Blood Magic

Chapter 8

235 days after turning.

I awake wrapped in Geraldus' arms with my head still resting on his chest. Streaks of dry blood crack and flake on my chin and neck as I wiggle out of his embrace. The intensity of Geraldus' pallor panics me momentarily, but his pulse proves strong and steady, and his breathing is unlaboured.

The campfire has dimmed to burning embers. I clean and gather myself together to recollect on the night before. My head no longer reels, instead feeling fully rested and mentally fortified, while my body feels the strongest it has in months. Above all, the taste of Geraldus' blood lingers subtly on my tongue, and it is as pleasant as he is, like a warm cup of jasmine tea. I am half-attempted to steal another taste while he sleeps—an impulse Astarion could not refuse himself the night he confessed to his condition—but I wake him instead, gently shaking his shoulder.

He wakes with a start, immediately sitting up in a shocked stupor. I calm him as he gathers his surroundings.

"Dame Lillith, I—"

"I know," I interject.

He pinches the fabric of my robe and starts rubbing it between his fingers, asking, "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly well, thanks to you. Let's check that bite." I offer my hands, and he places his right hand on mine, palm facing upward. Where I expect to see bite marks and bruising is entirely clear and completely untouched.

"I cast Lesser Restoration on myself before falling asleep. I might not know magic like you do, but I know how to make it count." He smiles adorably.

"That's funny. I could never stay awake long enough after a feeding to get our party's cleric to patch me up. I woke up so sore every morning," I reminisce.

"But you are feeling perfectly well now, you say? You didn't sound like yourself last night, and something tells me it wasn't all due to your bloodthirst."

I sigh. "No, something greater than that started to take hold of me. It's him. He's...." I stop myself from avoiding the issue. "I need to tell you about him."

"You do."

Geraldus prepares his breakfast of more cooked quaggoth and mushrooms as I tell all.

"It's important for you to understand before I begin that I sort of kept him as a secret for fear of calling upon him had I spoken his name aloud. Astarion is an ascended vampire, so he is capable of everything a true vampire can become without the centuries needed to perfect his power. Beyond walking in the sun, crossing running water, and entering a threshold without consent, he can change forms, command his entire league of spawn with a thought, and possess me to self-destruct as we discovered last night, among other terrors. He has immunity to any physical harm I inflict on him because of the unbreakable charm between master and spawn. Had he given me his blood to drink, I would have become a true vampire, granting me the possibility of destroying him, but as his spawn, I can merely escape his clutches for as long as possible. He would never risk the chance of creating a true vampire when it endangers him, so the only chance we have in ever defeating him is by gathering enough forces to overwhelm him and any spawn he compels to fight for him."

"Can he compel you?" Geraldus asks, more engrossed in my explanation than cooking his food.

"He can and he most certainly will, but I have no desire to fight him. I will spend the rest of eternity running away from him if all else fails."

"But then you will never be truly free of him. Who is to say he won't compel you to kill me and crawl your way back to his palace any moment? You and I both know you cannot run away from him forever. Running away from battle is not your way."