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It was a perfect conflux of events.
That night, when they camped upon the same stream they’d found Karlach hiding in weeks ago, Merezhen was left by herself. The memory of Alfira’s death was too close to comfort for them all, and though there was the intention of moving past it, Merezhen was still very much left outside of the inner circle of trust.
She watched them at the campfire from her lonesome tent, chin resting atop her knees. Karlach waved but did not otherwise approach. Shadowheart and Gale sat close by, discussing quietly - Lae’zel was nowhere to be seen, as was Wyll, which was… interesting. Her nose wrinkled at the idea of it. The two were so fundamentally opposed, she wasn’t sure either of them knew what they were getting involved in…
As for Astarion, he was watching her, embers highlighting the dark shadows beneath his eyes. There was a different air to him tonight, as there had been ever since they decided upon the long trek to the goblin camp. Desperation tinged with… something else. Merezhen was no idiot. Well, perhaps she was , but not when it came to noticing the attention of others.
All had watched her since Alfira’s death, but Astarion alone seemed to carry a sort of… admiration in his gaze. It unnerved her. But it wasn’t admiration she saw in his gaze tonight. That same desperation was true, yet there was another emotion curled alongside it, dark and unknowable. A lead weight of apprehension settled in Merezhen’s stomach, replacing any hunger she might have once had for Gale’s traditional Waterdeep Fowl Stew (with no actual fowl included).
Merezhen retreated inside her tent, drawing the flap closed except for a single beam of moonlight that still fell through. And though she doubted she would get much sleep, still, she laid her head down intending to pretend. ‘ Fake it ‘til you make it ’ had more uses than most thought it did.
Her mind raced regardless. The distant sounds of cutlery and the fire crackling washed over her, the soft blanket of the night offering a comfortable barrier between herself and the others. A small part of her wanted to throw it aside and find the others, insist once more that she didn’t mean to hurt Alfira, but the rest of her…
Well, her bones ached to slash and cut and maim and kill. To storm out there and rip them apart, feast upon their flesh, and then fall upon the goblins like a thunderstorm. Merezhen shuddered at the force of those urges. Disgust ran through her, but not enough to defeat that dark desire entirely.
And that was why she stayed away, blanket tucked up to her chin, humming along to a phantom song until - at long last - her eyes finally began to drift shut… the wind picked up some, ruffling her hair, and she caught a whiff of something on the breeze. Pressed flowers and dried blood. An intoxicating mix, relaxing her further. The crackle of the fire carried on, accompanied by the sound of snapping twigs and the rustle of cloth. It was all perfectly expected.
Until it wasn’t.
There, on the verge of sleep, the light of the moon was cut off. An almost imperceptible change. Merezhen felt it regardless; the sudden shadowing of her face. She twitched, casting a quick peep upwards, distracted by her exhaustion -
And there crouched Astarion, fangs glinting in the dark. If her eyes weren’t always so keen, she might have missed them - how they were inches away from stabbing her throat.
“Shit,” he said, in realisation.
Merezhen could not say who reared back first. He practically tripped over himself, falling on his arse. Frozen, she could do nothing but observe as he steadied himself, crimson eyes never lifting from her own. Even then, she did not move.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Astarion forced out. It was the first time she’d ever seen him shaken… only not , because he stumbled over himself when they found the boar, too. “I wasn’t - I’m not -”
There was a dagger under her pillow. The intention of fire, curling in her palm, yet Merezhen reached for neither. Both would be useless. She needed a stake .
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he carried on. There was no attempt at denial. Chest heaving, Astarion’s fear lingered in the air, heady and welcoming. Merezhen refused to let herself follow that instinct - instead focusing on him , the edges of his fangs, the violent red of his eyes, the unnatural beauty that had enraptured her since they met on the cliff’s edge…
“You drained the boar,” is what Merezhen said, at long last.
“Yes.” He answered easily enough, but the excuses followed with terrified ease, “But I had to. I had to - I’ve only been feeding off animals. Boars, ox, kobolds , but it’s not enough - not with this -” Astarion waved to his skull. “I’m just so weak . Hungry. Starving. I needed more.”
“So you decided to drain me instead,” she finished.
“I was not going to kill you,” Astarion repeated. Merezhen wondered if she was a fool to believe him. It would only invite suspicion inwards, where he wanted it the least. Then again, would they… would they truly mourn her? After she butchered Alfira? Or would he spin it that she discovered his secret and attacked? That he, poor, unfortunate Astarion, was forced to act in self-defence?
Something else he said hooked her mind.
“You’re weak? ”
She never would have guessed it. The surprise easily filtered into her tone, leading to a quick flash of a smirk passing over Astarion’s face. It was true. She’d relied on him so much, these last few weeks, both on and off the battlefield. Hells, he’d watched her back whilst she bathed . On one hand, it was terrifying. On the other, if he was truly a threat, surely he’d have attacked before now? She’d slaughtered Alfira the first chance she got…
“Before this, my nights were spent lurking the streets of Baldur’s Gate, and my days were -” He swallowed, whatever apprehension present being swept away with a winsome, brittle smile. “Well, not saving your hide from gnolls. Creatures weren’t enough, to begin with, but now, with all we do - I can’t carry on as I am. I need more . Just - a taste.”
“So you need to drink… what, proper blood?”
“It’s supposedly stronger if it’s from a sentient being,” Astarion said. The certainty in his voice wavers, exposing a vulnerability that would get Merezhen’s throat ripped out if she poked at it. Then, after a moment, “I’m only a spawn. I can’t turn you.”
… that was something, she supposed. Mortality secured. It would - if he didn’t drain her - be fine. She could understand the logic a bit better now. Less insidious master vampire, preying upon her, and a more… desperate creature of the night, thrust into the unknown, and trying desperately to find a path forwards.
She found herself empathising with him, despite it all. It was pure idiocy, Merezhen knew, and yet …
“Why me?”
It wasn’t important to know. Still, she couldn’t resist.
“I… thought you’d understand, I suppose,” Astarion said, after a moment’s pause. “I don’t want to hurt you, I simply… need the blood.”
He’d been the only one not to judge, after Alfira’s death. Merezhen supposed the two situations were comparable, in their way. Though she hadn’t eaten Alfira.
She… hoped so…
I need the blood , the words reverberated around her mind. It was his nature. Even more so than her own. And she could trust him. Astarion had a million chances since joining her to attack, and he hadn’t even once. Hells, he hadn’t even preyed upon Alfira’s body, or the bloody, gruesome mess left behind. It must have been torture for him. And in the end, all he’d done was help dig the grave whilst bitching about breaking a nail.
“Okay,” Merezhen said.
Astarion blinked. “Um - pardon?”
“You can feed on me,” she added. There was no reaction of any kind, a stunned silence lingering after her words. To cover all bases, Merezhen continued onwards, “But no feeding on the others, not unless they say you can. If you want to tell them, that is.”
“You’d keep it a secret ?” Astarion asked. He sounded off. Not once, in all their time together, had she heard him be so… genuine.
“It’s your secret to tell,” Merezhen said, as though it were that simple. There was no response, only Astarion staring at her with a blank, sort of dazed expression. “Are you alright?”
It was enough to bring back the old Astarion, a soft smirk settling over his face, tempered down as much as possible. “I’m more than alright,” he said. It was practically a purr. “Best to get comfortable, then.”
Merezhen began to lean back once more before another thought occurred to her. “Uh - promise you won’t drain me. You’ll stop when I say to.”
“Of course,” he assured, with barely a second’s contemplation. Merezhen squinted, which Astarion laid a hand over his heart in reply to, adding, “I promise . I’ll drink only as much as I need.”
She lay back. It was strange to do so, in her bedclothes. Astarion loomed over her the entire way, hunger evident in his entire body , curving over her as though pulled in by gravity itself. It would not be untrue to say that, well, Merezhen didn’t exactly - entirely - know what she was getting herself into. Reports of vampire bites described everything and anything from a gruesome, horrifying experience to an erotic, smutty two-person orgy.
It might be strange, but she was honestly hoping for the former because the latter would just be downright embarrassing.
As she rested her head upon the pillow, Astarion kneeled beside her - until, at least, he shuffled down the bedroll some and threw a leg over her hips, hooking her in place. He took a moment to settle himself, his weight comfortable, a razor-sharp smirk still firmly in place. Despite it all, there was a waver to his breath he couldn’t quite hide. Nerves, she reckoned.
What little moonlight was visible to them both fell upon his curls, creating the illusion of a halo. He was achingly beautiful, Merezhen’s heart stuttering as he leaned forwards, a hand tracing the framing of her lips before slipping down to cradle her jaw. Ordinarily, she’d be concerned by how easy it was for him to lay this seduction upon her… but there were other things to be concerned by at present. Terrified by.
She couldn’t read his gaze as well now. Not when he inched closer, fingers tracing the veins in her neck. So many possibilities scattered out into the night, Merezhen found herself longing for the impossibility of them all.
His free arm settled beside her head, holding his weight up off her as their chests began to brush. He was close, now. Close enough to taste, as was the intention. Merezhen found herself watching the tense line of his elegant jaw, the single-minded focus as he began to nose at her throat, stretching it out for better access. It was then that she switched her gaze to the rough surface of the tent’s roof.
Astarion continued to take it slow. Lips brushing her jaw, just barely scratching the skin, a whisper of a caress. She wasn’t sure whose benefit it was for. And then - a quick, brutal inhale. He was sniffing her. A laugh threatened to spill out, yet she managed to stifle it at the last moment.
A purring, rumbling noise echoed out. With a growl, Astarion pressed closer still. It was similar to a kiss initially, lips pressed against her pulse point, sucking the skin until it bruised. It wasn’t so bad. Not then .
His tongue laved on the same spot until she was positively damp, and then - then came two pinpricks of icy pain. It was difficult to put into words, so sudden and harsh was the agony in her throat. Merezhen had no voice to scream with, a sharp grunt of pain being the only thing to escape as Astarion’s jaw clenched, fangs ripping through her skin. Blood poured out, a sudden wooziness overtaking her, far more sudden than she ever expected it to be.
There was no grace. Or finesse. The luxury and elegance she associated with Astarion were long gone, replaced by a ravenous, single-minded beast, locking her into place. Her body jerked, blood escaping down her neck, collecting in the valley between her breasts. His teeth sank further in, somehow , his growl louder than ever. His hand no longer supported his weight, no, that was on Merezhen completely, crushing her - instead his fingers wound their way into her hair, an iron-tight grasp on her skull to keep her in place.
It was then, and only then, that Merezhen realised there was no stopping him. Not now. His teeth worked against her, sucking and lapping at all the blood he could get - which was a lot . He couldn’t have been there for longer than a minute, yet she already felt so, so cold.
He’d need more than that, to be truly full. The panic gripped Merezhen, yet accompanying it, she… belatedly noticed the sensation of fingers, smoothing along her hair, soft and almost reverential. There was a feeling of warmth in her chest, paradoxical when compared to the coldness spreading elsewhere throughout her body. She leaned into him, enjoying the… numbness, the mindlessness, that his embrace gifted to her. His reaction was unknown - he hated closeness at the best of times - but it seemed this was one occasion it was not only allowed but encouraged.
Astarion licked a stripe over the spot he’d bitten before moving back in, body rocking against her, hips crushing her own. He was all she could feel . Hear. Smell. His white curls obstructed her view, so close was he now. Merezhen’s hands formed fists in the ruffles of his shirt, nails scraping softly against his chest. He had completely and utterly consumed her.
Time passed. He continued to drink. Her eyelids grew heavy, the grip of his shirt loosening just as quickly as it had tightened, and the fire that had been within her since her first awakening on the nautiloid was nearly extinguished altogether.
“Astarion,” she tried. It left her in a whisper, more the intention of noise than anything solid. There was no reply, and so she tried again, “Astarion-”
This time, there was a grumble. He pressed closer, eyelashes fluttering against her skin, hands bruising on her skin. “ Hrmph, ” was the only response, muffled, blood dribbling out.
“Astarion,” she said once more, chin falling to his head. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, numb and useless. The words, what were the words? “Astar ,” she begged, whimpered, pleaded, vulnerable for the first time in her cold existence. “Astar, please -”
He withdrew.
Merezhen’s breath left her in one fell swoop. Her arms were weak, falling to the side as Astarion lay still atop her, the world’s most bloodthirsty lapcat. His head was bowed at her side, a fine tremor to the line of his spine.
“Apologies,” he croaked, at long last. It was either moments or minutes afterwards. He shifted upwards, away, putting some space between them. Thick streaks of blood trailed from his mouth. “You were - you tasted - divine .”
“... thank you?”
He huffed, in the way he always did when something was amusing but too undignified to laugh at. Merezhen pressed a hand to her throat, wincing at the oncoming bruise she felt there. High collars for the next few days, then.
Merezhen sat upwards, groaning as she went. It was then, and only then, that she realised Astarion hadn’t moved completely away; his fingers were still linked around her wrist, where they had left deep black bruises on her pale blue skin. His gaze was fixed upon them, something murky there, as though he was seeing a different view altogether.
“Are you alright?” she asked, for the second time that evening.
“Am I -” He rolled his eyes. There was good old Astarion. “I’m better than alright, darling. I’m - stronger than I’ve ever felt in… centuries. I - thank you. For everything.”
“It’s my -” Merezhen cut herself off. It wasn’t a pleasure but… “Brainworms that stick together, win together?”
Astarion huffed once more, struggling to his feet. “I need to - hunt. You were… ravishing, darling, but I need… more. And you need rest. You’ll be exhausted come morning.”
“Already there, love ,” Merezhen replied. He grinned, fangs on full display, and a gasping, pathetic little laugh escaped her. “Go on, then. Enjoy your feast.”
He nodded, moving for the tent flap, yet hesitated at the last moment. Astarion did not turn fully back, rather turned the edge of his jaw to address her, eyes firmly fixed away, as he said, “This is a gift. I won’t forget it.”
And, like he was never there at all, he was gone. Merezhen watched the flap of her tent rustle in the breeze, moonlight brighter than it had been before, her fingertips still sticky with her life essence. She was in pain, true, sleep calling more eagerly on her than ever before. But, alongside that, there was a giddy buzzing sensation in her chest, not unlike…
Not unlike…
“Shit,” she said, in realisation.