Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Seventeen

Astarion

The dreamless sleep that Astarion had slipped into was cut short by a sudden burst of hunger that ripped through his body.

No.

Not hunger. Something else. A need for blood. For pain. For—

He opened his eyes and stared blearily at the dark silhouette looming over him. Elira's fiery red hair glowed in the night, making her instantly recognizable. She was sitting beside him, eerily watching him sleep.

Astarion yawned. "Looking for another go already?"

Elira tilted her head curiously before climbing on top of him. He was startled by the sudden movement, the eagerness with which she acted. She had donned his shirt but was still naked from the waist down. A nagging feeling coiled in his gut like a snake, unsettling him. Something didn't feel right.

Elira held something in her hands. "What have you got—"

Astarion swiftly caught her wrists at the hilt just as she attempted to plunge the dagger into his chest. He grappled to maintain his grip as she fought against him, thrusting against his hold, dagger aimed for his heart.

"What in the hells do you think you're doing?" He shouted, his voice strained as he fought to keep her from succeeding.

Her response was a rough growl, followed by more pressure. She was stronger than she looked.

Her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist, as they had been only moments earlier, only this time it was different. The intimacy that had taken place between them had twisted and warped, transformed into something new. Something deadly.

It didn't make any bloody sense.

He twisted his body, flipping her onto her side and knocking the blade out of her hands with his forearm.

Struggling against him, she reached for the dagger, teeth gnashing in anger as her fingertips brushed the jeweled handle. Astarion seized her hand and pinned it above her head, joining it with the other as she attempted to claw at his face. He stared into her eyes, wide and wild, searching for any sign of recognition, but all he found was the gaze of a rabid animal. There was no light, no Elira—only the promise of death.

"Elira!" He shouted her name as she writhed beneath him, grunting and howling loud enough to wake the entire village. "Elira, wake up!"

She surged forward, sinking her teeth into the flesh above his clavicle. Astarion cried out in pain as blood trickled down his skin. Elira's mouth widened into a grin, her teeth and chin stained crimson. Just as she poised for another bite, Astarion reacted.

"I'm sorry," he grunted, releasing her hands and forcefully slamming her head against the ground.

All went quiet.

Elira

"There you are," Astarion's voice cut through the hammering rhythm in her head—worse than any hangover she'd ever had. Wincing, she blinked his shape into clarity, despite the heaviness in her eyes.

She tried to move, but her body didn't heed her. Pain sliced into her wrists when she tried to pry her arms apart.

She was bound.

"What—what's this?" She asked, confusion gathering on her brow as she took in the torn fabric wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Panic rose in her throat like bile.

Astarion held out his palms and shrugged. "Improv, my dear. I didn't exactly have any rope on hand. But don't worry, it's nothing you'll miss. If anything, I did you a favor, ridding you of that... particular garment."