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It’s still dark when Tav wakes—or, more accurately, when she’s woken—by a faceful of moonlight shining through the leafy canopy overhead. There’s a break in the clouds, revealing an inky sky scattered with pinprick stars and the same confusion she’s felt the last three-hundred and sixty-four nights spent under a sky just like this, or in caves, or stables, or surrounded by ruins…
She rolls over, squirming to dislodge the stones beneath her musty bedroll and squeezes her eyes shut to ward off the unwelcome light. The rest of the camp is still sleeping. Shadowheart lies closest to her, her eyes twitching as she dreams and Tav can hear Karlach snoring softly across the other side of the fire. Tav’s still fairly comfortable. With any luck, she’ll fall straight back asleep—
Her eyes snap open. The fourth bedroll at the campfire is empty. Astarion’s gone.
She’s spent a year on the road, but her recent travels with other people are a novelty. Keeping everyone together is like herding cats and keeping them upright is even more difficult, but at least Tav can trust Karlach and Shadowheart. They’re good people. Too good, sometimes, when Tav’s life so far has made bending the rules so necessary, but Astarion is something else entirely—so crooked he makes a corkscrew look straight—and it’s with a weary resignation that she checks first for her pouch (it’s still there) and then her weapons (also there) before rolling to her feet.
If he hasn’t stolen their money, he won’t have gone far.
She doesn’t don her armour, leaving camp through the widest path between the trees. The ground is uneven, and it’s far darker here, away from the dying fire where the cover from the branches overhead is thicker. She follows the path, unsure she’s even headed in the right direction until she sees a dim shadow in a clearing up ahead. Speeding up, she trips on an exposed tree root and lands hands-first in something worryingly wet, and then it’s not just the heavy scent of damp and leaf mould in the air, it’s a copper tang instead.
Tav knows she should conserve her strength, but she’s too annoyed. Flexing her fingers, she casts, and the rings she’s wearing glitter in the light that ripples along her arms. Blood surrounds the corpse of the boar that lies across her path, leaking from two jagged wounds in the creature’s throat. Astarion is usually far more subtle. In fact, Tav rarely has to worry that the others might notice…
Son of a bitch. She stands and spits in her palms, scrubbing her hands against her breeches to wipe the gore away. The light she’s cast still glows along her skin, making the shadows in the surrounding trees loom darker and longer. The boar’s warm so Astarion must be close. When she finds him, there’ll be hell to pay.
A twig snaps behind her, and Tav whips around, squinting into the darkness. Senses straining, she fancies she hears the muttered curse that follows and takes a step towards the sound, her fingers curling into fists. “Show yourself, Astarion. I know you’re there.”
Seconds tick by and then there’s a drawn-out sigh among the trees. “You know, it’s rather past your bedtime…”
“And yours.”
He squints as he steps into her pool of magic light. “Dazzling, as always.”
Darksight is a gift of his race, not his condition, and he doesn’t need her conjuring to see in the dark. Tav doesn’t feel bad for him—not in the slightest. She just crosses her arms and juts out her jaw, hoping her racing heart won’t betray her. Often so put together, tonight Astarion is perfectly undone, his pale hair tousled and his shirt hanging open. His eyes shine wickedly as he tilts his head and listens…
“A boar?” The question is louder than she intends. Anything to drown out her heartbeat. “I thought we had an arrangement?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“The opportunity presented itself.”
She thinks of her bedroll under the stars and her sleeping form stretched out along it, entirely prone to whatever prowls in the night. The only way she could be more opportune would be to wave a flag and beg. “I see.”
“Don’t be like that.”
She turns her back, putting the vampire and the dead boar firmly behind her. “Keep the noise down when you return to camp. People are sleeping.”
“You’re not…”
“I will be.”
There’s no rustle of foliage this time when he moves, just a ghost of a breath against the shell of her ear. He’s too quick for his own good. “Darling… Perhaps we could make the most of this moment of privacy…?”
“While your last victim watches?”
He chuckles, and the sound trips along her spine, making the hairs stand out along her bare arms. “Well, we best make sure we put on a show…”
Anticipation glues Tav to the spot when he presses his nose against the crook of her neck, drinking her in. The crux of the issue, she knows, as he blazes a scandalous path of kisses along her throat, is that he scratches an itch she can’t quite reach. That first night they spent together, the soft sounds of celebration playing out in the background, had absolutely nothing to do with love and everything to do with lust—hells, she barely even liked the man—and the points of his teeth aren't helping as they graze her collarbone and make her knees week. The passage of time has changed things, though. It isn’t lust that makes her pull away, although it isn’t love either.
Not quite…
Her face is burning; she can feel it. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Not in the mood, but in a mood, clearly.”
“There are plenty of boars in the woods.”
“Hmm. Well…”
She waits.
“You taste far sweeter, love. Even with that sour look on your face.”
“Goodnight, Astarion.”
“Quite…” He waits until she’s nearing the edge of the clearing, then adds, “I suppose this is my reward for trying to do the right thing.”
He speaks so quietly that Tav’s certain she isn’t supposed to hear him, but the night is silent and his sardonic drawl carries through the still air. Knowing it’s a mistake, she turns back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Astarion shifts his weight between the balls of his feet, gesturing vaguely, his elbow propped in his other hand. “I can’t help but feel that you’re growing a little fond of my nightly visits… We’ve enough addicts in camp with our dear wizard, we don’t need another.”
Instinct makes Tav’s hackles rise, but she hesitates. There’s something unsure behind that mocking smile. His red eyes worry as he fidgets, and she forces herself to read between the lines. “You think I need you to bite me?”
“You don’t? Cutting you off is for your own good.”
Unbelievable. The dirt crunches beneath her boot as she turns again and this time, she almost makes it into the trees before she wheels back around. “Have you considered, perhaps, that it’s not the biting I’m growing fond of?”
“Ah, so we have a nymphomaniac among us…”
“For a man with such a quick tongue, you really are an idiot.”
Time ticks by. She watches his smirk slowly freeze in place and die as his eyes widen. “Wait—you mean—no!”
“No?”
“But why?” His mouth opens in abject horror as he tries to make sense of her words. “You can’t!”
“I’ve asked myself the same question, believe me.”
“Tav…”
It’s the first time she’s heard her name pass those perfectly carved lips, and he looks lost, his narrow brows slanting into a hopeless frown. It’s everything she can do not to laugh straight in his face. The cracks in his veneer tug on her heartstrings, but she can’t deny there’s a satisfaction to be had in finally having the upper hand.
Giving the rug one last tug from under him, she smiles sweetly. “Happy hunting!”
He doesn’t reply. Tav feels his eyes on the back of her neck though, long after she’s disappeared into the trees. The camp is still sleeping when she arrives back, and when she settles against her bedroll, the stones don’t seem as bothersome and the clouds blot the moon out once more. Perhaps now, she’ll be able to rest, although her heart’s a little heavy. His doleful expression is all she sees when she closes her eyes. Whatever shadows lie in his past have done their damage. Does he really believe he's so unloveable?
Hours later, Astarion doesn’t make a sound when he returns…