Her Pretty Little Throat : An Ascended Astarion Fan Fiction

Amara

The bindings at my wrists were too tight, to the point where the threads of hemp dug into my wrists and burn every time I shift against the wooden bed of the wagon. Each bump in the cobblestone road sent another shock of pain up my arms as the skin at the base of my hand was, for certain, rubbed raw.

I can barely hear the voices at the front of the wagon from under the burlap sack the two men placed over my head, if you could call them that.

My mouth is dry from the linen gag they stuffed there, even though I would never scream. It had already gotten far past that point, and I was trained well enough that any whimper from my lips would mean death or discovery. Not that it matters at this point.

Closing my eyes, I allow myself to slip back into that moment, replaying the same night over and over in my head. Drunk on ale and the self-righteousness of a clean heist, I dipped my hand into the wrong pocket, my fingertips grazing against the wrong coin. I realized a little too late that it was warded, my skin burning when I reeled back, and strong arms clasped my shoulders.

From there, it was to the Baldur's Gate cells, where I was to rot for as long as the wizard saw fit. I had gotten sloppy.

"This place creeps me out." One of the male voices grunts, all too close, as I realize the wagon has stopped.

"No matter. We're here to dump the girl and get on with it." The other says with a light in his voice that causes a chill to creep up my spine. I know that lilt; I recognize it from every sloppy drunk at the taverns wishing to slip their hands up my skirts.

I shift again, feeling for the grounding sensation of the sheathed dagger strapped to my hip. They at least had enough sense to return it. I remember hands lingering far too close to my thigh as the guard adjusted the buckle. I feel the bile rising in my throat again.

A simple dagger wouldn't be enough to kill him, but it might be enough to save me a bit of pain here and there before everything begins to fall apart around me.

I was ready to rot in the cell; at least there I would know my fate. At least one meal a day and a bundle of hay to sleep on under a threadbare blanket were more appealing than being dumped at the castle of a vampire lord. Not just any vampire lord, one that has had his claws in Baldur's Gate for hundreds of years.

How is that a fitting punishment for pickpocketing?

It wasn't, but the Vampire Lord needed to be appeased; he needed to be fed, and I caught on quick that they would pick the more attractive prisoners as tribute. A simple transaction in exchange for some sort of protection.

"Come here, girl." The second male's voice takes on a husky tone as a strong, calloused hand grips my shoulder and my arm.

I only struggle to gain a foothold as he tugs me to his body, his groan vibrating through my chest as I feel the hand at my arm brush against my waist.

"It's a pity." The other man spits, "We could have had some fun with this one."

"Who's to say we still can't have a bit of fun?" My handler says as he pulls me to my feet, causing me to stumble, truly blind to the world around me.

I feel his hand brush up my waist, inching upwards, and I bite down hard on my gag, wrenching my arm away and elbowing him in the gut.

His breath comes out in a choke, and it's enough for me to break free of his grasp. I can feel the other male presence close, but I know from his labored breathing that he might be a bit easier to dodge.

I take my chance and strafe as close as possible to my attacker, as I can feel him sucking in labored breaths. The warmth of his hands graze my back as I slip just out of reach.

My feet burn against the cobbled path as I struggle to listen to my surroundings as my heartbeat thunders in my ears.

"Little bitch." A voice spits, my scalp burns, and my head wrenches back with the fistful of hair he gathers with the burlap sack over my head.

I'm thrown to the cobble; my knees throb under the thin fabric of my skirt as I sit there obedient. My breath is coming in fits and starts. Tiny whimpers as I shrink under the two male figures looming over me.

"Go on." The first man mutters.

I cry out as his hands grip my arms, nails digging into my flesh as he hauls me up to a standing position. I try my best to go limp, but his grasp keeps me there.

He lets go of one of my arms, and I feel his hand angrily palm my waist, a groan coming from his lips as he drags his hand higher, just below the curve of my breast.

"I finally got a noise out of you." He grunts, "I would hope you'd be a screamer."

"Excuse me." A third voice chimes in. It's accented, obviously upper class. "What in The Hells do you think you are doing?"

The hand at my ribs freezes, and everything goes silent.

"Teaching her a lesson." The first man says, "The little rat tried to run."

"Those bruises on her arms. Are those your doing?" The accented voice asks.

"We—"

Hands release me, and I slump to the ground.

Through the burlap covering my head, I hear a sickly crack and thud, a weight draping over my ankle. I scramble back, kicking away to the point where I can feel my heels dig into the warm, pliant form. Flesh.

There is a scuffle and a scream cut short. I feel a warm spray against my torso, the weight of it splattering against the sack over my head.

I sit, completely still, breathing heavily as I hear the steady sound of boots against the cobbled road.

"Shh." The accented voice hisses, "Don't worry, darling. I am not going to hurt you."

It's close enough that I can feel his presence. A cool hand against my back causes me to bristle; he lets it hover there as a show of good faith, as I feel coiled like a viper poised to strike as foolish as it seems. This person has disabled both of my captors with ease.

The adrenaline in my veins begins to wane, and I latch on to the reality in front of me. Cold hands. Vampire.

I suck in a breath as he gives my back a reassuring stroke, and I allow myself to sink into it even though my heart is thrumming in my ears. Something tells me that he won't kill me, at least not at this moment.

"That's a good girl." He murmurs, his other hand sliding just behind my knees.

He gathers me into his arms as if I weigh no more than a feather. He cradles me against his muscled chest, not large by any means, but still firm, a bit like marble in a way. Even though it's clear he has enough strength to snap a neck with ease, he holds me like I might shatter at any minute.

As the raw emotions pool in my throat, I fear I just might.