Your Dark Gospel (Complete)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Elira

"Astarion!" Elira's voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside him. Shedding her heavy cloak, she draped it over his blistering skin. Smooth alabaster had been replaced by an angry red that was already blackening at the edges. She tried desperately to cover him, leaving nothing exposed to the sun's harsh rays, though she wasn't sure how much it would help. They needed shelter—fast.

She thought vampires simply turned to ash when met with the sun.

The truth was much more horrifying.

Astarion was burning to death. It was a slow and agonizing torture.

The scent of his burning flesh awoke the urge. It tittered with curiosity while her gut roiled with the pain that shot through their bond.

"Help us!" she screamed at no one in particular, still fussing with the fabric. The others shed their layers and offered them to her until the pile of crumpled clothing concealed the man that lay beneath.

She looked around.

Where the hells were they?

Before her, dark water stretched out endlessly, its froth lapping at her feet. The cold that seeped into her boots was hardly noticeable next to the heat emanating off Astarion. On the other side of the shore was blindingly white sand that stretched towards a jagged line of trees, their gnarled branches twisting like gray fingers reaching out from the grave. Elira thought she could hear whispers in the air, but dismissed it as the rustle of trees blending with the crash of waves.

"We have to move him." Elira made up her mind as she spoke the words. "The shade will help."

She had no idea if it truly would, but anything would be better than direct fucking sunlight. Even if the covers and the shade did nothing more than slow the process... if he could just make it to nightfall. Shadowheart could heal him. And they'd come up with a new plan.

Elira's heart thrummed against her ribcage like a bird desperately trying to escape.

It couldn't end like this. Not when things were only just beginning.

The others gathered around Elira and Astarion, gently taking hold of his cloth-covered limbs and lifting him from the hot sand. His body spasmed and writhed against their touch, resisting them with every step. Elira could feel her grip slide as his skin sloughed off beneath the fabric.

As the tree line neared, a small woman stepped forward, eying them with a smug smile. "What's this?" She had dark and wiry curls that sat atop her shoulders and wore blood-red clothing trimmed with gold.

Elira didn't have time for strangers. Nor manners.

"Move!"

The woman put her hands on her hips. "Your boyfriend not cut out for daylight then, is he?" The teasing tone of her voice would have been the last straw if Elira's hands weren't already occupied.

Ignoring her, they steered around, toward another opening in the trees and deposited Astarion onto the dense forest floor that was a mix of gray needles and dead grass.

Elira fell to her knees beside him. He lay still, no longer writhing or fighting. She clung to the tether. The pain that seeped through it was the only sign that he was still alive.

For how long, though?

"Raphael sent me to help," the woman said, catching up to them with a slow, casual stride. "Name's Korilla. I've been waiting for you."

Elira shot to her feet—Astarion's needs outweighing her distrust for the Devil who had betrayed them. "We need to get out of here. We need to go somewhere dark."