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pursuitseternal · 9 months ago

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“Arising” to the climax of “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Cordehlia (Named Tav) | E | 3.6 K

Love to @marimosalad , my illustrator and co creator

Summary: Cazador’s dungeons, where his love is reduced to a hostage to ensure his willingness in the Rite of Profane Ascension. The Pale Elf and the Bone Picker are faced with an even more desperate choice in that glow of Infernal magic.

CW: violence, angst, Pale Elf Quest spoilers, heartache, impossible choices, Catharsis, and near death experiences.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 18: Arising…

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Dagger bit flesh, one last werewolf felled in the Ballroom. Blood everywhere, it covered them all, but Astarion grinned in wicked delight as he took in their progress. The Palace would be gutted, and she would be saved. Cazador would be dead, and with any luck, he might just ensure immortality and power and prestige for them both. Forever.

He looked into the faces of his friends, all just as bloodied and breathless as he was.

And what was more, they all grinned back, panting and bent over with exhaustion some, well, Gale unsurprisingly. But they all were with him.

It took a matter of moments for them to find the way to the dungeons, his stomach sinking, his undead heart somehow racing, almost tangible again in his chest as they lowered to the crypt.

Foul air hit their faces, rot and putrefaction and mold, a place he didn’t even know existed. And yet, somehow, the perfect place for Cazador to wallow and bait his trap. The sewer rat that he was.

Cells lined the walls once they reached the bottom, hundreds of glowing red eyes staring at him, clamors of parched voices, some that had haunted him for centuries.

“Are all these…?” Shadowheart’s question died on her lips as the answer became too clear.

“Targets… Victims…. More… spawn….” Astarion kept his eyes fixed ahead. “They should have been dead, drained and dismembered,” he hissed, betrayal upon betrayal festering in his stomach now. “He must need them, must be part of his plan….”

“There must be hundreds… thousands…” Halsin’s voice almost shook at the atrocity.

But atrocity had been a daily part of his life for all his years enslaved. Astarion could only push forward, unable to look or listen at the faces he still saw in his nightmares, those torturous visions that plagued him any time he wasn’t dreaming about…

“Cordehlia,” he froze outside a cell, empty and blood spattered. Crouching, he touched his fingers in the red pool of sticky blood and licked it. “Her scent is here,” he whispered, pressed and taught as every instinct to kill began to take hold. “She was here, but it’s not her blood,” he stood smirking. “Ghast and werewolf, at least she put them through the hells, by the look of it. Unarmed too.” He absentmindedly tapped the dagger at his hip.

“Of course she did,” Karalch gave a small, slight laugh, unusual for her. “That’s our girl.”

“But it doesn’t tell why so many other victims, why so many monsters,” Wyll’s voice sliced through as sharp as his blade.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance….”

The scent of brimstone and sulfur, the sting of Infernal magic in the air, that velvet baritone voice, only one Cambion would offer help one last time… just a small, black and molten form hovered at their eye level. Slowly, those dark sunken eyes, that hard-lined face materialized before them all. Half-formed from the neck up, that familiar face smirked at them.

Raphael.

“What the fuck do you want?” Astarion rounded, fangs bared and fists clenched. “If you haven’t noticed, I��m a bit too busy to thank you for gracing us with your presence, devil,” Astarion snapped, sarcasm dripping from his words as he gave a subtle bow of his head. “If you slow me down now, you’ll find yourself short not two… but three horns someday….”

He didn’t mean horns alone. That made Karlach snicker.

But Astarion couldn’t enjoy the mirth, not when he was so very close now. That hurried bite in his words, he met Raphael’s black stare with disgust. “I don’t know why you think we might need assistance, what with facing down my old master with his army of an untold, unknown number of spawn, oh and he has the love of my life somewhere here….” He sneered, feral and fangs flashing. I think we have it under control, Raphael, so you can burst into mist and let me keep… going.” Spit flying, he snarled by the end.

“The spawn are not an army, my toothsome friend, they are his offering to Mephistopheles, the seven-thousand souls required for Cazador’s Ascension, in addition to your siblings’ and yours of course.”

The information smacked him in the chest. And every one of his companions seemed to stop breathing. “Seven-thousand souls…” Gale barely whispered in horrified reverence. Astarion rolled his eyes, of course the Wizard couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“But there is more you should know, my friends. Cazador has sampled some, a mere sliver, of the power the Vampire Ascendant will possess once the Rite is completed. That’s how he faced the thin light of dawn, how his spawn could appear in your rooms, how he could subdue that menacing and beautiful future bride of yours, Astarion.”

“I’d prefer if you quit spying on us, strange devil,” Astarion’s nostrils flared. “But since you’ve seen so much, any last warnings or advice for once?”

The black, molten form of Raphael suddenly looked very serious. “Take care of his bite,” he warned with deadly tone. “One fang through the skin, and the necrotic magic of the Ascendant will take hold, death will be slow but inevitable, allowing for the Vampire Lord enough time to decide, to torture or to turn his victim…. But there will be no amount of magic that can prevent that fate.”

Every breath held tight, even Astarion. Dread formed over his slow-beating heart, arms aching to hold her one more time. Heavy silence fell, once again broken. “By Silvanus,” Halisin sighed.

“Just remember, it wasn’t Silvanus who warned you, Astarion, it was me…” Raphael’s rippling voice chuckled into nothing as the apparition faded as well.

“For fucks sake…” Karlach bemoaned their situation as she loaded arrows into her crossbow. “Nobody is getting bitten today, dammit.”

“No,” Astarion rolled his shoulders and flashed them a smile… the deadliest they had ever seen, more fangs than mirth, more darkness in his eyes than crimson as he glanced one more time where his love had been held. “But someone is going to be turned inside out for what they have done to me and my love.” He unsheathed his shortsword and her glittering dagger with a hiss of metal. “I can promise you that.”

Air stung with magic, stank with rot. He could feel the scars on his back stinging, glimpsing the way his six siblings hung suspended by magic, their own scars aglow with infernal power.

But that wasn’t what his eyes searched for. The second he spied her at the bottom of the stairs, her skin pale and fiery hair tangled, he couldn’t stop. Astarion flew headlong into the danger, the second her silver eyes locked into his, a smile of love and relief and bloodlust crossed her own face, he only hastened all the more.

Cazador held her firm, her body clutched against his chest, arms bound before her with simple rope. “The prodigal son returns,” his Master called, even as Astarion panted and rushed with blade and dagger drawn. “You're so predictable, boy, so easy to break and crack into pieces.”

A roar in his throat, her bright dagger raised over his head, he was ready to strike. Until Cazador waved that massive staff, a wall of hot magic, singeing and red, slammed into him. He was so close, barely an arm’s reach from her… from him. But glowing red sigils burned around his wrists, his breath catching as it scorched in his throat. “I’m going to fucking kill you!”

“Only if you don’t let me do it first,” Cordehlia hissed and thrashed, elbowing the vampire in his chest. To no effect.

“It’s going to be quite hard to do that, now that my will has wrapped itself around you again, boy.”

The circlets of red grew brighter, Astarion grunting as he bit his teeth firmly shut. He wouldn’t give Cazador the satisfaction of another scream or grunt in pain. “Fuck you,” he ground out against the agony rushing through his body. “You have me, let her go, you bastard.”

“I’ll let her go, once she witnesses you fulfilling your true destiny, thankless child.” Cazador cackled, waving that fearsome staff of his to intensify the hissing sounds of flesh burning, increasing the glow of those shackles on her love’s wrists. “You were made to be consumed.”

“Astarion!” Cordehlia cried, wrestling against the iron hold around her frame. “No, you were made to destroy, my love. You were made in the darkness under pressure like adamantine, just like me. You were made to avenge yourself against him….”

“Shut up, you whore,” Cazador gripped his hand around her mouth, but she bit through his pale, flaky skin, only to yell louder once that vampire squealed in pain.

“He killed your parents, he beat me from your memory, used you, defiled you, and yet we found each other again. You will fight, my love, fight and win, Astar—“

That cold, steely grip clutched around her throat, and Cordehlia sputtered for air beneath it.

Astairon’s body writhed, twisting and strengthening as he grit his teeth and closed his eyes. Every iota of his love for her boiled to the surface, every bit of his rage burst from inside him, his need to be free, to be with her exploded from within. Hissing, shattering, the binding magic broke from his wrists. The sigils of his infernal scars decimated in an instant, and Astarion stretched his arms and bared his fangs. The only thing brighter than his teeth was that dagger still held firmly in his fingers.

Freed.

“Impossible…” Cazador snarled, his fingers releasing from her throat enough for Cordehlia to gasp in some air. “Even now, you resist? Foolish, stupid boy and his foolish, stupid whore.” Long fingers gripped into her hair and pulled her head sharply to the side, her neck bones almost cracking at the force. “You should have known your place, child.”

Astarion’s eyes seemed to watch it all happen so slowly… the way her hands opened, her eyes locked on her dagger in his grip… the narrowing of her gaze, ordering him to toss it wordlessly….

It happened so quickly, so slowly at once. That bright dagger sailed through the air, unwavering from his dexterous grip until it landed square in her outstretched hand. A smile crossed his face as she held it firm and fast, turning it to sink it into the soft belly behind her. A satisfied slick noise filed the dungeon as it sank home.

But her face flashed from triumph to agony. From bloodlust to torment. Astarion’s eyes flew from her perfect lips, her shining eyes to the set of fangs that now buried in her neck.

Watching in horror as Cazador sank his deadly fangs in her flesh.

Instantly, he released that bite, dagger buried in his gut through his ostentatious jerkin. The vampire stumbled back, that nefarious staff of his falling to the ground. But as their companions descended on his old master with light spells and damaging blows, Astarion could only move slowly, as if trapped in quicksand, reaching to catch her.

Her body was shaking, necrotic streaks already darkening the shallow bite on her neck. Perfect pale skin stained dark, her beautiful face gathering beads of sweat as the poison already crept through her veins. Astarion could only cradle her, warm tears finally dripping down his cheek, lips unable to say much of anything but the music of her name over and over again as he held her against his chest.

Throat bobbing, she swallowed through the agony, “I got him, didn’t I?”

“Yes, my love,” a feeble smile and tear streaked voice replying as he stroked her hair. All he could hear was the slowing beat of her heart, the din of battle beyond them so distant, so… unimportant compared to finally holding her once more.

Maybe only one more time.

Halsin crowded over them, “Bring him here,” he ordered to the rest of their party. Scuffling and dragging, slung between Karlach and Wyll, Cazador hung limp, but still alive. Or undead. Halsin pawed at Astarion’s shoulder, something warm and assuring and irritating about it all at once. “It’s for you to decide.”

Astarion looked up, eyes burning with hate as he locked his gaze on his old master. But he couldn’t bring himself to let her go, not with the way her arms clung around his chest, the way her heart seemed to slow beneath his own ribs. “Do something, Cleric,” he snarled, gesturing with his head at how his love began to visibly shiver.

“Astarion…” Shadowheart tried to cajole, but he would not take that patronizing tone.

“Halsin, Gale,” he snapped their names. “What good is all that magic and faith if you can’t heal her.”

“The devil said it wasn’t curable, but I could try to slow the poison,” Halsin finally sighed. “But there is only one solution to this…”

“My death,” Cordehlia shuddered, teeth chattering as her flesh began to grow impossibly cold. “I can… feel it. Have dreaded this for so long…”

“Or your undeath….” He whispered, just to himself. Astarion glanced up, taking in the carnage and misery and atrocity around them. Blood-slicked stone, throbbing infernal magic still holding his siblings bound by their scars. That one missing space meant for his death, waiting to be filled to complete the Rite…. “Do what you can to buy us time, Druid,” he ordered, lifting her shaking body towards the Elf, to place in his arms, carefully like the tender babe she was to him. “I have matters to attend to.”

“Astarion,” Cordehlia moaned as she was moved. “What are you d-doing?”

“What I promised you,” he knelt as Halsin rested her against him on the ground, cradling her in his large, warm arms. “I’m going to save you, to protect you, to make you my Bride.”

“Seven… th-thousand…” she managed to say before a wrack of pain shot through her body and made her teeth snap tight.

Her love’s palm cradled her cheek, his breath cold on her lips as he kissed her so, so softly. “Seven-thousand souls is a small price to pay to save your one, beautiful one,” he murmured.

“A-starion…” she managed to hiss through her torment.

“Yes, my darling?” he replied, lips still brushing hers even as they, too, grew cold.

“Use… my dagger,” she swallowed.

Astarion smiled, a kiss on her forehead, cold and wet with her body’s agony. “Anything for you, my treasure.”

Standing, he crossed to that monster, his former tormentor, and threw Cazador’s tunic up over his head. Raising at last, he found Gale’s hand so close, that bloodied, bright dagger in his offering palm. “Use the tadpole,” the Wizard nodded. “See your own scars, and it should suffice to appease the Infernal contract.” He winced as he heard his own words. “Do it for Cordehlia.”

Never before had he disrobed faster, armor and shirt lying at his feet as he took that warm blade in his hand. Astarion could say nothing, had to ignore the way he could just see from the corner of his eyes at how the Druid tried every kind of magic to draw the poison out. Shaking his head, he kept that focus locked on the sight of his own back, seeing his scars through Gale’s eyes. But all the while, he kept his pointed ear trained on Cordhelia’s heart, how it sometimes raced and sometimes slowed. And it only spurred his own markings to be that much sharper and more precise in that monster’s flesh. A matter of moments, and he finally pronounced his work completed.

He picked up that horrific staff, ignoring the way it vibrated in his hand, overwhelmed by its rush of magic as it coursed up his arm and down his spine. Power like nothing he could have ever imagine flooded his body, instantly his tongue danced over the words of the Profane Rite, put on his lips by the magic in the air. He could have watched with twisted pleasure as Cazador’s nearly-broken body flew to be suspended in his own place. He could have savored the way magic raced up and down every nerve as the spell tripped off his tongue, as the staff seemed to move his body of its own.

No, all he could watch was Cordehlia’s silver eyes fluttering, fighting to stay open to watch him ascending. All he could savor was the way his heart filled with the promise of a power so overwhelming, he could finally do something worthy of her. Finally able to save her. Feeling it finally begin to beat for her again.

The world around him seemed to still, to sharpen and explode all at once. Dropping that staff to the ground, he rushed to her once more. Her hand trembled in his grasp, skin waxy and cold. Halsin’s big green eyes looked back at him, grief stricken and saying more than words could. He passed her feeble body into Astarion’s outstretched arms as he crouched on the dirty floor beside them. Her head lolled against his shoulder, silver eyes half shut, forced open to looking into his handsome face until the end.

“You’ll have to fight poison with poison,” the Druid smiled weakly, trying to reassure the Ascendant being before him that radiated magic, Astarion’s skin paler than death and eyes glowing like demonic flame.

Astarion nodded, he didn’t want to do this here. Not in a dungeon, not in his old home of such torment, and certainly not in front of all the others. But there was no choice now, and the price paid was too great to fail now. “Cordehlia,” he whispered in her ear, “thank you for trusting me, I just need you to trust me a little further.”

She managed a nod with her eyes still barely opened.

Blood filled his mouth, and fangs sank into the holes Cazador had made. His mouth sucked the tainted blood from her veins, almost souring his stomach as he drank until the taste of that monster’s magic was gone from her body.

Until there was only the taste of her on his tongue again.

And yet, even as she showed all the signs of being bloodless, her heart beat steadied with his magic now in her veins. It would be enough for now, enough to start her own rite, enough to keep her from true death for a while. He stood, feeling waves of power rippling from his muscles in new and strange ways. Suddenly far too aware of the way his heart thumped in his chest again—rapid and alarmed and living. Too ironic, too sad to be truly appreciated as her own pulse continued to slow. “We have to get her back to the Elfsong,” he pronounced, blood dripping down his chin, standing to carry her tenderly in his arms. “I will need to complete my work in privacy.”

Halsin cocked a brow. “Very well,” he nodded, leading them all back through the halls until they could reach the brush of daylight once more, followed by a simple teleportation back to their suite of rooms.

Not a second was wasted. Not now that he was so close. Ascended. Freed. More power at the tips of fingers than any of his kind had ever possessed. And yet his happiness laid unmoving against his chest, nearly lifeless against his now-beating heart.

Astarion kicked open the door to a set of rooms apart, setting her on the dark, postered bed. Quickly, he bit her wrist, sucking more and more of her sweet vintage straight from her veins.

His heart broke at all of what could have been, at all the various futures and paths that faded from view. She wasn’t even conscious to enjoy this union, to feel the way their essences combined into one, stronger and equal and powerful the more he drank her down. She couldn’t hear the little praises he poured over her, her ears deaf to every time he called her his love, his darling, his treasure, the mate of his heart and soul…

But he poured them over her barely-conscious face all the same, peppering her face with bloodied kisses even as it grew white as a sheet.

One last bite was all it would take. This love of his life, near dead and almost lost to him a second time, she would be his forever.

As his fangs sunk into her neck, marking afresh the scars that had formed there over their weeks reunited, he drank his fill. Breaking away at last once she neared the very dregs of her life, Astarion stopped. He was breathless, his stomach full to near bursting, even though it no longer throbbed with a spawn’s hunger.

Hand shaking, he brought his wrist to his teeth, tearing a slit in own flesh to place against her chalky lips. He could sense it entering her body, dripping down her throat to pool in her own belly. But he held his breath all the same.

Body rigid, he had never been more afraid than right now, not as his love’s life hung in the balance, not as she counted on his power to bring her back into the same realm as him, even if it was under the veil of undeath.

Her lips stirred first against his wound, just a little movement, just a slight suck. Crimson eyes flashed open were once silver ones shined at him, and Corehelia smiled as she sucked down his blood.

Astarion finally breathed, his chest easing at last.

His bride was arising.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

I do know that Ascension can be divisive, however I hope this gives some firmer ground to stand on… spoonfuls of “Burn the world” for his love and “Touch her and you die” make it go down smoother, I hope. No more long lost love💞

Aeterna Amantes

3 more days until Chapter 19: Dark Kissing, when she awakens🩸💞🗡️

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drudragonrose · 1 year ago

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Nightmare

Thanks to an art piece that I found here I had to write a short. Astarion x female! Tav. TW: Gore, TW: PTSD

It was cold and stinking. It was one of the things that Astairon hated the most about the palace that he was forced to call home now. The other was how trapped he felt even though the castle was vast. The ballroom was wide and sweeping. It was a place that the then new spawn would be comfortable in were it not for the smell of blood that lingered even though the floors had been cleaned and treated with lye. If it were not for the fact that he was on his knees, commanded not to move as a dagger carved into his back. He couldn’t even beg for it to be over. Had Cazador commanded him unable to speak? Possibly, though he did like the sound of screams over anything else.

“Art takes time boy.” Came the vampire’s slimy voice, Astairon was trapped in his own mind. He wanted to get up. To drive that dagger into Cazador over and over again but his body was chained by the blood bond he had foolishly taken. This vision swam, his consciousness started to slip. Had Cazador finally gone too far?

Astarion came out of his trance sweating even though Rivington was cool at night thanks to the sea breeze. He sat bolt upright, his hands on his hips where he kept his daggers as he looked around. It took him a moment to realize he hadn’t been dragged back kicking and screaming. “You’re alright my love.” Came a gentle voice from beside him. Being face-to-face with a half-devil would have been a cause for most people to panic but the vampire was never happier that she was here. “Nelis.” He rasped as wrapped his arms around her where she kneeled.

She held him close, allowing him to take in her near hellfire heat that came from her heritage. She whispered soothing words into his ear all while fighting herself not to cry for him. Her heart broke with every shiver that she felt from him, raked with silent sobs. “I escaped but he’s still here, in my head.” Astarion snarled when he finally stopped. Nelis let him go then, knowing that he was getting back to normal. “We will drive him out, my love. We will make him pay for every cut he’s made on you. Every scar he’s made.” She said. Her eyes burned almost red with a quiet rage.

“What happens if we kill him and I still can’t escape him?” The vampire asked as he ranked his hands through his hair. “Don’t say that. Echos may remain but that’s all they will be echos. And I promise to make enough noise to drown them out.” She said and gave him a soft kiss. The warlock hated knowing there was something she couldn’t solve but she hoped that it would help. She made to get up on her feet when Astarion held on to her night clothes. “Don’t leave.” He said, barely above a whisper. Nelis nodded. “Don’t worry I will be here as long as you need me.” She answered and slipped into his bedroll. When dawn broke, waking horrors would await them but she hoped that just being here would allow the pale man a moment of rest.

#fanfic #bg3 #named tav #baulders gate 3 #no editing #tw: gore #tw: ptsd #OC: Drusilla Marchosias #OC: Nelis #astarion #tav x astarion

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fangsandfeels · 1 year ago

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I love how petty my paladin Tav (Jerra) can be. Paladin Oaths are fueled by their ideals and convictions, and when pacts with devils are mentioned, Jerra goes full Rorschach on the idea of pledging her or someone else's soul to a devil. She can't really talk other people out of their choices, but she is also so done with devils messing (or attempting to mess) with good people at her camp - and the idea of the man she loves potentially getting involved in a diabolical ritual isn't improving her mood at all.

So whenever a hells spawn pops up dangling stuff like the "fate of the world" or "do this or X will die" above her or her companions' heads all her responses can be summed up as "No. Fuck your pact, fuck your offer, and fuck you. You want me to sign a contract and pledge my soul in exchange for an artifact? I'll steal it from you and burn your house down while I'm at it. You dare to pressure my friend into servitude using the life of his father as leverage? I will look under every stone until I find him, save him, and reunite him with his son, and I will rub it into your smug horned fiendish mug. Now remove yourself from the premises you desperate wretch"

Also, I love how Astarion makes all the wrong conclusions:

Jerra: Don't bury Wyll's father just yet. Mizora is clearly bluffing. She can't handle the fact that she messed up, had to be rescued, and got strongarmed into severing the pact. Now she tries to use new leverage and bind Wyll back to her. Why else would she stick around even after Wyll rejected her offer? She obviously expects Wyll to change his mind. That means, Duke Ravenguard is still alive and can be saved.

Astairon: So, Wyll sacrificed his father for freedom...It will make his rise to power much easier.

Jerra: N O

#baldur's gate 3 #all group is like that tbh #like guys wtf #you all know how manipulative devils are and you keep falling for it #bg3 tav

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pursuitseternal · 5 months ago

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Introducing “Love Me or Hate Me (for both work in my favour):” Enemies to Lovers, Gur!Tav x Astarion

Astairon x Tav (Katja) | E | 4k Chapter 1

Ask box fill from @thegoodwitchs-blog

Summary: Katja hates her circumstances of a tadpole in her head, but she hates him more. Gur by birth, monster hunter by trade like her people, it takes all her limited Barbarian control not to stake him in his sleep. As for him, she’s the same stock of vagrant that killed him all those centuries ago; punishing her should be fun and harmless… well, maybe just a little harmful.

CW: Enemies to Lovers, Hate sex, angry sex (DubCon?), manipulation, semi-public sex, jealousy, biting and mild choking, Act 1 spoilers

Ao3 Link | Astarion fic Masterlist

Ch. 1:Little Vagrant

Every single instinct in Katja’s body sat at high alert from the moment she met him. Since the moment he pulled a dagger on her, she should have disarmed him like her elders had taught her back in the village and staked him through the heart for good measure.

And that was before her worst suspicions had been confirmed.

Before she saw the after effects of his true nature, the morning after he bit her cleric.

Vampire… slave to sanguine hunger… monster…

Enemy.

But there were worse monsters to fight—Mindflayers. And he was too useful to dispatch, not while they had a healer to find and a Goblin camp to infiltrate and an Archdruid to save.

Katja would just have to let the monster’s undead heart keep beating at a dirge’s pace until she no longer needed him. His blades were too quick, his ferocity in battle unmatched, especially now that he could fight with knife and fang. She had to admit, it was thrilling to watch… his lithe movements, graceful and equally deadly as he fought. She understood why her people couldn’t let his kind live.

They were too powerful, too dangerous, and too beautiful.

Once, she stumbled on him bathing in the river, another gift of the tadpole to allow such a monster the ability to enter running waters without harm.

Pugh.

At first she had been revolted by the paleness of his skin and the scars on his back. It was… too disgusting for her to look away, she told herself. Too risky to leave him unobserved, unguarded. He could attempt to do anything… best to remain in hiding.

Crouching in the bushes, she heard him giggle. “Well, well, well. Our churlish leader…. You’d be a blight on your people if they knew you were… lusting after a soulless creature like me.” He turned those unnerving crimson eyes in her direction. “Likely they’d put your head on a pike just for thinking about what I look like naked, darling.” He smirked wickedly. “Tch, what a shame that would be to have one less Gur vagrant in the world.”

His lip twitched as she stood from her hiding place. Katja’s rounded human ears turned beet red in the dark, her long golden braids whipping her back as she spun on her heel and made for camp.

He won this battle. But she would win the war between them. His insufferable voice would quiet permanently someday, his shifting, crimson eyes would stare at her lifelessly. He would look so beautiful with a stake through his ribs.

He was a menace, and Katja was lucky by all the gods that he hadn’t killed her yet. She didn’t know why he had yet to drain her dry. Maybe his hunger was sated because he was drinking his fill from the Cleric every night. She rolled her eyes as she watched them each morning departing their shared tent. It made her sharpen her ax extra those mornings before battle. This day, they were headed for the Goblin camp, just beyond the village. And as they packed up camp, making their way over trails, Katja bristled as Astarion’s cold presence drew close.

“Are you alright, darling? Your pulse sounded this morning as if your feeble, mortal heat was bout to explode. I didn’t know that a Gur had a heart, much less that it could beat so childishly fast with jealousy,” he sneered down at her. Those sharp and sinister features were a good head and a half above her after all.

“Jealous? Pft,” Katja grimaced, shifting her pack on her shoulders. “Why would I be jealous of a creature with no soul, vampire?”

“It’s not my soul that interests you, I’ve noticed. It’s my body, and what I do with it…” his icy lips pressed nearer to her ear, almost touching, “and to whom I do said things…”

A dagger pressed into his ribs faster than he could draw a breath, a breath his undead body didn’t need. “Careful, monster,” Katja hissed. “Or I’ll be the one thrusting. You’ll be rammed on the point of my weapons, not unlike our poor Cleric whom you’ve beguiled.”

“She doesn't consider herself in such dire straits. In fact, she rather enjoys it. You should ask her, see what it is you’re missing out on…”

“I’d sooner skin a kobold,” she gagged. “The Cleric's choices are her own. If she wishes to sully herself with the undead, to damn her soul by feeding you her life essence, then so be it.”

Astarion paused in his tracks, laughing slowly. “Oh, I can’t tell if it would have been worth the risk to bite you instead.” He tilted his rumpled silver head, eyes assessing her every inch, noticing weaknesses in her hide armor, watching her fingers still twitching on her dagger’s hilt. “No, corrupting you and your narrow prejudices wouldn't be worth the risk of tasting your blood. I bet it’s sourer than vinegar and just as repellent.” He sneered so wide, she could almost see her reflection in the glint of his teeth.

“You try to bite me, and I will make a necklace from your teeth…” she hissed. “Once I pry them from your skull, Vampire.”

“Oh, I do like them feisty….” A single cold digit ran down her blushing cheek. Ice on her temper’s flames. A gentle caress, a lover’s touch. It made her whole frame go rigid in a second.

And it made Astarion chuckle, low and throaty as he continued on the path.

“Honestly, we could just leave the Druids and Tieflings to their own natural consequences,” the Vampire mouthed off as usual, complaining with his typical arrogance and selfishness. Leaning against the wall of the Shattered Sanctum, he gave his wicked half-smile to Shadowheart beside him.

Katja just shuffled her feet, switching the shoulder her greataxe rested on for a reprieve. “We can’t let a bunch of Goblins in league with the Absolute decimate a sacred grove,” she sneered, making that scar down the side of her left cheek twist. “But I don’t expect the Cleric of Shar and a fucking vampire to understand the sense behind it.”

Astarion raised his brow, his sinister smile turning to land on her instead. “Can’t you imagine just how wonderful the resulting chaos would be if we did?” He gave a deep and almost lewd sigh. “It would be… delicious.”

Rolling her eyes, Katja mumbled a curse in her native tongue, sure that neither of her least favorite companions would understand.

But given the way the vampire’s mouth curved down in distaste, she wasn’t so sure she was the only one in their midst to speak Gurri. Katja grimaced as she looked around the desiccated temple of Selûne, remembering all her childhood prayers to the goddess and ignoring the way the Sharran seemed to gloat at every violated shrine.

Honestly, they deserved each other, she decided with a derisive sniff. She had company enough with Gale, sweet and intelligent, and with Wyll, bold and legendary monster slayer himself.

Stuff of dreams and fantasies. The kind of man to make her tribe proud.

She should go and find him, the Blade of Frontiers, but her feet seemed frozen. If she left these two imps, what trouble would they get into… no. She needed to stay right where she was, even if it was vile and disgusting company.

“Shadowheart!” the Wizard’s voice hissed from behind a column, and all three of them turned around. Gale beckoned the Cleric forward. “We need to find where the Archdruid is being kept… but we also need to deal with a little… problem. This Priestess Gut seems to need a talking to, asking us about some brand and the worship of the Absolute. It’s your time to shine, Cleric of Shar, or… well, as a servant of the Goddess of Darkness, I guess you won’t shine so much as…”

Astarion huffed to interrupt the beginnings of another awkward and king ramble from their companion. “You can’t handle it, Wizard? Didn’t you used to fuck a Goddess and now what? Can’t handle a lowly Goblin priestess?”

“I’d be more than happy to handle this,” Shadowheart grinned. “It was getting a little too crowded in here for my tastes.” She shot a pointed glare with those green eyes towards their blonde Barbarian.

As the Cleric left with Gale, Astarion closed in on Katja, silently and stealthily until his body barely brushed her back. “You Gur always ruin all the fun,” he hissed in her ear. “Not the first time your kind has… spoiled my endeavors.”

She turned to face his glare, crimson and wroth. “I haven’t done anything to you, Vampire, not yet anyway. I’ve only found myself in the same predicament as you; such hatred for someone who could be your ally.”

“Or my sworn enemy,” he sneered, looking down this aquiline nose at her, this little Barbarian. “Don’t you have some throats to cut and innocents to swindle?”

“Or monsters to stake?” she sneered right back, unknowingly drawing her small and strong frame to stand toe to toe with him. Her face mere inches from his own, his breath washed down on her, cool and metallic in scent. And then that mouth twisted in a wicked smirk, opening to speak…

“C’mon,” a high-pitched, nasally voice giggled beside them as three Goblin children bolted past them. “That bear they captured is in the Worg pens. Bet we can make him roar!”

“Halsin,” Katja whispered, following the urchins at a distance as they weaved through the camp. She was small, but certainly not stealthy, and even as she managed to slip into the cells, the faint growls of a large animal’s rumbling in the distance, an ice cold hand shot out from behind her to pull her into the shadows.

A small storage room, just off the cell block, that’s where she was. Astarion’s hard, cold body pressed her against the wall, his finger over his lips to signal for her silence.

But her rage ignited, her nostrils flared, ready to burst. Quickly, his chilled palm closed over her mouth just in time to muffle the below of anger she gave. His frame crushed her, and that palm wasn’t enough to quiet her. Long, icy fingers closed around her throat, silencing her and shutting off her air.

Her breath ragged, she did the one thing her feral mind screamed for her to do. She bit him.

“You viper,” he hissed right in her ear. “Do you want us to get caught? Want to join the Druid in the cell?”

Katja only bit harder, struggling to fill her lungs.it made her body squirm against him, fighting to move to claw at him, but her arms were both pinned behind her back, already going numb. Writhing, she chased some unknown feeling… a blind need for release, her heart racing as her hips bucked against his thigh. His toned leg pressed harder between her thighs, the friction making her eyes tear as she struggled. She needed to break free, she told her brain, but her body, her core longed for a different release.

His laughter rumbled in her ear, the din of the dungeons thick enough to cover whatever little sounds they made in this small, neglected space. His thigh lifted her, pressing perfectly against her seam where she burned for more. Sparks of light crossed her vision, heat seared through her veins, and something pressed into her belly, something long and hard. His own icy, blood-stinking breath raced faster as he observed her grinding on his leg. And as she stared into his gaze, she watched as his eyes dilated, from crimson to black in seconds.

Shit, she cursed, unable to keep her body under command as she just squirmed more against that lean thigh and that protruding erection.

“Oh, little vagrant, you’re in trouble, aren’t you?” he hissed in her ear, rubbing that wet, cold tongue up its shell. “I can smell you, just how excited you are to be so close to your quarry. It’s a pity you chose a predator as your prey, darling. You see… you can thank the Cleric for her blood to sate my hunger, but she is rather closed off… or closed-thighed… when it comes to other hungers of mine.”

Fingers released her throat, his nails tearing into the laces of her breaches as she squirmed even harder. Cool, dank dungeon air made every hair on her now-bared mound and thighs stand on end as he tugged them down to her ankles.

“I know you want me, that you’re too proud and stubborn to seek it out for yourself. Allow me, darling, to show you what you’re miss—”

Silencing him, Katja freed one hand, launching it to close around his own scarred and pale throat.

A fang-toothed grin was his only reaction. “Oh, darling…” he rasped from beneath her knuckles. His fingers brushed the skin and curls of her mound and something untamed and hungry unleashed itself from within her. Her grip on his throat tightened, yanking that sneering mouth to hers. She wanted to devour him, to silence him and punish him in the only language he seemed to understand— the language of body and blood.

Jerking her shoulders, she freed her other hand, her nails tearing into the buttons of his own leathers. A growl in his throat, he gripped her ass, lifting her as if she were no more than a child to shove against the wall again. One hand squeezed around her mouth once more, keeping her moan muffled as he finally slotted himself inside her. The rough and ancient brick dug against her armor, padding her flesh from every jolting slap he made against her, his thrusts fast and punishing.

Air hissed through her nostrils, her dark eyes locked into his own, that crimson stare daring to do something. Kill him? Fuck him? Kiss him again? She knew not which. Her body cried out for all of them at once. Never mind the elders or the tribe or her gods.

Heat unlike anything she had known before coiled in her belly, drawn forth by his thick and cool cock inside her. Her teeth grinded into his hand again, drawing blood to coat her tongue. Making him smile. Making his tongue run over his lips, as if he barely bridled his own need to drink.

But her hand kept its place on his gullet, pushing to keep him at a distance once more. Careful not to risk his fangs and sell her soul to be his next meal.

His eyes rolled back and closed, his bone white fangs bared at her, inches from her flesh. Those thrusts grew hard and erratic, his breath whistling in time with hers. Pathetic, she grinned. The sight of him at her mercy burned itself into the back of her eyelids as pleasure burst from inside her, her body shaking as it squeezed him in wave after wave.

One last thrust and he groaned in her face, jaws snapping on air as if he wished it was her neck. Her hand gave one last punitive squeeze of his throat before she released him. Crimson eyes opened halfway, still hazy with lust. A sly snarl twisted his lips as he set her small and muscular frame down.

Disgust roiled in her belly as she ignored the way his cum leaked from inside her. No, she kept her mind on fixing her breeches, a hard task to do as she watched him do the same as he stuffed his half-softened cock inside those form-fitted leathers. Katja tried to swallow the drool that collected in her mouth as she straightened.

His hand ran through his hair, those dangerous lips parting to speak again when shouting sounded from the cells. The bear roared, iron bars clanged as then burst from their hinges and smashed to the ground. Before they could think about what passed between them any longer, monster and monster hunter grabbed their weapons and bolted towards the fray.

Gale turned, launching his magic missiles at the Goblins nearest them. “Oh good, there you both are,” he turned and fired off a few more in the opposite direction. “We thought maybe you had finally killed each other.”

“Something like that,” Astarion replied calmly, despite the smug glare he leveled at Katja. It made her ears burn beet red with hate again. But as she gripped her greataxe and launched into battle, she wasn’t sure if it was hatred more for him or for her own actions.

A few cleaving swings through Goblin flesh, and she knew it was hate for him.

For what he made her feel, for what he made her choose to do, she would hate him forever.

Wine flowed freely, but gods, what Katja would give for a flask of her tribe’s liquor, clear as glass and hotter than the Styx. Or a pint of mead. But neither was within reach. The green glass of her sweet red wine bottle pressed nearly constantly to her mouth. Anything to try to numb the feeling of his cum still dried to her thighs.

He would pay for this. But not tonight. Tonight they celebrated. Many monsters slain; many questions answered, even if those answers only gave rise to more questions. Halsin, the ancient and wise Archdruid loomed over her. More than anyone else. Gods, he could probably eat her in one bite as a bear. Good thing he was a Druid and no monster, she smiled to herself.

She let herself go numb, drinking and listening to the ancient elf talk about this Shadow Curse and the freedom of nature’s gifts… she ignored the way Astarion kept one hand on Shadowheart’s narrow waist, his face pressing into her neck where bite mark scars were beginning to form.

Trying not to gag on her wine, Katja rolled her eyes as they came closer. Halsin’s eyes scanning them all. “I should thank you all for coming to my rescue. It’s nice to be among friends. A wonderful balance to find, if surprising, to see monster and monster hunter as lovers…”

Katja spat her wine out at her feet. “How… the fuck…”

“Forgive me, my wild form tends to lend me heightened senses even in this state, and let’s just say, the nose knows, eh?”

Astarion’s eyes pinned on her, wild and accusatory. “I don’t know…” he started to shirk off the suggestion, even as the Cleric rounded on him.

“Oh, so that’s where you two disappeared to in the camp today.” Her vitriolic scoff hurt more than an arrow would have into Katja’s stomach. Actually she would have preferred the arrow. “No, no makes sense. You always claim to love a challenge, what better place to try to sheathe your little dagger than the one person who hates you.” She narrowed her green eyes at him, “I won’t worry then about keeping you well-fed or strong. Maybe I can find someone who enjoys my devotion to my lady instead of whining about your hunger every day.” The Cleric gave a nice, long, and dramatic sigh, “Well, if that’s over, I’ll be glad to save the spell slots from having to keep myself from being bloodless every day. Thank you, Katja, for doing me that favor.” The sarcasm in her tone lingered long after she strode away, losing herself in the fray of the party.

The glare that Astarion threw Katja shouldn’t have hurt at all, let alone more than the bitchy glares from Shadowheart, but it did. It was a piercing look of malice and disappointment as he strode after her, lies pouring from his thick lips to try to smooth things over.

“I… I’m sorry if that was a secret,” Halsin tilted his head as he watched the drama unfold. “Over three centuries in this realm and I can still be taken out at the knees by surprise.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Katja replied, wiping the stains of red wine from her jerkin. “It was a mistake, nothing more. I may have left with a stain on my conscience, but my soul is intact at least.” She pointed her finger at her neck. “I won’t be bitten, even if I’m fucked.”

Halsin shook his head, laughing. “I forgot how deeply superstitious your people are, little child of the Gur. To think that a vampire’s bite has any effect on your soul,” he smiled gently and chuckled, “you might feel a bit woozy, but by Silvanus’ beard, you won’t lose one bit of your warrior soul.”

Katja’s spine straightened, as if shot once again in the gut. “I’d call you a liar, but you’re a Druid…” she whispered, more fearful for own good.

Halsin’s own scarred face twisted in mirth as he gave a deep belly laugh. “Implying I can’t lie?” He chuckled harder, “a good thing that isn’t the case. But I assure you, a vampire has no interest in your soul. They aren’t fiendish, just hungry and often imprisoned by the whims of their masters.”

Katja tilted her head, considering. Their masters… she turned to scan the crowd for that mop of silver hair or a hint of glaring crimson eyes. If Astarion was a spawn, where was his master? That haze of hatred seemed to part for a moment, a moment of lucidity amid the burning hatred, and Katja realized what a poor hunter she had been. What were his weaknesses and ambitions? What would bait him into the open or control him enough to bring him to heel?

She’d have to get closer to him to discover that. And that thought made her stomach wrap tightly in knots and made her heart set at a galloping pace.

As if summoned by her loping heart, he stepped into her line of sight, browline furrowed, half his fangs bared as he smirked. A single finger crooked in her direction. And Katja made a visible point to check her dagger before crossing towards him. “You seem to be alone,” she smirked, tucking her weapon back home at her hip.

“Thanks to you,” he sneered slightly, the clench of his jaw a slight tell to the rage simmering beneath that cool, alabaster exterior. “You owe me…” he snarled, quiet and pressed from behind his clenched teeth. “Because you, you grub, didn’t have the decency to clean yourself after your little moment of weakness today, I’ve lost my tentmate and meal ticket,” his voice was cold and exacting, a none-too-slight of a threat hidden beneath that refined exterior.

She just tossed her long, blonde braids behind her. “Needless to say, it was your choice today to do that, too,” Katja rolled her shoulders, squaring up for a fight.

“Oh, little brat, always angling for combat,” he suddenly eased, a well-practiced, sultry smile on his handsome face, “it’s bad form to discuss such… personal matters in the open.” He cocked his head, looking down at her seething, defiant glare. “Let’s find a little piece of nowhere, a place to… discuss all this madness like two mature creatures.” His crimson eyes shimmered like the shitty wine in her near-empty bottle. Extending a cold, pale hand at her, he drew close, invading her space. “Truce?”

She just narrowed her eyes, disbelieving the sincerity of such a gesture. Refusing to take his hand in hers. “Where?” she snipped.

His predatory grin widened enough to bare his glinting fangs. “There's a secluded place nearby that will do nicely… far enough away so no one will hear you scream…” his voice scratching into a growl.

“You mean from when you try to kill me?”

Thick lips twisted dangerously as he took a breath. “Death… a little death… it’s all the same, little brat,” his gaze hardened, “isn’t it?”

Katja glared at him, her mouth twisting to hide her confusion, sure there was a hidden meaning in his words she failed to recognize. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” she sassed back at him, confident outwardly…. Only to be discouraged as his grin intensified and as he gripped her hand by force. One yank, and she was pulled against the hard planes of his chest. This time there was no armor to hide the feeling of his skin or to conceal that sharp, clean scent of citrus and herbs.

“Oh, but you do know, better than anyone now,” he growled into her ear before shoving her away again. “There’s a clearing,” he jerked his head to his right, “we can meet there, no weapons, no axes. We can discuss our truce with just the clothes on our backs, what do you say?”

Katja just stared at him, fuming and stoic.

“Or are you too cowardly to meet a monster alone?”

“See you there, asshole,” Katja snarled before turning away, wine bottle raised high above her little blonde head to drink. Draining the dregs of that disgusting vintage, she smashed it against a tree before entering the dark, moonlit forest.

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marimosalad · 9 months ago

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HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOOOOO