Chapter Text
What a day.
You dropped beside the fire with the others, exhausted, trying to ease the tension in your chest, unsuccessfully. Your eyes betrayed you, drifting straight to Astarion. You were all strangers still, bound together more by circumstance than trust. And yet Shadowheart leaned toward him as though she’d known him far longer. Too comfortable. Too easy. She sat close.
Closer than she needed to.
Speaking softly, like it was something meant only for him. And he of course, leaned in, answering in all easy charm and quiet amusement. Their voices dipped low, private, as if the rest of you didn’t exist. As if something had already formed between them, quiet and unspoken.
You wished you hadn’t noticed.
You looked away quickly, fixing instead on the fire, on anything else. You shouldn’t care. You didn’t care. Fire crackled, warm and inviting. Around you, the others laughed, drank and let the day fall off their shoulders. Everyone else seemed lighter tonight. So why did you feel like you were already on the outside of something?
He wasn’t yours.
He wasn’t anyone’s. You barely knew him. He was only a stranger with sharp wits and sharper smiles. For all you knew, he could be cruel, careless...dangerous, even. And still…Had you hoped to matter to him, already? To stand out? To be the one he chose to linger beside?
To be his favorite?
The realization stung. You were unsettled by it. And right behind it, just as sharp, was another one. That he didn’t feel the same. You were only an ally, nothing more - not captivating enough to be his distraction. His gaze found Shadowheart easily. Beautiful, steady. Mysterious in ways that made people lean closer instead of pulling away. A perilous flower, you thought.
And you were not that.
You were a warlock with no memory of your past. Highborn? Commoner? You couldn’t even say. No history to ground you, no future to reach toward. Only a blade bound to you by a pact, and a purpose that began and ended in survival.
Self-pity tasted bitter on your tongue.
You pushed it down, stood, and walked. Through the woods, far from your companions and the warmth of the fire, you walked. You didn’t stop until the trees broke, opening into a field bathed in silver moonlight. You sank to the ground, drawing your arms around yourself. Only then did you realize your cheeks were wet.
What is this ...sadness?
You were too proud to admit it, but you indulged in it anyway. No one could hear you out here. It brought a strange, fragile relief. You curled into yourself, pressing into the cool grass as if it might anchor you. Exhaustion crept in soon after—quiet, insistent. The day had been hard. The night, harder still. Time passed, quietly.
A sharp crack of twigs shattered the silence.
You jolted, heart racing, breath catching. A shadow loomed at the edge of your vision, too close, too sudden. Instinct took over. Your hand flew to your pact-bound blade, incantation at the ready. But it was a familiar voice...
“It's me...Astarion. Try not to skewer me just yet.”
You didn’t lower your weapon immediately because you were baffled. He noticed. For a fleeting second, something like surprise flickered across his face but quickly buried beneath something far more familiar: composure, edged with irritation.
“Well,” he exhaled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, “that’s certainly one way to greet a companion.”
“I’m sorry,” you said, though your grip didn’t loosen. “I didn’t know it was you. I thought you were someone else. A bandit.”
Your gaze sharpened. “And you were about to.... what, exactly?”
His eyes held yours, cool, assessing. Measuring. Then, a faint smile. Not quite warm.
“That depends,” he said lightly. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was simply passing by? ..... Or worse?”
You didn’t smile. “Let’s try the truth.” you commanded, still on your guard. Something felt off.
“You might not like it.” He was being more... calculating.
“I’ll decide that.”
“Very well.” His gaze flicked briefly to your throat, then back to your eyes, as if nothing had happened at all.
I was hunting for something that wouldn’t put up a fight.”
Silence stretched between you. You didn’t move. “And what would that be?” His smile deepened, widened more than ever, still sharp as ever...but somehow sharper at the edges...it felt… wrong. Too long. Too sharp. Canines that caught the moonlight and gleamed.
“Blood.”
It took a moment for the words to settle. And then another truth followed.. How had you missed it? The signs had been there all along, scattered in plain sight. The unnatural grace. The way he lingered at the edges of firelight. And those wounds on his neck. His crimson eyes.... And now... the unmistakable truth.
Fangs...a Vampyr.
Your breath hitched. The bloodless boar flashed in your mind. Your stomach turned. There was a Vampire among you. In your camp. At your fire. Had you just led a monster straight into your party? Your chest tightened painfully. Foolish, trusting heart. Always so eager to see the best in people. Always so willing to overlook what should have been obvious.
What now?
Your mind raced. Your grip tightened around your weapon, the familiar weight grounding you. Should you kill him?
“I don’t make a habit of preying on those I travel with,” he said, voice quieter now, but steady. “Whatever else you think of me, I do have standards.” His gaze held yours. Intent. Unflinching. “I haven’t harmed anyone I would call… useful.” A faint tilt of his head, almost amused. “Or important.”
“But I am hungry.”
The word landed differently this time. Not a plea. A fact. “And hunger has a way of making everything else… negotiable.” He took a slow step closer, careful, measured. Close enough to be felt, not close enough to be foolish.
“I don’t need much,” he continued, voice lowering just slightly. “A taste. Enough to take the edge off. Enough to keep me from becoming something far less agreeable.”
His eyes flicked, briefly, to your throat. Then back to your face.
“I would rather not test your reflexes tonight.” A pause. “If you trust me,” he added quietly, “you won’t feel a thing.”
“And if you don’t…” his smile returned, sharper at the edges. “Well. I assume you won’t miss.”
The words hung heavy in the air. You considered him. This man you had begun to yearn for, not stripped of his arrogance entirely, but tempered. Controlled. Asking for your blood. You shouldn’t want him to take it. You shouldn’t want anything from him at all. And yet… The thought of turning him away, twisted something sharp in your chest.
You wanted to help him.
There it was again. That same soft, dangerous instinct. The one that blurred the lines between mercy and something selfish. Because it wasn’t just pity, was it? Your gaze lingered on him a moment too long. You knew better than to lie to yourself like that. This wasn’t mercy, or duty, or even curiosity...
You wanted this.
Not the hunger, not the danger, but the way he looked at you now. The restraint in it. As if he were holding himself back ... not pleading—never that—but him too, wanting... carefully contained.
You wanted to be wanted.
You lowered your blade. Astarion didn’t move. For a moment, he simply watched you—eyes narrowing slightly, as if recalibrating. As if deciding whether this was a trick.
“Will it hurt?” you asked. That—more than the weapon—caught him off guard.
“…Is that what you’re worried about?” His gaze held yours, searching, weighing. Then, softer—though no less measured.
“No....I promise. I’m very good at this.”
You hesitated. “Does it have to be the neck? Because I don’t—”
“It doesn’t,” he said, smoother now, already anticipating you. “Not unless you want it to.”
He closed the distance between you. Close enough that you could feel his presence, his attention, fixed entirely on you. His hand found yours and lifted it, slowly—watching you the entire time, giving you every chance to pull away.
You didn’t.
His lips brushed against your skin, lingering just a fraction longer than necessary and he looked at you intently, while his thumb traced lightly over your pulse. There was something in his eyes...hunger, and something unknown, unsaid.
“May I?”
What a charmer. Karlach was right. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted. Wiles and charm were only the beginning. There was something deliberate beneath it. Seductive. Manipulative. And he knew it.
Something that made your pulse betray you.
You hoped he wouldn’t notice. A faint nod was all he needed. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. You looked away as he bared his fangs. Anticipating a sharpness piercing your skin. Bracing. Eyes closing, breath tightening—
Nothing.
Almost nothing. Just the faintest sting, no worse than he had promised. You caught the faint scent of bergamot, subtle but unmistakable. You became acutely aware of the way he towered slightly over you, his curls gleaming in the moonlight. You exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from your shoulders despite yourself.
Relief then awareness.
The way his hand still held yours. The way he hadn’t pulled back. A moment too long. You shifted and began to withdraw your hand. He noticed. For a heartbeat, his grip tightened—barely. Instinct, perhaps but then he released you. Stepping back with control. A faint smile touched his lips.
Grateful but not quite satisfied.
You rubbed your wrist where his teeth had marked you—two small, red impressions. Proof that it had happened at all.
“Would you like me to… escort you back to camp?” He broke the silence.
Should you let him? Weren’t you trying to escape this—him, and the way he made you feel? Wouldn’t Shadowheart notice? What would she think? And yet...This might be the only chance you would have to walk with him like this. Through the quiet woods. Just the two of you. Even if it meant nothing to him... You nodded yes.
You walked in silence, side by side.
Every so often, your gaze betrayed you, flicking toward him. He seemed elsewhere, distant and unreadable. Shadowheart. You thought. You felt angry at yourself then. The fragile closeness you had clung to began to unravel. What had felt, for a fleeting moment, like something almost tender…
was nothing but an inconvenient hunger.
You felt it sharply now and quickened your pace wanting to escape again. Soon, the warm glow of the campfire came into view. Relief, immediate and undeniable. You needed something steady. Something safe. Someone who didn’t unsettle you by standing too close.
Someone who wasn’t him.
You barely made it two steps into camp before Karlach spotted you.
“Hey, soldier—”
You didn’t let her finish.
Astarion was left behind without a glance as you crossed the distance in quick, unsteady steps and collided into her, burying your face against her before the tears could betray you again. She caught you easily. Strong arms wrapped around you without hesitation.
Warm. Solid. Real.
You didn’t look back. Didn’t want to know what he was doing. Whether he lingered. Whether he turned elsewhere. It didn’t matter. You wouldn't let it. Your face pressed into her shoulder. Karlach didn’t ask right away. Didn’t push. She just held you, grounding you in a way nothing else had all night.
“Rough night, huh?” she said softly after a moment.
"yeah..." She pulled you closer. For now, it was enough.
---------------
He watched you go. You hadn’t even looked back. He saw the way you ran straight to Karlach’s arms. The way you clung to her. The urgency. The attachment. And he stood where you left him as the night settled around him, cold and quiet. As his attention lingered, his tongue traced faintly along his teeth, catching the last lingering taste, confirming it was real. Testing the memory. The choice. Then he smiled, faintly.
“Well,” he muttered under his breath, “that went… differently.”
You...You hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t refused him. Hadn’t fought him. That, more than anything, gave him pause. He lingered a moment longer, gaze drifting back to Karlach, where she held you close.
“Careful,” he whispered. It was unclear who he meant. “That sort of thing……tends to leave a mark."
His tongue pressed against his teeth again, savoring what remained. And then, at last, he turned away.
