You agreed to this.
Hells, you wanted it.
Because you had seen him on his knees, barely holding onto the last few drops of life he had remaining. Because you had been the one to restrain the beast he once called master. You had been the one to watch, silently, with trepidation, as he got to his feet, and carved Cazador up the same way it had been done to him.
The ritual was a blur through the tears in your eyes. You weren't aware of it then, but you were already mourning for something you didn't know you were losing.
Astarion the Ascended.
It had a nice ring to it, you had to admit.
"Baldur's Gate," he now murmurs, eyes pleasant, as he watches from the tall windows in his study. "Ours for the taking."
You stay far away from the sunshine that filters through, bathing him in a glorious light. "What is there to take?"
His tone roughens, with a hint of malice you simply can't ignore. "Everything, my dear."
Your hands find your throat, your fingers itching at the two bite marks that are now permanently etched into your skin, never to heal.
A/N: Because I have no self-control when it comes to morally gray men, especially if they're a tortured vampire.
My husband stayed up with me last night, and we recorded a voice-note on how exactly this story would go. Kudos for his support, because it can't be easy watching your wife get sucked into a whirlwind vampire romance in a silly little video game.
