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His new traveling companion must be either horribly daft or be in possession of the largest hero complex he’d ever seen.
Despite the fact that their meeting led to his knife pressed to her throat, she’d welcomed him to the team. There was no reason for her to trust him so blindly, and yet on their first night, she’d laid on a bedroll in the middle of camp without any fear of the harm that may befall her.
If this had been just days before, when the mind flayers hadn’t yet broken the invisible chains from his wrists, Astarion knew she would have been a perfect victim. She was easily lured in by pretty smiles and even prettier words—she believed too much in the humanity of people. The druid was far too young in more ways than mere years. She had not yet had the faith carved from her bones and twisted into contempt, and had not yet been given a reason to distrust beautiful things.
Astarion would be the one to show her that beauty was often a mask for the wicked, of that he was sure.
It was simple—child’s play, truly—to use her. The druid practically begged for it in the way she watched him. She may have thought she was subtle, but Astarion had been trained for centuries to take note of every sidelong glance and wistful blush. One well-placed darling could throw the half-wood elf off entirely, leaving her floundering for her words before him.
The guilt only gnawed at him when Juniper walked away, thoroughly distracted from the bloodless boar they’d stumbled across on their journey to save some refugee tieflings, of all things. She was the kind of innocent his master would have delighted to feast on, the kind that would have been rooted deep in Astarion’s dreams for days after her death. At times he wished she would see through him, that she would understand that she was walking right into his well-laid trap. Instead, she stubbornly persisted in her admiration of him.
Perhaps that was why Astarion had chosen her of all people to feed from, that night.
It was obvious that she wasn’t completely asleep. In the days that they’d traveled together, the deep shadows under Juniper’s eyes had only grown darker as her sleep grew more restless. She never mentioned what plagued her dreams though if it were anything like his own, she had reason to be hesitant of sleep.
Despite everything they’d done since escaping the Nautiloid, this felt the most impossible.
First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.
His own mind should have stopped him by now, bound by the words spoken to him upon the beginning of his renewed life. The feeling was familiar in its painful intensity—the inability to move further toward a person’s neck, no matter how weak with starvation he was. It didn’t come that night though, not even when Astarion had gotten close enough that his teeth brushed the sensitive skin of the druid’s neck.
No, the only thing that stopped him was a choked-out gasp and instinctive scramble to get away from him.
Astarion was up in an instant, cursing the gods and hells alike for the gnawing thirst that gripped him tight. So much fighting had left him more starved than he should have been, where even an entire boar was not enough to save him from that familiar ache. It was only supposed to be one taste, not even enough blood for her to feel its loss come dawn.
Instead, he now stood waiting for the hatred and disgust to fill her once bright expression. This would ruin her—would prove to her that what lay in the shadows did not deserve an ounce of her misplaced trust.
She did not run, nor did she pull the dagger from its place on her hip.
Maybe there was still a chance to get away with his life, after all.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” Astarion began, hating the way betrayal looked on her freckled face—hating the way she could already feel betrayed despite only a few days in each others’ company. “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed…well, blood. ”
It was obvious, the moment she realized what he was. Her golden eyes narrowed, expression hardening far beyond what he thought capable. Instinctively, his hands raised up in a placating gesture, a sign that he had no intention of harming her. If Juniper truly wanted to, she could have the entire camp awake in an instant to burn him to the ground.
By catching him in the act, she’d taken back all power over him.
“The boar. That was you ,” Juniper spoke, voice airy with her realization. “You’re a…how could I not have seen it before?”
At least it wasn’t hatred, not yet. Astarion wondered only briefly if the young half-elf was capable of such emotion.
“All this time…” There it was, the briefest flash of fear. Did you really think you could keep it from her forever? She was bound to see you for what you were eventually. “Have you hurt anyone? The tieflings? Our friends?”
Of course, the hero would think of them as friends. They’d only known each other a ten-day and were only stuck together because of the parasites growing behind their eyes, but naturally, Juniper would consider them more than allies. Did she consider him a friend? While he was plotting how she could be most useful, was she thinking of how they could stick together after this adventure?
The thought sat heavily in his chest.
“I’m not some monster ,” Astarion defended, though something twinged painfully in his mind at the words. “I feed on animals. Boar, deer, kobolds—anything I can find.”
Never mind that, given the option, he’d much rather her lifeblood. He’d take from anyone he could if only he hadn’t been stripped of the ability to.
But then again, he’d been so close. Surely there was something different now, something changed to allow him to feast on whatever blood he could take for himself.
And despite catching him in the act, Juniper still hadn’t chased him out of camp. Even now, with the assurance that no intelligent creature had come to harm for his meals, the fear slipped from her face. If Astarion didn’t know any better, he might have said that she watched him with concern now—not for herself, but for him .
Perhaps this was still salvageable.
She was as young and impressionable as he’d once been. She would not look upon him as the monster he was unless he convinced her to. Juniper would trust his words, for he’d long since lured her in beyond her capability of escaping.
“I’m just too slow right now. Too weak,” Astarion said then, allowing his voice to fill with all the drama the words demanded. “If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer, fight better. Please. ”
Juniper longed to be a hero and wished to save them all. So what if he allowed her to think that this would save him? Let her believe she's the savior, and he'll have exactly what he needs: her trust.
It was working too, her hero complex spinning the situation into one she could win. There was something here for her to fix, and there was no dissuading her from the idea now that it was set in motion.
The tadpole chose a poor time to rear its filthy little head. Astarion could feel the sharp tug at the string that connected their minds, could feel the spark as the connection sprung to life.
The thirst was familiar. It tore his throat raw and scorched its way through his body until Astarion was sure he’d wither and turn to ash before it. There was little he wouldn’t do to sate the burning ache, even at the expense of his traveling companion’s blood. She wouldn’t miss it, not if he were careful. The fear of being found out struck harshly in his chest as he approached her prone form, and so too did the devastating terror of being unable to feast, of his master still having a hand on him despite the distance between them.
Hunger. It burned in his stomach for the first time in two centuries. She was young—a mere child on the deadly streets of Baldur’s Gate. Her hands gripped her stomach like that might ease the burn of her stomach acid eating her away from the inside out. There was no one who would help her, no one but herself and her rudimentary thieving skills. Then came a new feeling, one from a more mature her as she saw the memory too. Determination, and resolve to never feel that ache again.
Astarion was jarred back to the present and watched as Juniper considered what the tadpoles had shown them. It was invasive in ways that even Cazador had not yet managed—to open his mind up so freely to another person, to show her first-hand how he felt. It was terrifying, not knowing when that connection would snap into place.
Juniper’s hand hovered over her stomach, like even now she could distantly feel that gnawing hunger. Now that Astarion knew what to look for, he could pick out that resolve in her eyes.
Perhaps, just this once, the tadpole had done him a favor.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked him as if it could ever be so simple.
Astarion scoffed, wondering how a Baldurian could have survived with so little preservation skills. “At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs. I needed you to trust me, and you can trust me.”
“I woke to you over me. I don’t know about you, but I find that doesn’t build trust so well.”
“I had no intentions of defiling you, my dear druid friend.” The word sat oddly on his tongue. Friend. He can’t quite recall the last time anyone had been that for him. “You must believe that much.”
“I do believe that,” Juniper finally sighed, clearly taking in his expression and seeing something worth her trust there. “And I do trust you, though I may be called foolish for it.”
You have no idea. It was as if the rabbit willingly walked into the hunter’s snare, offering itself up as a meal.
Would she offer herself up now?
“Would you…trust me just a little further? I only need a taste, I swear.” Even now he could hear how her heart raced, sending her blood pounding through her arteries. There was so much of it, surely she wouldn’t mind if just a little went missing?
Assuming he’d be able to stop himself, as it were. Had she even considered the danger?
Juniper sighed, her shoulders dropping as all the fight left her body. There was still apprehension on her face, a lingering fear in her eyes as she nodded her head. “Alright. But only as much as you need.”
She laughed, a nervous thing as she began to wring her hands in front of her. The very idea of offering her neck rightly terrified her, and yet she still was doing so?
Like he’d said before: daft or hero complex.
“It’s better for everyone, to keep your strength up,” Juniper continued, as though she needed to convince herself further. “Yes, alright. However much you need, have it.”
“Really? I—” Astarion began, shocked that she’d so blindly trust him after the display he’d put on just a moment before. It wouldn’t do to show her that even he thought that she shouldn’t trust him, however, so he forced his expression to snap back to something nearing cool confidence. “Of course, and not a drop more.”
And like the rabbit offering itself up to be ensnared, Juniper tilted her head to the side, drawing back her hair to expose the length of her neck. “How do we…?”
Astarion couldn’t help but laugh at the eagerness of the druid, already so willing to offer herself up as a tribute to him. It was the kind of thing that would get her killed if she weren’t more careful of who she placed that level of trust in.
“Let’s get more comfortable, shall we?” Astarion suggested, gesturing to the bedroll she’d abandoned earlier. “We don’t want you hitting your darling head, now do we?”
She listened like he was actually capable of giving orders to her. Her movements were slow, still unsure as she settled on her back on top of the bedroll. Before she could think herself out of it, Astarian knelt down beside her, leaning over her to pin her in place.
Those golden eyes reminded him of a doe’s, wide and watching him with equal parts fear and awe—waiting to see if her trust in him was truly well-placed or not.
Astarion had pictured this moment countless times before. Not with her, of course, but of his first drop of blood from a thinking creature. He’d never expected it to be given so willingly, but the idea had been all the same.
It was as euphoric as he’d expected. Her blood was hot against his lips, warming him from the inside out. She tasted divine like her blood was passed down straight from the heavens themselves. He wanted—no, needed —more.
So he held on tighter, one hand gripping her waist and the other holding him up as he fed. He felt the moment she submitted to him—when every muscle in her body relaxed under him and a small gasp pulled from her lips. It was a sign to stop but it only made him bear down further, relishing in the taste of her. It would almost be sensual—the breathy sounds she made as he feasted from her, the way her body shook under his hands.
“Astarion, please,” Juniper whimpered near his ear, her hands coming up to press warningly against his shoulders. “That’s enough.”
You can’t stop now! Every cell in his body wanted to resist the plea, urged him to have his fill. He’s never had anything half as good as this, how could he be expected to give it up now? Just a little more…
Then, just as he thought she couldn’t get more pliant, Juniper seemed to snap back to herself. Her hands shoved against his torso, and though the blood loss made her too weak to completely push him off of her the jolt was enough to bring him back.
He’d nearly bled her dry, and she’d nearly let him.
Astarion was off of Juniper in an instant, fingertips coming up to press to the thin trail of blood spilling over the corner of his lips. It was all the proof he needed that this tadpole, albeit dangerous, had well and truly freed him from his previous bonds. There was nothing left of Cazador’s hold on him, for if he could break the first rule then he could certainly break the others.
“Of course,” he said, sounding nearly breathless despite not having needed to breathe for years. “I simply got lost in the moment.”
Juniper looked dazed, although she’d stood up and braced herself for a fight that wouldn’t come. He’d taken too much this time, though if she ever let him near her neck again he’d do better to remember the limits of her body. The very idea of there being a next time, of there being someone who trusted him so wholly as to offer their very life essence to him, sent something strange and electric through his chest.
It was far too much to think about, not when his head already swam with the lingering euphoria from her blood. Was this what being satiated felt like? Was this truly how he could have felt this entire time if he hadn’t been forced to starve himself?
“I feel good. Strong. Happy, even!” Astarion said, more to himself than the swaying druid in front of him. “I dare say it worked.”
“You nearly killed me,” Juniper gasped, her hand brought up to cover the wound where he had just been.
“A bit of an exaggeration, if you ask me. You’ll be perfectly fine with a little beauty rest.” He didn’t want to consider what short future he would have had if she hadn’t been able to push him off of her. The fact was he would’ve killed her if she would have let him. That’s what she gets for trying to save everyone she comes across, he tried to tell himself.
In truth, it would be a pity to see someone so light get snuffed out so soon.
There was no reason for her to trust him at all, nothing to be gained by allowing him to feed from her. And yet, she had without a second thought. It was strange. Either he was missing something important or she was unlike anyone else he’d ever met.
It’s unclear which is the scarier thought.
“If you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I’m in need of something a little more…filling,” he said, muscles twitching with his need to escape the situation. He’d spent too long being near her when she had so much power over him, and now standing there in her debt all he wanted to do was run.
“Oh, I’m not enough for you?” Juniper scoffed, though if Astarion were honest he was sure there was humor laced within her words.
“One mustn’t overindulge on treats as delectable as you,” he said back, the reassuring feeling of control easing over him as the words made her blush.
Already, as if the near battle with death had not happened moments before, she was looking at him like that. With her doe eyes all bright and shining, like she actually had some reason to care for him.
It was too much, too strange.
Astarion turned from her quickly, stopping only to turn his head and admit, in a voice much softer than before, “This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”
He didn’t give her time to say anything else, instead walking straight off into the forest. He’d spend the next few hours hunting, even staying out in the woods longer to ensure that she’d be asleep by the time he returned to camp.
How strange that Juniper hadn’t asked for anything in return. It would come later, Astarion was sure, for no one simply gave something so precious without expecting anything in return. No one looked upon the monster underneath the beautiful facade and smiled upon him. No, there was something else that she was expecting. He just needed to figure out what it was.
Astarion would not be caught off-guard by the would-be hero. He wouldn’t.