Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Twelve

Astarion

Astarion had known what he would find at the end of that dark tunnel long before he smelled blood.

He felt her arousal.

Like it was his own, but different, somehow. An unfamiliar sensation, though not entirely unpleasant.

Warmth had emanated from the ring on his finger, and he felt a slight tug, an invisible string looped around his body, urging him forward. It only confirmed the suspicions he was already beginning to harbor — that there was more to these rings than they realized. When the wizard had forged them in their blood, their fates weren’t just bound, they were connected. Linked in a way that made Astarion exceedingly uncomfortable. Whatever magic it was that entwined them allowed Elira to see through his mask, and that simply would not do.

He would have to keep his guard up. He didn’t want her getting a whiff of any more errant feelings. Or worse. He wasn’t exactly sure how deep the connection was. Hells, he wasn’t very sure of anything these days. Did the connection stop at emotions, or with the right concentration, could it extend to thoughts — memories? The mere notion made him weak in the knees.

The sound of Elira’s labored breaths slithered into his ears like a hissing serpent poised to strike. He followed the sound through the narrow tunnels, pulled ever forward by their connection and the sudden scent of blood.

What she was doing — who she was with . . . It wasn't a betrayal, in so many words. Astarion certainly had no preconceptions about the two of them.

But it was a setback.

Astarion had been thinking about their little trip to the hells and what he stood to gain from it. So far, Elira had done all the planning and scheming without him having to lift so much as a finger. It was impressive, really, what one could achieve whilst riding on the backs of others. He hadn't put much thought into their pact when he entered it. There didn't seem to be much of a choice, and he had assumed that he would find a loophole when the time came.

He was beginning to see that she was that loophole.

The one he would beguile so mercilessly, she’d beg him to turn her once he became a full vampire. To be his . . . forever.

Yes, he had vowed to assist in her desperate plans for domination (which screamed daddy issues) and thanks to the rings, there was no way around it. Unless, of course, she simply released him from those obligations. Astarion had paid careful attention when the wizard, Gale, had explained the extent of the rings’ contract. They either needed to fulfill their vows or release the other from the obligation. The odds of that happening were about as likely as finding a drow-born druid — not high. But also not impossible.

Nothing was impossible when it came to matters of the heart. He’d learned its many pathways like the back of his hand. They weren’t half as unique as the poets and bards would have one think. Hearts were stupid things, of course. Easily twisted and manipulated until Astarion got what he needed.

But first, what he needed was his vampiric freedom, and she was leading him there. Perhaps he’d have to stab a few people along the way, but he wasn’t opposed to getting his hands dirty when the job called for it. He’d continue to let her hold the reins for now. But the time would come when he would claim her as his spawn. She would be his first, a title she seemed to be claiming a lot these days.

He would need her in the battle ahead. Becoming a true vampire was only half the work, after all, and her penchant for burning things would come in handy. Even if he tried to flee Cazador’s territory, he would be hunted to the ends of Faerun. Forced to cower in the shadows, always looking over his shoulder, waiting for the knife to strike. Astarion had no intention of living like that. The only way he was ever going to be free was to become powerful. Untouchable.