Astarion x M!Reader

Forty-Four

Blood rushed through his veins, the wind ruffled his white hair as Astarion surrendered completely to his vampiric senses and his legs carried him.

Branches snapped under the soles of his new boots as he leapt over a fallen tree. He could smell it. The hare was not far.

Something rang in his ears, excitement or the urge to hunt, it didn't matter. He had never been allowed to behave like this before, to move like this, quickly and smoothly. Silently, even.

Shadows danced around his legs and he knew that it was you who protected him and kept him on the right path. He was safe. Free.

What a sweet taste that was. Freedom burned in his throat as he came to a stop behind a tree, silent as the wind, unnoticed by the animal resting in a clearing by the light of the moon.

Stretching an arrow on the bowstring, Astarion pulled his arms apart. His muscles tightened but his chest resisted the tension.

When was the last time he had felt this strong?

He remembered nights of burning thirst that had robbed him of his sanity, the screams of the others that had kept him awake and the bed that had always been too hard and cold. The smell of bodies and sweat still made bile rise up his throat.

But that was in the past now. Never again would he have to worry about falling asleep. His head would lie on a soft chest, your soft chest, and listen to the slow beat of the undead heart.

He would bury his hands in (H/C) strands, would kiss your lips and soothe his pain with the soft shimmer that your (E/C) eyes never failed to show.

Once again he longed for that smile and the freedom to speak his mind without having to fear anger in return. His skin burned for the love that had been in your touch.

Suddenly his tongue flinched inside his mouth and he found himself wishing to call out for you. It didn't even matter did what reason, be it lust, desire or even just to enjoy your company.

He simply wished to call your name. Your real name.

The thought of your name on his lips made his breath calm down. His lips parted to let air escape.

The hare turned its head. Deep black eyes stared at Astarion. He faltered for a brief second. Cazador hadn't allowed him to feast of something that had a thinking mind. Which meant he hadn't been allowed to feats on anything at all.

Four rules, he remembered. Four shackles that had cut into his flesh to draw blood until it ran dry.

First, thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.

Those had been the rules that had bound his life to slavery, misery and cruelty in all the ways imaginable. There had been no choice, no freedom to long for something better.

Whenever he had been thirsty he hadn't been allowed to drink and if he had anyways the punishment was far worse than the joy he had felt after soothing the thirst.

His fingers opened to release the arrow from the bowstring. It pierced the hares neck without fail, a perfect shot with a quick and painless death.

Blood poured out from the wound, ran over the wooden neck of the arrow until it melted into the grass, turning green a deep crimson colour.

It smelled of iron.

Never again would he be frightened to fight for survival. In that very moment Astarion swore to do everything imaginable if it kept him alive.

No sin shall be big enough to not commit it, no crime not worth the risk.

All of a sudden a shiver chased down his spine. No, that made him so much sound like him. Disgust tied Astarion's throat as he stepped out of the dark and into the shimmering light of the moon.

His gaze traveled up to catch some of the silver flakes that seemed to rain down on the earth. Just like dairy dusk.

"I don't want to be like him!", his voice trembled but he wasn't quite sure if with anger or fear.

Or perhaps it was frustration.

The fact that he even was able to think such thoughts only showed just how similar he was to Cazador, wasn't it?

Perhaps that poison of cruelty had already corrupted his flesh and he had failed to see. Or maybe he had noticed and just didn't want to accept his fate.

No, he thought, his grip tensed around the bow as he kneeled down to pull the head of the arrow out of the ground.

Small pieces of moist soil and blood were stuck to it. The hares body dangled in the air, limp. The only sign of former life were the eyes. Wide open yet broken and empty.

Almost like two marbles.

A bit of vomit crawled up his throat as Astarion found himself looking at it for too long. His lips pressed into a thin line he frowned while thick drops of red fell to his feet.

All of a sudden it struck him.

Why had he been so excited?

He had never killed before. He hadn't been a hunter, no Cazador had used him as bait. He had charmed them, men, women, elves and dwarves and so many more.

He had kissed their lips, had whispered sweet lies to them. Perhaps he had been the poison but Cazador had been the one to make sure that it killed.

This was the first life he had ever take. And it made him shiver.

How could someone enjoy this?

How could someone want this?

"Oh, little dove.", a voice suddenly crept from the dark. "We all desire what we don't know. And once we know it? Not so exciting anymore."

Within the blink of an eye there was hands on his body. Not yours, not ones he would have pushed away without thinking twice.

No, those were hands that held power over him. Hands that had hurt him.

A chuckle made his ears bleed and his lips flinch.

"Aren't you happy to see me again?", Cazador asked, drawing a circle along the tip of Astarion's sensitive ear.