Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Fifteen

Astarion

"You never said anything about theft." Astarion's nostrils flared as he narrowed his gaze at Elira. "I assumed this was going to be a transactional arrangement."

"Well, therein lies your problem," she answered, letting her hand slide from his cheek. "Don't act based on assumptions." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Mephistopheles can and will help us. I just don't see any point in letting him know that he did."

Astarion's hands clenched into tight balls at his sides. He leaned in close to Elira's face, his eyes wide with budding fury. "I didn't sign up to die at the hands of one of the most powerful devils in all the nine hells!"

"You were prepared to trade one master for another. I found a way for you to be free—soul and all." Despite his rage, she kept her voice low and steady. "You should be thanking me."

Astarion raked his fingers through his hair, letting out an exasperated laugh at the sheer audacity of the Bhaalspawn before him. "Thank you? Thank you for sealing my death warrant? I'm dead if I go back." His lips curled into a snarl. "And it appears I'm dead if I stay. You and I are painfully connected, as you well know."

Elira sighed. "Why do you think I chose you? I've done my research. There isn't a lock you can't get through. The vault is guarded by undead–you've seen what I'm capable of. We can do this."

Her words became muffled in his ears as an intense pang of hunger ripped through his body. He sucked in a deep breath and felt his stomach twist and clench in protest. The sudden ferocity of his urge nearly caused him to stagger, but he managed to keep on his feet. Elira watched him expectantly, as if he owed her an answer. Instead, his eyes traveled down the fragile curve of her neck. His pupils dilated when they landed on the artery that throbbed beneath her skin. He could see the skitter of her pulse–hear it beating in time with her heart.

He clenched his teeth so hard that the points of his fangs pressed into his gums, causing the sweet metallic tang of his own blood to fill his mouth. Gods, that made it worse.

He had to get away before he lost control.

"Your little heist will ensure our deaths, darling." He managed to choke out before he reached the flap. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I need a drink."

Astarion swiftly exited the tent, stumbling like a drunkard. The drow lingering outside didn't pay him any heed as he weaved his way through the crowd, searching for anything that even remotely resembled a tavern. The village was crudely made with its walls of fabric, but it was still a village. He followed the winding path that encircled the majestic tree at its center. There had to be somewhere he could get a drink. Even if it tasted like swill–Astarion didn't give a shit. He just needed something to take the edge off.

He craned his neck to get a better view of the various tents that he passed. There were shops lined with shelves and tables that held an assortment of bottles and herbs and gods-only-knew what else. He wasn't familiar with drow culture in the slightest, but they were still people. There had to be somewhere to let loose after a long day.

Or week.

Or month.

Strange odors wafted from kettles that were left simmering over low fires. He watched lithe bodies, adorned with more jewelry than clothing, chop and mince exotic-looking vegetables and dump them into the bubbling brews. It seemed they were preparing a veritable feast, and Astarion was starving.

But the smell was nauseating.

It wasn't food he needed–it was blood.

Which was why he had to get away from Elira. A hungry vampire was a dangerous thing on its own, but add anger to the mix, and... well, it was a murder waiting to happen. It didn't matter if the consequence of killing her was that he, too, would die. Rationality meant nothing to the ravenous hunger of a vampire.