and I shoot him an annoyed look.

“Not even this?” I toss him a circlet that is brimming with magic. He studies it curiously.

“The weave is all over this piece,” he comments. “I will study it later.” He tucks it into his pocket, satisfied.

Astarion nods, and sighs.

“Let’s regroup back at camp, everyone. Come up with a new plan. Perhaps Halsin escaped in the battle and is already back at the Emerald Grove.”

Everyone groans, but nods. Back to the Emerald Grove, it seems.

~*~*~

Later on, with the sun low in the sky, we are back at camp and packing up gear to depart the next day. I have just tucked another book into a crate when someone clears their throat quite loudly outside of my tent. Peeking out, I see Wyll looking uncomfortable.

“Hey, Wyll, come on in,” I say, motioning for him.

He sighs with a nod, and steps into my tent.

“Forgive the awkwardness,” he says. “I don’t think I will be just walking into anyone’s tent without knocking any time soon after what I saw this morning.”

If I could blush, I would do so in this moment. Memories of white curls making their way down my body flash into my mind, and I shake my head to clear it.

“That… is not something we need to discuss,” I laugh. “I would rather not share my intimate moments with the entire party, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Astarion’s neck wounds say otherwise,” he comments. “Your activities are going to become public, whether you like it or not.”

“For now, as far as they all know, he’s simply providing me with sustenance.”

Wyll chortles.

“Whatever you say, Tav…”

Astarion steps into my tent just then, looking worn out, disheveled, and… beautiful.

“So how about it, Wyll?” he asks. “Are we ready to meet a devil?”

~*~*~

The three of us leave camp separately, in different directions, to not call attention to our side quest.

When darkness falls, we meet at the same spot by the creek where Astarion and I first encountered the boar… where he discovered my condition for the first time, and where he kissed me for the first time.

Now, it is our meeting place for Mizora, the cambion. Half demon, half human. All devil.

“Here she comes,” Wyll mutters, staring at the ground as fire suddenly appears in the shape of a pentagram.

A figure emerges from the pentagram, rising slowly and forming before our eyes.

Mizora is… alluring, to say the least. Imposing, yes, but there is a seductive quality to how she moves. We all watch her as she takes her full form, hunger mirroring in our eyes.

Her skin is pale blue, her eyes coal black and fire-speckled. She wears an elegant blue dress with slits up both sides, showing powerful legs and thighs. She has fiery-red hair, adorned in gems, tucked behind her pointed ears, crowning in four horns. Her wings are the color of human skin, large and imposing.

Though half human, cambions are also half demon, and I am betting Mizora’s bloodline has succubus. Her allure is extremely powerful.

“Well hello, pup,” she purrs to Wyll in a seductive voice, though somehow also cold. “You rang?”

“Mizora,” Wyll spits out, clearly unaffected by her presence where Astarion and I are both gawking.

“Well, well,” Astarion murmurs. “Aren’t you a luscious thing?”

I might be jealous, if I didn’t agree with him. Wyll clearly disapproves, glaring at us both.

“What’s this?” she directs her attention to Astarion, eyeing him up and down in approval. “I could always use a new pet.” I reject the urge to step in front of him.

“Wyll summoned you here for me,” I say, my voice unsteady and less confident than I had hoped.

She turns to me, and gives me the same appraisal, finishing with a slow smile.

“You will do nicely as well, little vampling,” she says, floating above the pentagram. “How may I service you, lovely?”

“I… need you to translate something for me,” I say. “In Infernal.”

“Infernal?” she seems surprised. “Here? In the Sword Coast?”

I nod.

“Well this must be an important translation, to summon me here. I imagine little Wyll did not do so lightly. I am his patron, but he is so disobedient…”

“It is,” I cut in, locking eyes with Astarion, who nods. Turning, I pull up my shirt and show her my back.

“Tav,” Wyll gasps. “I had no idea.”

Mizora tuts and moves closer to me.

“These scars gave you great pain,” she murmurs, and I feel the softest whisper of a touch against my skin. I shudder, goosebumps prickling my flesh. “The one who carved them did so with purpose, and without care for your comfort. Shame.”

She floats backwards to her pentagram, and I turn back to her, lowering my shirt.

“Can you read it?” I ask. Mizora nods.

“Of course I can read it, little one.”

“Do you know what it says?” She nods again. “Will you tell me?” She laughs, then, her head falling back, then appearing directly in front of me in a blink.

“Of course I will tell you, dearest thing,” she says, her finger pulling my chin up to look at her directly. She traces a path down my jaw, smirking as I react involuntarily to her touch.

“For a price.”

Chapter 17: The Next Flashback

Chapter Text

"You stupid, stupid girl."

Cazador backhands me so hard, my body spins before collapsing to the cold floor of the palace dungeons. His wrath is such that even Godey left the room, "tsk"ing as he went.

I don't get up. My hands ball and clench so hard, my nails leave half moon rivets in my skin.

"I'm sorry, Master," I whisper, my head bowing in submission. "I didn't know."

"Didn't know?" he laughs loudly, baring his fangs. "I gave you the gift of vampirism 150 years ago, yet you claim to not know of the vileness that is drow blood."

He is standing over me, staff in hand, as his free hand reaches out to wrap into my hair, pulling me roughly to my feet.

"I've never had drow blood, Master," I gasp as a chin of hair rips from my scalp. "No thinking creatures."

"You tried topoison me, girl. Me! Your Lord and Master." Still dragging me by my hair, he throws me, face first, against a stone pillar. I hear shattering bones before I see a flash of red, then firey pain erupts in my cheek. I lift a shaky hand to find my cheekbone shattered, blood pouring from a gash stretching across the skin.

Cazador snarls, hovers over me, then grabs my face in his hand, squeezing. As I cry out in pain, he leans over and runs his tongue up my face, then along the wound, tasting my blood.

He moans, and his breath quickens against my face, his chest rising up and down as his grip on me tightens.

My breath catches. No,I think.Oh please, Gods, no.

I don't know why I'm asking them. They've never cared to answer my prayers before.But I'm desperate.

"You have been a very bad girl, my pet," Cazador growls into my ear. "I think I need to remind you of your place." He shoves me back into the pillar, my broken face pressing into the cold stone.

I crumble inside of myself as I choke back sobs - never let him see me cry - holding onto the stone with both arms.

I wish I could make myself smaller, wish I could die right here on this floor, wish I could ooze through the drain in the floor to be as far away from here, from him, as possible.

Please, Selùne, I think as he shoves the back of my skirt up to my hips.

Please, Shar,I think as his clawed hand runs up the inside of my leg, shoving it up so he can claw between my legs, spreading me for his sharp fingers.

Please, Bane,I even try one of the Dead Three, offering them my very soul.

The Gods are, once again, silent.

Cazador rips the underclothing from my body and presses himself against my back. I hear his belt as it is yanked aside, feel his movements as he pushes down his trousers.

When he shoves himself into me, I bite down on my own arm, drawing blood and holding in the scream I know he is after.

My screams "sound the sweetest", after all.

He takes me roughly, painfully, my face pressed to the stone pillar, my leg and arms wrapped around the pillar as if it will somehow save me from his brutality.

When he slaps my backside with his full strength, I don't cry out. When he tugs and twists my nipples until the front of my dress beads with blood, I don't scream. When his fangs tear into the back of my shoulder, I nearly black out, but I stay upright.

"Disobedience will not be tolerated, girl," he snarls into my ear, each word punctuated with a sharp breath as he savagely thrusts into me, uncaring that the lack of lubrication is burning us both, tearing my inner walls.

My pain is more important than his pleasure. It always has been.

"I own you." His mouth is against my ear now, his breath coming in staggered gasps. It's almost over. Gods, it's almost...

Then his teeth and fangs rip into my ear, and I finally do scream.

Finally satisfied that I've given in, he quickens his pace, and c*ms inside of me with a low groan.

Before I can gather the torn pieces of my garments, Cazador has grabbed me by the arms and is shoving me across the room. He presses a button over a mantle, and the wall opens to reveal a space no bigger than a coffin.

He laughs as he shoves me into the dark, cool space.

He cackles as the wall closes, sealing me inside.

He whistles as he walks away, leaving me sealed inside, my screams fading into nothing, my nails scraping the stone wall until they're torn and bloody.

He doesn't return.

He doesn't return for a year.

Chapter 18: The Bear

Chapter Text

I will not be controlled again, I vow as I shake past images from my head. Though it was not long ago that I was still under Cazador’s control, it feels like a different life, a different person, who was trapped in that wall, his dried seed itchy and crusted to my thighs.

I can’t be controlled again. I would rather die.

~*~*~

“No.” Astarion is pacing. “No no no. No.”

“Astarion, be reasonable. You knew Mizora wouldn’t do this for nothing,” I sigh.

Mizora had left us to consider her offer, and Wyll is heading back to camp to let us speak in private, but not before emphatically recommending that I tell Mizora to “go f*ck herself.”

“Let her take my soul,” Astarion says, still pacing. “It’s black anyway.” Ever the hero, this murderous elf.

“No one is giving up their soul!” I exclaim. “For a simple translation? No. This was her first offer, and I need to counter it. But with what?”

My skin still prickles from her presence, from what I am assuming is the succubus side of her manipulating our desires to meet her needs.

“I’m not sure,” he muses. “But I won’t let this happen, Darling. We’ll find another way to translate your scars.”

“Well I want to think of something… wait a second. I just realized, you don’t call me Tav like everyone else,” I observe, only now noticing that he is the only companion who hasn’t taken on my childhood nickname. Octavia Darling always was such a mouthful.

He looks at me in surprise.

“You are Darling, to me,” he says, simply. I nod, a soft smile forming.

“I like it.” We grin at each other for a moment before he shakes his head and resumes his pacing.

“What do we know about Mizora?” he eventually slows down, pondering. “Could we just kill her after she provides the translation?”

“Well, she is under Zariel’s protection,” I answer, remembering Wyll’s story. “So we can’t kill her.”

“Such a shame,” he muses, the familiar darkness setting into his green eyes, his hand running anxiously through his white curls.

“We will find someone else for you to kill,” I promise him, leaning back on my hands.

While he had started pacing the moment Mizora disappeared into the ground, I had settled casually onto the soft ground. I have gone decades without even seeing the scars on my back, let alone knowing what they mean. I can go longer.

He looks over to me and smirks slightly, finally sitting beside me with one knee drawn up, an arm draping over it. I note the vein running up his arm, and my mouth waters.

“She was… not what I expected,” he comments, not looking at me. “I expected some horrifyingly disfigured demon.”

“Oh, me too,” I nodded. “Based on how Wyll speaks of her, anyway. She was not… horrifying.”

Astarion laughs.

“No, not horrifying. In fact, I found her to be…” he trails off.

“Hot,” I finish, grinning slightly. He shoots me a glance of relief, then laughs.

“Yes, that is one way to put it.”

“You were attracted to her, were you?” I prod. He looks sheepish.

“I don’t want to talk to you about that,” he protests, his face coloring.

“It’s ok,” I shrug. “I was attracted to her. Her presence… aroused me, if I’m being honest. And not in a natural way.”

“What are you getting at?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well cambions are made from a union of demon and human parents,” I tell him. “But the type of demon… there are interesting options.”

His eyes widen.

“You think she was born from a succubus, don’t you?”

I am surprised he catches on so quickly. I have 200 years of knowledge and experience to pull from. Again, I wonder of the past life he has forgotten, and hope we are able to solve his mystery as well as my own.

“Yes,” I nod. “There is no other explanation. I yearned for her, and she knew it.”

“I felt the same.” Astarion adjusts himself again, and I realize that it’s his trousers he keeps adjusting. “It makes sense if she is part succubus, that would be difficult for either of us to resist. I assure you, she is not my type. Yet...” He lets his voice trail off.

“Oh? What is your type?” I am grateful for the light nature of the topic. He looks at me, then, and we lock eyes.

“I thought that was fairly clear,” he murmurs, a hand reaching out to tuck a loose hair behind my ear. His touch lingers, and I press my face to it.

“I still feel her eyes on me,” I whisper to him. “I still feel her touch on my back.” He is moving closer to me, his eyes filling with heat.

“Darling,” he chokes out, and I lean in to meet him halfway.

Our lips crash together in a frenzy of teeth and tongues, dueling each other for control. He leans up, arms circling my waist, then dragging me to him so I am straddling his lap, never breaking the all consuming kiss.

I hover over him, planting my knees on both sides of his hips. I devour him, sucking his lip into my mouth, running my fangs lightly over the skin, tangling my tongue with his. His hands are splayed across my lower back, and mine are tangled into his hair, pulling his head back so I have better access to him.

My hips are moving now, grinding myself against his arousal, which is hard and hot against me even through his trousers. His hands move down to grip my ass, pulling me even closer to him, and we both groan from the contact.

I need him. I need him more than I’ve needed anything in memory. My hands move between us to the top of his trousers, pulling at the ties there.

“Darling,” he moans again, and suddenly flips me onto my back, looming over me with eyes glazed in pure lust.

“Yes,” I answer, legs parting to welcome him, back arching to get closer.

His hands are tugging on my shirt when we are interrupted with a sudden loud ROAR, and we both gasp and scramble to our feet. My daggers are in my hands, and his bow at the ready before we can recover our breathing, and we search for the source.

A large brown bear emerges from the tree line.

Its eyes are violent, its snout caked with dried blood. It stares at us.

Astarion has just lifted his bow when the bear pounces, knocking the elf onto the ground and pinning him there. He yelps, his bow clattering to the ground.

“Not today,” I hiss through my teeth, and am about to stab the bear in the side when it turns to look at me. The eyes are not feral, but warm and intelligent. I stop in my tracks.

“What…” I start to ask, but then the bear steps away from Astarion and its form starts to change right in front of our eyes.

Astarion sits up, rubbing his chest with a grimace.

“What in bloody hells…”

Then there is an elf standing in front of us. A very large, heavily muscled, wood elf.

“A druid,” I breathe in disbelief.

“Hello there, sorry to interrupt,” the druid says, amused. “I’m Halsin.”

Chapter 19: The Answer

Chapter Text

Once we have introduced everyone to Halsin and settled in around the campfire to chat, it is apparent that there is no hope of an easy cure to the ilithid tadpole problem. While Halsin has studied the subject extensively, he does not know of a way to remove them.

I breathe an internal sigh of relief. More time in the sun. Good.

Halsin believes the only place we will find answers is in Baldur’s Gate itself, and agrees to join us for the journey.

“Will it be Halsin joining us?” Astarion asks, adapting a snooty tone that makes me choke back a laugh. “Or will it be the bear?” He is still sour that Halsin (the bear) had tackled him to the ground with very little effort.

“We are one in the same,” Halsin replies, calmly. “If you have need of the bear, you will get the bear. If you have need of the man, Astarion… you will get the man.”

The underlying message is clear, and Astarion turns red.

“I… I need nothing of the sort,” he sputters, turning to me helplessly.

“Don’t look at me,” I laugh. “This is the most entertainment we’ve had since the goblin fight.”

~*~*~

I only trance for a few hours that night, and decide to sit at the camp fire and enjoy the sunrise while I still can. Halsin has the same idea, as he is already sitting up on his bedroll with his knife in his hand, carving something out of a piece of raw wood he has found.

I sit on one of the stumps we have fashioned as seats, and watch him whittle.

“What will it be?” I ask.

“I never know,” Halsin replies, not looking up from his project. “This one seems to be turning into a bat.”

“A bat? Not a bear?”

“Vampires feel a kinship with bats, don’t they?” he asks, casually. Ah, that’s what he’s getting at.

“I suppose,” I answer. “Though I am just a vampire spawn. But yes, there were always bats around my master’s palace.” He nods.

“Have you fed recently?”

“I have,” I nod. I don’t add that it’s never enough, it will never be enough.

“Astarion,” he says, simply. “I do apologize again for the… interruption back there in the forest. Such things do not phase an old man like myself, but I think your lover was embarrassed.”

“Well you did knock him to the ground,” I remind him. “No man likes to feel overpowered by another, bear or not.”

“Yes, I should note that for the future,” Halsin nods. “But the two of you clearly have passion for each other. That is not embarrassing, it is lovely. A gift from nature.”

“We definitely could talk about something else,” I grin, my eyes darting back to the fire.

“Ok,” he agrees with a nod. “How did you become a vampire spawn, Tav?”

This question surprises me, and I swallow. I don’t think any of our companions have asked about my turning.

“Well… it was around 200 years ago,” I begin. “I was a magistrate’s wife, in Baldur’s Gate. We were returning from a gala when a group of Gur attacked us both. They killed him, brutally. Violently. They left me for dead. That’s when my master, Cazador, showed up to ‘save me’. He drained me and buried me while I turned, writhing in pain. I had to claw my way out of my own grave.”

The bitterness in my voice is clear. Silence hangs over us for a moment while he aborbs.

“Why would they attack you?” Halsin finally asks. “Did you ever find out?”

“Not exactly,” I say, looking at my hands. “I think it was something my husband did, something he ruled on. But I never found out.”

“What happened after that?”

A pause, a hesitation.

“I killed them all.”

~*~*~

Another hour passes, and we run through a myriad of subjects before a sound behind us pulls us from the conversation. Astarion is emerging from his tent, his eyes wide and his hair wild. Oh no. Is he having another episode?

I immediately stand and move to his side.

“Astarion,” I say, softly, taking his elbow. “Are you ok?”

“The butler visited me again,” he whispers to me. “I was dreaming, nothing out of the ordinary… then suddenly, the scene changed and there he was, just like out of a nightmare. He was very angry I didn’t kill you.”

“Come sit by the fire,” I encourage, guiding him towards a seat. “Then you can tell us everything.”

“Us?” he spits out, glaring at Halsin.

“Hey,” I say, softly. “Don’t be like that. He has centuries of insight. We spent all of this time looking for him, after all.” Astarion’s shoulders sag in resignation, and he settles into a seat by the fire. His curls are messy, sticking up everywhere, and I can’t help reaching down to smooth his hair back, planting a kiss on his cheek before I sit as well.

“Astarion,” Halsin speaks first. “Still handsome, even disheveled as you are.” I’m not sure Astarion appreciates the compliment.

“He had a bad dream,” I say.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Astarion cuts in, his head in his hands. “It was a vision. It was as real as the fire warming my feet.”

“Tell me more,” Halsin offers, and Astarion finally sighs… then he does. He tells Halsin almost everything, leaving out the murder of the bard that I had helped him clean up a fortnight ago.

He speaks of his dark urges, of his visitor, whom he still calls “The Butler”.

Tonight, the dream had turned, and The Butler had been furious at Astarion for not following through with killing the chosen victim… me.

“I had to tie him up,” I tell Halsin. “He was thrashing and writhing with the urges that night. No one else knows about this, though. We… don’t want to frighten them. Me being a vampire, and now him with these murderous urges…”

“I understand,” Halsin nods. “Please, Astarion, continue.”

“He kept calling me ‘chosen’,” Astarion mumbles. “Kept saying I was denying…” He swallows. I reach out to lay my hand on his arm in support. “Denying ‘Father’.”

“Father?” Halsin mumbles, his brow furrowing. "Do you know where this vision took place?"

“I didn’t recognize the setting,” Astarion says. “We were in a sanctum of some kind. Dark. A pedestal in the middle of a circular platform. There was… a large skull on the wall. Glowing red eyes. It spoke into my head, demanding I fulfill the desires of the blood I was gifted.”

Halsin gasps audibly, and we both turn his way.

“I have heard of such a place,” he says, his voice catching. “In the Undercity. A temple for those who serve one of the Dead Three… the God of Murder.”

“Bhaal,” I whisper, and he nods.

“Astarion, are you sure that this butler called him ‘Father’?” Halsin’s eyes are wide, now, and he seems uncharacteristically frightened. Astarion nods, slowly, and Halsin swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

“Then I’m sorry to say, my friend,” Halsin leans forward. “I believe you are a Bhaalspawn.”

Chapter 20: The Partnership

Chapter Text

“Astarion?” I call softly, pausing at the closed entrance of his tent.

He has been in there for several hours now, having sent Wyll, Gale, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart on a looting mission. Halsin is off on his own, collecting alchemy ingredients.

“I just want to make sure you’re ok,” I sigh. “Everyone else is gone.”

The tent flap opens, but Astarion does not emerge. I take that as an invitation, and slip inside.

He is sitting on his bedroll, cross-legged, and he is fully focused on a book in his lap. I move closer, and tilt it to read the title, much to his annoyance.

“The Mortal View: Eyewitness Accounts of the Bhaalspawn Crisis”

“So, some light reading this afternoon?” I joke, sitting in front of him. He doesn’t look up.

“This is horrifying,” he says. “Do you know much about the War of the Bhaalspawn, from 100 years ago?”

“I thought Bhaalspawn were extinct,” I admit. “And yes, I remember the war, but we were luckily very separated from it in Baldur’s Gate.”

“You aren’t the only one who thinks they’re gone,” he says, then adds, “The Fall of the Five… the most powerful of the Bhaalspawn… is well documented, but it was planned out by a priestess from Baldur’s Gate, and a Bhaalspawn adventurer named Adbel. The priestess, Melissan, was the High Matriarch of the Church of Bhaal, and wanted to claim his divinity for herself, so she turned on the Five.”

“What happened to them?”

“One of the Five, Balthazar, discovered her plan. He killed them all, including himself. His goal was to destroy all Bhaalspawn, to get rid of Bhaal’s essence for good.”

“Looks like he failed,” I muse.

“Looks like he did,” Astarion finally looks up from the book. “There is so much darkness here, so much violence for the sake of violence. Am I really one of them, Darling?”

I scoot closer, putting a comforting hand on his knee.

“We don’t know for sure,” I offer. “But if you are Bhaalspawn, it doesn’t define you. You are so much more than that.”

He puts the book down, not meeting my eyes, not fully believing me.

“The Butler said that Bhaal created me by his own divine blood,” he reveals. “That I’m his favorite. I was trying to figure out if that’s considered normal in the world of Bhaal, but apparently it is not. Most Bhaalspawn are mortal, according to this book. Mortal with a part of their souls divine, with powers that lead them to evil and murder.”

“That would explain your dark urges,” I comment, and he nods.

“But why don’t I remember anything? It can’t be the tadpole, none of you have the same affliction. It has to be related to all of this.”

“Isn’t the Temple of Bhaal in Baldur’s Gate?” I ask, vaguely remembering Halsin mentioning something under the city.

“I think so, and I think I need to go there. But I wouldn’t ask you to do this with me, Darling. It will be dangerous.” I wave my hand at him.

“Nonsense,” I say. “We’re a team now. Every step towards Baldur’s Gate is a step towards answers. I will be right here.”

“But…”

“No buts,” I insist. “Plus, I still need your help in figuring out this carving in my back, don’t I?”

He swallows.

“I’ve been thinking about that. If this is all true, and I am a Bhaalspawn, what do you think that information would be worth to Mizora?”

“I won’t let you offer yourself to her, I already told you that. This information changes nothing.”

“I’m not going to offer myself to her,” he almost laughs. “But a Bhaalspawn owing you a favor… that might be worth something.”

“Let’s ask Wyll when they’re back,” I suggest, and he nods, picking up his book again. “And thank you, by the way. This is a lot to process, and you’re thinking about my problem instead of your own.”

“Well like you said, we’re a team,” he points out, finally meeting my eye. “And on a personal… note… no matter what I’m going through, there is nothing I’d like more than to kill your former Master.”

“Astarion, I…” I trail off.

“I mean it,” he says, fiercely, reaching out to grasp my hand in his. His voice lowers to a growl. “Remember, I saw him in your mind. I saw what he was doing to you, Darling. I want to feed him his own stomach. I want to tear him apart, limb from limb.”

A shiver runs through me at the intensity in his gaze, and I say nothing for several beats. Kill Cazador? Is he serious? Finally, I let out a shaky breath.

“Cazador is a ruthless vampire lord,” I protest. “I don’t know if we could…”

“I’m a Bhaalspawn, Darling,” Astarion cuts in, his grip tightening. “We don’t know what I can do, yet, do we?”

“I suppose we don’t,” I reply, softly, searching his eyes for the fear that should be there. “Other than the mess you made of that bard.”

He laughs bitterly.

“I will make more of a mess of Cazador,” he says, heated with anger. “I promise you.”

I have never seen anything more beautiful in this moment. His green eyes blazing, lips parted, white curls sticking up, his throat bare through the V-shaped neckline of his shirt. I reach out with the hand that isn’t holding his to straighten the collar, my knuckles brushing over his clavicle. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches me.

“And I,” I murmur, softly. “Promise to support you in this Bhaalspawn business, wherever it takes us.”

His hand moves to cover mine, holding it against his chest, his eyes not leaving my own.

“Partners, then?” he says, equally softly, his face moving closer. My gaze lowers to his mouth, and nostrils flare. His heartbeat quickens, his blood moving faster. I breathe in the scent.

“Partners.”

Then I kiss him.

~*~*~

Today, our coming together is unlike any of our past encounters. There is a fierce desperation behind our movements, our kisses, our touches. We tear at each other's clothing in a frenzy, and it doesn't take long for me to be lying across his naked body, both of us gasping for breath.

I move my lips to his neck, pressing hot kisses to his Adam's apple, and finally his clavicle, where I dip my tongue into the groove there, eliciting a low groan from his throat.

"You taste amazing," I sigh into his skin, my legs parting to settle on both sides of him, the core of me finally making contact with the hardness of his arousal. I rub myself against him, unable to resist the delicious friction, and he whimpers under me.

"Feed on me," he murmurs in a low growl, winding one of his hands into my hair and pulling my head back so he can capture my lips in a hot and hungry kiss. Our tongues duel against each other in exploration, and he runs his across my fangs. I taste the faintest hint of blood, and suck his tongue into my mouth, my desire increasing even more.

I have never felt anything even close to what I feel in his arms. It is like I'm a different person, one who was never raped, never abused, never compelled to use my body to bring victims home to... no. I won't think his name. Not now. Not when Astarion is touching me like this.

His hand that isn't tangled in my hair is exploring my back and my ass, pulling me harder against him.

I want to wait, want to draw this out, but I can't. I want him too badly. I need him.

I lift myself slightly from him, grasping his swollen co*ck in my hand and positioning him so I easily lower onto his erection, taking him inside of my body slowly and completely while his hands move to grasp my hips. I sit there for a moment, looking down at his face while clenching my inner walls around him. His open mouth stare, filled with pleasure, is enough to bring a smile to my face.

"Darling," he gasps, his hands pulling on my hips, desperate for me to start moving.

I lean forward, my elbows resting on both sides of his head, pausing when our lips are only inches apart. I rotate my hips. Once.

"Say it again," I whisper against his mouth, then pull my wetness over his co*ck, stopping just before he would slip out, then slamming my hips back down.

"Darling!" he whimpers, both hands grabbing and squeezing my ass, sweat beading on his forehead.

I move faster now, grinding our bodies together in a rhythm that has him dragging against my cl*t with each pump. I move my lips to his neck, licking and sucking.

"Again," I demand, grazing my fangs across his skin.

"Darling," he moans, his hips joining mine as he grabs my waist roughly and thrusts up in time with my movements.

He barely has my name out of his mouth when I sink my fangs into his neck, drawing his essence into my mouth. I taste his anger, his desperation, but mostly his pleasure, his arousal. I can't get enough of it, and clearly he agrees as his movements grow faster and more erratic into me, his moaning uncontrollable.

I force myself to pull away before I drink too much, licking at his wounds before sitting up to ride him as I crave to, fast and hard. He is sobbing in pleasure beneath me, his hands forcefully moving to my breasts, groping both roughly while he pumps upward desperately. Then he moves one hand down our bodies, and his thumb flicks against the sensitive nub.

I gasp at his touch, lick my lips, ride him faster. Harder. So close.

"I need more," he groans, flipping us and thrusting back into me without missing a beat. "Darling, Gods, I need it all."

My legs are around his waist and I am gyrating upwards now at a frantic pace to match his deep thrusts.

"Then give it to me," I whimper as he pounds me into the ground. One hand grasps his lower back, nails digging in, while the other moves between us to my cl*t, resuming where he left off.

"Holy sh*t," he gasps, moving in to kiss me roughly, our teeth clicking together as he devours me.

This is not lovemaking, not by any stretch.

This is nature. This is feral.

This is f*cking.

He f*cks me into oblivion, and when my insides pulse around him in the hardest climax of my 200 years, I cry out in wild abandon, sobbing into his shoulder.

His eyes widen, watching me as I come apart beneath him, and his pace quickens even further, his thrusts becoming wild and uncontrolled.

I comb my fingers through his hair, watching him, licking my lips, urging him on with my hips.

He finally groans my name, his pumps now quick and short as he c*ms inside of me, grunting his pleasure as he rides out the org*sm.

Watching his face above me as he c*ms, I feel a sense of bewilderment and... pride?

Yes. It's pride.

Because I make him feel this way. I do this to him.

And he's mine.

Holy sh*t, I realize, and damn all of the gods.

I think I'm falling for him.