Most nights the drow found it easy to slip into meditation. An ever-beckoning, shadowy place deep in her own mind where she could connect with her draconian ancestors, search for answers, and escape from whatever plagued the forefront of her brain. However, ever since the parasite had found a new home behind her eyes she struggled to ascend to the depths of her subconscious. She roamed the halls of her own inner sanctums, lost, with visions of darkness and flesh.

She felt her ear twitch, snapping back to the physical realm. Danger! her dragon spoke to her for the first time since being infected. In an instant, her dark eyes snap open and she reaches for the dagger by her side.

"Oh shit."

It's the fucking elf.

The drow shoves him away with her free hand and slices at his left arm in warning. She doesn't cut deep, but he backs away with his hands up, as she scrambles to her feet to meet his ruby gaze.

"It's not what it looks like," he says before she can get a word in. "I wasn't going to hurt you. I just needed…"

"Blood." She raises the dagger, readying for the final blow. His hands are up, his only weapon is his sharp teeth. In the dim light, she sees him for what he is. She curses herself for not seeing it before. But how? she thinks. He saunters around in the daylight like he owns the damn place.

"Syre, please don't do anything rash," he says, eyes darting from the dagger to her dark eyes. "I've not killed anyone. Well, not for blood anyway. I hunt deer, boar, even klebolds. Whatever I can get my hands on. I'm just.. too weak right now."

She grips her weapon tighter, positively pissed off at the elf. Her tadpole surges forward in her mind. Her concentration breaks and the dagger falls into the sand with a thud. Her head throbs as her mind links with Astarion's, against both of their wills. His secrets laid bare before her - and hers to him.

His memories pass by, ever fleeting. She sees through his eyes. A dark figure towers over him. Astarion's fear courses through her veins. Every ounce of her being wants to cut and run, but she is planted in her spot, watching fate unfold. The shrouded figure tosses a dead rat at his, her, feet. "Eat up, my spawn." His tone is sickly, poison dripping from each word. Her skin crawls with Astarion's hatred, but his body obeys without hesitation.

"That's a good little spawn. You've got a long night ahead, don't you?" He throws something else at Astarion's feet. Boar. Astarion's eyes widen at the idea of sinking his teeth into the animal, finally something to actually satiate him. He moves not even an inch before the figure slaps his hand away, chuckling darkly, at the pain in Astarion's eyes. His hunger pangs in Syre's stomach. He is dancing a fine line between starvation and death.

"Not for you," the man says. "Little rats get what they deserve - rats."

They fade into darkness, replaced by her own memories.

Her younger self stands before them, in peasant garb, an anti magic shackle clasped around her neck. A male drow, about her age, but dressed in clothes fit for a highborn, approaches her from behind and yanks on one of her braids.

"Hey, dragonfucker," he taunts. She turns to him. Syre wishes with all her might that her stare will strike him down where he stands, but it doesn't. She feels the lightning in her bones stir, but with great pain it is culled by the shackles far before it can reach her fingertips.

"They say she-drow are the most beautiful creatures in Abeir-Toril." He puts a hand on her cheek, touching her blue-white scales. She wants to pull away, but knows better. "I know it to be true." He clicks his tongue. His grip becomes harsh, squeezing her face as hard as he can. Her scales ache for her lighting to push away the invader, but it doesn't come. "If only your dirty foremothers hadn't made deals with dragons or whatever gods damned thing they did to produce such a vile little bitch. Traitors. Must be why your parents left you at our doorstep all those years ago."

She can't help herself any longer. Punishment from the Mother be damned, she lunges at the boy with only her fists with a gutteral scream and the drows fade into nothingness. Reliving the moment, she feels Astarion's approval for lunging at the boy.

Two bodies tangled in each other come into focus. Astarion's lust for blood is palpable as he kisses the creature beneath him. His lips find her neck and he dares to graze his teeth over her flesh as she groans, ready for him. His teeth ache to bite her flesh, sensing her hot blood pulsing in ecstasy. He restrains himself. The master has strict rules.

In an instant, the dark figure is back, flinging Astarion like a rag doll against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. Syre wills him to get up and fight, but her intent has no power over these memories.

"Mine," the figure spits. Astarion stays down as the figure devours the creature, her blood coating the walls. When he is done, he slinks over to Astarion. "No one gets my food's blood pumping quite like you. That's why you're my favorite little spawn, you know." He holds out a pale hand to help Astarion up. Defeated, Astarion takes his hand and forces himself back to his feet. The familiar feeling of starvation grips the drow. "That, and your screams are the sweetest of them all."

They fade, replaced by distant screams. Syre is on her knees, mediating, praying for her ancestors to show her the way to freedom, ignoring the voices. She's interrupted by the same male drow, older now, and dressed in armor. Szdaer Srune'lett, her tormentor since the day the House took her in as their ward. She allows herself to remember, knowing the detail will be shared with Astarion. She can feel him, or his tadpole, however the fuck this works, next to her, watching, feeling the helplessness she felt back in her days in Menzoberrazan. Not just the helplessness, the pure hatred. They say drow beat the kindness out of their young, but, the way she sees it, all the House did was beat hatred for her own kind into her.

Szdaer rushes to her, panicked. "The House," he says breathlessly. His eyes are wide, desperation drips from his tongue. "We're under attack. You've got to help. All the slaves are gathering in the courtyards ready to strike." He presses a key into the locks on her shackles. "Mother sent me to-"

The shackles clangs to the ground. She doesn't lift a finger or second guess herself for a moment. A shocking grasp grips his neck and squeezes. His body collapses on the floor in front of her, twitching with aftershocks. Stupid fucking man. He'll never touch her again. No one from this House will. She grabs his dagger and runs. This is her chance.

She is sent reeling back to reality. The pale elf stands before her gripping his head. It takes them both a moment to reorient themselves. Behind her, Shadowheart and Gale sleep soundly near the crackle of the fire. Lae'zel is somewhere off making the rounds, watching and protecting the camp.

"I-" Astarion tries to speak first.

"Why didn't you just ask?" she interrupts, demanding control over the conversation. Despite herself, her tone is softer now, albeit not devoid of lethality. "And if you were going to sneak up on someone, why would you pick the only other one in camp that doesn't sleep through the night?"

"At best, I thought you'd say no and perhaps drive a stake through my heart. And, to be truthful, darling, your blood smells the most delectable out of our little rag tag group." She contemplates this for a moment, giving him an opportunity to continue. "You can trust me, I swear it. We're the same." Astarion meant to refer to their tadpole situation, but couldn't help but draw comparisons to each of their captivity. "I need to be at my strongest. You need me at my best. I can't even catch a boar like this, much less take on a camp full of goblins."

"Fine," she acquiesces, the hunger from his memories still vibrating through her. "But not a drop more than you need."

His eyes widen at her offer. Her neck was slender, a pale blue in the moonlight. Her dagger tattoo glistened with sweat. No doubt due to reliving their memories. He shuddered at the very idea of anyone shackling such a beautiful neck. She lies down on her bedroll as he hovers over her.

"Just don't shock me, okay?" he asks as he straddles her, leaning closer.

"I've got no promises to make to a vampire I'm kindly offering my neck to," she says. She pokes him in the ribs with one finger. A bolt of electricity is sent down his spine, not nearly powerfully enough to hurt, but he gets the message, and somehow it excites him even more.

She closes her eyes, placing her hand on his torso for a sense of control over the situation. No shocks this time. He sinks his teeth into her and draws blood, slowly at first. She inhales sharply. It's like nothing she's ever felt before. She can't help but lean into him further, her grip loosening on his torso. Astarion presses his body into hers as he sinks deeper into her neck, almost losing himself instantaneously. He cups the back of Syre's head bringing her ever closer.

The ice-like pain settles into a cold numbness. Her mind calms and all she can feel is the connection between her neck and his mouth. Her heartbeat slows and she chokes back a small moan. She feels him growing hard against her thigh. She can't help but to tilt her hips up to rub against his member. Her tadpole nestles in her forehead, satisfied at the closeness to one of its own, but there is an innate desire to be even closer.

The world around them fades to black. She knows he brings her closer to death with every passing second. Visions of her ancestors flash in her mind. Great blue dragons look down on her with concern. It's not your time, my kin.

"Astarion," she breathes quietly. The visions fade as she grips his side again, readying to strike.

He retracts his teeth, giving one last lick to her neck to catch the blood oozing from the puncture marks. He meets her gaze, drunk on her taste. "Sorry, I was," he pauses, "swept up in the moment." He lifts his weight off of her slowly, every fiber of his being wanting to stay close to her.

She stops him from getting up by moving her hand from his torso to the waistband of his trousers. Her legs open slowly for him, vying to know what he feels like, daring him to try. Her slender fingers grip his cock, teasing his nerves with tiny shocks, so small they feel like vibrations. His surprise washes away quickly into a new hunger. This woman wanted to kill him not five minutes ago, but now her needs laid bare for him.

He kisses her deeply as she jacks him off. His fingers fumble blindly as he unties the lace from her trousers and pulls them off as she does the same to him. He kisses her neck where he bit, sucking lightly at the new wound, but he finds his way back to her mouth as he grazes a finger against her slick skin. His fingers slip into her wet darkness with ease as she bucks against his touch. He thumbs at her clit with small circular motions, backing away to watch her pleasure.

In battle, her face was almost always scrunched up in thought, looking for the next move, ready to bark an order. Her eyes were dark, cold even, in these moments. But, now in the light of the fire, Astarion sees the softer side of the deep elf. Eyes closed, her body writhes against his palm, edging closer and closer. Her mouth is slightly agape and a low moan passes through her lips. He pumps his fingers faster, caressing her g-spot as she cries out breathlessly. She props herself up on her elbows, face alit with want. Her dark eyes open and she stares Astarion down as she cums. Every part of her wants to give him a show, but she forces herself to be quiet due to the others sleeping five feet from them, but her mouth is still open slightly, silent moans aching to make themselves known.

As she shakes, Astarion pulls his fingers from her mound and tastes her sweetness. The taste of her sex is as divine as her blood. He greedily shoves his tongue into her pussy, inhaling her scent. He pulls her hips closer to him and sucks on her clit, stroking himself. He is drowning in her, and loving every second of it.

She allows herself to whisper his name. "Gods, Astarion. I need you inside me." He continues of lick her folds selfishly, sending shocks through her. She almost can't take it, her body aches for his cock. "Please," she begs, her own mouth betraying her. His heart lurches at the request.

His cock throbs at the thought of her wet entrance begging for him. He flips her body around and she eagerly obliges, ass in the air, back arched fully. Her body glistens with sweat in the firelight and he can't help but take in her beauty. He grabs a fistful of her ass and shoves his cock deep inside of her. He doesn't have the restraint to go slowly. Her pussy grips him instantly and he can't help but let an "Oh fuck" escape from his lips. She rocks her hips against him, quickly, with desperation. She presses her body against him with a force he didn't know the small drow had. She was absolutely begging to be fucked hard, and who was he if not to oblige her?

He pumps faster and faster, gripping her ass and then her thighs, wanting to put his hands and his tongue over her entire body. They find the right rhythm together and her delicious slickness coats his cock, driving him mad. Her body tenses, thighs shaking, into another silent orgasm. Astarion recalls the image of her face the first time she came and imagines her screaming his name, words dripping in ecstasy. This is enough to send him into his own orgasm, filling her pussy with his cum.

Once the shocks of her orgasm subside she turns around to face him. Astarion opens his mouth to say something but she brings her fingers to her lips to silence him. She smiles devilishly. There is a part of him that wants their tadpoles to connect again, so he can know what she is thinking, but they don't.

Syre shimmies her trousers back up above her hips, standing up. He follows her lead and does the same with his own. Her braids are tousled, flyaways standing on end from her electricity. Astarion usually always has a thousand things to say at any given moment, but they all escape him.

"I look forward to seeing you fight with your newfound strength," she teases.

"You won't be disappointed. I can guarantee you that," he says. He bows slightly to her. "If you'll excuse me. You're positively invigorating, but I do need to find something more filling before dawn."

Her smile turns into a slight frown.

"The hunger, it almost never truly ends," he says, feeling her disappointment that she didn't fully satiate him. "I was starved for 200 years, you know. I've got a lot of years to make up for." There was no pointing in hiding from her what she had already seen.

She nods, any hurt look being washed away with her usual stoic face. He turns to leave but then meets her gaze once more.

"Your blood was a gift, you know. I won't forget it."

He saunters off into the darkness, ready to hunt, feeling her eyes on his back until he disappears into the trees.