Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Four

Elira watched as the monstrosity of a gown she had worn to the ball blackened and turned to ash beneath the flames in the hearth. The intricate design must have taken months to stitch, and she bet it had cost quite the sum in gold. It was a shame to see such fine work go to waste, but she couldn’t take it with her. Plus, she certainly didn’t see any more balls in her future.

And sometimes she just liked to watch pretty things burn.

A log cackled as it collapsed onto the remaining bits of pearly white material, tendrils of smoke spiraling up toward the cracked stone.

Elira leaned against the mantel, gazing sharply at the flames but not really seeing them. The heat of the fire caressed her skin, but her mind was elsewhere— lost in a reverie of soft kisses that felt like melting snowflakes, the lingering scent of bergamot and brandy, the ghost of a hand sweeping down—

‘Milady,” the memory shattered at the sound of Sceleritas Fel’s voice, forcing her back to the decrepit, drafty room where she stood.

It was a shanty room for rent in the lower city. It had no more than what she needed for a night’s rest. She never stayed in one place long— she couldn't. Not with Orin and her spies on the lookout.

“The Vampire spawn has just returned to his master with his evening… meal.” Her butler informed her. A twist of unease took hold in Elira’s stomach. She felt coiled up like a venomous serpent.

“Let me guess, something young and attractive. Noble but not important enough to cause a fuss.”

“Er- yes, milady. I believe it was the third son of Lord–”

“And did he play with his food before bringing it home to his master?”

“Milady?” Her butler was as surprised as she was by the question. She hadn't even taken the time to phrase the thought before the words had escaped her lips. There was a pause as she and Sceleritas stood staring at each other. She wouldn’t backtrack the question, even if it made her sound jealous— weak. Elira certainly wasn’t either of those things. She merely needed the vampire spawn focused on her. Yearning for her blood in the dark, not toying with his master’s meals in some alley.

So, no, she wasn’t jealous— just concerned— she told herself.

“No, milady. I believe he delivered him … untouched.”

Elira stared back down into the fire as the tension inside her eased.

Good.

He’d be much easier to control if she had his full attention, and she was almost certain she did.

“If I may,” Scerlitas added, “perhaps we ought to discuss replacing him–”

Elira's gaze turned sharp as daggers as she whirled on her butler. “We've been through this.” She ground out. “He's the one.”

“But the risk.”

Elira shook her head. "He's no more risk than the others.”

“Milady, this one is his master's favorite for a reason. He has a way with words, a silver tongue, and in your vulnerable state . . ."

She’d be damned if she was going to let Sceleritas sway her decision because he thought her so vulnerable to the charms of a charlatan. Yes, he was attractive, and he certainly had a way with words. It was what made him such an excellent predator. That didn’t mean she would be so easily won over. Astarion was nothing more than a means to an end. Enjoying the physical aspect of their relationship . . . well, that was only a natural reaction, wasn’t it? It didn’t mean anything.

Sceleritas cleared his throat. “I think that after what happened with Maecus-”

Elira ripped herself away from the hearth, raising her arm in one fluid movement, pulling the butler off the floorboards until he was suspended in mid-air, an inky tendril of shadow wrapped around his throat. He writhed in pain beneath her dark grip. She balled her fingers into a fist, tightening the shadow's hold on his neck, cutting off his air completely.

“You will not say that name in my presence!” Her voice was hoarse and filled with malice. “I'd tear out your throat were it not that I still have use to make of you!”

The butler fell to the floor gagging as she opened her hand, releasing her shadowy hold on him. “Y-yes, mistress. Apologies, apologies. There is simply much at stake. I did not want a repeat–”

“History will not repeat,” Elira spat. “Of that, you have my word.”