Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Nine

Astarion hadn’t taken nearly as much blood as he needed from Elira. He told himself it was self preservation. She was injured and needed time to heal. Having too much blood drained would only slow them down — would only slow him down. The cleric, on the other hand . . .

Listening to her slow, shallow breaths, he wondered if she truly was sleeping or if she was only pretending. 

They didn’t really need her, did they?

Astarion sighed and turned onto his side, facing away from the others. It was best to leave things as they were for now, hard as that may be. What was she even doing in a place like this all on her own? They'd demand answers in the morning. This wasn’t exactly the kind of place one visits on holiday.

Perhaps a cleric could prove useful on their journey through hell. Someone or something had left those bodies on the battlefield where they’d found Shadowheart, and while they didn’t seem fresh . . . hell was eternal. Whoever had done it might still be lurking around.

But of all the things he might have expected they would encounter on their so-called mission, he never expected to find a human woman. Although she wasn’t exactly human, was she? There was a soft point to her ears that hinted at a mixed-race status. He suspected she was the offspring of an elf and human relationship. The details mattered little. What piqued his curiosity was that her blood was warm and just waiting to be tasted.

He closed his eyes and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. He had hated the chains Cazador had placed in his mind, but without them — what was he without them? A ravenous, blood-hungry beast that thought of nothing other than sinking his fangs into whatever he could get his hands on? And what was stopping him from draining his companions until their bodies shriveled like fallen grapes from the vine?

He already knew the answer to his last question.

Nothing was stopping him but, well . . . him — which was a terrifying prospect.

He had spent the past two hundred years being denied the ability to act on his most basic instinct. To feed on the blood of the living, to sink his teeth into something other than the filthy rats he’d been forced to subsist on.

Elira had been his first.

He would cherish the memory even if it wasn’t exactly the circumstances he would have hoped for. No one necessarily wants their first time to be in a cramped tent shared with some brat in the middle of a barren hellscape. But beggars can’t be choosers, he supposed.

Still, he couldn’t wait to have her again. Had they been alone, he would have stripped off all her clothes and made her writhe with pleasure as he invaded her body in more ways than one.

The corners of his lips tilted up.

There was still time yet.

***

His rest was shallow and dreamless.

It seemed only a few hours had passed before the others were stirring, digging rations out of Elira’s pack, and splitting it up between themselves.

Astarion stayed on his back, watching Elira chew and swallow her food. He smirked up at her knowingly before letting his eyes fall on the two little bite marks on her neck.

The cleric followed his gaze and snorted in disgust. Her eyes were as dark as the stone on her circlet.

“You think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?” Astarion directed at her, keeping his tone bored.

“Why? Because I don’t see the use in being a vampire’s personal blood bank.”

Elira’s eyes narrowed at their guest. “What Astarion and I do is none of your business. It’s not like there are many options out here. We all have to . . . keep our strength up.”

“Well don’t expect me to volunteer anytime soon.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, love.” Astarion answered sweetly.

The morning went by all too quickly as Shadowheart focused on her injuries, then Elira’s, while Astarion was once again left to deal with the bloody tent. Hopefully, he wasn’t setting a precedent.

“How did you come to be here?” Elira asked as Shadowheart held a hand over her swollen ankle. Blue light emanated from beneath her fingers. It felt warm against her skin.

“We were traveling through the woods near a druid grove, but things didn’t exactly work out. They accused us of something awful and their leader was a nasty creature. He chased us down in bear form. He injured me and I lost the others. I was wading through a river trying to throw off his scent when I came across these . . . devil’s.”

Astarion stilled while he listened to her story.

“They were fighting each other. And one of them . . . she looked like she was going to blow up. She kept grasping at her chest as if she were in pain. It was glowing from within, and then — I don’t know. Maybe she did blow up? It all happened so fast. I felt myself being torn from the ground by some force, like a great wind. I tried to find something to hold on to, but there was nothing. Only water. Then I was falling until . . . until I was here. And you found me.” Shadowheart removed her hand from Elira’s ankle.

“Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.” Elira flexed her joint, rotating her foot in a gentle circle. It seemed that whatever magic Shadowheart had used on her injury had worked. Even from a distance, Astarion could see that the swelling had not simply improved but vanished entirely.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Shadowheart answered coldly. “What about you? Why are you two here?”

“We’re going to see the Arch Devil Mephistopheles.”

“Hmph,” Shadowheart grunted in disdain. “First you let a vampire suck on your neck, then you intend to sell your soul to a demon. Do you truly value yourself so little?”

Elira stood and turned away from Shadowheart. She began to snatch her belongings off the cold ground and shove them into her pack. Her tone was clipped as she said, “We’re going to the Citadel. You’re welcome to come with us or find your own way home. The choice is yours.”

“Not much of a choice,” Shadowheart answered.

“What’s that symbol you wear?” Elira asked, turning back to Shadowheart and gesturing to the design hanging from Shadowheart’s neck.

Shadowheart wrapped her fingers around the chain and tucked it under her clothing. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

A muscle ticked in Elira’s jaw.

Astarion could all but see the murderous thoughts shining in her eyes. “Shall we get moving?”

They turned to look at him, faces scrunched in annoyance, but didn’t say anything as they continued their preparations to leave the campsite. Elira wordlessly tossed a threadbare cloak at Shadowheart, who was severely underdressed for the weather.

The sky was still a dark tapestry of storm clouds masking the green light that flickered behind it. But the snowfall was almost nonexistent, improving their vision as they trekked past jagged rock and towering ice crystals that shot from the ground like ancient monoliths.

They had been lucky that the only life they’d encountered so far had been Shadowheart, but Astarion feared that sooner or later that luck was bound to run out.