Chapter Text
Astarion had always preferred the bustling of the city.
Granted, he could not remember much else, and the past two-hundred years had soured him a little on the experience, but trudging along a musty forest path while all manners of buzzing insects tried to bite into his skin was not his definition of a ‘good time’.
At least the sun was nice.
The sun.
He still couldn’t believe he was actually standing in the sun, in broad day light, not a single burn mark on his skin. The novelty of it still hadn’t worn off.
Gods, he hoped it never would.
But he still couldn’t help watching the shadows.
“Worried about stragglers?” Shadowheart’s brow was creased as she followed his gaze. “I’d like to think we were thorough enough, but I can’t fault you. The tieflings seemed convinced we’re dealing with an entire horde of them, after all.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t be dealing with them. We have other leads.”
But truthfully, the goblins were the least of his concerns. The goblins he could deal with, even if he wasn’t particularly eager to do so. Not an entire horde, obviously, but he was quick and could probably evade them. Goblins weren’t known to be very bright, after all.
No, there were more worrying things that could lurk in these shadows, waiting for him. Him, specifically.
Cazador would have noticed by now that he hadn’t returned. It had been days. Perhaps enough time to locate him and send someone to bring him back. And he couldn’t rely on any of these people to protect him.
The Blade of Frontiers might even just decide to kill him outright if he wasn’t careful.
It had been a bad idea to team up with a monster hunter of all people. He probably could continue fooling the rest of them, but Wyll ? Wyll might already be onto him …
And he doubted any of the others would still tolerate him if they were to learn that -
“That’s odd.”
At the front of the group, Silaestra had suddenly stopped. She was staring down at something on the side of the path.
A dead boar.
Shit!
He knew he should’ve been more careful. Why in the sweet hells hadn’t he hidden the bleeding body better? But how he had been supposed to know they’d be travelling along this path, or that she would stop to oogle at the godsdamned thing?
He had to do something. Distract her. Hurry her along. Anything to stop her from taking a closer look.
“It’s just a dead boar, darling. Staring at it won’t bring it back. Let’s keep moving, before whatever killed the bloody thing kills us as well.”
He’d tried to drag the damned boar away. But he was still half-starved, and he’d been even more starved when he hunted the beast down. It was a lot better than rats and bugs, certainly, but it was still just an animal.
And Silaestra didn’t seem convinced. She knelt down beside the dead boar and inspected it.
“Wyll? Have you ever seen wounds like those before?”
The Blade of Frontiers knelt down at the other side of the body.
This was not going as planned. Silaestra wouldn’t know what to make out of the puncture wounds on the boars neck, not with her amnesia, but Wyll was a monster hunter. There was no hiding it from him. Wyll’d know, and he’d tell the others, and Astarion would die.
He had to intervene before they could introduce him to the sharp end of a stake.
“It was killed by a vampire.” If he gave them the truth, just a little bit of the truth, surely it would throw them of his scent. After all, why would a vampire give them information about his kind or his own activity in the area? And better they heard it from his mouth rather than the literal bloody monster hunter among them. “I didn’t want to say anything at first, because I didn’t want to worry you. They are awful, bloodthirsty beasts.”
Silaestra rose to her feet. She tilted her head slightly. “Well, that’d certainly explain the state of the body. I wonder what would bring a vampire out here …”
He didn’t like that line of questioning. She was too sharp.
“Who knows what motivates these creatures? But don’t worry … they only come out at night. We should be quite safe, for now.” That should certainly stop her from probing deeper. After all, he couldn’t possibly be a vampire if he was up and about during the day. And standing in the sunlight. “And I’ll take watch tonight. Wouldn’t want anything ghastly to sneak up on us with a vampire prowling about, after all.”
And this time, he’d hide the evidence of his feeding better.
He really couldn’t afford being sloppy.
“That’s very kind of you to offer, Astarion.” Silaestra smiled. She appeared relieved, from the way her shoulders seemed to relax. There was a slight twitch of her fingers as she turned, finally, away from the boar.
Her eyes lingered on him still, however.
“Don’t sound so surprised, darling. I can be kind and helpful on occasion. Can we move along now? Or do you want to perform an entire autopsy on the bloody thing?”
“I don’t have a scalpel, unfortunately …” There was another brief twitch of her fingers. “Or else I might consider it.” Her tone was dry. He couldn’t quite tell whether she was joking, or actually being serious.
But she did finally stepped away from the boar and back onto the path.
Wyll looked at the dead animal for a moment longer, before he finally followed her.
Gale fell into stride beside her and immediately started talking.
“A vampire? That is rather concerning, if true. To my knowledge, if we truly are dealing with vampires, there is likely more than just the one. Powerful undead like them tend to create covens … ”
“So far, we only have evidence of the one. Let’s not jump to conclusions just yet”, Silaestra replied, voice calm. “For now, I think the best course of action is to stay vigilant and watch out for more signs … Do you know any warding spells?”
“Of course. I shall cast some immediately once we set up camp. And I’d be happy to share my notes with you, if you’re willing?”
Wonderful. If the mages were set on casting wards around camp now, he would have to be even more careful. What if one those wretched spells went off right as he set returned from a hunt … or even just because he was nearby.
Surely a simple ward couldn’t do that …?
He was tempted to ask, but if he appeared too interested in the whole affair, it would undoubteably only make him appear even more suspicious. And he truly didn’t want to be staked , or left out in the woods to await ceremorphosis all by himself … if Cazador didn’t find him before that.
He could practically hear the bastard laughing, “Stupid boy, you truly thought you could survive without me?”
They’d travelled the path for less than an hour after finding the remnants of his nightly hunt when the man appeared in their path.
Something about him immediately raised Astarion’s hackles. It wasn’t just that the man was entirely too well dressed for this less-than-backwater they were stranded in. It was everything about him - the smug, almost superior, demeaner, the smell of sulphur that suddenly hang thick in the air …
The godawful rhyme that he insisted on introducing himself with.
“Raphael”, the man said with a mocking bow, “very much at your service. It is not every day one meets such a cavalier sinner such a yourself. A true, bloody pleasure.”
Raphael’s eyes honed in on Silaestra as he said that.
She stiffened. There was a slight twitch in her fingers. “You know me?”
Wyll’s hand had fallen to the hilt of his rapier. His entire posture screamed alert.
Well, that wasn’t a good sign. If this Raphael had even their resident monster hunter on edge …
Raphael meanwhile seemed to pay none of it any mind. “I’m rather the admirer of the sanguine arts, even if I wasn’t quite born under a killing moon myself”, he replied. “Shall we withdraw? We have much to discuss … to our mutual satisfaction. This quaint little scene is decidedly too middle-of-nowhere for my taste. Come.”
He snapped his fingers, and the world around Astarion dissolved. He felt himself hurtling through space, through nothing … and then a rather impressive dining room took shape around him.
“There. Middle-of-somewhere.”
Astarion was standing in front of a dining table laden with goblets and bowls full of food and drink fit for a king. It might have been quite the display, if he could actually eat any of it.
Astarion wrinkled his nose. Of course there wasn’t. And even if there had been , it wasn’t as though he could allow himself to indulge anyway. Just glancing over his shoulder he could tell that his travel companions had also been teleported to wherever here was, and he was rather attached to his hide. For as long as it was still his, at least …
The worm wriggled in his head as if to remind him that his time was running short.
Silaestra, standing only a few feet to his left, still looked stiff. Her expression betrayed distrust. She didn’t move to touch any of the food. “Impressive. Is there a point to this display?”
“The House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed - lavishly.” Raphael was still being insufferably smug. “Go on. Partake. Enjoy your supper. After all … It may just be your last.”
Nobody moved to take the invitation.
Shadowheart’s eyes were narrowed. Wyll’s hand hadn’t moved an inch from the hilt of his rapier.
“Are these theatics leading somewhere?” Silaestra’s voice carried a hint of boredom, though her distrust was obvious.
“Are you not entertained? Well - far be it from me to disappoint.”
And with a snap of his fingers, Raphael transformed.
Into a bloody devil , wings and horns and tail and all …
Well, shit.
He still couldn’t get the bloody devil out of his head even now, hours later.
And for that matter, his travel companions seemed to far little better with it. He’d overheard them talking, and they had talked about little else.
If anything good at come of the entire encounter, it was that no one seemed to remember the boar anymore. Astarion supposed being shadowed by a literal denizen of the hells put any possible vampire threats at the very bottom of the things they were worried about, and he wasn’t about to complain. Or about to remind them of the ‘threat’.
Perhaps it would be safe tonight to slink off and try to hunt again. That boar had been old and he was still so hungry …
He glared at the tent he was trying to set up. Sleeping in the woods was still a novelty, and no one could expect him to know how to put up an entire tent after only a couple of days. It was better than the kennels, but he still yearned for a real bed.
“Do you need help with that?”
Silaestra’s wandered over to him and was inspecting his work with a slight tilt of her head.
“How … quaint of you to offer, darling, but I have seen you set up yours … I’ll take my chances with someone who actually knows what they’re doing, I think.” He showed her a smirk. “No offense.”
“Who says I was offering to do it myself? But I think I could talk Wyll into lending you a hand …” She returned his smirk. “I would’ve done so, but I think now I won’t … No offense.”
He laughed at her comeback. “Careful, darling. I may just start to like you.” He held her gaze for a moment, showing her his best smile - careful not to show any fangs. He needed her to like him, after all. And eventually more than simply like him.
She was his best bet for an ally, after all. But he couldn’t move too quickly. He needed her to yearn for him first.
“Hm … It would be horrible if you did.” But she held his gaze, lips still curled into a playful smile. Then, after a moment, she broke it. “Though not why I wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m disappointed, darling.” He pouted. “It’s the bloody devil trailing after us, is it not? But I’m a little wounded you didn’t ask my opinion on it first.”
“You’ll live.” Her tone was dry. “And your opinion does matter to me. Would I be here now talking to you about it if it didn’t?” She frowned. “I can’t say I feel very safe with a cambion on our tail.”
Astarion scoffed. “’Shop around’, he said. He seems sure we won’t find anything. And he might be right. We’ve had no luck so far.”
“We have not even found Halsin yet. And Lae’zel seems convinced her Creché might be able to help us”, she pointed out.
Obviously he wasn’t eager to sell his soul to a devil, but Cazador would do worse things to him if he caught him. And if he didn’t get control of the bloody worm in his head … Still, the devil set him on edge.
“Maybe. But all that ‘take your time, I’ll wait’ nonsense? He’s playing with us.” Just like Cazador had. He knew that type too well. And it made him uneasy. “He reminds me of …” He stopped himself. She didn’t know of Cazador, and he had no plans on ever telling anyone about the bastard. “… someone I used to know. Someone that liked to play with people. Creatures like them don’t play games unless they know can win.”
“We’ll have to play better than he does, in that case. This isn’t a game we can afford to loose.” Her brows furrowed.
“Maybe … but he isn’t the only one spinning a web for us. This is no ordinary mindflayer parasite.” If they were ordinary, he would be ashes by now. No, these worms were as marvellous as they were pesky. The question was why. “Who tempered with it and why? What do they have planned for us? And why are we important enough that a devil comes knocking on our door? If find those answers, we might have a chance.”
Still, if he were forced to choose between bloody Raphael and his old master, he knew whom he’d picked. Whatever horrors awaited his soul in the Nine Hells would still be preferable over whatever punishments Cazador would have in store for him if he found him again. When he found him again.
But he wouldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t trust any of these people. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t sell him out one day. No, until his position in the group was secure, he couldn’t take any chances with them. He had to tread carefully.
Though, right now, Silaestra had come to him for his opinion. That was good. It was progress, however small. It wouldn’t be enough, not on its own, but it was a start. And he had no doubt he could wrap her around his little finger soon enough. She’d responded well to his advances so far.
This was only a matter of time.
“With any luck, Halsin might have the answers we need. He’s been studying the tadpoles.” Silaestra rubbed at her brow, as though trying to chase away a headache. “We can only hope he had enough time to find something of value.”
Something was not right.
Astarion could feel it in his bones.
He stood amidst a dark forest. There were no stars whatsoever in the sky, no moon visible, the tree branches resembled vicious claws … and something was hunting him.
He could feel its presence. The maliciousness that radiated off of it as it watched him, circled him, drew closer. Ever closer.
It felt entirely too familiar.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to hide.
He couldn’t move an inch from where he stood. It was as though his feets were rooted to the ground.
And the thing that was hunting him was drawing closer.
And then, it spoke.
“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.”
It was him. It was him. It was him.
His master had found him. There was no way out. No escape. The dark trees around him formed an unbreachable barrier. The thicket seemed to grow denser by the moment. He was trapped. He …
“Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.”
His master’s voice was so close. Where was he?
Astarion shrunk in on himself. If he made himself look small, perhaps the punishment would be quick. Perhaps it would be over faster. Perhaps his master could be appeased … Perhaps if he explained himself, begged, grovelled ….
“Absolutely. It’s just that I was kidnapped by a tentacle-faced -“
“Third, thou shalt not levae my side unless directed.”
He hadn’t! He hadn’t! It hadn’t been his fault!
But his master would want him to smile, to take the inevitable punishment happily and gratefully. His master would not care for the excuses. But if he pleased the master …
“Fourth, thou shalt know that thou art mine. ”
And there Cazador was. Imposing. Terrifying. Invincible. Inescapable. Cruel. Merciless.
Astarion knew he should beg. Grovel. His punishment would be terrible this time, he knew it. He’d be locked away to starve in the dark again. How long would it last this time? Two years? Three? But if he begged, if he showed enough remorse, perhaps then …
“Not anymore. I’m free now.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He wasn’t free. His master would skin him alive for speaking out of turn, for saying something so baseless and idiotic. What had he been thinking? Why had he said that?
“Free? Lie to yourself, boy, but not to me.” His master sneered. “You are mine. Forever.”
Astarion startled awake.
He was back in his tent, at their campsite. Alone.
He couldn’t hear Cazador’s voice anymore.
Just a dream. It had just been a dream. He’d … slept , and he’d dreamed.
He was safe.
But was he? If he didn’t hurry to return, he’d be lucky if flaying was the only punishment Cazador would inflict on him. How long would he a languish in the kennels this time? He’d left Baldur’s Gate. It wouldn’t matter to Cazador that he’d had no choice.
And if his master learned that Astarion could stand in the sun, while he could not …
Cazador’s wrath would know no bounds. Once he was done with him, Astarion would beg for death …
The sun …
Astarion paused.
He should’ve burned up already, but he hadn’t. The sun no longer harmed him. Neither did running water. Not even seven days ago, he would’ve thought that impossible, and yet … He still hadn’t burned, hadn’t felt his skin blister at the touch of the river rushing past his knuckles …
And if that was possible, what if …
He almost didn’t dare think it, but what if Cazador’s rules no longer bound him, either?
He should’ve felt the irresistible compulsion to return to his master’s side, and yet …
He slipped out of his tent and into the warm summer night.
There was only one way to know for certain. He couldn’t test Cazador’s others rules out here, but one … One he could test. One he could try and break.
The first.
“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.”
It just so happened he was travelling with a group.
But whom to pick?
Not Lae’zel. If she found out about it, she’d immediately kill him, and he was too weak, too starved for blood, to even try and fend her off.
The wizard was an option, certainly, but something about his blood smelled … off.
Wyll was a monster hunter, no matter how delicious his blood smelled. Biting him was almost as bad an idea as Lae’zel.
Shadowheart was lovely enough, but she was a cleric. She could use her divine magic against him, and he wasn’t eager to learn what it felt like to be turned. He’d seen what she could do back in the old crypt. He’d only avoided that lovely experience because he stood too far away at the time.
And that left …
His eyes wandered over to Silaestra’s tent.
It would be a challenge, drinking her blood without waking her. He would need to be very careful. Any mistake he made might stir her from her reverie. But he was fast and quiet, even now, in this weakened state. And he only needed a little. He’d be gone again before she knew it.
He approached her tent as quietly as he could, and - after briefly ensuring that no one was watching what he was doing - quickly slipped inside.
Silaestra lay on her bedroll. She didn’t stir at all when he snuck closer.
Her rest didn’t seem to be peaceful one - her brow was furrowed, lips pursed, as though whatever memory she was relieving was causing her distress. Her fingers twitched where her hand lay next to her on her bedroll.
Yet even so, it was hard not take note of her beauty - the fullness of her lips, the high arch of her brow, the pitch black of her hair, the elegant shape of her long, pointed ears and that slender neck.
His eyes caught on her pulse.
He could almost smell her blood.
He leaned in closer, baring his fangs to pierce her pale skin.
And then, her eyes fluttered open.
“Shit!”
He scrambled back, putting his hands up in a - no doubt entirely futile - effort to appease her, to salvage the situation, to …
But what was there to salvage? He’d been caught. This was the end. She’d kill him now. Why wouldn’t she?
“This isn’t what it looks like, I swear!” He was starting to ramble. Something gripped at his heart and squeezed, and he knew he couldn’t suffocate but …
He could almost hear Cazador’s voice, taunting him yet again. “Foolish boy. This is why the blood of thinking creatures is forbidden. You can’t even feed yourself without me. Pathetic, useless child.”
Silaestra’s hand crackled with faint sparks of lightning as she set up. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t move to attack. She simply watched him.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed … well … blood.” Perhaps, if he appeared remorseful enough, she’d let him live. He hadn’t actually bitten her. Perhaps she’d show him mercy, if I could just explain.
“You’re a vampire.” It wasn’t a question. She didn’t even sound surprised. “But I didn’t think you’d be reckless enough, not after we found the boar.”
He stared at her. What? “Wait. You knew ?”
“I suspected. I didn’t have confirmation until the boar.” A slight smile appeared on her lips. One that almost appeared amused. “There were just enough things to throw me off at first, but there were … signs.” Her expression shifted again, to something almost … sympathetic? “I didn’t tell any of the others of my suspicion. Though I think Wyll might know already.”
Of course he would. The man was a bloody monster hunter. And if an amnesiac woman had already figured him out …
At the very least she hadn’t yet decided to elecrocute him. He could still safe his hide. He just needed to explain …
“I usually feed on animals … Boar, deer, rats, kobolds - whatever I can find. I’m not some monster! I’m just too slow right now. Too … weak. Not if I have to fight …”
“I’m not unsympathetic. I can only imagine …” There was light twitch of her fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“In the best case, you would’ve told me ‘No’. Worst case, you would’ve driven a stake through my chest. No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me.”
There was a pause. A long, painful moment where she simply looked at him, and held his gaze.
“I do.”
“You do? I mean, of course.” He managed a smile for her.
Perhaps he should leave well enough alone. She hadn’t staked him or elecructed him. She said she’d trusted him. It’d be foolish of him to push his luck even more. He could manage, somehow, just on the blood of animals …
“First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.”
“Do you think you could trust me just a little further? I only need a little taste. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. Please.” He needed to know. He had to. He had to know if Cazador’s command still bound him, if he was truly, finally …
“Alright. But not a drop more than you need.” Her answer was almost immediate.
Astarion could only stare for her for a moment. She’d agreed ? Just like that?
He’d expected her to demand something, to ask for a favour in turn at the very least. He’d expected her to turn him into a smoking pile of ash with her magic. He’d … expected pretty much everything but that.
It took him an embarrassingly long moment to finally muster up a reply. “I … Of course. Not one drop more.” He cleared his throat. “Now, let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we? We wouldn’t want you to pass out.”
She laid back in her bedroll. Drew a deep breath.
Her eyes were on him, watching his every move as he crawled closer.
He brushed her hair back from her neck. For a brief moment, he could only stare at the pulse of her neck. Her blood smelled delicious, but would it taste as wonderful as it smelled? It had to. Why else would Cazador forbid him to even taste it otherwise?
He drew a nervous breath he no longer needed, and bit down.
She gasped, one hand grabbing his arm and holding onto him tight, as his fangs pierced the warm skin of her neck.
Her blood didn’t taste as delicious as it smelled.
It was better.
Indescribably, impossibly, unfathomably better.
It was rich, and full, and sweet. Richer, fuller and sweeter than any wine he could ever remember having tasted in life. And so, so much more.
It was electrifying. Invigorating. It filled every fibre of his unliving body with warmth - addicting, wonderful, joyous, exciting warmth. He could almost feel his heart beat again. He almost felt …
Alive.
It was everything.
He wanted everything. Every last drop. He wanted to lap and suck and drink of her neck and never let go again. He …
He felt a tight squeeze as his arm.
There was a voice.
“Astarion. This is enough.” Calm, yet firm.
And he didn’t want to stop.
Yet somehow, somehow he did.
He slowly removed his fangs from her neck and pulled away.
Silaestra was still bleeding from the wounds in her neck. She pressed her fingers against the tiny holes.
“That … that was … incredible.”
Everything was so much clearer, sharper. It was like a fog had lifted from his senses, from his mind. He could hear how her heart raced in her chest. He could hear the whirring of Karlach’s engine, halfway across camp. He could smell the faint note of brimstone, drifting over from the direction of Wyll’s tent. How had he never noticed any of it before?
It was like he’d spent the past two-hundred years half-asleep.
“I feel strong. I feel powerful. I feel … happy.”
He’d drunk the blood of a sentient being.
Cazador’s orders did not bind him anymore.
He couldn’t believe it.
But the taste of Silaestra’s blood, still lingering on his tongue and his lips, was proof that he wasn’t dreaming. This was real. He could never imagine anything that might even come close.
“In that case … I’ll look forward to what you can do.”
“That shouldn’t take long. There are a lot of things in these woods that need killing. And speaking of that …” He stood up. Marveled at the newfound strength of his muscles, the energy that filled every fibre of his being. The sting of the hunger was still there, unfortunately, but with how powerful he felt in this moment … What couldn’t he hunt down, right now? He was almost eager to find out. “I need to hunt. You were invigorating, darling, but I need something more … filling.”
Nothing he would find would even come close to the taste of her, but even the thought of having to make do with animal blood again wasn’t enough to spoil his good mood right now.
He was free. He felt good.
All because of …
He turned around one last time at the entrance of her tent. “This is a gift, you know? I won’t forget it.”
As much as he disliked the thought of being indebted to anyone … She’d given him so much more than a delectable taste of blood today. And he couldn’t help but feel deeply grateful for that - even if he still struggled to understand why.
The euphoria of the bite, of her delicious blood coating his tongue and spilling down his throat, still hadn’t dissipated come morning. He felt better than …
Astarion’s memories of being alive were vague and half-forgotten, but this felt even better than what little he could still recall of it. His hunt last night hadn’t been able to compare, could never have compared, to the richness of just a taste of Silaestra’s blood, but he felt wonderfully full. Almost sated.
He kept a careful eye on her that morning as while polished his dagger.
She’d covered the bite marks up with her hair and high neckline, which was almost a shame, even if it was a smart decision. Her skin, already almost as pale as his own, did seem somewhat more pallid this morning, tinging ever so slightly more towards blue.
Had one of the others noticed? Was Wyll watching her more closely than usual?
Gale handed him a bowl of porridge.
“Thank you, darling. This looks delightful.” Astarion faked a smile.
He made sure the wizard saw him taking a bite, saw him swallow. It tasted like ash and dust, and Astarion fought a grimace. But he had to careful. Silaestra had hidden the mark of his fangs, but that didn’t mean he way yet above suspicion. It didn’t mean she couldn’t decide to tell the others about his perhaps not-so-little secret.
He forced himself to swallow another spoonfull of porridge when Silaestra wandered over to him, taking a seat on a log. She, too, was holding a bowl with porridge - one she’d barely touched, by the looks of it.
“Perhaps you should eat something, darling. It’d be such a shame if you’d collapse on us today …” It might raise questions, especially if Shadowheart or Wyll would discover the marks on her neck.
“Worried about me?” She raised an eyebrow, but still kept only poking at the porridge.
“Why not?” He showed her his best, prettiest smile. “You were so very generous with me … Why would I not return the sentiment?” He cleared his throat. “And speaking of which … How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. A little tired, maybe.”
Her heartbeat was speeding up. He could hear it, almost as clearly as if he was holding his ear to her chest. How interesting. Something he could use in his efforts to seduce her, perhaps?
“It’ll pass. Just be glad I’m not a ‘true’ vampire. A bite from them, and you might wake up as a vampire spawn, like my good self.” He wrinkled his nose. “All of a vampire’s hunger, but few of their powers.”
She took a small spoonful of her porridge, chewed a little, swallowed. “I don’t suppose vampire spawn can stand the sunlight anymore than ‘true’ vampires?” Her voice was contemplative.
“Oh no. I should be cinders in this light. I hadn’t seen the sun for two hundred years before we crashed here. Someone - or something - wants me alive. They’ve changed the rules. Standing in the sun, wading through a river, wandering into homes without invitation - they’re all perfectly mundane activities now. As for my other quirks - well, we can figure those out in time.” If she kept his secret. She’d kept her voice low, tone conversationally, bite marks hidden for now, but …
That didn’t mean he could trust her.
But still, it was hard to banish the excitement from his voice.
He hadn’t felt this good in all his memory. And as much as he hated owing anyone … it was all thanks to her.
“Something … Such as the tadpole?” Her voice was contemplative, curious. “They haven’t behaved as they should, so far. It does explain why you’d want to control them, I suppose.”
“Wouldn’t you? It’s so wonderfully convenient … well, if it wasn’t for the threat of sprouting tentacles. I do rather like this face.” Even if he could barely remember it. But he didn’t want to think about that now. It would only sour his mood, and he still felt too good to think about all of the things the tadpole - if it was indeed the tadpole - hadn’t given him or could still take from him.
He was free. For the first time in two hundred years, there were no rules to bind him, no orders he was forced to follow. Cazador was miles and miles away. He wanted to enjoy the buzz for a little longer still, before he had to start thinking again about all the ways he could loose that freedom.
“It would be a loss, I admit.” Her tone was playfully light, almost flirtatious. But she didn’t give him time to reply to that before she continued, in a more serious tone, “I hope Halsin might be able to explain how the tadpoles affect us. A gods-be-damned cambion approached us because of these parasites, and if they are powerful enough to negate a vampire’s weakness to sunlight …”
“Imagine what else they could do for us …?” The thought was rather exciting. And he’d take any and every edge he could get over Cazador. “But for now, darling, I’m just glad you’re being sensible about these revelations. I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks.”
Though perhaps he’d hoped too soon.
The rest of their group were approaching, and none of them looked particularly happy to see him.
“Although there’s still time.”
Shadowheart eyed him suspiciously, though at least, she hadn’t reached for the symbol of her mysterious deity yet … “A vampire? Well, that explains the pallor. Given our group’s nature, I don’t see much harm. We’re each monsters in the making, after all.”
He hadn’t expected that , but he’d take it. Wary acceptance was preferable to open hostility.
Though Lae’zel was looking like she wanted to behead him on the spot.
Meanwhile, Wyll was reaching for his rapier. “Silaestra? Has he hurt you?”
There was a slight, almost imperceptible, twitch of her fingers. “I’m flattered by your concern, but there’s no reason for it. We were only talking.”
“He’s a vampire, Silaestra. That alone is reason enough to worry, where I am concerned.”
“I know what he is. I’ve known since we found the boar the other day.” She met his eyes. “Think about it, Wyll. He had dozens of opportunities to harm us so far and hasn’t used them. He hunted a boar when we would’ve been easy pickings.” And then she said something entirely baffling: “I trust him. He’s not a threat to us.”
“Quite the opposite.” Astarion rushed to assure the others. “I’m here in the spirit of openness and honesty, to work together as a team. My fangs are reserved solely for the villains now.”
Wyll hesitated for a moment before he relaxed. “I am keeping an eye on you, Astarion. Don’t me us regret this.”
“Fine. He can stay.” Lae’zel’s eyes were still narrowed. “Besides, my flesh is not so easily tasted. Unless, of course, I have offered it.”
“And a word of warning, Astarion”, Gale added. “I taste absolutely awful.”
“There now, we’re all friends again!”
Shadowheart glanced over at Silaestra. “Can I talk with you for a moment? Alone?”
Silaestra hesitated for a moment, her eyes briefly flickering over to the rest of them, almost as if she was judging if it was safe to leave them alone with him … or him alone with them. Then she nodded, “Certainly”, and followed Shadowheart.
Astarion caught himself glancing after her for a moment.
Twice. Twice she had decided now to put trust in him, within the span of less than twenty-four hours.
He didn’t know what to make of it.