Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even in the daylight, there were plenty of shadows in which to hide all around Baldur’s Gate: secret tunnels through abandoned buildings, routes through the sewers beneath the city. It was exceedingly easy for someone well-versed in the city’s nooks and crannies to get around unheard and unseen. 

Perhaps it was why crime in the city was so unspeakably high. 

What were the flaming fists to do about it? They could solve burglaries or they could solve murders, but they rarely had the bandwidth to handle both. 

It was precisely why Roan Tevlin didn’t feel an ounce of guilt every time she picked a pocket or pilfered a safe. What she was doing barely qualified as a crime compared to the people going around killing. If anything, the city ought to praise her for not straying down the path of the assassin; she would have made far better money and with her propensity for skulking in the shadows, she would have been good at it too. 

So Baldur’s Gate was really safer for her decision to be a thief. And she usually only robbed from the rich upper city fuckers who deserved it. Though she had little enough conscience that she wasn’t above nicking food or money from a slum-dweller. She was one of them, after all; it was a lateral theft at worst. 

In a perfect world, Roan would have worked alone. She’d never exactly been the congenial type, though neither were the others in the guild she aligned herself with. There was no solo criminal work in the Gate - Roan had learned that quickly enough. You either joined up right away, or one of the guilds found you eventually. Some of them could acknowledge talent when they saw it, others saw only threats. Roan, having been born and raised in the lower city, knew from the start she had no choice. So she proved herself to the guild she hated the least and accepted the fact that they would take a cut of her earnings for the rest of her life. At least that cut came with protection and guaranteed jobs.

Unless she could climb her way to the top of the social ladder within her guild, in which case she would be the one taking the cuts. But it was difficult to do with competing guilds taking up both her time and her money. Of late, the biggest thorn in her side had been the Crimson Trust. In particular, a thief she had unfortunately had several run-ins with over the years. The last three heists she’d helped orchestrate had been ruined last minute by the arrival of the Crimson Trust’s golden child. 

Wouldn’t it be lovely to beat him at his own game for once? But that entailed legwork she also didn’t have the time for: spying, stakeouts; she already did that for heists and burglaries, she didn’t have time to spy on the Crimson Trust unless she wanted to give up what little sleep she already got. 

Unfortunately, despite their rivalries, many of the competing thieves guilds around the city still socialized as though they were not constantly taking jobs out from under one another. And where better for the deplorables of Baldur’s Gate to convene than the Blushing Mermaid?

The place was and always had been a shit heap, not that Roan had been there when it was built, but as far back as she could remember, her shoes stuck to the floor, the second floor landing always smelled of piss, and the walls were water-warped with fading paint. 

As a child, she’d clung to her mother’s skirts while she drank away what little money they had. Roan had come to hate the place, because her mother certainly loved The Blushing Mermaid more than she loved her daughter. 

Ironic then, that it was where Roan spent most nights as an adult. 

She didn’t have a job that night and she was in need of something to make her forget the shitshow that was her last attempt. She’d spent an hour and a half picking into a safe box she knew hid a cache of diamonds worth several thousand gold, just for that fucker Astarion to show up as she opened it and fight her for it. That was all he seemed to do: poach her findings and then steal them out from under her. And he spaced out his annoying little drop-ins just enough that she was never certain when he’d show up. 

Now every time she ran a job she was wired and paranoid. He was getting under her skin. 

Roan sat in a dark corner upstairs, sipping on an ale that tasted watered down and watching a slightly inebriated bard perform a truly atrocious rendition of Balduran’s Balls. A handful of her guildmates were there, dancing in front of the bard and clapping to the beat. The other patrons were members of rival guilds, many of whom Roan knew well, some intimately. 

She had a rule against shitting where she ate, so her own guildmates were off the table. But she was a woman with needs, and the vast majority of her social life was spent around other thieves. Her options were limited outside of wandering to nicer establishments like the Elfsong. She usually couldn’t be bothered. 

There was an old reliable standby at the edge of the lower city, a friend with benefits insomuch as Roan could keep friends, but she didn’t like to intrude upon his kindness. Besides that, she knew he wanted more from her and she wasn’t certain she could ever give it. 

So she sat in the Blushing Mermaid, eyeing her options, considering that a night with her hand might be more effective given the crowd that night. 

“Lurking in the shadows as usual, are we?”

Roan nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of a familiar voice at her ear. She spun around in her chair, dagger raised to find Astarion wearing a shit-eating grin, unfazed by the blade pointed at him. 

He was the only person in the entire city capable of sneaking up on Roan, which is how he’d sniped her jobs so many times. He also knew this fact well and used it to torment her every time they were in a shared space. 

Roan lowered her blade and sunk back into her chair. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

Astarion feigned upset, pressing his hand to his chest. “ I don’t lurk. I brood ,” he corrected. 

“Is it hard to see anything with your head so far up your own arse, or does the dark vision help?” Roan asked. 

“Ha ha,” said Astarion flatly. “You’re as witty as you are successful.”

Roan was too annoyed to think of a snappy retort. He really was getting to her. If she fucked up again, Nine-Fingers was going to have words for her…or worse. 

“If you’ve come to gloat about a job, save your breath. Though I know how much you love to hear your own voice.”

Astarion, because he had to know it would infuriate her, took a seat in the chair next to her, turning his attention to the bard and the dancers while he spoke. 

“I would never stoop so low as to gloat,” he said. “But while you sit around enjoying ale and wasting time, I did bring in a lockbox with eight thousand gold in it. Could have been yours, if you weren’t so remarkably bad at your job.”

Roan took a long swig from her ale. “Don’t you have something better to do? Leering at people, for one.”

“ Leering? What do you take me for?” Astarion shook his head. “I hardly need to do any leering anyway. With a face like this?”

His ego was big enough for him to claw his way to the top of his guild, but his confidence wasn’t exactly misplaced. He was extremely attractive, almost preternaturally so, with cheekbones that could cut glass and the most distinctive red eyes. 

Too bad his personality soured the whole look. 

“So you could be chatting up somebody and getting your cock sucked, but instead you’re sitting here being obnoxious to me. Which is sadder? Me enjoying an ale or whatever it is you’re doing right now?”

He pursed his lips and she felt victorious, at least momentarily. 

He rose to his feet. “Good luck on your next jobs, Roan. I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

“Suck my clit, Astarion,” she spat. 

“You should be so lucky,” he replied in a bratty sing-song before stalking away. 

The damage was done. He had riled her up and while she felt she had won that particular encounter, for it was always a competition with Astarion, it didn’t leave her feeling any better for the victory. 

She downed the rest of her ale and left the tavern, stepping out into the cool night air and leaning against the rampart overlooking the harbor. 

What she needed was a cigarette and a good lay, not necessarily in that order, but her options were dwindling rapidly and she’d smoked her last cigarette on the way to the tavern. 

Shops would be closed by then and she didn’t fancy walking all the way back to the guild hall, so she sunk a little lower for the evening, making her way toward the Basilisk Gate and the reliable friend who lived nearby. 

His home was above a shop selling alchemical supplies and books on magic, a shop he ran during the day. In lieu of knocking at the front door, Roan scaled the pillars leading to the balcony outside his flat, landing softly to find herself face to face with her friend’s familiar: a tressym who disliked her immensely. 

The tressym’s fur stood on end and she hissed at the sight of Roan. 

“Hello, Tara,” Roan said, offering a hand that was immediately swatted at. 

The only time Tara had so much as tolerated Roan was when she remembered to bring her some fresh fish from the harbor. 

“I haven’t got any fish, sorry.”

Tara sat back on her haunches, her wings folded against her side, her tail flicking rapidly in her agitation. 

“You know, you can just use the front door. No need to scale the side of the building just to get to me.”

Roan glanced up to find Gale leaning against the doorway that led from the balcony into his flat. He wore only a pair of cotton trousers, his arms folded over his chest as he frowned at her. 

Gale was handsome, soft-bodied from a life spent hunched over tomes, but sometimes soft was nice with the life Roan led. He had actually been a client, many years earlier. He’d commissioned the guild to steal a book he claimed belonged to him and Roan had taken the job. 

Sometime between that job and now, they’d fallen into this relationship of theirs. Roan liked having someone reliable to fall back on, but she wasn’t the settling down type and she suspected Gale would have preferred if she were.

“Wasn’t sure if you were awake,” Roan said. 

Gale sat in a chair at the edge of the balcony and gestured to the chair next to him, so Roan took a seat, tiptoeing past Tara, whose eyes never left her. 

“Your cat hates me,” she said, taking the cigarette Gale offered her and letting him light it with a bit of his magic. 

“Probably because you insist on calling her a cat when she’s not one,” he gave her a withering look, lighting his own cigarette and taking a drag. 

“Tressym. Cat. Whatever,” Roan shrugged. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“A while?” Gale cocked his head. “I haven’t heard from you in six months.”

Roan had the decency to feel a little ashamed. “Has it really been that long? You know how it is. I get busy with jobs, lose track of time.” She took a long drag from her cigarette and sighed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. The nicotine took the edge off. 

“I could have a wife or a husband in there for all you know,” Gale continued. “You just amble in and out of my life as you please.”

“You get married?” Roan asked, knowing the answer. 

“Well, of course not. I’m just saying.”

“I’ve never pretended to be anything besides what I am,” Roan bristled. “Tell me to fuck off if you want me to leave, Gale.”

Gale remained silent, draping his arm along the side of the chair and letting the ashes from his cigarette fall to the ground. 

“So how’s business been?” She asked. 

“Fine. Not exceedingly busy, but I make due. And you?”

“Shit,” she answered honestly. “The Crimson Trust keep fucking me over. Nine-Fingers is going to take my hand next time it happens, I think.”

“You know, with skills like yours I’m sure there are any number of lucrative-“

Roan rolled her eyes at him and he stopped. 

“Well, I hope you don’t lose your hand,” he finished. 

Roan finished her cigarette and flicked the butt on the ground, rising from her chair and standing in front of Gale. He stared up at her and she knew, despite his annoyance, that he would give her what she wanted. Gale was sweet, sometimes awkward, and fond of her. 

She ought to have felt bad for using that to her advantage, but she didn’t. 

She straddled his lap and settled against him, brushing her nose against his. 

“I missed you,” she breathed. Not a total lie. 

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Gale grumbled, but she could hear the hitch in his breath as he spoke. 

“Doors swing both ways, Mr. Wizard.” She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth, his stubble rough against her face. 

“Oh they do, do they?” He rested his hands on the small of her back. “And where am I supposed to find you? Some hole in the sewers? We’ve known each other for nearly ten years and I don’t even know where you live.”

“No, but you know where I spend my free time.”

“Yes, that romantic little tetanus hazard down by the docks. It’s a wonder you don’t take necrotic damage every time you step foot inside.”

“Do you want to argue or do you want to fuck?” Roan whispered against his ear. 

He made an irritated sound, but his answer was clear enough when he pulled her tight against his body. She kissed his neck, nipping at the skin, rolling her hips to grind against him as she did, pleased with the sound it elicited. 

Tara leapt onto the chair Roan previously occupied and hissed. 

“ Tara ,” Gale groaned. “Give us some privacy.”

The tressym meowed loudly in protest before unfurling her wings and taking off into the night. 

Roan climbed off of Gale’s lap and rose to her feet, grabbing his hand. “Let’s take this inside.”

The ceiling inside Szarr palace where the Crimson Trust made its home was one Astarion was intimately familiar with. He lay on his back on his bed staring at the intricate details on the ceiling - gaudy, one might even say - his mind completely shut off while a mildly handsome human man had his mouth around Astarion’s cock. 

Cazador would be in soon, certainly before Astarion could take any pleasure of his own, so he simply stared, tracing a path with his eyes over every curve and dip in the design above him. 

He didn’t even notice Cazador slip in until the bed sank beneath his weight and the human released Astarion with a startled yelp. Cazador sunk his fangs into the man’s neck, blood so thick it was almost black springing from the wounds, which Cazador was quick to lap up. 

And just as quickly he was gone with the man’s body in tow and Astarion was alone on his bed, quickly gone limp and no longer wanting the release anyway. 

This was his lot in life: steal, seduce, and bring his spoils back to his master. But he was hardly the only one. Cazador had a small army of spawn that made up his thieves' guild and they kept a steady supply of gold and blood flowing to the palace. 

That the guild was made up entirely of one vampire lord and his spawn was one of Baldur’s Gate’s best kept secrets. 

For some time, Astarion lay on the bed staring at the ceiling before eventually pulling on his clothes and shuffling out into one of the sitting rooms reserved for the spawn. 

Astarion was exceedingly good at what he did and lately he felt it had earned him a target on his back, from his fellow spawn as well as members of the other thieves’ guilds in the city. 

In fact, he had been so good at sniping caches from the Stone Eyes that if he wasn’t careful, Roan was going to gut him one day. But so far he’d had the advantage: he could sneak up on the sneakiest woman in the city and it unnerved her. That went a long way in keeping her off balance when she had a heist to run. 

There would be time for sleep when the sun rose, so Astarion set off to find one of the Stone Eyes, preferably Roan because he enjoyed tormenting her. It was through careful spying and stalking that he had picked up so much information about their jobs and been able to intercept them. That, and he knew where their hideout was. 

So he made his way into the undercity, traipsing along familiar paths through the sewer, clinging to the shadows and hefting himself up into one of the long venting tubes running through the ceiling in the sewers. He followed this path all the way back to the Stone Eyes’ base, settling himself in a tight spot above Nine-Fingers’ office, listening for any good information he could use to beat them. 

“Got a job in the upper city,” a woman’s voice spoke. “Client wants an heirloom that’s locked up tight in a safe in Teller Mansion. Willing to pay ten thousand for it.”

“Put Zelna on it,” that was Nine-Fingers who spoke then. 

“Zelna? She’s loaded up with jobs. Why not Roan?”

“So she can fumble yet another job?” Nine-Fingers scoffed. “She used to have potential. She’s letting those fuckers in the Crimson Trust get to her head. I’m going to cut her loose if she doesn’t start pulling her weight.”

The emphasis she placed on ‘cut her loose’ suggested it entailed more than simply being removed from the guild. 

“Well she either gets this right, or she fucks up and you get rid of her. But Zelna’s full up and Roan’s load is lighter than ever these days.”

“Fine, give her the job when you see her. But make it clear what will happen to her if she fails.”

“Yes, Nine-Fingers.”

Astarion followed the sound of the fading footsteps along the venting tube, peering through occasional slats in the tube to see where he was. The person who had been speaking to Nine-Fingers was a half orc woman, and she stopped in a chamber that must have been her office, setting a note down on the desk and scribbling ‘Roan’ on the envelope before walking away. 

He waited several minutes to ensure no one would return before opening the slat in the side of the tube and crawling out, dropping lithely to the ground and observing the note for details. 

The job was in the upper city at Teller mansion as the orc had said, but the note gave more details as to the commissioner of the job and what heirloom it was they wanted from the safe. Astarion made a mental note of the information, hoisted himself back into the venting tube, and returned home. 

He supposed he would miss Roan when she was gone: tormenting her was more fun than anyone else because of how susceptible she was to his barbs when she seemed to shrug off insults from anyone else. 

But one less thorn in his side would be a good thing, and he had his own orders to follow.

Gale had a propensity for talking that could lull Roan to sleep on most occasions, but his tongue was well practiced in more ways than one, and he had no qualms with using it in the bedroom. 

Perhaps because he cared for her, or simply because he was a thoughtful lover - Roan could never quite be sure - he always made sure she enjoyed herself first. 

And enjoy herself she always did. 

But Gale was the type of man who wanted to stare into her eyes while they were fucking, who said shit like ‘I prefer to call it making love’. Not that he wasn’t good at it. His cock still felt great. She just had to hold back the desire to cringe when he’d hold her face and tell her how beautiful she was. 

The fact of the matter was Gale deserved better than her, but he lacked the necessary confidence. He deserved someone who liked to be looked in the eye and sweet-talked. 

It was better for Roan when he would eventually bury his face in the crook of her neck, grunting and groaning as he thrust against her, until his pleasure hit and he moaned loudly in her ear. 

She did like the sounds he made, when he was too far gone to keep talking. 

When they were finished, they lay against each other, panting and sweaty. The cigarette and the orgasms both had done wonders for Roan’s attitude. She could relax for a moment now, before her next job fell in her lap and Astarion somehow managed to snipe it. 

“That was great,” she said, patting Gale’s shoulder. 

“We were overdue,” he agreed. 

Gale, in his infinite tenderness, always took care of her after. He peeled himself off the bed and got a towel to help her clean up. She thanked him and once she had taken care of the mess, she began pulling her clothes back on. 

“Not even going to stay for a second round?” Gale frowned at her. He looked like a kicked puppy. 

“Please,” she said, lacing her boots. “We both know you’ll fall asleep before we can make it to a second round. Besides, I’m sure Tara would like her room back.”

“Tara can sleep outside for one night.”

“I don’t do sleepovers,” Roan said. “But I’ll try not to let six months pass before I stop back in. Though, if you don’t hear from me, you might just as well assume Nine-Fingers had me hanged."

“It’s that bad?” Gale asked. 

“That prick Astarion has ruined my last three jobs. I don’t know how he keeps getting wind of them but he waits for me to do all the legwork and then steals my loot.”

“Have you considered perhaps there’s a spy in your midst?” Gale suggested. “I imagine such a role would be quite lucrative.”

“It’s all I think about,” Roan answered seriously. “I’m paranoid at home. I’m paranoid on jobs. I spend every waking moment wondering how the hell the Crimson Trust is getting a leg up on us. And instead of taking me seriously, Nine-Fingers writes it off because I’m the only one this keeps happening to.”

“Hm,” Gale scratched his chin. “Wait a tick.” He got up and left the room and she heard the sound of the creaking floorboards on the stairs that led down to his shop. He returned a moment later with a small ring inset with a Ruby. 

Roan stared at it. “I’m flattered, Gale, but it’s a bit soon for a proposal don’t you think?” She grinned at him and he gave her a withering look. 

“It’s a ring of intent,” he said, placing it in her hand. “The Ruby glows when someone’s following you intentionally or eavesdropping. It’s not going to hone in on your spy exactly, but it might help.”

“And how much does this retail for?” Roan asked, taking the ring and turning it over in her palm. 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Gale, closing her fingers around the ring. 

She pursed her lips, but she wasn’t going to argue with him either. She knew well enough he wouldn’t take her gold, not that she had much of it to spare. 

“Thanks, Gale.” She pecked his cheek. “I’ve got to get home. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

There was a barely audible sigh as he said, “Right. Get home safe.”

And she had just enough of a soul to feel bad about it as she climbed back down the side of the balcony and made the long trek back to her home in the sewers. 

Chapter Text

The Teller Mansion was well known throughout the city for its imposing structure and heavy security. Roan had scoped the place often for holes in said security and found a few areas through which she might manage to sneak in, should the need or opportunity arise.

As it happened, the need arose on her next job. There was an old locket in one of the security vaults that a client wanted back. Whether it held any real value, or was purely a war of sentimentality between their client and the Tellers, Roan didn’t know, nor did she care. All she cared about was getting in, getting the locket, and getting out without running afoul of Astarion.

Easier said than done when he could drop in at any moment and had before.

She spent the evening perched on a rooftop that gave her a decent vantage of the mansion, eyeing a gap in the guard routes around the premises. It would be easy enough to hop the fence and make her way in, though what kind of security awaited her on the inside would be a fun little surprise.

As she watched and waited, the sun setting along the harbor, she noticed the ring Gale had given her glowing softly on her hand.

She spun around, looking for a sign of anyone else on the rooftop, or on a nearby roof, but she saw no one. She looked below at people passing by on the ground, but no one seemed to notice her or even really be bothered with glancing upward.

She knew it was Astarion. Knew it as surely as she knew Grey Harbor had dead bodies in it. But where was he? The ring was only so useful, but it was better than nothing.

If he was watching, then let her bait him. She wouldn’t be caught off guard this time. And if the night ended with a dagger in his gut, so be it. 

So she waited. And waited. And waited some more. All the while, the ring continued to glow softly, alerting her to the presence of prying eyes or ears nearby. She would have perhaps chalked it up to a spell of invisibility, but no spell could last hours and he was still nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until well after sunset that Roan finally climbed down from her perch, found the gap in the patrol route, hopped the fence, and made her way into the mansion. The safest route, she suspected, would be to pick the lock on the door to the cellar and make her way up from the inside, though she was certain there would be traps lying in wait.

It was easy enough to pick the lock and slip inside the musty old cellar. Inside, she found an entire room of wine casks lining the walls and she made a mental note to try and filch one on her way out. It had to taste better than the shit they served at the Blushing Mermaid. 

The cellar was massive and once she exited the wine storage, she found crates full of old portraits and seasonal decor. 

And there at the foot of the stairs was a tripwire. Or there had been. Whether the staff forgot to set it for the evening or someone else had been here already, Roan couldn’t decide. She stepped past it and made her way slowly, cautiously, up the steps.

The main floor was as gaudy as she anticipated for a rich upper city noble: all gilded molding and ornate pillars and hideous murals commissioned by artists who probably wanted to kill themselves while they painted it. No accounting for taste, she supposed.

Here too, she found more traps and tripwire, all of them deactivated or broken.

It was no longer a question of a forgetful staff versus an earlier intruder. Astarion was here. And if Roan knew him, he’d be waiting by the vault to gloat before he kicked her ass into the dirt and took what should have been hers.

The vault was located in a back office on the southern side of the house according to their client, so she made her way there, stopping multiple times at the sight of interior guards manning the main doors. They had no clue there were two thieves in their midst, but they might in a few minutes if Roan had much to say about it.

The office was unlocked, another slap in Roan’s face, so she turned the handle and stepped inside.

“All right, Astarion, you could not be more of an asshole if you…tried…”

But it was not Astarion waiting for her within the office. It was two flaming fist officers. One of them had a crossbow pointed squarely at her throat.

“We heard there might be a break-in this evening,” said the one in front of the desk: a half elf woman with a long black braid. She folded her arms across her chest. “I suppose I should have expected you .”

“Jenevelle,” Roan smiled. “Always a pleasure running into you. And who tipped you off, I wonder?”

“That’s not for you to know.”

The tiefling with the crossbow, who Roan knew well, looked almost apologetic as she pointed it at her. 

Nine-fingers was going to kill her. That was all there was to it.

“I haven’t stolen anything, so I’m not sure there’s any crime to book me for,” said Roan.

“Never heard of breaking and entering, Tevlin?” Jenevelle cocked her head. “Funny, because your record has a few of those charges on it.”

Were they why her ring had been glowing? Had they been watching and waiting this whole time, knowing to expect her? If Nine-Fingers didn’t kill her, she was going to find Astarion and gut him for this.

“You know the drill, Roan.” Karlach, the tiefling, said, securing her crossbow on her back. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

“Karlach, sweetheart…you and I both know I’m not going to do that,” Roan returned her apologetic look.

“Hells, Roan, come on. Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Roan had never been one to make things easier by any means. She turned on her heel and ran back out the door, retracing the path she’d taken to the cellar, alerting the guards in her hurry as she leaped over obstacles and knocked over what looked to be a very expensive vase.

Behind her, she heard Karlach shouting, but she didn’t make out what she was saying. The guards joined her, but Roan was a slinky little wood elf who’d spent her entire life getting out of binds like this. She slid down the stair railing to the cellar, sprinted around the to the wine room, and had the presence of mind to turn and yank an entire shelf down behind her - though not without a bit of effort. The wine bottles - hundreds of them - came crashing down in a cacophony of shattered glass, flooding the floor and rushing out into the main part of the cellar.

It would at least slow the guards and Karlach down. 

Back out in the cool night air, she hopped the fence and kept running. She ran until her legs felt ready to seize up, until her lungs burned and her sides ached, until she was certain she had lost her tail, and then she fell to the ground gasping for breath.

Astarion was going to fucking pay for this.

Astarion shifted the locket he’d stolen from the Teller mansion between his fingers, letting it drop and dangle before yanking it back up into his palm. He planned to wander over to the jail by the docks and rub it in Roan’s face before he turned it in for the promised sum. He only wished he could have been there to see her face when she showed up at the mansion just to find the Flaming Fists waiting for her. 

Flaming Fists didn’t take robberies seriously most of the time, but the Tellers were a big name in Baldur’s Gate and the Fists he’d chosen in particular knew Roan - and many of the other thieves running around in local guilds - all too well. Their usual patrol was around the area where the thieves spent most of their time. Hells, he had seen Karlach at the Blushing Mermaid more than once.

That would have made it all the better when they arrested Roan.

He figured she’d be in jail for at least a few days, if Nine-Fingers didn’t kill her first, so he let himself sleep rather than skulking through the sewers while the sun was out, and the next evening he made his way first to the Blushing Mermaid to pick up any useful news before he paid Roan a visit in her cell.

“Anything noteworthy happening?” Astarion asked Bosun, the human bartender who was typically serving at that time of night.

“Noteworthy? Not today. Tomorrow night Captain Grizzly said she’s got one of them fancy belly dancers comin' in to perform. Bit dead tonight, to be honest. Most of Nine-Fingers crew haven’t been around yet.”

“Shame about Tevlin, isn’t it?” Astarion asked.

“Eh?” Bosun cocked his head. “Haven’t seen her ‘round either.”

“I heard she was arrested during a heist. Tsk,” Astarion shook his head. “Nine-Fingers’ Stone Eyes are making a joke of themselves.”

“‘Ent heard nothing about that, but might be you’re right.”

“You enjoy your evening, Bosun. I’ve business to attend to.”

Astarion slid off the stool at the bar and made his way to the washroom before the long walk over to the jail. He had barely stepped inside and shut the door behind him when he found himself pressed into the door with a knife against his throat and he was so surprised at being caught off guard for the first time in what must have been centuries that he laughed .

Roan stood at the other end of the dagger with her eyes ablaze.

“Oh,” said Astarion.

“Weren’t expecting me?” Roan growled through clenched teeth.

“No, I was expecting you at the jail, not here,” Astarion answered coolly.

“ Surprise .”

“I hope you liked the little gift I left you,” Astarion continued, unbothered by the blade perilously close to his skin. “Detective Hallowleaf seemed thrilled to hear she might get a chance at catching you. She does love playing cat and mouse with you.”

“I’m going to gut you,” Roan hissed.

“Why don’t you calm down before you do something rash?”

“Something rash ?” Roan pressed the dagger to his skin, just hard enough to draw a single line of crimson. “Like setting someone up to get arrested? Do you know what Nine-Fingers will do to me if I don’t come back with that fucking locket?”

“I’m sure she’ll be very cross,” Astarion answered, feeling a bit more nervous now that Roan had drawn blood.

“You are so infuriating. Cross? Cross ? She’ll fucking kill me. Because you keep sniping my jobs and I don’t know how you’re doing it, but I know you have a spy or something of the sort and when I figure it out…”

Astarion stared down at her. “You’re cute when you’re trying to use your brain.”

Roan huffed and, without warning, dug her dagger into his side. He let out a low groan and stared in horror at where the dagger stuck out of him.

“You stabbed me!”

“I told you I was going to gut you,” she spat, yanking the blade back out.

Astarion slumped against the door and fell to the floor, clutching at the wound in a vain attempt to staunch the blood. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would be difficult to explain to Cazador. His hands quickly became coated in his own blood while Roan remained standing above him.

“I don’t suppose you want to help me?” He asked. “What about if I say I’ve learned my lesson?”

Roan crouched in front of him and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back to make him look her in the eyes. It was quite possibly the first time in his life he’d been even a little afraid of her. She was just a thing to be played with, at best, not a real threat. Apparently he’d poked the bear one too many times.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat and leave you to drown in your own blood?” She demanded.

“I still have the locket,” Astarion coughed. “So I think you might agree we can still work something out.”

He saw the flash of hope in her eyes. “Prove it.”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the locket, the blood on his hands smearing onto the cheap gold plating. Whatever reason this client wanted it back, it wasn’t monetary, at least not that Astarion could figure. The locket was old cheap metal plated in fool’s gold and within there was only a picture of a human woman.

Roan snatched the locket and shoved it in her pocket.

“Cross me again and I will kill you. I’ve had it with your shit, Astarion.”

“Oh, you wound me,” Astarion drawled, even as he was bleeding out.

Roan wiped her blade on Astarion’s sleeve and sheathed it. “I’ll let Bosun know you’re preoccupied in here. That he shouldn’t expect you out for a while.”

“You… bitch ,” Astarion huffed, trying and failing to stand. “If you think this is over-”

“Oh, what’s the matter? Did I get under your skin?” She cocked her head. “Didn’t think it was possible, but someone’s losing his composure.”

“YOU STABBED ME!” He repeated, more urgently.

“Mhm. And I made sure not to hit anything important.” She kicked him lightly in the side and it sent a shooting pain surging through his body. “You’re welcome.”

“Sleep with one eye open, Tevlin.”

“Want to see me in bed now, do you?” She opened the door, shoving Astarion into the wall as she did so. “I catch you sticking your nose where it’s not wanted and I’ll do worse than this.”

This was far from over. As soon as Astarion managed to stand up and get himself patched up, he’d begin his retaliation.

Roan had issued a declaration of war.

The locket dropped onto Nine-Fingers desk with a thud, Astarion’s blood long-since dried along the grooves of the chain. Nine-Fingers frowned at it and looked up at Roan, specks of blood on her shirt from the spray as she yanked her dagger out of Astarion’s side.

He wouldn’t die, though it would have been smarter to kill him. He probably would have killed her if the situation was reversed.

“Look at that,” said Nine-Fingers. “Finally followed through on a job. Took you longer than it should have, but I’ll give you a pass this time.”

“The client will pay. That’s what matters,” Roan sighed.

“You’re still on thin ice.”

“Listen, I know you’re tired of hearing it, but I’m telling you, Nine-Fingers, there’s a spy amongst us. Or some sort of magicked device. The Crimson Trust is getting information about our jobs ahead of time somehow.”

“Roan, enough. I’ve investigated your claims and they’ve been fruitless. If I hear about it again, you’ll get more than a verbal lashing.”

Roan bristled, but said nothing. 

“You’re dismissed. Report to me tomorrow morning for your next job.”

“Yes, Nine-Fingers,” Roan grumbled, hurrying from the room before her temper got the better of her. 

She wound her way through the hideout to her room. Room was a strong word for a space she could barely turn around in that fit a bed, a dresser, and little else, but it had been her home since she was fourteen, so it remained a sanctuary in its own way.

She fell against the bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating how Astarion was getting ahead of her over and over. Nine-Fingers was nothing if not thorough, if she’d investigated and found no evidence of a mole, then Roan would have to trust it was true. But then what was Astarion doing? How was he always five steps ahead of her?

She’d have to steer clear of the Blushing Mermaid for a while. Grizzly would be cross with her for getting blood all over the washroom, and Karlach frequented the place enough that she still ran the risk of getting arrested until the whole thing had blown over.

Maybe she’d finally bite the bullet and submit to spending a night with Gale. At least then she could see the sky for a bit. Even if it did mean contending for space with an angry tressym who hated her.

No, nothing good could come of that, not with the way Gale looked at her. She could never give him what he really wanted. He deserved better than being strung along and staying the night was nothing more than that: stringing him along.

She could always spend a few evenings at the Elfsong Tavern. It was a bit too clean for her tastes, but she might manage to meet someone she could blow off steam with without attachment.

What she needed to do was tail Astarion and do some spying of her own, but considering his propensity for getting the upper hand, she wasn’t confident in her ability to do so. She had been one of Nine-Fingers best thieves before Astarion decided to make it his life’s mission to ruin every job that fell in her lap. Whatever respect Nine-Fingers and the other Stone Eyes had for Roan was rapidly dwindling.

She couldn’t afford to lose another job and striking out on her own wasn’t an option either.

Sitting in her room and stewing wasn’t helping her mood, so she grabbed her coinpurse and left the hideout, winding her way through the familiar paths of the sewers to a stairwell she knew let out near the Elfsong Tavern.

It had been ages since she’d stepped foot inside the Elfsong, but a drink and a cigarette would go a long way in helping her mood and letting her think on her plans. The inside of the place was sterile compared to the Blushing Mermaid, though if she looked closely enough she could see the beer stains and signs of aging. The clientele, too, were a far less rowdy bunch: more middle class folks located in this part of the Lower City.

She took a seat at the bar and ordered a pint while she lit a cigarette. Keeping her back to the bar, she observed the tavern and its crowded tables. The barmaid, a flustered tiefling, had just upended an entire tray of full pints and was in the process of apologizing profusely to the table of ale-soaked pub-goers, who looked less than pleased. That would be coming out of her pay, if Roan had to guess.

As she scanned the room, she locked eyes with a familiar face and slid off her chair to cross the room. It seemed fate had deemed Gale an acceptable solution to her evening once more.

Gale sat at a table with a friend of his who Roan was familiar with: Wyll Ravengard. Wyll was no great fan of Roan’s. He was a Flaming Fist and son of Duke Ravengard. Roan might have cried nepotism if Wyll wasn’t so damn good at his job. And unlike Karlach, he disliked turning a blind eye to even minor offenses.

“Didn’t take you to frequent the Elfsong,” Gale greeted Roan as she stood tentatively at the edge of the table. Wyll frowned at her.

“Might’ve pissed a few people off at the Blushing Mermaid,” Roan explained. “Lying low for a while, but I needed to get out of my own head.” She nodded at Wyll. “Wyll, how long has it been?”

“Not long enough,” Wyll answered, but there was a slight pull at the corner of his lips to suggest he wasn’t too serious about it. “Still getting up to no good?”

“I am a fine upstanding Baldurian, thank you,” Roan feigned upset. “Never done a bad thing in my life.”

Gale snorted into his ale. “Right.”

“It speaks on you too, Gale,” said Wyll, “associating with her type.”

“My type ?” Roan leaned forward. “What I want to know is how you police a city like Baldur’s Gate and think what I’m doing is in any way comparable to the other shit happening here on a daily basis. Sorry if I don’t lose sleep over some rich twat losing a few gold.” She planted her ass in the seat next to Gale.

“I’m not going to sit here and lecture you.” Wyll shrugged. “Not like I’m going to change a century of habits.”

“A century?” Roan balked. “I’m barely seventy.”

Old enough to remember a time before Nine-Fingers ran the Stone Eyes, before she had even been part of it. Not that Roan was bitter about her place in the guild.

“Point still stands.”

“Let’s not argue,” Gale suggested. “I’m sure if the two of you spent a bit of time getting to know each other…”

“What do you know about The Crimson Trust?” Roan asked, leaning forward.

“If I knew anything, why would I tell you?” Wyll cocked his head. “I’m not interested in fueling guild wars.”

“Wars? We don’t war. You know, you could benefit from a trip down to the Blushing Mermaid some time. I’m sure daddy would prefer you not to dirty your boots mucking around with us common thieves , but you might learn a thing or two about the real citizens of the city. Most of the time we get along fine. Hells, sometimes guilds will contract jobs out to other guilds if they’ve got their hands full. There’s just this one fucker in the Crimson Trust who’s been giving me shit lately and they’re the most secretive guild as far as recruitment and tactics go.”

“If I made a trip to the Blushing Mermaid it would be to arrest someone. And all I know about the Crimson Trust is they’re a gang of thieves. Not unlike the Stone Eyes.”

Roan turned to Gale. “Why are you friends with this prick?”

Gale pressed his lips into a thin line. “You don’t speak to me for six months and you think you get to dictate who I spend my free time with? That’s rich.”

“Well…fine,” Roan took a drag from her cigarette. “Fair point.”

“Do you even have any friends?” Wyll asked. “You’re here alone.”

“I have friends,” Roan protested. Not many . “I like working alone as much as possible.”

“She doesn’t like to be tied down,” Gale translated. “And she’s afraid of intimacy.”

“ Thank you , Gale,” Roan groaned.

“Sorry if I know you after a decade of…would we call this friendship?” He cocked his head.

She rolled her eyes. “ Yes .”

“I think it’s telling that Tara doesn’t like her,” said Wyll.

“Tara doesn’t like anyone besides Gale,” Roan protested.

“She likes me just fine.”

Roan didn’t have a good response for this. The truth was, she had always been mildly self-conscious of Tara’s distrust of her, as though Tara knew she was trespassing upon Gale’s kindness and trampling over any feelings he might have that she didn’t return.

Tressyms were unusually intelligent. 

“Well, anyway,” Roan stubbed out her cigarette on an ashtray at the center of the table. “I won’t keep you from catching up. Didn’t want to be rude and seem like I was ignoring you.”

“Because you’ve never done that,” Gale gave her a withering look.

Roan shrugged. “I would say it was nice seeing you, Wyll, but…”

“Likewise,” Wyll replied tersely.

“Perhaps sometime you could try coming by for an actual conversation?” Gale called after her as she headed for the exit.

Perhaps not.

Chapter Text

For a week, Astarion turned up at the Blushing Mermaid, and for a week he found no sign of Roan Tevlin, though he wasn’t above asking the other Stone Eyes if they had seen her. She was busy on jobs, according to them, and considering he was recovering from a dagger stuck in his side, Astarion hadn’t ventured down into the sewers since.

Neither had Karlach seen her, though apparently detective Hallowleaf had moved on to a bigger issue and the coast, for the time being, was clear.

What he wanted was to rip Roan open and tear out her insides.

And then one day, she turned up again at the Blushing Mermaid, sitting down on the stool next to Astarion and ordering a pint. She rested her head on her hand and looked sideways at him.

“How’s your side treating you, Astarion?”

“ Fine ,” he replied. “Just fine. I’ve made a complete recovery.”

“What a relief,” said Roan, with a tone that suggested otherwise.

“And to what do I owe the honor of you barging into my personal space?” Astarion asked.

“Just keeping an eye on you. You’re the only person in the city who can manage to sneak up on me, so why bother lurking? Can’t get up to much if I’m constantly breathing down your neck, can you?”

“You think I can’t slip you? For such a ‘master thief’, you’re not that good at what you do.”

“I’m not-” She bristled and then immediately stopped and took a long breath. Astarion chuckled - he liked getting under her skin. “ You have been making it impossible to do well at my job. Why? Why me?”

“Roan, darling, don’t you understand?” He rolled his head onto his shoulder and grinned at her, letting all the light fade from his eyes, baring his teeth. “ You are a threat. More of a threat than anyone else in your stupid little guild. You stand the chance of taking Nine-Fingers’ place one day and we all know it. Except,” he tilted his head back and forth and pouted, “She’s not so fond of her little pet anymore, is she?”

“That’s what this is about?” Roan growled. “You don’t want me running the Stone Eyes so instead you’ll see me ‘taken care of’ when Nine-Fingers is sick of my failure?”

Astarion picked at his fingernails. “That’s the gist of it.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roan leaned closer to him. “I think you’re pissed because I’ve never once showed interest in fucking you. Did Dal tell you about the night she saw stars riding my face? Did that get to you, Astarion? Am I the only person in this entire pub you haven’t bedded?”

“Full of ourselves, aren’t we?” Astarion rested his head on his hand. Roan was attractive enough, but in general his conquests were less about sating his own urges and more about bringing prey home to Cazador, which put opposing guild members firmly off the table unless he wanted to arouse undue suspicion. It didn’t surprise him that Dal had fooled around with Roan, however. 

“If the shoe fits,” Roan shrugged.

“You couldn’t handle me. I guarantee it,” he replied coolly. “If anyone is desperate here it’s you . You reek of it. If you were ever lucky enough to bed me,” he inched closer to her, “it would be so good, you’d beg me for release. And I’m not confident I’d give it to you.”

Without missing a beat, Roan said, “So you’re saying you can’t make me cum?”

Astarion sat up and scoffed. “That is not what I said.”

“S’what I heard,” said Roan, sipping her drink. “So you’re jealous you can’t fuck me and you’re admitting you can’t make a woman cum. Interesting.”

Astarion bristled. “You’re infuriating.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Astarion shook his head and laughed. “I might like you, if I didn’t despise you, you know.”

“It’s okay, Astarion, you can admit you want me. There’s nothing more erotic than being stabbed by someone, is there?” She didn’t even glance at him as she spoke, instead staring ahead past the barkeep while she sipped her drink.

“Hm, well, it does involve penetration. But I think I’ll stick to more traditional romps, if it’s all the same to you.”

There was a brief silence before Roan spoke. “I’m not going to let you keep fucking up my jobs. It was a low blow going to the Fists. What happened to honor between guilds?”

“I’m afraid I never had much honor to begin with and I’ve even less now.”

The truth was not that Astarion necessarily wanted her dealt with, though she had always been his biggest competition since she emerged on the scene. Cazador wanted her dealt with and he had tasked Astarion with the job. And while he’d killed his fair share of people, he didn’t fancy getting his hands dirty with another thief, even if he was reconsidering that line of thought with every interaction he had with Roan. 

It was more fun to demoralize her and let Nine-Fingers deal with it anyway. Astarion couldn’t guess at Cazador’s reasoning. Perhaps he worried about the stability of the competing guilds with a lone-wolf like Roan in charge. 

It wasn’t his place to question. 

Maybe he should have just gone the route of seduction and taken her back to Cazador. But he suspected if he did that, Cazador would simply turn her so she could do his bidding. He liked that idea even less than his current plan. 

But he was always up for a challenge, and Roan had made it perfectly clear that she’d rather chop off a limb than let Astarion fuck her. So as he slid off of his stool, he leaned in close to her, resting a hand on her thigh and whispering against her ear, so close his lips brushed her skin. 

“Watch your back, darling.”

The flush in her cheeks up through the tips of her ears told him all he needed to know. He left her to stew, venturing out into the night to find his next victim. 

Tailing Astarion was not an easy task. The man had a keen sense of his surroundings that made it difficult, if not impossible to follow his path without being noticed.

If anyone in Baldur’s Gate was capable of it, however, it was Roan.

She’d waited until he was out of the tavern, annoyed at how is touch still lingered on her thigh, draped herself in a dull-colored cloak, and began the arduous task of figuring out where he was headed.

Of course, she knew where the Crimson Trust made their home: everyone did. Szarr Palace loomed over the lower city: a gaudy monument to Cazador Szarr’s wealth. How he managed to flaunt his wealth while running a thieves guild that was well known throughout the city was beyond Roan.

Getting into Szarr Palace, on the other hand, would truly have been impossible. Thieves knew how to guard themselves and security at the palace was tight.

But she could at least follow Astarion around for a bit and figure out what he got up to, perhaps even figure out how he was getting information about her jobs ahead of time.

For a while she followed, far enough back that she blended in with the crowd of evening-goers. Astarion was easy to keep sights on with his shock of white hair. Eventually, as he wound his way up to Wyrm’s Crossing, she had to take to the rooftops and walk stooped as low as she could to blend in with the shingles in the dark.

He entered a pub in the crossing, directly across from Sharess’ Caress, so Roan shimmied down the side of the building and slipped inside, thankful to find the place crowded with people looking to drown their sorrows after a long day of work.

She found a secluded spot in the corner and sat perfectly still, watching Astarion move from beyond her hooded cloak.

For nearly half an hour, Astarion simply stood at the bar sipping a drink and scanning the room. If he noticed Roan hiding in the shadowy corner, he didn’t show any sign of recognition. More than once he was approached by interested men and women, and he turned them away with a look of disdain.

Arrogant prick .

When he finally moved from the bar, it was to approach a handsome young human who sat alone reading a book. Astarion chatted with him, and Roan could tell by his grin and the flush of the man’s cheeks that Astarion was flirting. They chatted for some time, Astarion plying him with drinks.

And then the most curious thing happened.

No one else seemed to notice it - they were all too busy with their own matters. Astarion’s eyes glowed a vibrant red and he stared directly into the human’s eyes as he spoke. The human seemed dazed after that, nodding and rising as if willed to do so by Astarion, who took the man’s arm and led him out of the pub.

What the hells was that?

Roan waited a beat before following them. Astarion had his arm around the man’s shoulder, a firm grip clawing into him. The man remained with a glazed-over look in his eyes, smiling placidly at Astarion as they walked.

Astarion had had ample time to take the man’s purse, or anything else he might have wanted to steal. So what was his goal here? And how was he keeping this man in a trance?

Not that Roan’s opinion of Astarion was exceedingly high - he had crossed lines plenty of other thieves wouldn’t dare for fear of sullying their honor - but she had thought him to be above a crime as vulgar as this. Would he let the man live after he took what it was he wanted?

She wasn’t going to wait to find out.

As Astarion rounded the corner, leading the man east down a narrow street that led toward Szarr Palace, Roan flung herself at Astarion, knocking him to the ground and holding her blade to his throat.

“YOU!” he spat, gripping her arms to pull the blade away from his skin.

His concentration had been broken. The man with him shook his head, dazed, and looked around. 

“Where am I?” 

“Go home,” Roan said through clenched teeth. “This man was trying to rape you.”

“ RAPE? ” Astarion hissed. “What in the hells gave you that idea?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the trance you put him in for starters?”

The man didn’t wait to hear an explanation. He took off running in the other direction, leaving Roan and Astarion struggling against each other alone in the narrow passage. 

Roan was lithe and slippery, but Astarion had the advantage of size. He managed to knock her blade to the ground and then he grabbed her arms, gripping her sides with his legs and rolling to force her underneath his weight. They struggled, clawing at one another until Astarion drew blood: a thin scratch along her cheek, hot blood welling to the surface and trickling down her face.

Astarion’s eye’s went wide, his pupils dilating, nostrils flaring. He forced her arms to her sides, held her down like it was nothing, but he was entirely focused on the line of blood on her face. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, never taking his eyes off of the wound.

Roan really wanted to know what the fuck was going on. This entire evening had been bizarre from the moment she started tailing him. She didn’t stop struggling against him though, even as he held her in a vice grip.

He breathed heavily atop her, swallowing hard again. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

“I don’t make a habit of sexual assault,” he said, eyes still closed. 

“Then what the fuck were you doing to him? I saw your eyes go red.”

His eyes snapped open, his pupils so large they seemed to obscure his irides entirely. “Oh, dear. You can’t really be that dull, can you?”

“What?”

“I thought you were Nine-Fingers favorite pet.”

Roan stared blankly at him. “I was until you came along.”

“She must keep her knowledge close to the vest then. It’s a well-kept secret in the city, but hardly secret amongst the guilds. Why, I thought you would’ve known after your night with Dal.” He leaned closer.

Roan still didn’t understand, and she was unnerved by the look in his eyes, the way he kept staring at the line of blood on her face.

He grinned, baring his teeth. “When was the last time you saw anyone from the Crimson Trust out in the daylight?” he asked.

She considered the odd question and realized she had never once run afoul of Astarion or any of his guildmates in the light of day. Her eyes darted back to his teeth, the sharpened point of his canines. She had never given any thought to those teeth, always assumed there was tiefling somewhere in his family that had given him those red eyes and sharp canines.

The realization hit her like a brick.

Her immediate impulse was to get away, struggling once more against Astarion’s unnaturally strong grip. He grabbed her throat and squeezed hard enough to make her freeze.

“No, no. We won’t be running off to shout about it. You must be one of the only Stone Eyes who doesn’t know, though.” he laughed. “That’s what you get for being such a lone wolf, Roan.”

“So you were going to drink that man dry?” She asked.

Astarion scoffed. “No. I’m not allowed.”

“Not…what?”

He sat back on her legs and released her throat, so nonchalant that she didn’t even try to move. The entire encounter had left her reeling and unnerved. So she lay there beneath his weight staring at him while he seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“You don’t know anything about vampires? Really?” he cocked his head. “I thought surely you knew. It’s…well I can’t help but laugh. You’re less and less impressive the more I learn about you.”

“ Thanks ,” she spat.

She felt as though she’d been living some elaborate lie. Almost everyone in the guilds knew the Crimson Trust were vampires? And she’d just been ambling around assuming they were weirdly secretive for their own reasons? Maybe, considering how long Roan had been part of the Stone Eyes, it had simply been a gap in her knowledge. Maybe everyone assumed she already knew.

“The Crimson Trust,” she said out loud. “That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Well, I didn’t name it. Cazador never has had much taste.”

“What did you mean you’re not allowed to drink blood?”

Astarion finally sidled off of her. She was too curious to go scampering off now, and what would it matter anyway? Apparently everyone already knew Astarion was a vampire, so running to the Blushing Mermaid to tell everyone would at best be met with laughter.

“I mean the blood of thinking creatures is only for vampire lords. We’re spawn. Cazador decides what we eat. I was just bringing him back to Cazador.”

“Are you telling me this because you’re going to kill me?” Roan asked, staring at where her dagger lay between them.

Astarion snorted. “No. Or must I reiterate once more how blind you’ve been? Nine-Fingers and the other guild leaders are well aware of what we are. And well aware of what we do for Cazador. But there’s a sort of mutual understanding. You think Nine-Fingers never had someone sent our way to get rid of them? Guilds do each other favors. But you…she wouldn’t turn you over to Cazador if she wanted to get rid of you. Because she knows he’d just turn you and use you for his own guild.”

Roan was trying and failing to process all of this information. She was, of course, aware that vampires lurked in Baldur’s Gate and plenty of other cities, but she’d never had a run-in with one. At least, she didn’t realize she had.

Astarion still stared at her wound, which continued to trickle hot blood down the side of her face. She wiped some of the blood away and her fingers came back stained crimson. Astarion inhaled sharply and his nostrils flared again.

“Taste it,” she said, holding her hand out.

“ What ?”

“You’re practically salivating. Just taste it. How would Cazador even know?”

Astarion licked his lips, his eyes trained on Roan’s bloodstained fingers. “It’s not allowed.”

“I’ve never known you to follow rules. Unless you’re too scared?” she cocked her head. She wasn’t sure why she was goading him into this. Maybe part of her hoped Cazador did find out and Astarion got some sort of retribution for the shit he’d put her through lately. Or maybe part of her wanted him to taste her.

She was too frazzled to decide which it was.

Her arm remained outstretched between them, the wet blood on her fingers glistening in the lantern light. Astarion stared, his breath coming heavy through his nostrils. He reached out tentatively, leaning forward and gripping her wrist, dragging his tongue along her fingers. A small sound of surprised pleasure issued from his throat and he wrapped his lips around her fingers taking them into his mouth and lathing them with his tongue to lick the blood clean.

He released her with a gasp, his eyes ablaze.

For several seconds they stared at each other. She managed the barest of nods and he was on her, dragging his tongue along the line of her wound, licking up the blood dripping from it, gasping against her skin. He was like a crazed animal.

His weight against her, his hot mouth against her skin, was causing an instinctual reaction, redirecting the blood flow in her body. 

“I’ve never tasted anything like this,” he breathed, brushing his nose against her neck.

She couldn’t doubt his sincerity.

“Do it,” she gasped.

He didn’t ask for reassurance, didn’t hesitate. He sunk his fangs into the soft skin of her neck and it felt like two shards of ice plunging into her. He withdrew his fangs and latched onto her with his mouth, sucking up the blood that poured freely from the wounds, soothing the ache with his tongue.

It felt… good .

He moaned as he drank from her, clinging to her body as he sucked the life out of her. It was strange how blissful she felt, even as the edges of her vision started to go black. She could have let him kill her. What magic was this?

He’d never drank from a person before and she realized he had no control over himself. She shoved him off of her, with just enough force to make it clear the moment was over. He scrambled away from her, his lips and chin stained with her blood.

Roan sat up and pulled a salve from her coin purse, rubbing it against the wound on her neck and wishing she had some water to help with how lightheaded she had become.

“I’ve never…” Astarion said, wiping his lips with the back of his hand only to lick the blood away. “That was…”

“I’m not sure what I was thinking,” Roan said quickly.

“I should…I need to get back.” Astarion got to his feet, glanced at Roan once more, and took off into the night.

What the fuck had she just done?

Her head was pounding from the sudden lack of blood, and her heartbeat throbbed between her legs as well. She grabbed her dagger off the ground and sheathed it, moving slowly along the street, holding herself against the wall for support, ambling back to the Blushing Mermaid so she could get some water and food.

Inside the pub she found Dal in conversation with one of her guildmates in the Stone Eyes: a tiefling named Lyrin. Roan fell against the bar and croaked out a request for water while Dal and Lyrin stared at her.

“What happened to you?” Lyrin asked.

“Astarion happened,” she croaked.

Bosun passed her a water and she chugged it before demanding another.

Dal cocked her head, a sly grin on her face. “Finally managed to bed you, did he? He wouldn’t ever say, but I could tell he was jealous when you and I-”

“Did you know the Crimson Trust are vampires?” Roan asked Lyrin. She still felt dazed.

Dal went silent and Lyrin laughed. “It’s the worst kept secret in the guilds. You didn’t know?” He stared at her and when she said nothing, he frowned. “You didn’t know ?”

“Well I know now.”

Dal’s eyes moved to Roan’s neck where the salve was still caked against the bite wounds left behind by Astarion.

“He didn’t…?”

“I told him to,” Roan said, chugging the second glass of water nearly as quickly as the first.

“Shit.” Dal slid off her stool. “I need to go find him.”

Lyrin watched her go and turned back to Roan. “What in hells happened?”

“Nothing,” said Roan, slamming her empty glass on the bartop. “I’ve got to go lay down.” She took two steps before her vision went black and she fell to the ground with a thud.

Astarion sat curled up in his bed trying to rid himself of any thought of what had just happened. It was supposed to be a simple, straightforward night. He found a perfect meal for Cazador, he was bringing him back to the palace, and Roan had to ruin everything.

But he couldn’t get it out of his head, couldn’t stop thinking about the taste of her blood: the same iron tang as any blood, yes, but richer, and with something sweet and succulent beneath. Did all people taste so good? Astarion had only ever known the taste of rats and bugs, the occasional stray cat if he was lucky. 

How could he ever go back to drinking from animals after that? It was as if he had been living in black and white and was just now seeing color for the first time.

If Cazador found out, he would be punished severely.

The door to his room flew open and Astarion flinched, half expecting Cazador or Godey to be looking for him, to have heard his thoughts, but it was Dal who entered, a furious look in her eyes.

“Did you drink from Roan Tevlin?”

Astarion balked. “What? How did you…?”

“She came barging into the Blushing Mermaid white as a sheet and demanding water with two very obvious puncture wounds on her neck and when I asked what happened she said ‘Astarion happened’.”

“ Shit ,” Astarion hissed.

“What the hells were you thinking, Astarion? You know the rules.”

“She offered,” he protested. He knew that didn’t matter.

“And? If Cazador…” She glanced around and lowered her voice. “If Cazador finds out, he’ll flay you.”

“You’ve never either, have you?” He asked.

“Of course not. I don’t fancy testing Cazador’s limits.”

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted, Dal.”

Dal slapped him across the face. “Get a grip, Astarion. Don’t do it again.”

“No. You’re right,” Astarion held his hand against his face. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“I don’t want to see you tortured or worse. You’re the only one in the guild I can stand,” said Dal.

“It won’t happen again,” Astarion said.

But even as he said it, he couldn’t get the taste of Roan’s blood out of his mouth, couldn’t stop thinking about how different it had felt than any other time.

He couldn’t do it again. He didn’t want to risk Cazador’s ire.

And yet it was all he could think about.

Chapter Text

Despite Roan’s usual reluctance to get to know her guild mates or care about anyone but herself, Lyrin had been the one to carry her back to the guild base when she passed out inside the Blushing Mermaid. And when she awoke, she found a note from Nine-Fingers to come to her office once she was conscious.

Roan had no clue how long she had been out, but she felt better when she awoke, though that was immediately quelled by the note from Nine-Fingers.

She made her way down the hall to her office and found her where she almost always was, balancing the books behind her desk.

“Sit,” she said without looking up.

Roan sat and said nothing.

“You didn’t know about the Crimson Trust?” Nine-fingers asked, never once looking up at her.

“No.”

She scoffed. “Your skills are good, Roan, but your situational awareness could use some finesse. If there’s a reason you haven’t climbed higher in this guild it’s that you’re so self-focused you can’t see the bigger picture of anything.”

“So I was the only one who didn’t know,” Roan said.

“More or less. Now explain to me why you let a vampire sink his fangs into you.” Nine-Fingers finally looked up from her papers.

“A moment of stupidity.”

“Let me explain something to you, Roan. We tolerate the vampires because Cazador has money and power in this city and he can and has assisted our guild in the past. But Cazador has rules. His spawn aren’t allowed to drink from people, even if they offer it up willingly. It’s not just Astarion who faces retribution if Cazador finds out what he did, you understand that, right? If he finds out it was you, he’ll expect punishment. The guilds have rules. And a mutual code.”

“If the code is so damn important why didn’t I know they were vampires?” Roan demanded.

“Because you’ve been in this guild for nearly sixty years. I think everyone assumed you were aware. But you don’t make efforts to know your guildmates, to know members of the other guilds except to bed them once or twice. You want to take my place one day? Learn to start playing by the rules and making nice with others. This city has no room for lone wolves. If I had been in Stoll’s shoes I never would have taken a rogue like you in. He should have been harder on you. I will be harder on you. Now get out of my sight. And if I find out you let that vampire drink from you again, you’ll wish it was Cazador punishing you.”

Roan bristled, but she knew her place. She rose to her feet, nodded to Nine-Fingers, and returned to her room to plan for her next job.

The Blushing Mermaid was not an option for Roan that evening. She needed to stay as far away from Astarion as possible. She wanted to kill him, she wanted to fuck him, she wanted him to drink from her again, and she didn’t trust herself not to let one or more of those things happen if she ran into him.

Better to ignore him. She doubted he was keen to discuss the matter either, given that up until the moment he sunk his fangs into her neck, they had both wanted to gut each other.

So she found herself once more climbing the side pillar of Gale’s shop, glancing inside his flat to find it empty. She slumped into one of the chairs on his balcony and lit up a cigarette, staring out at the city while she smoked until a loud hiss alerted her to Tara’s arrival.

“Yeah,” Roan waved her hand. “I know you hate me. I hate me too.”

The tressym spat at her and stalked over to the door, pawing at it and meowing loudly.

“He’s not home,” Roan said. “So you’re stuck with me until he gets here.”

Roan didn’t know much about tressym, besides that they were smart as well as effective hunters, but she was certain Tara could understand her because she meowed and stepped away from the door, instead lying by the balcony railing and staring at Roan with wide eyes.

“I’m not that bad, you know,” she said. “I know you don’t like me. You think I’ll hurt Gale. I wouldn’t. Not on purpose anyway.”

Tara meowed.

“I’m talking to a damn cat,” Roan sighed. This earned her a very loud meow and she frowned. “I’m sorry. A damn tressym.”

Tara closed her eyes, as if more content with this answer.

“I don’t suppose you know where he went?”

Roan could have sworn the tressym shook her head. Then again, maybe she was just seeing things.

The two of them sat in silence, which was a major improvement over the usual hissing. Roan puffed on her cigarette and tried not to dwell on Astarion, his lips and tongue against her neck, his body grinding against hers.

She was spiraling.

“I see I have a visitor!”

Roan rose to her feet at the sound of Gale’s voice and peered over the edge of the balcony. Gale stood on the ground below, swaying slightly, a drunken grin on his face.

“You drunk?” She asked.

“Only a little. Hold on. I’m coming up.”

He stepped inside the shop and Roan turned to face the door to his flat, resting her back against the balcony railing. Tara stood and stretched and walked over to the door, pacing and meowing until Gale appeared to unlock it.

He left the door open, leaning down to scratch Tara’s back as she fled inside.

“You’re a pleasant surprise,” he said, smiling broadly at Roan.

“Am I?” She laughed. “I’m never sure how happy you’ll be to see me. Given my flitting as you put it.”

“Well, I’ve enough alcohol in my system not to be too worried about it,” he stood in front of her and braced his hands on the railing on either side of her. His breath reeked of whiskey.

She coughed. “A bit drunk, are you?”

“Hm,” He rested his head on her shoulder and buried his face against her neck, his beard scratching against her skin. “I was playing cards with some friends at the Elfsong. Might have gotten carried away.” He pressed his lips to her neck and then pulled back, frowning. “What happened to your neck?”

Gale’s right arm was a magicked prosthetic, his limb lost to an incident with an ex who happened to be the Goddess of the Weave herself. He’d only talked about it once or twice with her, but she was familiar enough to be pissed on his behalf, even as he wrote it off as though it were a minor inconvenience. 

The magic crackled as he touched the wounds on her neck, making the hair on her arms stand on end.

“It’s nothing,” she lied. “Had a run-in with a vampire. He didn’t fare as well as I did.”

“I’m glad you’re all right,” said Gale, and she knew he meant it.

Why did he even tolerate her? He deserved far better, but she suspected he’d never really recovered from what happened with Mystra. Maybe he thought he couldn’t do better, didn’t deserve it.

“Well, I came here to get laid, but you’re way too drunk.” She grabbed his arm and led him inside. 

He fell heavily against his couch and Tara immediately jumped onto his lap. “I can still have sex,” he protested.

“I’m sorry, but I draw the line at too drunk to reasonably consent,” Roan rolled her eyes. She helped herself into his kitchen and lit the range to boil some water for tea. “Besides, we’ve tried to fuck while we were drunk before. You can never stay hard.”

“Can’t help biology,” said Gale, unbothered.

While the water boiled, Roan leaned against the wall and observed Gale happily stroking Tara’s fur. She purred contentedly.

“Tara actually tolerated me for a few minutes before you showed up,” Roan told him.

“I told you she doesn’t hate you.”

“She doesn’t like me either.”

“I like you well enough for the both of us.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.

Roan observed him with a strange feeling in her chest. She didn’t imagine ten years earlier when she fucked him for the first time that their relationship would linger this long. He was the only person she’d ever really been vulnerable with.

She rubbed her brow. She had to learn to start playing nice with others or Nine-Fingers was going to kick her out of the guild, if she didn’t kill her. And after nearly sixty years, death seemed preferable to a life devoid of the only purpose she knew.

The kettle whistled and Gale’s eyes opened. Roan made him a cup of tea and brought it to him, pressing the mug into his hands.

“Drink,” she said.

“Ah,” he inhaled the steam rising up from the cup. “Thank you.”

Roan sat next to him on the couch, bunching her legs up to her chest. She watched Gale sip the tea, the only sound Tara’s loud purrs as she lay draped across Gale’s lap.

“I’m sorry you didn’t hear from me for six months,” Roan said. What she wanted to say was, 'I’m sorry I’m not more reliable. I’m sorry I don’t know how to be close to people.' But she didn’t want to have that conversation, and Gale was too drunk anyway.

“It’s okay,” said Gale.

“No it’s not. It’s no way to treat a friend.”

“Well, you’re here now,” he said, resting a hand on her leg.

He finished drinking his tea and curled up against her, settling between her legs and resting his head on her stomach. She sighed and carded her fingers through his hair.

“You know I don’t do sleepovers,” she said.

But his eyes were already closed, a soft puffing issuing from his lips. Tara, after a few disgruntled meows at being jostled, settled in the crook of Gale’s legs and curled into a ball, draping her tail over her eyes.

“I don’t suppose I can move now,” Roan said, mostly to herself since Gale was audibly snoring.

But this was nicer than the alternative, wasn’t it? She leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes and tried not to think about Astarion as she drifted to sleep.

Astarion found himself in a position he had managed to avoid for several years, possibly the longest he’d gone without being reprimanded since Cazador made him.

Cazador had indeed found out about his blood-drinking. He trusted Dal when she said she wouldn’t tell Cazador, but Cazador had a strange connection with his spawn. Sometimes he just knew what they were thinking.

Cazador hadn’t even said anything to him. Astarion knew when he walked into the room where he intended to take him. And he found himself in the kennels with a wrought iron chain digging into his neck while Godey ran him on the rack for the fifth time in as many hours, until his shoulders were wrenched from their sockets. And when he was done, Godey would use Cazador’s magic to heal him and do it all over again.

He tried not to scream when the worst parts happened, but there were times when his mind went blank and he wasn’t really aware of the sounds coming from him.

Between the rack and the whip, Godey would force him to sit on a bed of dull spikes completely naked.

Because of Cazador’s magic, the torture could continue as long as he and Godey wanted, until Astarion had learned his lesson.

This was the true reason for the secrecy surrounding The Crimson Trust’s methods. They would never be able to recruit more members if people knew the truth.

Much as Roan was Nine-Fingers pet project, Astarion was Cazador’s. Cazador was quick to admonish wrongdoings, but never to praise success; and he liked the sound of Astarion’s screams most of all.

After five hours of torture, Cazador stopped by for his first visit. 

Astarion could remember vividly the night he was changed. He’d been a bit of a rogue in his youth, even though he knew the rules of the city dictated an owed allegiance to one of the cities thieves guilds if you wanted to keep thieving without being gutted for it. His foolishness and desire to work alone would have landed him in an early grave. 

Members of several guilds had approached him about joining their ranks and when he refused them, they banded together and tried to gut him. 

It was Cazador who found him lying half dead against the cobblestone, bleeding out. And with the rim of lantern light behind his head as he stared down at Astarion, he looked positively ethereal. It had seemed like a blessing at the time, as though Cazador were an Angel come to see him off to a peaceful death. 

He quickly learned the truth. 

“Well, boy,” said Cazador, hovering above him with a menacing look in his eyes. “You’ve had some time to think. What have you learned?”

Astarion knew what to say, even as his brain still longed for that taste again, would long for it for the rest of his eternal life, probably. 

“A spawn shall not drink of the blood of thinking creatures,” Astarion said, keeping his eyes lowered. 

Cazador gripped his chin and forced him to meet his gaze. “Say it like you mean it, boy.”

“A spawn shall not drink of the blood of living creatures,” Astarion repeated, more emphatically. 

Cazador’s pointed nails dug into Astarion’s chin. “And yet you’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” He released him with a scoff. “Punish him until he only knows obedience,” he said to Godey. 

“Of course, master,” answered Godey obediently. “The dog will listen when I’m done with him.”

Astarion wanted to scream, wanted to rage. But instead he lay perfectly still and stared at the ground and tried not to make a sound when Godey lashed him with the whip. 

Roan awoke to find she had slumped down fully into the couch at some point in the night. Gale was still sleeping, his face pressed into her shoulder, one arm draped across her body, soft snoring issuing from his throat. 

She was trying not to panic. 

Tara sat at Gale’s feet staring at Roan. She meowed loudly and hopped down from the couch to paw at the door to the balcony. 

“I…I can’t open the door for you, Tara. I’ll wake him.”

Maybe she could slip out from under him without jarring him awake? Then she could open the door and leave. He wouldn’t know the difference. He’d assume she left in the night as she always had for the entire ten years they’d been sleeping together. 

She didn’t have time to deliberate because Gale snorted and his eyes fluttered open. He glanced up at Roan and fixed her with what she could tell was a very practiced look. 

“Don’t freak out,” she said, though she was speaking more to herself than to him. 

“Why would I freak out?” Gale asked, though the slight quaver in his voice betrayed him. He sat up and, when he realized Tara was pawing at the door, he moved to open it for her. “I’m not freaking out,” he reiterated. “We’ve been sleeping together for ten years and you’ve never so much as taken a nap in my flat before. Why would I freak out about you staying an entire night?”

“Gale.”

“I’m not freaking out,” he reiterated. 

Well she was. 

“I should go,” Roan said, rising from the couch. “I should…”

“You told me not to freak out. You’re freaking out,” Gale said. 

“I’m not I just…” she couldn’t breathe. 

“Roan…” Gale sighed. “Don’t…you just slept on my couch. It’s not that big of a deal. Come on, hey,” he grabbed her arm before she could flee, pulling her toward him and pressing both palms against her face. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

But as sincere as he tried to sound, she could see the pain in his eyes as he said it. What a piece of shit she was. She knew how Gale felt, even if he had never said it, never wanted to burden her with his own feelings. 

“It’s not that. I’ve got jobs to run…planning to do…” it was only a half-lie. 

“Just stay for breakfast. You should eat before you go.”

“I…”

A huge part of her wanted to run, a smaller part of her wanted to stay, and then there was the back of her mind still stuck on the memory of Astarion’s mouth at her throat. 

She was so good at making messes, but shit at cleaning them up. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “All right. I’ll stay for breakfast.”

Gale beamed at her. “Excellent.”

He set to work making a small meal of eggs and toast and brewing some tea and Roan sat at the table tapping her foot against the floor and swallowing the urge to take off every time if welled up in her. 

They ate in relative silence. Roan wolfed her food down and Gale frowned at her. 

“You shouldn’t eat so fast,” he commented. “Your stomach will cramp up.”

“I’m not planning on going for a jog after this,” Roan said, rolling her eyes. 

“No, but…” Gale cocked his head. “I thought perhaps I could make up for last night?” He quirked an eyebrow. 

Roan was torn between still very much wanting to get laid, and trying not to claw her way out of her own skin at the thought of sex after spending an entire night with Gale. 

Of course, she knew it was over for her the minute she’d resigned herself to sleeping on his couch rather than waking him. 

“Oh,” was all Roan said. 

Gale grinned at her and gathered the empty plates, washing them in the sink and setting them aside to dry. 

“Sit down on the couch,” Gale said. 

Roan moved, though her feet felt leaden. Gale leaned over her and brushed his nose against hers. 

“No one’s freaking out, right?”

“Please shut up.”

“Right.”

He brought his lips to hers for a brief kiss before dropping to his knees between her legs and lifting the hem of her shirt, planting soft kisses against her stomach. He dipped his tongue into the groove of her bellybutton and she gasped, but it helped to relax her mind a bit. So instead of dwelling on all the competing thoughts in her head, she leaned her head back and focused only on the feeling of Gale’s lips and tongue against her skin. 

He unlaced her trousers and she lifted her hips to help him as he delicately pulled them down her legs with her underwear, tossing them aside and kissing a path up the inside of her thigh as he pulled her legs to rest on his shoulders. 

She ran her fingers along the top of his scalp and gripped his hair in her hands as he ducked his head between her legs, spreading her lips with two fingers and dragging his tongue along her slit with a low moan. 

That feeling erased everything else in her mind. She leaned her head back and rolled her hips to meet his tongue. 

He was exceptionally well-practiced with that mouth of his. 

His tongue circled her clit, a muffled moan issuing against her skin. He enjoyed giving her this pleasure, got off on it nearly as much as she did.  

Her muscles pulsed and her heart rate quickened. She gasped and tugged at his hair. His fingers dug into her thigh as his tongue moved, as his lips suctioned around her and drove her quickly toward the edge. 

A tension was building in her body. She arched to his touch, wordless moans leaving her throat, her stomach clenching as his tongue stroked against her clit. 

“ Fuck ,” she gasped. 

And then it hit like a bolt of lightning down her spine. Her breath quickened and she moaned his name, begged him not to stop, forgot anything and everything but his tongue between her legs. He listened obediently, never stopping, sliding a finger inside of her as he continued, soft sounds of approval issuing from his throat. 

She came a second time, the pleasure pulsing so violently that she couldn’t take it any longer. It was too much. She tugged on his hair, still moaning and panting, and he sat back looking exceedingly pleased with himself. 

Her head rolled back against the couch as her chest rose and fell heavily with her breath. 

“You’re too good at that.”

“Nonsense,” Gale chuckled. “A true scholar knows there’s always room for improvement.”

“You’re a nerd,” Roan replied. 

But his ministrations had been effective. She no longer wanted to flee. 

She beckoned him onto the couch and he climbed on top of her, bringing their lips together, his body grinding against hers as they kissed. His erection pressed against her leg through his trousers and she found herself exceedingly impatient.  

Her fingers moved to the laces on his trousers and she managed to shove them just far enough to free his erection, gripping his cock in her hand and stroking it until he moaned into her mouth. 

She pulled away from him, a strand of saliva still connecting their mouths. “Fuck me, Gale,” she whispered. 

“Ah, if you insist.”

He gripped his cock and slid inside of her with a snap of his hips, thrusting against her as he pressed his lips to her neck. 

He felt good. She needed to be fucked and Gale knew better than anyone what she liked. So there was no small amount of guilt when, for the briefest of seconds, she imagined it was Astarion’s cock pumping into her, imagined the icy pinch of his fangs in her flesh, and nearly came again at the thought of it. 

What the fuck was wrong with her? How had she spiraled this much in just a few days?

At least she still managed to say Gale’s name when she did cum, sweaty and clawing at his back. 

Maybe it would be better for everyone, herself included, if Nine-Fingers did just kill her. 

She was a fucking idiot. 

Chapter Text

For a week Astarion was forced to stay in the kennels, suffering torture at Godey’s hands, and occasionally Cazador’s, while he recited the words over and over and over.

A spawn shall not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.

And when they were done, the only evidence of Astarion’s torture was a tiny scar along his back that Godey hadn’t been quick enough to heal, too busy inflicting pain to consider it. Not that it mattered - Astarion had his fair share of scars from jobs and unruly prey. No one would ever consider a new one.

The torture hadn’t broken him of the impulse still rocketing around his head; the strength he’d felt after drinking from Roan had been a high unto itself. Everything else turned to dust in his mouth compared to the taste of blood from a person.

But he had at least learned to keep it from the forefront of his mind enough to convince Cazador that he was obedient, that he would never ever risk breaking a rule so egregiously again. They both should have known better. Astarion had always been the most disobedient amongst the spawn; a week of torture was nothing compared to what Cazador had done to him in the past.

Despite his better judgment, Astarion thought it would probably happen again, if he was given the opportunity. 

Finishing up his first job after his release from the kennels, Astarion made his way to the Blushing Mermaid, simultaneously hoping Roan would be there and hoping he never saw her again. There were almost certainly other options in the city if he truly wanted to risk it, but would the risk even be worth it? He knew Roan’s blood tasted succulent. He didn’t know the same about others.

He made his way upstairs where a tiefling was performing a seductive little dance while a bard played a tune on his lute next to her. He found Dal and Aurelia seated at a table with a decent vantage point of the stage, so he joined them, annoyed at the look of pity they both fixed him with.

“Well I suppose everyone’s heard about what I did,” he said by way of greeting. Dal, of course, already knew.

Aurelia frowned. “What were you thinking, Astarion?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he grumbled. “There was blood in front of my face and I couldn’t help myself. It’s a mistake I won’t be making again.”

He scanned the room for a sign of Roan and felt a prick of annoyance and excitement when he saw her on the other side of the room, seated with some of her guildmates for once rather than alone in her shadowy corner.

They locked eyes and she frowned at him.

Best to ignore her. No good could come from speaking with her. Astarion wasn’t even sure he could be near her, for fear the scent of her blood alone would scramble his senses.

What had he become? Cazador had charged him with dealing with Roan, seeing to her downfall, and instead all he could think about was how desperately he wanted to sink his fangs into her neck again.

Why had she even let him do it to begin with?

He tapped his foot and tried to focus on the tiefling dancing on the stage, but his eyes kept drifting back to Roan, who it seemed was also staring at him.

Dal followed his gaze and turned to him with a fire in her eyes.

“Are you fucking stupid?” She demanded.

Astarion snapped his eyes back to the dancer. “What?”

Dal pursed her lips. “I’m not doing you any favors, Astarion. Do you not remember when he locked you in a coffin for an entire year? Do you really want to risk that again? For this ?”

How could Dal understand? She’d never tasted a person’s blood. She didn’t know how nothing… nothing sated his hunger anymore. He had always wondered why spawn weren’t allowed to drink from people when Cazador was, now he knew. He couldn’t afford to kill that many people for his spawn, and how would they ever feed off rats and bugs again once they’d tasted blood so rich?

That and the power it imbued.

It was a threat to Cazador’s will, to be sure.

He glanced back to where Roan sat and found her seat empty. When he looked around, he saw her descending the stairs and, against his better judgment, he rose to his feet and followed her.

“Where are you going?” Dal asked.

“Washroom,” he lied.

Dal sucked her cheeks in and sighed. “If he kills you, it’s not on my hands.”

“Dalyria, I’m not an idiot,” Astarion drawled. But he wasn’t so sure of himself.

He managed to make it down the stairs in time to see Roan exiting the bar, so he followed her out into the chill night air where he found her lighting a cigarette against the deck railing at the front entrance.

She took a long drag from her cigarette before she spoke, blowing the smoke into his face so that he coughed and had to fan it away. This alone reminded him of his distaste for her, even as he longed for her blood.

“You’ve been conspicuously absent since you sunk your teeth into my neck,” she said.

“I’ve been preoccupied.”

“Your boss get mad about it? You breaking the rules, I mean.”

“I’m my own master,” what an absurd lie. He hadn’t been for two centuries.

The tension between them was palpable. There was the faintest scent of her blood, maybe a small cut somewhere, or simply the flush of her skin, but he could smell it all the same. 

Roan tipped some ashes from her cigarette and turned to lean her back against the deck railing. “If you want to do it again, maybe we should consider somewhere more discreet,” she suggested.

His chest fluttered at the thought of it. He tried to act unaffected, cocking his head and fixing her with a smirk, “You liked it.” He pointed an accusatory finger. “You’ve been thinking about it while I was away.”

Her cheeks and the tips of her ears flushed red. “What are you, twelve? Grow up.” 

She flicked her finger against his nose and he recoiled, rubbing the hurt and frowning. “Well, if you didn’t enjoy it, then I’ll just be on my way.”

“Well, wait,” her fingers circled around his wrist. “I didn’t say that.”

Good . He had her where he wanted her. He wouldn’t have to demean himself with begging for another taste if she wanted it too. But after a week of suffering under Godey’s hand, a part of him still hesitated at the idea.

“Why don’t we find somewhere more secluded then,” he said.

Where, he wasn’t sure. His guildmates would be in all the local haunts looking for prey for Cazador and he didn’t want to risk being seen with Roan in front of them. As far as he knew, Dal was the only one who knew it was Roan he had drank from and been subsequently punished for. Even Cazador didn’t know who had offered their blood, or if he did he didn’t let on.

But there were plenty of little nooks and crannies in Baldur’s Gate for getting up to no good.

Roan took the lead, walking northeast toward an unknown destination. Astarion followed silently, catching a whiff of Roan’s scent every time the wind turned. Her blood had irrevocably altered his brain chemistry. He wasn’t sure he’d do it again if he could go back in time and stop himself.

“Whatever this is,” she gestured between them. “We don’t need to discuss it. And it doesn’t mean I don’t still fucking hate you for what you’ve been doing to my jobs. But maybe you could consider laying off? I’m not eager to offer up my neck if you’re going to keep running my career into the ground.”

“A truce?” Astarion laughed. “Well, perhaps that could be done.”

“A truce,” Roan agreed.

She led them to Bloomridge Park, reportedly quaint during the day, but Astarion had only ever seen it at night when it was more of a red light district than a park. He’d picked up prey there before.

“Interesting choice of scenery,” he commented. 

“Just shut up and keep walking,” Roan grumbled.

So he kept following, all the way to the back of the park where the wall leading to the upper city loomed above, casting a long shadow in the moonlight. At the wall, Roan ran her fingers along the bricks, feeling for something unseen. She found it after a moment of pawing at the wall, shoving a brick into a recess after which a small hidden door slid open.

“Clever,” said Astarion. “I had no idea that was here.”

“Guess I’m not entirely stupid,” she replied, slipping inside the door and beckoning Astarion to follow.

She pulled a lever on the inside of the door and it slid shut behind them. Inside was a passageway, not a single light source guiding the way. Luckily for both of them, they had darkvision, so they wound through the passage, Astarion following Roan’s lead, wondering if perhaps she was actually just leading him somewhere to kill him.

It would be a fitting way for him to go, tripped up by his own bloodlust.

Eventually, they reached a small alcove with a ratty mattress, a worn chest, and an oil lamp. Roan knelt to light the lamp and opened the chest, pulling out an aged blanket that she threw over the stained mattress.

“How romantic,” Astarion laughed.

Roan gave him a withering look. “Do you want my blood or not?” She smoothed the blanket out and lay down on it. “I found this place the same year the Stone Eyes recruited me. Good spot to get some privacy when the guild hall isn’t cutting it. I lost my virginity on this mattress.”

“Ah, I’m learning so much about you.” Astarion knelt tentatively at the edge of the mattress. He was surprised to find his heart racing.

Roan smirked. “If I didn’t know better, Astarion, I’d say you look nervous.”

“Nervous?” He scoffed. “About what?”

“Then get over here and do something.”

Goading did unfortunately work effectively on him. He didn’t like to be made to look incompetent. He climbed on top of her, settling between her legs and holding himself above her, his eyes scanning her face, really taking it in for the first time.

She, like him, had her share of scars from the life she had led, but there was a beauty beneath it, and something else: an unnerving aura about her. Or maybe that was just Astarion’s nerves. The truth was, he didn’t just want her blood. He wanted her body. He had been monstrously jealous when Dal slept with her. Even if he hated her, he felt more deserving of her body than Dal , than half the people he’d seen her leave the Blushing Mermaid with.

There was an exceedingly thin line between hate and lust.

But sex, for him, was a complicated affair. He so rarely truly wanted someone that he sometimes didn’t know what to do with that lust, that arousal. And now? How could he possibly please Roan when nothing would ever compare to the pleasure he’d experienced lapping up her blood?

“Are you going to stare at me all fucking night or are you going to do something?” She demanded, gripping his hips with her legs and forcing him closer.

“Has anyone ever told you what a bitch you are?” He asked.

“All the time.”

She grabbed the back of his head, attempting to draw his mouth to her neck and instead he pushed her arm away and brought his lips to hers, his mouth opening against hers in anticipation. She didn’t disappoint, opening her mouth to his, their tongues gliding against each other, a soft, almost surprised moan issuing from her throat.

Her knees dug into his hips as she arched against him. His head swam. He could practically hear her heart pounding, hear the blood flowing through her veins. He trailed his lips to her jaw and down to her neck, sucking against her skin harder and harder, willing the blood beneath to the surface. He could almost taste it as his kisses bruised her skin, almost but not quite.

“Do it,” she gasped. 

He wanted nothing more in that moment than to sink his fangs into her flesh and drink from her again, but the too-fresh memory of Godey’s whip, of his shoulders dislocating only to be healed and ripped out of their sockets again, it stayed his hand. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was scared .

So instead he sucked bruises into her neck, tasting the faintest hint of the rich blood beneath the skin, until every ounce of what little blood was in his body had redirected between his legs. He wanted to be inside of her in every sense of the word, but his anxiety kept him frozen, latched to her neck, unable to act.

She groaned and rolled her hips impatiently.

“ Astarion, ” she growled.

He brushed his nose against her neck, breathing in the scent of her, nipping at her skin without breaking it. Their bodies writhed against each other. He felt half-crazed.

He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take this . He had to taste her. Cazador be damned. A year of torture couldn’t break him of this need now that he’d tasted it.

He sunk his fangs into the soft flesh of her neck and sighed as her blood flooded his mouth. He suctioned his lips against the wound, lapping up every drop that sprang forth, sucking more out of her, gripping at her shoulder with one hand and tangling the fingers of his other hand in her hair.

She moaned beneath him, arching to his touch, craning her neck to offer more of her skin.

So he dug his teeth in again, lapping up blood from a new wound, and another and another, until her neck was coated in blood and her grip on his arm began to weaken.

Some rational part of his brain thought to stop, before he drained her of all of her blood and killed her. It was contending with the basest part of him that wanted to drown in the taste of her.

“Astarion…” she gasped. “I’m…I’m gonna…”

Her head lolled to the side and the rational part of his brain won. He sat up quickly, pressing his hands to her neck to staunch the blood with a bit of magic. The wounds stopped bleeding, but he couldn’t stop himself from licking her neck clean. It was already out of her body at that point. Why waste it?

“Roan,” he smacked her face lightly. “Wake up now.”

Her eyelids fluttered. She looked dazed. “Ah…” She sighed. “I need some water.”

Astarion made a habit of keeping water in a flask at his hip, mostly for extinguishing fires or aiding the occasional electric arrow, but it would do. He opened the flask and brought it to her lips and she drank it as quickly as she could, the excess pouring down her chin as she chugged.

“I…may have gotten carried away,” he said.

She wiped the water from her mouth and handed him the flask. “I could have stopped you.”

Astarion was…not sated, but content with the fill he had managed to drink. He wondered if he could ever truly be sated now, or if part of the curse of his immortality was an inability to know when he’d had his fill. But he had stopped himself from killing her, hadn’t he?

What he was not content with, was the aching throb between his legs. But neither did he want to pursue anything further with Roan. Yes, she had fainted, but more importantly he was so remarkably self-conscious he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He felt as though he owed her, and nothing in the world could compare to what she had given him.

“Why do you enjoy it?” he asked.

Roan shrugged. “It’s like a high. A rush. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Well…thank you…for offering.” he struggled to get the words out, moving to climb off the mattress.

“Are you fucking with me?” She huffed. 

“Excuse me?”

“I thought we were going to fuck. You’re just going to drink me dry and leave?” She sat up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows. “You get me all worked up like that and you’re not even going to do anything about it?”

Astarion stared at her. There was no way in hell he was going to stoop to the level of vulnerability required to admit he was too worried he wouldn’t be able to please her like she had pleased him.

“We hate each other,” he said instead.

“And? People have fucked for stupider reasons.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back on top of her. He let out startled gasp and braced himself to keep his full weight from falling on her. “I might hate you,” she said, “But it didn’t stop me from thinking about you while someone else was fucking me.”

“ Oh ,” said Astarion. To say he was surprised by this confession would have been an understatement, but it did wonders for his ego. “Tell me more.”

“I don’t want to see your tongue flapping again unless it’s between my legs.” She growled.

Astarion was a petty creature, perhaps the pettiest in Faerûn. So while part of him wanted to try to return the pleasure Roan had gifted him, the pettier part wanted to deny her it entirely. His anxiety surrounding the matter only spurred on that side of him. 

So Astarion leaned over Roan, planting tender kisses along her throat, the evidence of his feasting gone with his magic, relishing in the sounds of encouragement she made as he reached her collarbone. 

And then he sat up and stepped away from the mattress with a smirk. 

“What are you doing?” Roan huffed. 

“Leaving you wanting, my dear.”

She sat up and it was evident in the way she wavered that she was in no state to chase after him. “After I let you suck me dry?”

“I have to have my fun somehow, now that we’ve called a truce. But I’m sure we’ll have a chance to discuss this again in the future.” He began walking backwards, away from her. “Ta-ta, Tevlin,” he waggled his fingers. 

“ASTARION!”

But he was already running down the passageway, all too pleased with himself every time she screamed after him. 

She would not be taking chase anytime soon. 

As if being teased and left behind by Astarion wasn’t bad enough, it took Roan nearly an hour to regain the strength to shuffle her way out of the passageway and back outside, by which time Astarion was long gone. 

She couldn’t act like she was surprised. Whatever weird situation was brewing between them, there was still a thin veil of distaste, and she would take being left wanting over a job being ruined. It was as good of a situation as she could hope for. 

When she finally made it outside, she was still worked up and in need of some release, she she went with the next best option and made her way to Gale’s flat, where she found him seated on the balcony with a glass of wine and a cigarette. 

She climbed the pillar and toppled gracelessly over the railing onto his balcony, straightening herself up and attempting a suave, ‘hey’. Gale stared at her for several seconds before he spoke. 

“You know, Roan, I appreciate that you have other lovers, but it’s quite something to show up with a neck full of love bites from someone else and think I’ll be interested.”

“What?!” She moved to the glass door into his flat to try to look at her reflection against the moonlight. Sure enough, her neck was absolutely covered in large purple bruises left behind by Astarion before he’d finally sunk his teeth into her. “Gods above, I look like I’ve been mauled by a horny teenager.”

“Have you?” Gale asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“ No. I…ugh.” She fell into the chair next to him. “I didn’t realize. It’s a long story.”

“One I’m not too keen to hear!”

“I won’t bore you,” she propped her feet up on the balcony railing. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you feel like sloppy seconds.”

Gale’s brow furrowed and he kept his attention on his book. 

Roan felt like absolute shit, and stupid to boot. Astarion had been sucking on her neck for half an hour and she didn’t expect it to leave a mark? Maybe she’d hoped the magic that had patched up her bite wounds would do the same for the bruises. And then to show up flaunting it at Gale? Making it clear she’d been with someone else and he was her second choice?

Another stark reminder of how little she deserved Gale’s continued presence in her life. 

“You want me to leave?” She asked. 

He heaved a heavy sigh and shut his book. “No. For some reason I enjoy your company.”

“I really am sorry, Gale. It wasn’t that at all, it just…”

He held his hand up to silence her. “Start making excuses and I will ask you to leave, thank you.”

She fell silent for a moment. Gale sipped his wine and she could tell he was still irritated. 

“Do you want to tell me about a recent conquest? Really rub it in my face? Would that help?” She offered. “I’ll bet they gave better head than me.”

Gale snorted and tried to fix her with an annoyed look, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward and betrayed him. 

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “But a magnanimous offer nonetheless.”

“I’m lousy at this kind of stuff,” she said. “You know that probably better than anyone. But I am trying.”

“I know,” he said softly. 

She stared at her hands, wringing her fingers and resigning herself to the fact that the only pleasure she was going to find that evening was with her own hand. It was what she deserved, frankly. 

“How’s life been? We haven’t done a lot of talking the last few times I’ve been by.”

Gale smirked. Men . They just couldn’t help but be proud of their own virility. She’d never met one that wasn’t. 

“It’s been fine,” he answered. “Had a visit from Elminster a few days ago.”

Roan was not well-versed in history and certainly not learned in the ways of books like Gale was, but even she had heard of the wizard Elminster. Gale dropped the names of such legends as casually as he might mention the weather, a side effect, she supposed, of having spent the better half of a decade as Mystra’s lover. Not many wizards could stake such a claim. 

Even if it had left him physically and emotionally scarred when it was over. 

“When’s the last time you saw him?” Roan asked. 

“Not since…” he waved his prosthetic arm. 

“Ah,” Gale very sparingly talked about Mystra. She still didn’t even know the exact details of how he’d lost his arm, except that he claimed hubris and she suspected some sort of punishment on Mystra’s part. 

While Roan had never really been in a long-term relationship, she had had her share of toxic lovers. She had once told Gale he’d been manipulated by Mystra’s power and he hadn’t reacted well, but it was still how she felt. What could a God want with a mortal except to flaunt their own power? She’d groomed him. It wasn’t a relationship, it was Gale worshiping an immortal goddess who would probably forget him as soon as he was dead. 

She was angry on his behalf, despite not having all the details. 

“Well, anyway. He stopped by with some tomes from…her library. Gifts for the shop, I suppose. There’ll always be some level of connection so long as I’m in tune with the Weave.”

Roan frowned. “Isn’t it hard?”

She didn’t believe Mystra ever loved Gale, but she knew wholeheartedly that Gale had loved her. 

“Ah, I’d rather not think about it,” Gale said, a sadness in his voice. 

“Been on any dates lately?” Roan asked. 

Gale gave her a withering look. “Do you really want to hear about my love life?”

Roan shrugged. “You’re my friend first.”

“I’ve been on plenty of dates, though few have been what I would call successful. There just hasn’t been a spark .”

A terrible green heat welled in Roan’s chest and she was mortified to realize she didn’t want to hear about Gale with other people, that it made her almost angry to even think about it. 

As if she had a right. 

She couldn’t treat Gale like shit and hold him at arm’s length and then be mad when he tried to find love elsewhere. 

She wished she knew what it was she wanted out of life, because while she had a good eight hundred years to figure it out, Gale didn’t. 

Roan never liked dwelling too long how short-lived humans were. Not that she had ever built many attachments in her life, but it was odd to think in a fraction of her own life her human friends would grow old and die. She hated the disparity. 

“You deserve someone decent, Gale. They’re out there,” she forced herself to say. 

He stared at her and the pain in his eyes could have killed as he said, “Maybe.”

There was a long silence after that. Gale offered Roan a cigarette and they sat listening to the sounds of the city at night, the crickets chirping, the stray cats yowling at one another. 

Roan chose thieving because it came naturally as a street rat, she chose the Stone Eyes because at the time it felt as though they offered her the most protection. The things that stuck in her life were what kept her safe, kept her from starving.

So what was it about Gale that had made him stick longer than any other lover she’d taken? 

It was because she felt safe with him, in a way she’d never felt with anyone else. He never asked her to be something she wasn’t, never imposed upon her even when he probably should have. 

She didn’t know how to be tied down. How to love, or even really how to be loved. 

But there was a tiny part of her buried somewhere deep within that longed for it. 

“Tara out hunting?” Roan was the first to break the silence mostly because she couldn’t stand being in her own head. 

Gale shrugged. “I assume. She comes and goes as she pleases.”

“You ought to put a cat door in so you don’t have to get up to open the door for her all the time. Or,” she gave him a pointed look, “so you don’t leave the door cracked on the edge of the Lower City for any thief to just walk in and mug you.”

“So far you’re the only thief barging into my flat. Though perhaps you ought to consider security consulting. Who better to find all the flaws in locks and bolts than a thief?”

“Nah, I could never go straight,” Roan laughed. 

There was another pause and then Gale said, “Why did you disappear for six months and now suddenly  I’ve seen you at least once every week?”

“I was busy with jobs,” she answered honestly. “And then jobs started tanking when Astarion…” she bit her lip and shook her head. “I needed a friend again, I guess.”

Gale sighed. “Do you ever consider that our friendship is two-sided. That sometimes I might need a friend. I mean sure I have other friends, but…with you I don’t really have to mind my tongue or consider what I divulge about myself.”

Roan understood. And once again she felt awful. 

“I know I’m a shit friend. And I’m not saying that for sympathy.”

“I wasn’t going to disagree,” said Gale. 

Roan snorted. “This is why I like you. Never one to mince words. Look, I’m making an effort. It’s hard to undo…all the shit life has dealt me, to undo seventy years of this,” she gestured broadly to herself. “But I’m trying. Because I don’t want to lose one of the few stable, decent things I have going for me.”

Gale smiled, his face softening. “I appreciate you even trying.” He rose to his feet, stretching his limbs. “I’ve got to turn in if I want to get the shop open on time tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” She stood as well. “Thanks for not hating me.”

“I’ve had a bit of practice,” he grinned. “Good night, Roan.”

“Good night, Gale.”

As she climbed down the side of the balcony and made her way back to the guild hideout, she made a mental note to try harder, be a little more thoughtful…before she dug herself into a hole too deep to climb out of. 

Chapter Text

Two days passed before Roan ran into Astarion again, two days in which she did her work thoroughly and diligently to absolutely no praise from any of her superiors within the guild, but it was still better than being berated.

Two days in which all she did was think about what Astarion had denied her. She wanted him so desperately it was ruining her, and she wanted nothing less than to admit that to him more than she already had.

She should have never fucking let him have a taste of her blood.

When she did finally find him again, loitering outside the Blushing Mermaid just after sunset, she had no patience. She approached him in a rage and he wore a shit-eating grin in response, until she grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the wall.

“Oh,” he looked down at her with heavy-lidded lids. “Like things rough, do we?”

“I could fucking kill you,” she growled.

“Good to see I left an impression.”

He had to know it was just making her angrier that he was acting unfazed. Everything was a little game to him, and while it certainly wasn’t life or death, it felt that way to Roan at the moment.

“You almost kill me, you tease me, you leave me incapacitated, and then you disappear for two days?”

“Roan, darling, I can’t spend every waking moment drinking your blood, much as I know you’d like me to. I have work to do. I thought perhaps you did too.”

“I did have work,” she said, finally releasing him.

“Hm,” Astarion leaned forward and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, drawing close so that their cheeks brushed as he whispered, “And were you thinking about me again? Letting someone else give you what you needed while wishing it was me? It didn’t satisfy you, did it?”

The low note in his voice went straight between her legs. She was furious, she was out of her mind. Had biting her somehow enthralled her to him or was she just this fucking stupid? She certainly didn’t have the brain power to tease apart the truth at that moment in time.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said through clenched teeth.

“You won’t,” said Astarion, shifting and brushing his nose against hers. “Or then you’d never get what you wanted. Isn’t that right?”

“You don’t get another drop of my blood,” she said, her quavering voice betraying her utter lack of confidence. “Not until you’re ready to give me what I want.”

Astarion bared his teeth in a wicked grin. “A game of chicken is it? Fine. I went two centuries without tasting a person’s blood. I guarantee you, I’ll win.”

She believed he could. Certainly Roan had never been patient in her life, had always needed instant gratification. And Astarion was far older than her, which brought with it a century more of ostensible maturity and patience.

Ostensible being the key word.

“Fine ,” she took a step back from him. “I don’t need anything from you that I can’t get from someone else.”

“Lying is a terrible habit, darling,” Astarion said. “But do keep deluding yourself. I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of each other in the future.”

He took his leave of her and she swallowed a scream, lest she give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to her.

The matter of Roan flitting into and out of his life was one Gale had more or less come to terms with after a decade of what could usually be called friendship with her. 

When six months passed without a word from her, he had considered finally setting foot inside the Blushing Mermaid, if only to assure himself she was still alive, but he had known her long enough to know that if she caught sight of him looking for her she might very well panic. 

Roan was her own woman and always had been. It was masochism on Gale’s part to hope for anything more than the brief glimpses he got of her, but he had always been a bit of a dreamer. 

Something had tangibly shifted since she reappeared in his life. She showed up far more frequently than she ever had before, she was making a concerted - though not completely successful - effort to be more thoughtful and be a better friend, and then there was the matter of the night she had spent in his flat. 

Never once in the decade they’d been sleeping together had she ever even accidentally napped at his place. And then suddenly she stayed an entire night with Gale curled against her and even stayed for breakfast. 

But even with the shift in their relationship, Gale knew he couldn’t wait around forever for Roan to make up her mind. He had already spent so much time grieving the end of his relationship with Mystra and all that had entailed. He was only human, and his life was already almost half over; he didn’t want to spend it alone.

So he still went out with friends and tried to meet people, occasionally bringing them home with him, but none ever stuck. He always managed to find a flaw with them, as if Roan wasn’t a walking red flag herself. But he knew her flaws intimately, even found some of them endearing after knowing her for so long.

He wasn’t sure why Roan had outlasted so many others, besides that he had little say as to when she appeared in his life and for how long. He wasn’t even sure when he’d first gone from viewing her as a periodic convenient means of release to a friend to…whatever it was he felt for her now. Some time between the first time and now, it had settled uncomfortably between his ribs where he feared it might stay, contending with Mystra for space in his heart.

Roan came by at least once a week now that she’d reappeared in his life, and he was quickly growing complacent with the regularity of sex that brought with it. He had no need to go out and find someone to sate his urges with when Roan showed up so frequently, though he was reminded more than ever that he was rapidly approaching forty.

For the second time that week, he found himself writhing against Roan, sweat beading on his forehead as Roan clawed at his back, moaned his name, pushed him close to the edge just through the sounds she made. It didn’t matter how many times they had done this before, he still found her as breathtaking and enrapturing as the first time, still longed to hear his name on her lips.

“ Gale ,” she gasped, pulling him closer. “ Harder … please .”

And though he was winded and quickly tiring, he held himself up on his elbows and tried to leverage himself to meet her request, thrusting as hard as he could. The moan that left her throat was a reward unto itself. His stomach tightened in anticipation as he rolled his hips against her.

“ Gods ,” she threw her head back, closing her eyes as her mouth fell open in a noiseless cry. 

She gripped at his arms and he felt her muscles clenching around his cock as she came and that was his undoing. He lowered himself against her, moaning into her neck as he spilled himself inside of her.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped, clutching a few sweaty strands of his hair in her grip as she let her head fall back against the pillow. “I needed that.”

Gale rolled off of her onto his back, trying to catch his breath and come out of his post-orgasm stupor.

The problem was that no one felt as good as Roan, try as he might. No one felt as bad as she could either, when she truly hurt him, but the highs were worth the lows. She had never been this regular with him and he wanted desperately to beg her to stay, to curl against her and know her in a more intimate way than he ever had, but he knew it wouldn’t end well, so instead he forced himself to his feet to get a towel to help her clean up.

She thanked him, taking the towel and placing it under her, but remaining sprawled out on the bed for a moment.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her wordlessly.

“What?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Can’t I just admire your beauty?”

At this, she rolled her eyes. “Sure, but it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s like a favorite book,” said Gale. “You don’t tire of reading it.”

“Are you saying I’m musty like an old tome?” She grinned.

“If you choose to take that from what I said, I cannot help you.”

She chuckled and finally sat up, tidying up the mess and leaning against his back to kiss his shoulder. These affections of hers left him with a terrible ambivalence. He savored these moments, when she seemed to desire this closeness, but it made the times when she held him at arm’s length all the harder.

She was his weak spot and they both knew it…and she did seem to be trying harder not to use it to her advantage, not to play him as she had so many times in the past.

He held her hand against his chest where it draped over his shoulder, leaning his head against hers, a heavy sigh leaving his chest.

“How’s the guild been? Better, I hope.” He asked.

“Better,” she agreed. “I’ve managed to keep Astarion out of my way for the last few jobs I’ve run, so Nine-Fingers at least doesn’t want to kill me.”

“A marked improvement,” Gale laughed, but he did often worry over Roan and the dangerous relationship created by the thieves’ guilds in the cities. People were expendable to them, and even though Roan had been with them for decades, it only took a few mistakes for them to consider being done with her.

Gods, what would Gale even do if something happened to her? Would he even know?

“I’ve just been doing my best to lay low and…work nicely with others.”

“ You? Are you feeling quite alright?”

“Ha. Ha.” She shoved away from him and rose to her feet, gathering her clothes up off the floor. “I have no clue what I’m doing. It’s not like I dislike most of my guildmates, it’s just…I’ve always had to go it alone. I don’t know how to let people help me. I hate it.”

Gale grabbed his underwear from the floor and pulled them on. “I’m well aware. It was like pulling teeth just to get you to take potions from me. As if you haven’t helped me in return.”

“I know…it’s just a sticking point for me.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m trying.”

“And I do appreciate the effort. I’m sure your guildmates do too. I suppose you’ll be on your way now?”

Roan shuffled her feet. “Yeah. You know…”

“You stayed once,” Gale said. “Just once, but-”

“And I might stay again,” she said. “But not tonight.”

Gale sighed and nodded. “Get home safe then.”

She winked as she stepped out the door. “I always do.”

Astarion had really talked himself into a corner this time. 

A combination of his anxiety and his eagerness to irritate Roan had led him to this situation and now he sat in the Blushing Mermaid with some of his guild mates, so ravenous he could smell the blood of every living thing in the building. 

Two weeks since he goaded her into this little game of chicken. Two weeks and every time they saw each other they only slung barbs at one another and walked away. 

Because both of them knew what would happen if they lingered. 

He’d fed on what Cazador always fed them: rats, bugs, occasionally pigeons. It tasted rotten in his mouth, worse than sewage, but he needed to sustain himself somehow to run jobs and bring Cazador his prey. 

He was going to cave soon. He couldn’t take it. Not only did he crave her blood so badly it was making him crazed, but he wanted her body too. Enough to move past his own vulnerability. 

“You seem tense, Astarion,” Petras noted as he sipped at a foul smelling wine. 

Astarion hadn’t realized he was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails left marks in his palms. Roan was seated at the bar flirting with a member of the Zhentarim and casting the occasional pointed glance in his direction. 

“ Tense? ” Astarion barked. “What ever gave you that idea?”

“He’s been like this since…” Dal glanced furtively over to Roan. “Since the master punished him for drinking the blood of a person.”

“This is why it’s against the rules,” said Petras. “Why you would ever think of defying master’s rules-“

“Some of us have enough brains to be curious about the world, Petras. A pity you never will.” Astarion scowled at him, but his gaze was still focused on Roan. 

After a few more minutes of flirting, she and the Zhentarim slipped out of the bar and Astarion couldn’t contain himself any longer. Prideful he may be, but no amount of pride was worth the hunger gnawing at him from the inside. 

He followed Roan and the pretty little Zhentarim outside and around to the alley where he found them kissing against the wall in the dark. 

Astarion stalked over to them, pulled the Zhentarim off of Roan and bared his fangs at her “Leave,” he spat. 

The Zhentarim had the good sense to scurry at the look in his eyes. 

“What is your fucking problem, Astarion?” Roan hissed. “You want to make sure I don’t get laid at all, is that it? That hardly seems fair. And another thing, you-“

Astarion pressed her into the wall, digging his fingers into her arms as he brought their lips together to silence her. She let out a startled sound, tense in his grasp for only a second before she melted and opened her mouth to his. 

He didn’t have any control over himself. He was like a wild animal, starved for two weeks and ready to consume her. He spun her around and she gasped as he pressed her into the wall, unlacing her trousers and shoving them down past her ass. He could smell her blood pumping, hear her heartbeat. He wanted to bite into that pulse at her neck and drink her life away. 

Roan braced her hands against the wall.

“Just couldn’t control yourself, could you?” She looked over her shoulder at him, but he could tell she was not as unaffected as she pretended. 

He needed to give her pleasure, even if it wasn’t half of what she had given him by letting him drink from her. He fell to his knees and brought his face between her legs, dragging his tongue against her already slick heat without warning, savoring the taste of her, any taste he could get. 

Her breath caught in her throat and she arched to meet his mouth. 

“ Fuck,” she groaned. “Gods…”

Astarion repositioned himself, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder to reach the apex of her thighs. She grasped his curls between his fingers and tugged with each flick of his tongue against her. 

Her chest swelled with her heavy breathing, one arm braced against the wall while the other held his hair, rolling her hips as best as she could to grind against his mouth. 

The pitch of her moaning hitched as he suctioned his lips around her clit. Her mouth fell open and she clawed at the bricks in the wall. 

“Right there,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Gods don’t stop. I’ll fucking kill you if you… ahn,” her legs shook and he heard his name on her lips as she came. He didn’t stop, and her moans quickly devolved into whimpers as she continued grinding to meet his tongue and lips. 

He sucked and licked and stroked, and every time Roan cried out, the sound went straight to his cock, by then aching and hard. 

Her efforts stopped entirely. She lay with her full body weight against the wall, whimpering and moaning and yanking at his hair. 

He pulled back, struggling to his feet, observing her leaning against the wall, her thighs glistening. She looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, gasping for breath. 

So he stood behind her, unlacing his trousers with clumsy fingers, gripping her hip with one hand and his cock with the other. 

“Yes,” she gasped. “I need it.”

He didn’t wait to be told again. He guided himself inside of her until his hips were flush with her ass, savoring the groan that issued from her throat as he filled her. 

“Oh gods,” she cried, wrapping her fingers around the arm that held her hip, digging her nails into his skin. 

He pressed his body against hers and brought his free hand around to cover her mouth. 

“Hush now,” he breathed against her ear, thrusting against her. “We don’t want anyone getting curious and spoiling our fun.”

A muffled moan sounded against his hand. She squeezed her eyes shut and rolled her hips to meet his thrusts. She was so tight, so wet, and the scent of her blood, the sound of her heart pounding against her ribs, was going to make a mess of him. 

He grazed his teeth against her neck, thrusting harder, deeper, savoring the sounds he pulled out of her. His fingers curled inside of her mouth and he pumped them in time with his thrusts, her mouth suctioning against his fingers eagerly. 

He couldn’t take it any longer. He had to taste her again. With no warning, he dug his fangs into the soft muscle of her neck, her blood flooding his mouth and finally satisfying the hunger that had been eating at him for two weeks. 

It was a blessing, perhaps, that she enjoyed it too, if he believed in those sorts of things. But there was no denying her enjoyment, because a low moan left her throat, muffled against his fingers still pumping into her mouth, and then her muscles clenched tightly around his cock as she came again. 

It was sensory overload, her cunt pulsing around his cock, her mouth and tongue lathing against his fingers, the taste of her blood so rich he could drown in it. 

He barely felt it coming before his pleasure hit, so hard he saw stars, grunting against her skin as he tried to lap up more of her blood. And still he thrust into her, eking out every last bit of pleasure he could until it was almost painful.

A sense of clarity hit him once he had finished and he stepped back before he could drain her unconscious again. 

She leaned heavily into the wall, a thin sheen of sweat on her skin, blood glistening on her neck, his seed dripping from her thighs.

It was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget.

“I…” she gasped. “ Fuck .”

“A rare pleasure indeed to find you lost for words.”

“My neck…” 

She held her palm against the blood still pouring from her wounds. Astarion removed her hand and pressed his fingers against the wound to stich it up, licking away the excess blood. 

And he felt truly sated then, body and soul. 

Roan just stood panting against the wall, her legs shaking. 

“I won,” she said after several seconds. 

“Gloat if you like,” said Astarion. “I couldn’t take another minute. It was worth losing.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to help with this fucking mess you made?” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Couldn’t have pulled out first?”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.”

She groaned and pulled her trousers up, shifting uncomfortably as she tied them. 

“I still don’t like you,” she said, turning to face him. “But there’s no way to keep hating you after what you did with your tongue. Gods. I need a shower. I need to wash you off of me.”

Astarion smirked at her, entirely too pleased with himself. “You’ll come back for more, I’m sure.”

They both had something they wanted from each other. It was enough to bind them. 

“Yeah, well,” she closed the distance between them, tucking his cock back into his trousers and lacing them, yanking the strings so tightly he gasped. “I’m sure you’ll be thinking about me too.”

She took off into the dark and Astarion slipped back into the Blushing Mermaid, more content than he had been in two centuries. 

That Roan was the one to leave him so satisfied was a cruel joke from the Gods, but when had they ever listened to him anyway?

Chapter Text

Roan had hoped, perhaps naively, that fucking Astarion would successfully scratch the itch that had been driving her insane since she first let him sink his teeth into her neck. 

Instead, it left her thinking about it more than ever. 

She’d been with a lot of people, had a lot of great experiences. 

Astarion was, much to her chagrin, the best she’d ever had. She thought about him when she touched herself, she thought about him when she was fucking other people, she stayed awake staring at the ceiling in her room because she couldn’t think of anything but his tongue between her legs. 

He was an addiction and she needed another fix. 

At least she had the small satisfaction of knowing she had won their little game of chicken. Not that it mattered now. 

Her head was not in her work, even though it was more crucial than ever that she stay focused and succeed in the tasks Nine-Fingers gave her. In the rare instances that she wasn’t thinking about Astarion, her mind wandered to Gale, and the strange shift in their relationship of late. 

He had always been reliable, but lately he’d been even more than that. Part of her wanted to avoid him because of that shift, and because of the terrible jealousy she felt every time she thought of him with someone else. 

Roan, who was incapable of holding onto serious friendships or having a committed relationship, was spending every waking moment thinking about two different men. As if she had time for either? 

She was going insane. 

And she hadn’t seen either of them in a week, throwing herself into work, though it only made her more frustrated.

It was with this pent up frustration that she stood watch with a stone of farspeech loaned to her by Nine-Fingers. She stalked along the rooftops of the upper city, monitoring the streets while Lyrin and another of their guild mates attempted to hijack a wagon full of gold bound for the counting house. 

“Go east down Barden Street,” she said into her stone. “That path is clear and will get you closer to the wagon.”

She could see the wagon, drawn through the streets by two bulky laborers thanks to the city’s laws against large animals. It made its way down Main Street toward the lower city, a smart move for the time being: Main Street was crowded even at this time of night, which made it harder to ambush the wagon. But they would have to turn down narrower paths eventually. 

“How many men on it?” Lyrin asked. 

“Two brutes pulling the thing.” She counted the armed protection around the wagon. “A good ten people protecting it. Well-armed.”

“Any chance you can snipe a few?”

Roan hopped along the rooftops to follow the wagon. “I have one arrow of darkness in my quiver. It should give you the advantage.”

“Perfect. Hold off until they get to a more secluded area.”

“Thanks for the brilliant advice. I’ve only been doing this for almost sixty years.”

She heard Lyrin chuckle on the other end. 

For nearly half an hour she stalked the wagon, directing Lyrin and his partner down to the lower city, keeping them close but never within sight of the wagon. 

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the wagon was forced to turn down a narrower street to make its way to the counting house. Roan readied her arrow of darkness and spoke into her stone of farspeech.

“Turn north on Golden Way,” she said. “Streets are empty except for the wagon. I’m shooting my arrow now.”

“Got it.”

She lined up her shot. She’d always been better with a dagger than a bow, but she was the lithest of the group, able to scale buildings quickly, and with sharper vision than a hawk she was the natural choice for the team’s archer.

Still, she didn’t want to miss.

All she needed to do was land the arrow in the wagon and it would surround them in darkness and then Lyrin and his partner could step in, steal the gold, and be gone before the darkness cleared - no bloodshed, no sign of who had done it.

She scanned her surroundings once more, ensuring she was out of sight and safe to fire. The wagon moved slowly enough that it wouldn’t be an issue of timing, so she knocked her arrow and pulled taut on her bowstring, firing into the night.

Her arrow landed just in front of the cart, missing her mark, but close enough for the plume of darkness that exploded upon impact to engulf the cart and everyone surrounding it. Shouts echoed into the night and Roan caught a glimpse of Lyrin and his partner descending into the dark cloud and emerging a moment later with as much gold as they could carry, disappearing into the sewers.

“Make yourself scarce before the darkness clears,” Lyrin said. “We’ll get the gold back to Nine-Fingers.”

Roan didn’t hesitate, scrambling over the other side of the roof and sliding down to a lower rooftop to sprint away from the scene as fast as she could. She only stopped once she had put nearly a mile between her and the wagon, resting on the roof of a small potion shop and taking a long swig from her water canteen while she let the night air cool her down.

It felt good to have a job go so smoothly, to be focused enough to make it work, even if she was immediately pondering Astarion once it was over, and whether or not she might find him in the Blushing Mermaid. A part of her desperately needed him again, but a greater part of her was terrified that she was trapping herself in an endless cycle.

What was the endpoint to any of this, she wondered.

As she sat observing the streets, the ring of intent Gale had given her lit up for the first time in a while and she glanced down to find Wyll staring up at her from the opposite side of the street. Karlach stood next to him, peering down the alley.

Roan waved. “Good evening, officers.”

Wyll folded his arms. “What are you doing loitering on a rooftop?”

“Am I breaking any laws?”

“Ah, she’s harmless,” said Karlach, turning her attention away from the alley as she heard Wyll and Roan conversing. 

“She’s a thief,” Wyll protested.

“Yeah, but has she ever killed anyone?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Wyll frowned up at her.

“You ever think about bending the rules occasionally?” Roan asked, cocking her head. “Pay a visit to the Blushing Mermaid some time. I could blow your mind, detective. ”

Wyll was exceedingly handsome, but he would never cross such a line. And Roan had her hands full with the two extremely disparate men occupying all of her thoughts at the moment.

“ You ?” Wyll scoffed. “Doubtful.”

“Won’t know until you try.”

“Get down from there.”

“Or what? Come make me.” Roan bit back.

“You two going to take out your cocks and compare lengths next?” Karlach asked. “Come on, Wyll. We’ve got a patrol to get to.”

“Gale deserves better than you, you know,” Wyll said, turning away from Roan.

She knew very well just how much better Gale deserved. But Gale was his own man, and he could tell her off anytime he liked if he was tired of her.

The two flaming fists disappeared down the alley and Roan rose to her feet, climbing down the side of the building and taking her time walking through the city. She lit a cigarette and ambled aimlessly, unsure where she wanted to spend her evening.

Well, if she were being honest with herself, she wanted to fuck Astarion. She wanted to spend an entire week in bed with him until every inch of skin was raw. She hadn’t been so consumed by someone in a very long time, if ever.

As if the fates were listening to her, or perhaps just because they frequented the same places, Astarion and two of his guildmates came strolling out of a tavern as Roan passed its door. The three of them stopped, and Astarion’s pupils went wide, an imperceptible flaring of his nostrils as his gaze settled on Roan.

It was Dal and Violet on either side of Astarion. Dal fixed her with a positively furious look and Roan was taken aback. Dal had left very abruptly when Roan stumbled into the Blushing Mermaid half-conscious after Astarion first fed on her, perhaps she was still pissed about it.

“Go on,” Astarion said to Dal and Violet. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Roan had not said a word so far, frozen in front of them, staring at Astarion.

“Astarion,” Dal growled. “Are you truly this stupid?”

“I’m responsible for my own choices, Dal.” He said. “Go on without me.”

“Come on, Dal,” Violet said, grabbing Dal’s arm. She seemed less aware of what was happening than Dal did.

Dal kept her eyes on Roan even as she let Violet drag her away, and only once they were out of sight around the corner did Astarion speak again.

“I don’t want to talk,” he said.

“Me either.”

They moved wordlessly toward the park and Roan’s secret little hideaway where they might comfortably continue what he had started in the alley outside the Blushing Mermaid. Roan’s body felt as though it were on fire. Astarion’s arm would occasionally accidentally brush against hers as they walked side by side and she was like a teenager again, aroused by the slightest touch.

They wound their way through the darkened tunnel leading to her hideaway, barely making it there before they were on each other. Astarion pressed her into the cool brick wall and brought their lips together, opening his mouth to hers, grinding his body against hers.

Heat pooled between her legs. They were a mess of limbs and clothing as they stumbled to the mattress. His mouth moved to cover every inch of skin as he exposed it, ripping away her shirt and her bra, suctioning his lips around her nipple and biting just hard enough to pull a started gasp from her throat, but not hard enough to break the skin.

And just as before, she was completely lost in him. He flipped her onto her stomach and fucked her into the mattress, peppering her shoulders with kisses that he moved up her neck, suctioning his lips to her skin, moaning against her.

All she could do was grasp at the ratty sheet beneath her, her moans devolving to screams and then whimpers, his name leaving her mouth more times than she could count. She wanted to worship his cock, it felt so good.

And at the moment of his release he dug his teeth into her neck and drank deeply and she came undone.

He was getting better about knowing when to stop himself, to keep her from fainting. She was too spent to do anything but lie there with her face against the mattress panting beneath him as he drank, but he eventually pulled away and stitched up the wounds with his magic. She sighed as he slid out of her and rolled onto her back, reaching toward the chest beside the mattress for a rag or towel with which to tidy up.

Astarion fell bodily against the mattress, staring at the ceiling in the alcove. For several seconds they said nothing. They had barely exchanged more than a sentence since running into each other in the street.

“I know your ego doesn’t need stroking,” she said, reaching for her trousers and digging through the pockets to withdraw the tin where she kept her cigarettes. “But you’re on another level.”

He smirked. “Go on.”

She offered him a cigarette and he wrinkled his nose, so she shrugged and lit one for herself, taking a long drag and deciding to be polite about the smoke for once, blowing it away from his face. It was the least she could do after the orgasms he’d given her.

“I’m not throwing around phrases like ‘best I’ve ever had’ because that’s so subjective, but-”

Astarion rolled onto his side to face her. “That’s quite something from someone with as prolific a love life as you.”

She laughed. “That’s the nicest way I’ve ever been called a slut in my life.”

“Oh, it’s no judgment. I can’t even tell you how many people I’ve slept with.” His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his extremities tinged pink now that he’d drank from her, a charming sort of flush about him.

“You better wait a tick before you go back to your boss. You’re all flushed . He’ll know what you’ve been up to.”

A dark look clouded Astarion’s eyes, his lips turning downward in a frown. “Good to know,” he said.

“What would he do to you if he found out? Why is it even a rule?” She flicked some of her ashes onto the floor.

“Why do any guilds have rules about anything? Doesn’t Nine-Fingers punish you if you break the rules?”

Roan hadn’t run afoul of Nine-Fingers enough for a severe punishment, but when Stoll had still been in charge of the Stone Eyes, she recalled a particularly stern lesson when she tried to pocket more than her share of a job’s gold. He’d locked her in a dank cell for two weeks with nothing but stale bread and water to survive on.

She hadn’t crossed him again.

She wasn’t sure if Nine-Fingers followed a similar tactic - she suspected she did - but she did know truly unforgivable crimes were met with a swift ejection from the guild, and no one was ever allowed to leave alive.

“But you clearly need blood to survive,” Roan continued.

“Any blood will do. The problem now that you’ve let me have a taste is that everything else tastes worse than dirt in my mouth.”

This was perhaps the longest conversation she and Astarion had ever had that hadn’t ended with them fighting.

“I didn’t force my fingers in your mouth that night,” Roan protested.

“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t. Don’t worry about me and my ‘boss’. My actions are my own. I’ll take the consequences of them.”

“It’s not like there’s zero risk for me,” said Roan. “Nine-Fingers gave me a pretty stern warning that I’d be shit out of luck if Cazador ever found out who you drank from.”

“He might just kill you himself,” said Astarion with a bitter edge to his voice.

Roan stubbed the butt of her cigarette against the floor and rolled to face him. It felt strangely intimate, lying there staring at each other. More intimate than what they had been doing before.

“He really makes you bring him his food? Can’t he hunt for himself?”

“He’s an important member of Baldurian society,” Astarion said, voice laced with disgust. “Why hunt himself when he can have someone prepare his meals for him? And anyway he wouldn’t want people to know what he is. Only the guilds know and that’s because of some mutual agreement they all have.”

“Don’t you feel bad about it, though?” Roan asked. “Luring innocent people to their deaths?”

Astarion bristled. “I do what I have to to stay alive. Or whatever it is I am now.”

It was a sore spot and Roan, for once, didn’t feel like fighting with Astarion.

“Opposing guild members are off limits,” Astarion said after a moment, as if reassuring Roan she was safe from anyone’s teeth but his. “As are nobles. It leaves the lower city as our primary hunting ground.”

“Good to know I’m safe…unless you get too hungry one day.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “ I won’t kill you. It’s too convenient having a walking snack at my disposal.”

“Would he kill you if he found out?”

“Kill me?” Astarion scoffed. “No. But there are fates worse than death.”

The look of profound anger and sadness in his eyes made her want to delve deeper, to know just what the fuck went on in Szarr Palace, but she had already probed too much, and this was a relationship of convenience more than anything.

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t,” she said, pulling on her clothes. “Though it seems like Dal knows and she isn’t happy about it.”

“Dal thinks I’m an idiot,” he said, sitting up as well. “Which I suppose I am for seeking you out repeatedly after…” He trailed off, grabbing his clothes off the floor. “I’m too far gone now.”

So was she, though she wasn’t quite ready to admit that aloud. She had been too far gone the moment he sunk his fangs into her neck.

“So is this it then? We’re just going to fuck every time we run into each other and ignore each other the rest of the time?” She asked.

“Did you want to become very best friends?” He asked, tilting his head back and forth in a mocking fashion. “Shall I buy you a promise ring? Tell everyone on the High Street you’re my sweetie pie?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Let’s go to the courthouse right now. Make it official.”

“ Ha ,” he drawled. “Boundless wit on you.”

“I more meant that maybe we could meet more regularly,” she felt suddenly awkward discussing it, as if this made it somehow real. It certainly made it seem more formal.

“Crave me that badly do you?” Astarion purred, leaning closer to her.

“I won’t pretend I don’t. But I know you crave it too.”

He frowned at her and she knew it was because she had pinned him.

“Why schedule things? We’re always bumping into each other at the Blushing Mermaid. And I wouldn’t want you to get too anemic on me.” He leaned a little closer and whispered, “And I know how to find you if you’re not around the mermaid.”

“Excuse me?” She balked. He walked away wearing a grin and she trailed after him. “What do you mean you know where to find me?”

“Really, Roan, I thought you were smart, but every moment I spend with you disproves that further and further.”

“Do you know where our hideout is?” She pressed him.

“How do you think I knew about all your jobs ahead of time? You need to spend more time spying around. But don’t worry, not many know my secret path. Maybe I’ll drop in some time. Surprise you .”

They exited the passageway back into the park.

“I…I can’t believe you,” she stammered. “I told Nine-Fingers there was a spy. She wouldn’t believe me!”

“I’m good at going unnoticed when I want to. Now. I really have to be going. Cazador expected a meal and it’s my turn to find one.” He grinned at her, bearing his fangs as he did so. “I’m sure I’ll see you around soon, but if not…well, I know I’ll be on your mind.”

He took off into the night and Roan stared after him for a moment before making her way down into the sewers toward home. As she walked, she investigated every out of place brick, every nook and cranny, trying to figure out how he had managed to sneak into their heavily fortified and well-hidden hideout. She had no doubt there were other members of opposing guilds who knew where it was, but that still wouldn’t get them past Nine-Fingers' guards and the litany of magicked traps meant to keep out non-members. How had he done it?

Surely if Nine-Fingers knew about the Crimson Trust being vampires, then she also knew to ward appropriately against them with her traps.

The whole way back, she couldn’t find a single means. Could he teleport through walls somehow? When she made it back to the hideout, she spent another hour investigating the inside for any trick walls or hidden doors, but she found none, at least none in the areas she could access.

Eventually she gave up, lying down on her bed and staring up at the ceiling, at the venting tube that ran through every room to keep the air flowing so they didn’t choke on the fumes of the sewers.

She jumped up from her bed and pulled at the grating in the tube and it came loose, so she hoisted herself up into the tube. Sure enough, the tube was just wide enough to allow a person to slink along it on their hands and knees. So she followed it further, back the way she had come, stopping at each grating and realizing it gave a perfect view of the room below. There was a grate above Nine-Fingers office, a grate above each room, a grate above the kitchens: plenty of places to eavesdrop from above without ever being noticed.

The venting tube eventually terminated nearly half a mile from the hideout, just above a drainage hole that led out into the city.

That sly bastard.

How long had he known about this? For a moment, she considered sealing up the end enough to make the passageway too narrow for him to hoist himself into, but she opted not to. They had a truce, and she was curious if he would try to sneak in again, as he had suggested.

As she returned to her room, her elbows and knees aching from the crawl through the tube, she made a promise to herself to scope out Szarr palace and find a way to do some of her own spying.

Even if she was already on thin ice with the guilds.

Chapter Text

Business was always slowest in the middle of the week, for whatever reason, which usually left Gale seated behind the counter in his shop leafing through a book while he waited for a customer to arrive. His business did fairly well for itself, despite its slow days. He was able to pay his bills and have a little left over to enjoy himself with.

Tara lay curled up in a basket on the counter where she spent most days slumbering after a long night of hunting mice or pigeons, or whatever it was she got up to out in the wide world. He pet her idly while he read his book, trying to commit the words to memory and master the spells within the page.

To what end, he wasn’t sure. He still loved magic, still wished to know all he could about it, but its usefulness in his life had changed drastically since Mystra and the incident that had taken his arm.

The bell on the door jangled and he looked up, surprised to have a customer and even more surprised to see Roan enter with a hefty tome in her arms.

“Well hello,” he said, sitting up straighter. 

She dropped the book on the counter with a loud thud and wiped her forehead. “That thing weighs ten stone, at least .”

“I somehow doubt that,” said Gale, observing the book. The binding was leather, and ancient from the looks of it. He opened it carefully. “What is this?”

Roan shrugged. “I don’t know anything about magic. I stole it on my last job because it looked interesting and I thought you might like it. There was a bunch of shit about magic in the first few pages so I figured…” she gestured vaguely to it. “It made getting out of the place a lot harder than getting in. Had to put in my sack and heft it over my shoulder. Thought I was going to die.” She paused, looking expectantly at him.

He was still leafing through the book, avoiding her gaze mostly because he was so taken aback by an act of selfless kindness from Roan that he was afraid if he looked at her or said anything he would give himself away and scare her off.

But her silence forced him to look up. “What?”

She flapped her hand like a mouth. “Thank you, Roan, that was so thoughtful of you, you’re truly a great friend.”

He chuckled. “Thank you. It was very thoughtful. I’ll have to spend some time looking it over. Or should I sell it? Maybe it’s worth something.”

“Gale, if you sell that after I hefted it all the way back to the hideout and then all the way here-”

He held up a hand. “I’m joking . Thank you, Roan.”

Roan leaned against the counter. “You’re welcome. I told you I was trying.” She looked around the shop and let out a low whistle. “Always this busy?”

Gale frowned. “It’s always slow at midweek. It’ll pick up tomorrow. So did you come just to drop off this book, or will you stay awhile?”

“I can stay for a bit,” she said. “I’ve got a place to stakeout for a job later, but it’s not too urgent.” She eyed Tara sleeping in the basket. “If I try to pet her, do you think she’ll bite me?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Roan shook her head. “I’d rather not risk it.”

Gale scratched behind Tara’s ear and she chirped and rolled over onto her back in the basket, allowing him to briefly pet her belly before her claws came out. He withdrew his hand before she could use them and Roan winced.

“See what I mean?”

“Come now. Surely you’ve survived worse than cat scratches.”

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “ Cat! You’re always chiding me for calling her a cat.”

She was right, he was. But it was hardly the first time he’d referred to Tara as one by accident.

“All right.” He swatted her finger down.

For a few minutes she glanced around the shop, picking up various things and asking him what they were used for. He explained with a practiced patience. He enjoyed talking about the things he sold and about magic in general, but Roan knew as much. In fact, he suspected she knew what some of the things were, but asked anyway just to hear his explanation.

It was in moments like these that his feelings for her were strongest, when she could show appreciation for something besides herself and her own problems. The frequency of those moments fluctuated wildly, but they kept him clinging on when he should have let go. No one had really had a hold on him like this since Mystra, and he didn’t like to dwell on that at all.

When she was done wandering the shop, Roan stepped behind the counter and leaned against it in front of Gale. 

“Thank you for indulging me,” she said. “Maybe someday I can teach you about the best knives for stabbing people.”

Gale snorted. “Romantic.”

She glanced around furtively and leaned forward, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth and stroking her fingers through his hair. He might have been ashamed at the way he melted into her touch, but he couldn’t help himself. He sought other lovers, even had plans to go out that evening to try and meet someone new, but Roan’s place in his heart could not easily be dislodged.

“I missed you,” she whispered, kissing him again.

He brushed his nose against hers. “It’s barely been a week.”

“I know, but I’m getting kind of used to seeing you so frequently.”

She opened her mouth against his and they kissed for a few moments before she dropped abruptly to her knees, sliding her hands up the insides of his thighs. This quickly redirected the blood flow from Gale’s brain. He glanced at the front window and then back down at her, where she stared up at him through thick eyelashes.

“What are you doing?” he gulped.

She rolled her eyes, her fingers moving to the laces on his trousers. “Do I have to explain this to you?”

His cheeks warmed and he glanced once more at the front of the shop. “Anyone could just walk in!”

“Yeah. That’s part of the fun.” She pushed his trousers away and brought her lips against his cock through the fabric of his underwear. 

He exhaled slowly, his body reacting readily to her touch. 

“Loosen up a little, Gale. Or would you prefer we lock the door and go up to your room and do it missionary style?”

“I can be fun!” He protested. “I’ve let you use your little toys on me before.”

She laughed and pressed her lips against him again. “That’s true. Fair point. Maybe you should get some toys of your own.”

His face was on fire by then. She reached into the gap in his underwear and released his cock, stroking up and down the length of it as she stared up at him. It took no time at all for him to grow hard at her touch. 

“Ah…” he leaned forward against the counter. “I suppose it is a little exciting.”

She dragged her tongue up the length of his shaft and took his cock into her mouth, bobbing her head, her hands following her mouth up and down the length of him. 

His mouth fell open and he squeezed his fingers against the top of the counter, barely aware that his hips were lightly thrusting to meet her movement. 

“ Roan…” he breathed. 

She moaned, the sound vibrating against him, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock with each upstroke. She was exceedingly good at it, though she often joked about how terrible she was. 

The speed of her movement increased and Gale quickly forgot about the risk of someone entering the shop, solely focused on her hot mouth around his cock. His breath hitched and his stomach tightened, his whole body tensing. 

“Ah…I’m…I’m gonna…”

Roan moaned again and it ended him. His eyes squeezed shut as his pleasure hit, husky moans leaving his throat of their own accord as he spilled himself inside her mouth. 

When he had finished, she sat back and grinned up at him. 

“See? No one interrupted us.”

“Gods above,” he sighed, tucking himself back into his trousers. 

She stood and kissed his cheek. “I have to go. But I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

“That’s quite a way to drop in on someone!”

She cocked her head. “Are you complaining?”

“No, no. Not at all.”

“Enjoy the book. You’ll have to let me know if it’s any good.”

He barely got out a thank you before she was gone. The entire interaction was a microcosm of their whole relationship. He felt whiplashed. 

But he couldn’t exactly be mad. 

It would be a struggle to converse with other people later that evening; he would be thinking about that encounter with Roan for some time. 

Roan’s plan had been to see if she could sneak her way into Szarr Palace during the daytime, while the vampires were ostensibly sleeping. She knew the place was heavily fortified, so she started by scoping the perimeter. 

It was, interestingly enough, guarded by mortal people, or at least that’s what she assumed based on the fact that they stood in the sunlight. They had a vacant sort of look about them and she recalled the way the man had looked the night she ambushed Astarion and he first drank her blood. Were they entranced somehow?

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t find a single gap in the defenses, but she wasn’t sure what else she expected of a rival thieves guild. She would have to explore the sewers and see if she couldn’t work her way up instead. 

But after her visit with Gale and several hours spent trying to find a way to breach the palace’s defenses, the sun was setting, so she made her way to the Blushing Mermaid, hoping desperately that she would see Astarion there. 

She’d never had to worry much about her libido but she did wonder if it could truly keep up with the rate she was going between Astarion and Gale. Only one way to find out, she supposed. 

Astarion wasn’t around when she arrived, so she grabbed a pint and found Lyrin and their fellow guildmate Del playing lanceboard upstairs. So, in her effort to be chummier with her guild mates, she sat with them and observed their match while they drank. 

“You want to play winner?” Lyrin asked. 

“Me?” Roan scoffed. “I’m shit at lanceboard.”

“So is Del, but here we are.”

“Excuse me?” Del growled. He was an aging half-elf who had been in the guild long before even Roan joined. She’d always found him amiable. 

“Beat me and prove me wrong,” Lyrin challenged. 

“I’m trying .”

For several minutes they were silent while they contemplated their moves. The bard performing that evening provided decent background music, and Roan found she was actually enjoying herself. 

“Noticed you’ve been a lot friendlier lately,” said Lyrin after he moved one of his bishops. 

“Yeah, well. I’m trying to play nice. Apparently you get farther in life that way.” She shrugged. 

Lyrin chuckled. “So they say.”

“You!”

Before Roan could even look to see who was addressing her, a firm hand was on her arm, yanking her out of her chair. Dal stood before her, a fire in her eyes. 

“What the fuck?” Roan growled, trying and failing to pull free from her grip. 

“We need to talk.”

Before Roan could protest or agree, Dal dragged her away from her guildmates. Lyrin rose to his feet.

“Just what the hells do you think you’re doing, Dal?”

“Ah don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it,” Roan called back, letting Dal drag her down the stairs and outside. 

“You need to stay away from Astarion,” Dal said once they were alone outside. 

“Tell that to Astarion,” Roan shrugged. “I’m not his master.”

“No. You’re not. And his actual master will make him suffer tremendously if he finds out what you two have been up to.”

“We’re just fucking,” said Roan. 

Dal’s eyes flashed. “We both know that’s not true.”

“I appreciate your concern, but Astarion’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

Dal groaned. “You have no fucking clue , Roan. If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from him.”

“Well I never said I was smart. But duly noted, thanks, Dal. Where the hell is he tonight anyway?”

“Busy. Take me seriously, Roan. If something happens to him, I’ll tell Cazador who it was. And Nine-Fingers won’t protect you.”

Dal stared at her for a moment before turning  abruptly back into the bar. 

In combination with what little Astarion had let slip last time she saw him, she was getting more and more uneasy about just what went on inside Szarr Palace. What kind of punishment would Cazador dole out? And would the guilds really see her killed for letting Astarion sip on her blood from time to time?

She made a mental note not to talk with Astarion in front of his guild mates anymore, for both their sakes. But she wanted to find him, and she suspected he might be out hunting, so she took off into the night to check some of the other local taverns. 

As luck would have it, she found him standing on the patio of the Elfsong, the very first place she looked, chatting with someone obscured from view by the pillar. She moved around closer to get his attention and her blood ran cold at the sight of Gale, laughing at whatever Astarion had just said. Astarion touched Gale’s shoulder and leaned in close, whispering something to Gale that made his cheeks flush. 

Roan saw red. 

It was one thing to have to bring food home to his master, but she would gut him before she let him take Gale. 

She was barely aware of her feet moving, but suddenly she found herself in front of Astarion, gripping the collar of his shirt and shoving him into the wall. A few people around them gasped and took several steps back. 

“Roan, darling, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Astarion had the nerve to smirk at her. 

“Roan?” Gale cocked his head. 

Astarion looked between the two of them. “You two know each other?”

“ You know each other?” Gale asked in return. 

Roan released Astarion and put herself between him and Gale. “Don’t you remember the Crimson Trust prick I’ve been complaining about?”

Realization dawned on Gale’s face. “Astarion…I had forgotten his name. I did say your name was familiar, didn’t I?”

“Find someone else, Astarion.”

Astarion’s eyes raked over Roan’s body before he glanced back at Gale. 

“I…can’t help but feel I’m missing something,” said Gale. 

“You don’t want to go home with Astarion,” Roan said. “Trust me.”

Astarion feigned upset. “Why that’s no way to talk about a man whose name you were screaming not that long ago.”

Roan clenched her fists. 

“Ah,” Gale sighed. “I thought you hated him?”

“There’s such a perilously thin line between love and hate. Isn’t there, Roan?”

“I’ll run my dagger through your side again, Astarion. Don’t try me.”

“Why don’t I make this easier,” said Gale, sounding thoroughly annoyed. “I’ll leave and you two can just-“

“Gale, no. Let me walk you home.”

He scoffed. “I hardly think…”

Roan lurched at Astarion, drawing her dagger and pointing the tip against his throat. “You don’t touch him. You don’t look at him ever again. He’s off limits. Are we clear?”

Her heart was racing. If she hadn’t sought out Astarion that evening…if she had shown up even a little later…Gale could have died. And she would never know what had happened to him. 

“Sore spot, is it?” Astarion asked, glancing past her to Gale. 

“It’s not up for discussion. Go find someone else. Gale,” she turned back to him, “I’m not letting you walk home alone, come on.”

She sheathed her dagger and grabbed Gale’s arm and he followed her somewhat reluctantly, glancing back once at Astarion. 

When they had put a decent amount of distance between themselves and the Elfsong, Gale dropped her arm and said,

“Do you mind telling me what the hells is going on?”

“Astarion is dangerous,” she said. 

Gale pursed his lips. “And he’s ruined all your jobs. And yet you had no qualms with sleeping with him.”

Roan bristled. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve all the time in the world this evening, Roan. Explain away!”

“He’s a vampire!”

Gale stopped in his tracks. “What?”

“He’s a vampire. And he was out hunting for his…for the vampire lord who sired him. He was going to take you back to be fed on.”

Gale pinched the bridge of his nose. “So he’s a vampire and a member of a rival gang that you’ve done nothing but complain about and again, I cannot stress this enough, you seem to emphatically hate him. But you’re sleeping with him?”

“Is it some great surprise to you that I fuck other people?” She growled. 

“No, but I did think perhaps you had some standards.”

Roan balked. “Really, Gale? You want to just call me a slut? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

He sighed. “That’s not…” he took a moment to compose himself before he spoke again. “I’m having trouble understanding how you got from point a to point b with him.”

“It’s…messy,” she said. “But I’d kill him before I let him take you back to be fed on. I saw you talking to him and I just…” she exhaled slowly, releasing some of the tension and anger at the thought of losing the only decent thing in her life. 

Gale’s face softened. “I am grateful for your timing.”

“Gods I don’t know what I would have done if…” for the first time in a decade or more, she felt as though she might cry. She bit back the emotions welling inside her. “Don’t talk to him again, he’s bad news.”

“You understand how hypocritical you sound, yes? I mean, I’ll steer clear of the handsome vampire, but I’m just wondering if you hear yourself.”

She laughed. “I know. Do as I say, not as I do.”

“Yes, mother.”

She shoved him and he grinned. 

“Well now, I can’t say I don’t understand the attraction,” he said. “He’s…very…seductive.”

“Yes. And smooth-talking when he wants to be.”

Gale’s cheeks tinged pink. “Yes, well. On that we’ll agree.”

“If he was just a prick I’d say have at it,” Roan said. “But he had ulterior motives.”

“And how do you know he doesn’t with you?”

“Oh, he does. Just not the same.”

Gale seemed to suddenly remember something. He frowned at her. 

“The vampire that bit you a while back?”

Roan hung her head. “Yes.”

Gale sucked his teeth as his brow knitted. “I’d like to hear the whole story, I think.”

“Let’s just get back to your flat first. I think Astarion will mind me, but…I’d rather know you were safe.”

They walked in tense silence back to his shop, taking the side door up to his flat. Gale moved to put the kettle on to boil and Roan paced.

“Well?” He cocked his head. “I’m waiting.”

Despite her reluctance, despite her need to keep everything tightly bottled up and make her business hers and hers alone, she found herself explaining all that had occurred with Astarion in the last few weeks, from stabbing him in the washroom at the Blushing Mermaid, to letting him bite her, to the terrible sexual spiral they had been in recently.

Gale listened, turning away only once to make a pot of tea. He remained quiet, the only indication of his feelings the occasional twitch of his eyebrow.

“So.” Roan held her hands out. “That’s what’s going on.”

“So you traded your blood for a truce,” Gale said.

Roan wrinkled her nose. “If you want to put it that way, I guess.”

“I’m not your keeper,” said Gale, pouring a cup of tea. “Do you want some?”

“Uh…sure,” said Roan, feeling disconcerted.

He poured a second cup and handed it to her, taking a seat on the couch and blowing on the tea to cool it. “It sounds to me like more than once he could have killed you; drained you dry. And yet you keep letting him drink from you.”

Roan tapped her foot against the floor and sighed. “It’s impossible to describe what it feels like, Gale.”

“Oh, I know all too well how addictive a good feeling can be,” he held his prosthetic arm up. “I’m not admonishing you. I have no place to. But as your friend,” he fixed her with a pointed look, “I worry about you.”

Roan placed her hand over his where it rested on his leg. “I know you do. I can handle Astarion, though. You don’t need to worry.”

She wasn’t confident at all in that statement. Astarion had the preternatural strength that came with being a vampire and he had bested her in plenty of fights before. But he was getting notably better at controlling his bloodlust. She hadn’t even felt woozy after the last time.

“I’ll always worry about you,” Gale said. He cupped her face with his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “And I’ll never be able to repay you for saving my life tonight.”

“Ah, come on,” she shoved his hand away. “Don’t get sappy on me.”

But she was moved nonetheless. 

“Ten years and you still haven’t figured out I’m a sap?” He laughed. “You are impressively obtuse.”

“Weren’t you just saying something about how you could never repay me for saving you? Now you’re slinging barbs!” She stretched her leg out, digging her foot into his side. 

In response, he grabbed it and ran his finger along the underside. The magic in his prosthetic buzzed against her skin, tickling it, and she lost what little composure she had remaining, kicking wildly at him to no avail.

It devolved into the two of them playfully wrestling with one another, but she submitted quickly enough, letting Gale win, so to speak. 

He fell on top of her, staring down at her with so much affection in his eyes it made her heart swell. 

What the hells was she doing? Was she falling for Gale after all this time? Was she even capable of falling? And where could it even lead when she was trapped in such a lustful obsession with Astarion too?

She’d done far too much thinking lately. Her brain hurt. 

So she shut it off entirely and let herself just enjoy the moment as Gale leaned in to kiss her.

She hadn’t intended to end the evening with Gale at all, but she found herself in his bed once again. And for the second time in the ten years they’d known each other, she submitted to staying in his arms, rather than venturing out into the cold night alone. 

She was fucked . 

Chapter Text

Surprised though Astarion was by Roan’s sudden intrusion on his conversation with the handsome, if not overly verbose, wizard, he hadn’t let it ruin his plans for the evening. He knew what happened when he turned up empty handed when it was his night to hunt and he didn’t fancy testing Cazador’s limits. 

So he had found someone else, another handsome stranger to take back to the palace and bed until Cazador was ready for them. 

All the while his mind was preoccupied with Roan - not just her blood this time, but his curiosity over the exact nature of her relationship with the wizard. As far as Astarion knew, Roan was a lone wolf, terminally so. To find she had an apparent friend outside of her guild, one she had looked ready to gut Astarion over, left him with a number of questions. 

But he was a busy man and after his night of hunting, he found himself tangled up in jobs for three nights in a row. Three nights feeding on rats and bugs once more, gagging at the taste of them, desperate to taste real blood again. 

As usual, he found Roan at the Blushing Mermaid when he went looking for her. She was engaged in a conversation with her guild mates, though he didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up with sudden interest at the sight of him. 

What an interesting game they were playing with each other. One he suspected wouldn’t last long before one or both of them met their untimely ends. There was no natural end to this parasitic relationship of theirs. 

He drifted over to the table where she sat with her guild mates and helped himself to the empty chair, smirking at the tiefling, who he remembered was called Lyrin. 

“Hello, Astarion,” said Lyrin, wearing a frown. “To what do we owe the pleasure? I’ve never seen you lower yourself to sitting with our guild.”

“I have matters to discuss with Roan,” said Astarion, glancing sideways at her. 

Lyrin looked between Roan and Astarion and frowned. “Not to tell you how to live your life, but you’re walking a dangerous line, Roan.”

Roan glanced casually at Astarion. “Don’t worry about me.” She pushed back from the table and grabbed a cigarette from her pocket as she nodded to the door, indicating for Astarion to follow. 

“Nine-Fingers won’t protect you from Cazador Szarr!” Lyrin called. 

Roan ignored him, lighting her cigarette as they stepped outside. She walked wordlessly in the direction of the park and Astarion followed. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d make an attempt on my life after our last meeting,” said Astarion. “I’ve never seen you so angry on someone else’s behalf.”

“You tell your guild mates he’s off the table too?”

“Well I haven’t exactly got a picture of him to pass around,” Astarion drawled. “Who knew Iceheart Tevlin had a beau?” He chuckled. “Or at least…I assume it’s something of that nature. You were quite the spitfire over him.”

“Gale is none of your business,” Roan bristled. “And I meant what I said. If I see you so much as look at him, I’ll drag you into the sun and let you fry.”

Astarion drew closer to her as they walked, close enough to whisper against her ear. “Playing your cards a little far from the vest, darling. Or did you forget how vulnerable a weakness like love is?”

“Who said anything about love?” She spat. 

“ Touchy . Well whatever it is, he’s obviously a weak spot. I won’t let it slip of course, but you might watch your back in case someone thinks to use your weakness against you.”

Roan stopped in her tracks. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m not threatening you. I’m telling you to use your damned brain. If you think your own guild wouldn’t use him against you, you’re more of a fool than I thought.”

Attachments were weakness; it was that simple. Attachments had led Astarion to spend a year trapped inside the confines of a coffin, scraping against wood until his nails bled, screaming until his voice left him. 

Roan still rubbed him the wrong way much of the time, but he hated to think of Nine-Fingers pulling something similar on her. No one was as creatively sadistic as Cazador, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that the other guild leaders had their own unique methods of torture. And torture was exactly what would happen to both of them if anyone found out what they were doing.

“And what does your friend think of our little trysts?” Astarion continued. “Or is he unaware?”

Roan sucked in her cheeks as she fixed him with a furious look. “Do you want my blood or not? Because if you don’t shut up about Gale, you’re not getting a drop.”

“Well then I suppose mum’s the word,” he said, mimicking a locking motion next to his lips. 

They made their way to their usual spot: Roan’s cozy little alcove hidden amongst a path down to the sewers. Roan wasted no time, pulling her shirt over her head and stepping out of her trousers. 

“And they say romance is dead,” Astarion chuckled, following her lead. 

“Get on the mattress and shut up,” she barked. 

“Oh,” Astarion fluttered his eyelashes. “And if I don’t?”

Roan grabbed his shoulders and he let her push him down onto the mattress, grinning as she climbed on top of him and brought her lips to his neck, her ass grinding against his lap as she kissed him. 

He craned his neck to expose more of it to her and let out a surprised gasp when her teeth clamped down on his skin, hard enough that he was sure it would leave a mark. It sent a shiver down his spine and caused heat to pool between his legs. 

Two centuries and he had just learned something new about himself. 

“Do it again,” he breathed. 

So she did, nipping all along his neck up to his earlobe. His heart pounded against his rib cage and it took an embarrassingly short time for him to grow achingly hard. She ground against his arousal and drew a low growl from the back of his throat. 

Her face hovered over his as she toyed with kissing him, brushing her nose against his, holding his gaze with a ferocity that frankly unnerved him. For a fleeting second he felt… something… some foreign spark in his gut, but it was gone as quickly as it came. Her hand snaked beneath the fabric of his underwear to take hold of him, pumping against the length of his cock and causing his breath to hitch. 

They both grew quickly impatient. She hurried to pull her own underwear off, only barely shoving his out of the way enough to free his erection before she guided his cock inside of her, her tight heat enveloping him and pulling a groan out of him. 

She placed the flat of her palms on his chest and rocked her hips, soft moans issuing from her throat with each movement. 

Sex remained a tangled web in Astarion’s mind, but Roan always felt good, good enough that sometimes he could separate it from what it had been for two centuries. 

Though this was a sort of transaction in its own rite. 

He thrust his hips to meet her movements, sweat beading all over his body. 

“Shit,” she groaned, her eyes squeezing shut. “Shit… fuck…”

Astarion leaned his head back and moaned, “ Yes.”

“No!” She growled, pushing herself off of him and falling backward between his legs gracelessly. “FUCK!” One leg was outstretched, her hands kneading into the flesh of her calf. “GODS ABOVE AND BELOW! FUCK ME!”

Astarion propped himself up on his elbows and observed her, her face contorted in pain, her leg stretched at an absurd angle, and he couldn’t contain the bark of laughter that escaped him. 

“It’s not fucking funny, gods ,” she hissed, flexing her leg and whimpering. 

Astarion held back another laugh, snorting as he grabbed her calf and massaged his fingers against the taut, cramping muscle. She fell bodily against the mattress and let out a low moan of mingled pain and pleasure. 

“Oh fuck,” she gasped. “Right there.”

He dug his finger harder into the spot she indicated and the sound she made went straight to his groin. 

“You know, I really prefer when it’s my cock pulling these sounds out of you,” he said. 

Her muscle relaxed and she draped her leg over his, remaining sprawled out and panting through her dissipating pain. 

“Great way to kill the mood,” she sighed. 

“I don’t know. I quite like watching you writhe in pain.”

“Sadist,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

He shifted to climb on top of her, settling between her legs and kissing a path across her chest and up her neck, lingering at the pulse point on her throat. 

“Don’t be a cocktease, Astarion,” she breathed. “Bite me.”

It took little goading anymore. He dug his fangs into her neck and lapped up the blood, savoring the taste of her, the rush that ran through his body. His already aching cock throbbed between his legs and, with little fanfare, he slid inside of her again with a snap of his hips, thrusting against her while he drank. 

“ Yes ,” she gasped, gripping tightly at his shoulder and craning her neck. “Gods…”

This thing he had fallen into with Roan was nothing short of addictive. He craved her blood, he craved her cunt, and he knew that he was walking a razor’s edge and one wrong move might end with both of them dead. Or worse. 

He knew the type of punishment that could be worse than death. 

But thrusting into her, her hot blood coating his tongue and his lips, any punishment seemed worth this bliss. 

She nipped at his earlobe and whispered, “Gods you feel good… right there…good boy .”

And for the second time that night he learned something about himself. The praise had barely left her mouth, but it pushed him over the edge. He came abruptly, unexpectedly, groaning into her throat as he spilled himself. 

She panted beneath him, stroking her fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“That all you’ve got?” She gasped. 

He pressed his face against the crook of her neck and lay still. He had been caught off guard, which was no small feat. 

Eventually, she shoved him gently off of her so she could clean herself up. But she just as quickly fell back against the mattress, her pale skin red across her chest and shoulders from the heat they’d generated, some blood still drying on her neck. 

Astarion felt too spent and too sated to move, so he lay next to her, both of them silent for several minutes. 

“Gale was a client,” she was the first to break the silence. 

Astarion rolled onto his side and grinned. “ Naughty. ” 

Clients were supposed to be off limits, this was a rule in nearly any guild. It had never been a risk for him. He so rarely sought out sex for his own needs and he certainly wasn’t seducing a client back to Cazador’s palace. 

“Yeah, well. It started as a distraction. He’s just such a… dork . It should be annoying, but it’s charming. Anyway that was a decade ago so it obviously progressed past something casual a long time ago.” She wrung her hands as she spoke. “He’s the closest thing I’ve got to a best friend. When I saw you flirting with him I just…”

“It’s quite lucky for him that you turned up when you did,” said Astarion. The look on her face made it clear that thought had been on her mind frequently. Astarion had picked him because Cazador preferred attractive prey, even better if they were attractive and smart. He’d stood heads above the rest of the crowd in that department. 

“I don’t deserve him,” Roan said. “He puts up with way too much from me.”

“Color me surprised.”

She smacked his chest. “Shut up.”

“I’m still shocked to find you have acquaintances outside of your guild, let alone friends.”

“What because you have loads of friends outside your guild?”

Astarion frowned. “Well…no.”

Samuel had been the last friend he’d allowed himself. He understood precisely what Roan meant when she said she didn’t deserve Gale. He’d felt that way about Samuel. He was such a sweet creature…showering Astarion with affections he didn’t deserve. It was the closest thing Astarion had ever experienced to love. 

But Cazador found out. Because he always did. That had been so early on too, before he understood the strict rules by which Cazador ran his house. It had landed him in a coffin for a year and when he was finally released, he was forced to watch Cazador rip into an emaciated Samuel’s neck. 

He’d never made the mistake of affection again after that. 

It occurred to him that whatever it was he was doing with Roan was toeing dangerously close, however. She still drove him insane, but lying next to her in such a comfortable silence, he felt…well he didn’t care to dwell on what it was he felt. There was only one possible end to this if they kept on this path and he suspected it might be even worse than a year inside a coffin. 

“I should get back,” Astarion said, pulling himself from his reverie and grabbing his clothes. “I have a curfew to keep after all.”

“Right,” Roan nodded. “Wouldn’t want you frying up.”

She remained draped across the mattress and he admired her body for a moment as he dressed. He preferred bodies like hers: marked by the fights she had won, and some he knew well she had lost. In himself, when he had still been able to preen in the mirror, he had scrutinized every imperfection, hated every scar, every wrinkle. But on others? There was no finer beauty.

“Shall I take a picture for you?” she cocked her head.

He furrowed his brow. “Forgive me. I’ll never stare at you again.”

At this, she rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“ Me? ” He clutched his hand to his chest. “ Never .”

“Don’t you need to get going?”

He grinned. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

As he walked away, back out into the park, making his way home to the palace, he found himself smiling . If he was smart, he’d avoid Roan like the plague and never see her again, content himself with the meager scraps Cazador provided, and accept his lot in life.

But he had never been smart. And even after two centuries as Cazador’s slave, he had not been able to accept the position Cazador put him in. It was why he was reprimanded so often and so severely compared to the others.

Maybe it was her blood that had him in this spell. He was smitten . Not necessarily with her, but with the situation, certainly.

He entered the palace to find most of his fellow spawn still out hunting or running jobs, so he made his way to the bunk room only to find the ghastly skeleton Godey standing before the door, his eye sockets glowing green.

Astarion curled his lip. “Can I help you?”

“Godey has been sent by master. He wishes to speak with you.”

Astarion’s blood ran cold. It was never good when Cazador wanted to have a word, even less so considering what he had just been up to. A punishment was coming either way, disobeying would only worsen it.

So he followed Godey up the stairs and into Cazador’s personal chamber, which they were only ever allowed to enter when they were being reprimanded.

Cazador sat behind his desk, his eyes ablaze, all of his ire focused on Astarion as he entered.

“Where have you been boy?”

“Socializing at the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion said, not meeting his gaze.

“ Look at me when I’m speaking to you ,” Cazador snapped.

Astarion looked up, holding his gaze even though it made him tremble. Nothing made him feel lower or weaker than Cazador.

He rose from behind his desk and walked over to Astarion, raising his hand and clenching his fist, a powerful spell forcing Astarion to his knees before him.

“I have warned you time and again against the dangers of lying, and still you spew half-truths from that wretched little mouth of yours.” He grabbed Astarion’s chin, forcing his head up, his sharp nails digging into his flesh. “ Where were you ?”

How did he know? Astarion had been so practiced at guarding his thoughts. How had he figured it out? Was there truly no secret he could keep that his master wouldn’t be able to pry from him?

“We both know the truth, boy. Speak it and be done with it.”

Astarion focused all his energy on calming his trembling body. “I was drinking blood.” He answered.

A quick, sharp slap of Cazador’s open palm against Astarion’s face left his skin burning.

“I had hoped you learned your lesson last time, but I see you are beyond redemption.” Cazador looked to Godey, who stood silent and stalwart next to Astarion. “Take him to the kennels. And in between your sessions, lock him in the coffin. I will break you of this habit if it takes me years, Astarion.”

“ Please ,” Astarion begged, hating himself as the words left his throat.

“You are past the point of begging, boy. Take him from my sight, Godey. And find out who he was drinking from. Whatever it takes.”

“Yes, Master.”

Astarion panicked. He tried to run, but Cazador’s magic quickly pulled him back to Godey, who clapped irons around his wrists and neck, dragging him, writhing and screaming, all the way down to the kennels for a punishment that might never end.

Had it truly been worth it? Those tastes of pure life flowing through him?

Yes. Even as the lash hit him. Even as the blade scraped away his skin.

It had been worth every last drop.

Chapter Text

Spending every waking free moment entangled with either Gale or Astarion was fraying at Roan’s nerves, and not just because she was starting to feel claustrophobic about the entire affair. She’d always had a healthy libido, but lately it had been on overdrive and she was fairly certain it couldn’t be healthy to be having that much sex.

So when Astarion didn’t show up around the Blushing Mermaid for several days, she considered it a sign that the both of them needed a break from each other before they locked themselves in a death spiral with this absurd mutual obsession.

But it didn’t stop her from visiting Gale, feeling guilty for the way he looked at her, questioning her own motives until her head spun, leaving, and then coming back and doing it all over again. But Gale was nearing middle-aged for a human and that meant he didn’t have the same stamina as an immortal vampire, which meant at least a bit of a break for Roan.

A few days of Astarion not turning up around the mermaid turned into a week, and then another, and it was at that point that Roan found herself genuinely concerned about where in the hells he was. Once or twice, she saw Dal or one of the other members of the Crimson Trust, but they looked at her with such loathing in their eyes that she didn’t dare approach them.

Maybe they had forced Astarion into some sort of detoxification situation. He had said her blood made everything else taste like ash in his mouth. This mutual need for each other could only be broken by forced separation and they both knew it.

Roan had never been one to take her most likely assumption as a given answer, though, and she had been looking for an excuse to try to breach Szarr Palace’s defenses and get her own personal intel on the guild of vampires and their secretive recruiting techniques. So why not kill two birds with one stone? Even if she was certain Dal might tear her to pieces if she caught her snooping around trying to find Astarion.

She decided, after scoping out the main entrances to the palace had been fruitless, that finding a way up through the sewers was her best option. Every home in Baldur’s Gate had running water, and most certainly an estate the size of Cazador’s did, which meant there had to be an entryway somewhere beneath the city, though she suspected it would be as heavily guarded as the rest of the palace.

She told no one of her plans, not least of all because if Nine-Fingers found out, she would flay Roan alive. The guilds were beholden to Cazador through some means: his power, his money, his immortality, maybe all of it. Regardless of why, Roan knew no one would take kindly to her sticking her nose where it wasn’t wanted. So she wore the all-black outfit with a mask that she reserved for missions requiring a particular amount of stealth, and she skulked through the paths of the sewers toward Szarr mansion.

Having been part of the Stone Eyes since she was fourteen, and thus having lived in the lower city for all that time, Roan knew her way around nearly every inch of the sewers like the back of her hand. But there were still some doors she had never ventured behind, some gates with locks she had never been able to pick. 

Bypassing the parts of the sewer she knew well, and the parts she knew belonged to the Zhentarim, she focused her efforts on the shadowy parts of the under-city she’d left unexplored either out of fear or previous lack of skill. 

She was used to the reek of the sewage running through the waterways, but it seemed to worsen as she ventured near the boundary between the upper and lower city, roughly where she suspected Szarr palace might be overhead. 

It was here that she found the trail of bones: small piles at first, some with bite marks suggesting they had been carried away by the animals that roamed the under-city, but as she followed the path of splintered bones, the piles she came across grew larger, the smell of decay worsening until she came upon a wrought iron gate. 

Through the gaps in the bars she could see a massive pile of dead bodies in varying states of decay: bones made up the base, with some rotting clothes still clinging to them. She gagged on the fetid air and was thankful for the mask she wore, unable to tear her gaze away from the pile. At the top of the mound of death were the freshest corpses: bite marks evident in their necks, their skin ashen from being exsanguinated. 

This was where Cazador’s victims were discarded when he was done with them. 

Roan picked the lock on the gate and hurried past the rotting pile of bodies, trying not to be sick at the smell. As she rounded the corner, she came upon several worgs huddled near another gate with a stairwell behind it. One of the worgs chewed on a still well-muscled severed leg, issuing warning growls whenever the others strayed too close. 

Roan froze and the worgs looked up at the sound of her feet, nostrils flaring as they sussed out her scent. The one chewing on the leg rose to its feet and bared its teeth at her, a low growl rumbling in its chest. 

Roan moved quickly, drawing her daggers from her side and narrowly avoiding the first worg to lunge at her. She whirled around and stuck her blade between the worg’s shoulders, yanking it back out and leaping backward to slice as another worg came at her. 

But there were four of them and only one of her and as she spun around lashing at the creatures with her blades, trying to keep sights on all of them, one managed to clamp its massive jaws down on her forearm. She let out a surprised yelp of pain and used her good arm to slam her dagger into the worg’s skull before prying her arm loose, blood soaking down her arm, part of her skin torn away by the bite. 

She didn’t have time to fuss over her injuries. She turned her attention back to the other three still circling, the one she’d stuck between the shoulders visibly struggling to hold itself up. She launched herself at that one first, finishing what she’d started before landing her dagger between the eyes of one of the others and cutting open the throat of the last. 

When she was done, she stood in the center of their bodies, her arm throbbing, the rank stench of bodies and filthy beasts flooding her nostrils. What the fuck was she doing here? She was risking her life snooping around this hellhole and for what? A vampire who would have seen her dead a few months earlier?

So why didn’t that stop her? 

She smeared some salve on her arm and continued on to the gate past the worgs, picking another lock and ascending the darkened stairwell beyond. 

Astarion would not have taken the same risk for her. If she was smart she would turn around and head back to base and assume that whatever was happening to Astarion wasn’t her business. 

But she had never claimed to be smart. 

The stairwell opened into a dank, poorly kept basement area, partially flooded with sewer water. She wound her way through the basement to another stairwell, and another, down narrow corridors through darkened doorways until she emerged into a brightly lit, gaudy chamber. 

A painting of Cazador Szarr hung on the wall, so massive it overshadowed everything else in the room. She’d never actually seen Cazador in person, but she’d heard enough about him to know whose grim visage stared back at her through the portrait. 

The room she found herself in seemed to be an antechamber to servants’ quarters. She wasn’t keen on being found by a vampire’s thralls, so she cast a spell of invisibility on herself and moved as quickly as she could while still maintaining the spell. 

The room led out into a hallway lined with doors and she stopped to listen at each of them. Most of what she encountered were soft snores, or petty arguments. She wound through the hall, with its hideous chandeliers and garish wallpaper, out into another hallway with a plaque marked: Northeast Wing, Guild Quarters. 

Nighttime seemed a safe enough bet to pry open doors here and she found exactly what she expected: empty bunks; the guild members must be out on assignments for the evening. Perhaps it was their numbers or perhaps Cazador was cheap, but they all seemed to share space between two bunk rooms. At the end of the hall she found an empty room that reeked of perfume and sex. She didn’t have to guess its purpose. 

Still, there was no sign of Astarion and a tense knot had formed in her stomach. This place set her ill-at-ease and she was eager to get out, but the further she delved, the more certain she was that nothing good could be happening to Astarion, supposing he was even still alive.

He had spoken more than once of the true risk he took in drinking her blood. What sort of sadist was Cazador Szarr exactly?

The palace was a maze, and she worried over keeping her spell intact, wondering if it was even useful if she ran afoul of a vampire. Could they see through invisibility spells? Was she merely delaying the inevitable? She knew exactly what would happen if Cazador found her snooping around his home…or she thought she knew.

As she stepped out into another hallway connecting the guild quarters to the foyer, she noticed a faint sheen in the wallpaper to her left: something magical shimmered there and, despite her better judgment, she reached out a hand to touch it.

The illusory magic gave way, revealing a metal door. When she tried the handle, she found it locked, so she listened for a moment for any sound of someone within and, hearing nothing, she picked the lock and stepped inside, hurrying to close and lock the door behind her.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she found within.

It was less of a room and more of a box made with the explicit purpose of torture. Five soiled mattresses lay scattered around the small room, a mixture of blood and urine and questionable other fluids staining the once white tops. Metal chains with cuffs meant for wrists and feet were secured to the wall every few meters, a rack meant for pulling bodies apart had been set up upon the wall, hooks stained with blood hung from the ceiling, a sink in the corner was partially filled with murky water, and in the corner, a cabinet was affixed to the wall with gods-knew-what inside of it.

Roan’s stomach turned. She ventured to the cabinet in the corner and opened it to find pliers, hammers, needles, and a number of other devices used to aid in the torture that must have occurred in this room. There were fresh blood stains on the floor where someone appeared to have been dragged, terminating at a simple wooden coffin that leaned at an incline against the wall.

Swallowing her fear, Roan pried open the coffin and let out a gasp at what she found within.

Astarion lay curled as tightly as the confines of the coffin would allow, his arms against his chest, dark circles beneath his eyes, his skin more deathly pale than she had ever seen it. He blinked at the sudden flood of light, covering his eyes only for them to widen at the sight of Roan staring in at him.

“What in hells are you doing here?” He cried. “Get out! Now! Before he comes back!”

“Astarion…” Roan was frozen to the spot. “What did they do to you?”

Astarion was so weak he could barely pull himself from the coffin. He looked around wildly.

“Get out,” he repeated. “Godey has been gone for hours…he’ll be back any moment…he’ll kill you if he sees you in here. Or worse…”

She had never seen Astarion so frantic, so uncontrolled. It was genuine fear in his eyes as he stared back at her, genuine panic. She couldn’t imagine what had been happening to him for the last two weeks. No…with the instruments of torture all around them she could imagine all too well, she simply didn’t want to.

A voice sounded on the other side of the door, gruff and multi-toned, almost otherworldly.

“Hide beneath the cabinet,” Astarion growled, eyes wide in terror. It was a demand, not a suggestion. “And close the coffin lid just as it was when you found it. If you’re lucky, he won’t know you’re here. As soon as he’s gone get the hells out, you fucking fool.”

Roan had the presence of mind to realize she was in a great deal of danger. She shoved the lid back onto the coffin and ducked beneath the cabinet, barely managing to squeeze beneath it, pushing herself as close to the wall as she could manage, hoping whoever Godey was, that he didn’t notice her. If he was a vampire, she was as good as dead with her arm still covered in drying blood.

The door opened barely a second after she’d crammed herself beneath the cabinet and she heard a gruff chuckle. She covered her mouth at the sight of an animated skeleton in a full suit of antiquated armor, its eyes glowing green, moving toward the coffin where Astarion lay confined.

He threw open the coffin door and Astarion recoiled at the light.

“Enjoyed your nap, little doggie?” the skeleton, who Roan assumed was Godey, asked as he yanked Astarion from the coffin and threw him onto one of the mattresses.

Astarion lay perfectly still, locking eyes with Roan for a millisecond before he glanced up at Godey.

“I did, thank you for asking,” he said in that annoying little sing-song he used when he was taunting her. It was perfectly in character and she realized, for perhaps the first time, that that’s what it was: a character, a charade, something to cover up the trauma of whatever the fuck had been going on in this rank palace. “If Cazador wants me to confess, he should consider less comfortable quarters.”

Godey placed his boot on Astarion’s neck and pressed down with a preternatural strength, leaving Astarion choking and gasping, clawing at Godey’s leg.

“Doggie is awfully glib. Godey hasn’t broken him yet, but he will.” He moved his boot and Astarion gulped in as much air as he could before Godey grabbed him again, binding his arms behind his back and pushing him toward the sink full of filthy water.

Astarion’s facade cracked. “No…please…” he begged. “Please, anything but that, Godey…”

He wasn’t given a chance to say more before Godey’s skeletal fingers gripped his hair and shoved his head beneath the water, holding him down despite his best efforts to fight. His arms flailed backward as far as they could in their binds, he kicked his legs furiously, but Godey’s grip didn’t weaken. Roan found herself holding her breath as well and had to silence a gasp when she realized she wasn’t breathing and still Godey held Astarion beneath the water.

When he stopped fighting, Godey pulled him back up and he gasped for air, his eyelids drooping, half conscious.

“What do we say, doggie?”

Astarion panted, struggling to speak. “A spawn shall not…” He coughed and vomited up water. “Shall not…” Another cough, racking his body so hard he fell to his knees. “Shall not drink of the blood of thinking creatures.”

“Good doggie,” said Godey, lifting Astarion off of the floor and dunking his head back under the water.

Roan’s entire body was on fire, gripped with a visceral fear she hadn’t known in ages. She held perfectly still beneath the cabinet, her injured arm throbbing, her muscles growing stiff and aching, as hour after hour passed and Godey’s torture seemed no closer to ceasing. For some time, he simply held Astarion under the water to the point of near-drowning, let him get just enough breath to live, then dunked him under again. When he tired of that, he placed Astarion on the rack and tore his joints from their sockets, healed them up, and repeated the process.

Roan saw the full gamut of what that room had to offer, directed solely at Astarion, who at first merely clenched his jaw and suffered through it, but as the hours crept on, he couldn’t contain his screams of anguish. When Godey cut him, no blood left his body, so long had it been since he fed.

He suffered and he screamed and he writhed and he recited the words Godey wanted to hear over and over.

But when Godey asked him who he had drank from, he said nothing at all, and his silence earned him even worse pain.

Each wound was healed meticulously so that no sign of the torture showed. It was only when Astarion fainted after having his ribs cracked for the tenth time that Godey gave up for the night, but not without first trying and failing to wake him with several slaps to the face and splashes of water. He set his ribs with some healing magic, threw him back into the coffin, and walked back through the door with a hearty chuckle.

Roan waited a good half hour longer before she dared crawl out from under the cabinet, her entire body protesting after so long in a cramped position. She limped over to the casket, willing her body to cooperate, tossing open the coffin door to find Astarion still limp and unconscious within.

Sick to her stomach, a powerful rage coursing through her, she cast her spell of invisibility on the both of them, struggling to pull his body over her shoulders. She crept back the way she had come, now burdened by Astarion’s weight, trying not to breathe too loudly or otherwise give herself away.

He would probably scream at her for taking him away for fear of what punishment he might receive if Cazador found him again, but after the hours of torture she had just witnessed, she sure as fuck wasn’t leaving him there. He needed some proper healing and some blood and gods knew he wouldn’t get either in that place.

She carried him all the way down to the sewers and, knowing the Stone Eyes’ headquarters was not an option for them, she took him to the only other place she could think of.

Gale was awoken abruptly to his front door flying open. Tara hissed loudly, her fur standing on end and Gale sat up, dazed, following her gaze to where Roan stood leaning heavily against the door with a very unconscious vampire at her feet.

“What…?” Gale rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What in Mystra’s name is going on?”

“I need your help,” Roan said, dragging Astarion onto the couch before she herself collapsed into the armchair next to it.

Tara’s fur settled and she ventured to the couch, standing with her front paws on the cushions while she inspected Astarion’s seemingly lifeless body. Only the faintest swell of his chest indicated he was still alive.

“Better draw the curtains,” said Roan, nodding to the glass doors out to the balcony. “I didn’t drag him all the way here just for him to fry up when the sun rises.”

“What time is it?” Gale asked, unable to formulate any other words.

Roan shrugged. “Early morning. Might have heard two chimes on the clocktower on my way here, I don’t remember.”

She picked at dried salve covering her arm, glanced at the sink in the kitchen, then seemed to decide it was too much effort and slumped further into the armchair.

“You’re hurt,” said Gale, sitting on the edge of his coffee table and grabbing her arm.

“Not as hurt as he is.” She nodded to Astarion.

Gale glanced at Astarion. He was exceedingly pale and decidedly unconscious, but seemed otherwise to be in decent health. 

“He looks all right to me.”

“I’ll explain,” Roan huffed. “Just…” There were dark circles under her eyes.

Gale sighed, more confused than ever, and moved to the kitchen where he filled a bowl with warm water and grabbed a rag, carrying it over to Roan and wiping down her arm. Deep puncture wounds marred her skin, some of her flesh torn away and beginning to bleed again as he wiped away the salve.

“I’m no healer,” he sighed. “But I’ll do my best.” He knew a few cleric spells from his long years of studying, but he was hardly an expert. He supposed it was better than nothing though. He was about to set to work on her arm when she nodded again to the curtains.

“The sun,” she said.

“It’s not coming up for hours,” he protested.

“I don’t want you to forget.”

He sighed. “All right.” 

He stood and drew the curtains tightly shut, lighting the oil lamp on the wall with some of his magic before returning his attention to Roan’s bleeding arm. He did the best he could to stitch it up and she thanked him, closing her eyes and drawing her arm to her chest. 

“Would you like to tell me what happened?”

“I will. I’m just…so tired. He’s not exactly light, you know. And I carried him two miles or more. Look him over, will you?”

Gale had grown used to some amount of chaos with Roan in his life, but this was a new record.

Tara had curled into the crook of Astarion’s neck, purring loudly. She trilled at Gale as he inspected Astarion’s body. There wasn’t exactly a single wound to focus his efforts on, but he channeled some of his healing magic all the same until Astarion’s eyelids fluttered open.

He scrambled backward deeper into the couch, eyes wide like a crazed animal. Tara leaped away quickly with a flutter of her wings, hissing softly at the sudden movement. Gale held his hands up.

“Steady now,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Astarion looked around the room. “Where am I?”

“This is my flat,” said Gale.

Astarion seemed to notice Roan, who barely managed to open her eyes. “Oh good, you’re awake.”

He launched himself on Roan. “What have you done!?” He shouted.

“Hey!” Gale grabbed him around the middle and pulled him off of Roan, surprised at how much fight he put up for someone so wiry, but he was visibly weak and gave up quickly against Gale’s grip.

“You fool!” He yelled at Roan. “He’ll kill you! He’ll do worse! How could you do this after what you saw?”

Roan bristled. “Was I supposed to leave you there for another two weeks of torture?”

“Two weeks?” Astarion scoffed. “Two centuries, darling. And I’ve managed thus far without your help. You’re a fool. A damned idiot. When Cazador-”

“I saved your life,” Roan growled. “You’re fucking welcome. I could have died.”

“Death would be preferable to what he’ll do to you.”

“So go back. Be my fucking guest, Astarion. Fuck me for trying to help you and-”

“EXCUSE ME,” Gale bellowed. They both stopped talking and stared at him. “Will someone please tell me what the hells is going on?”

“The handsome wizard,” said Astarion, slipping back into whatever persona it was Gale had met on his night out. “You’re willing to risk his life too? How kind of you.”

“Shut up. I should have let him leave you unconscious,” Roan spat.

Gale cleared his throat. “I’ll kick you both out into the street if I don’t get an explanation soon. Sunlight be damned.” 

He tried to sound intimidating, but he knew it came off as disingenuous. Still, Roan let out a sigh and began to finally explain why she had barged in so suddenly at such an early hour. Astarion curled into the couch as far as he could, folding his arms and glowering at both of them, but not moving to leave at any point.

When Roan had finished her sordid tale, Gale sighed and rubbed his brow.

“So you stole a vampire lord’s spawn out of his palace and brought him here because…I’m so nurturing…?” he asked.

“Vampires can’t enter private residences without permission. Astarion will be safe here.”

“Well then how did you get him inside?” Gale asked, pointing to Astarion.

Roan and Astarion stared at each other, seemingly equally perplexed, but then a sly grin spread across Astarion’s face. “You must view her as part of your family,” he said. “Her invitation to me by carrying me in counted. Whatever could that mean, I wonder?”

“Shut the hell up,” Roan snapped. “As long as Cazador and the other spawn can’t get in here, you’re safe. Besides, Gale has no connection. They won’t think to look here.”

“You underestimate Cazador’s power, but…” Astarion shrugged. “I suppose if your wizard is willing to have me as a house guest I’d prefer it to what I was dealing with.”

“Well?” Roan looked pleadingly at Gale. “Are you?”

What the hells was Gale supposed to say? He couldn’t say no, not with the way Roan was staring at him with those huge brown eyes of hers, not after she’d just risked her life to get Astarion out of the nightmare he’d been living in. He still had a thousand questions, and he was less than keen on a houseguest that might exsanguinate him, but he conceded all the same.

“Fine,” he groaned. “He can stay for now. Until we figure out what to do with him.”

“I’m not some animal,” Astarion growled.

“Then I can trust you not to piss in Tara’s sandbox,” Gale said, too tersely.

Astarion let out a bark of laughter, though it was short and clipped. “Ha! I like him,” he said to Roan.

“I’m sorry, Gale,” said Roan, and he could tell she truly meant it. “I didn’t know where else to take him and I couldn’t leave him there. If you had seen it…I mean…” she shuddered. “I still feel sick.”

“Oh, grow some tougher skin,” Astarion hissed. “That’s hardly the worst I’ve been through.”

“You’re welcome by the way,” said Roan.

Astarion pursed his lips and looked between Roan and Gale. “I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, but I’m positively famished. I haven’t fed in two weeks. Look, I can barely lift my arm,” he held his arm up and let it drop dramatically against the couch.

“And yet somehow you managed to lunge at Roan a moment ago,” Gale noted.

“I lost too much blood,” Roan said. “It’ll have to wait. Maybe Tara can scrounge up some rats for you.”

Tara, who sat on the kitchen counter staring at the group of them, hissed at this.

Astarion stared at her and licked his lips.

“You will not eat my tressym,” Gale warned, pointing a stern finger at him.

Astarion’s eyes darted to Gale. “What about you, wizard? I only need a little sip. Something to give me a bit more strength…”

Gale looked to Roan, exasperated. She only shrugged. “It feels nice, actually, once the biting part is over. Just don’t let him take too much. He probably can’t handle himself in this state.”

“Could we stop discussing me as though I’m not right here?” Astarion growled.

Roan shoved herself up off the armchair. “I have to get back to headquarters so I have a plausible alibi. News is going to spread fast that Astarion is missing and I’m going to have a target on my back thanks to Dal. Nine-Fingers will suspect my involvement anyway given…our history. Stay here, Astarion,” she said, “and don’t be a nuisance to Gale. We’re already trespassing heavily upon his kindness.” She pecked Gale’s cheek. “Thank you, really. I’ll be back just as soon as it’s safe to visit.”

“And in the meantime, I’m just…stuck with a hungry vampire?” Gale frowned at her.

She mouthed, ‘I’m sorry’ and darted out the door.

“Tch,” Astarion scoffed. “Just drops me on your doorstep and leaves.” He shifted, fixing Gale with a ravenous look. “I am quite hungry though, and your neck looks terribly lucious.”

“Ah…” Gale’s cheeks flushed. He recalled how taken he had been with Astarion the night they met. “I suppose if it’s me or Tara…a sip won’t hurt. But I will throw you into the sun if you don’t reel yourself in once you’ve had your fill.”

He wasn’t sure why he was even conceding this except that his weakness for Roan knew no bounds and Astarion, incredibly, seemed to be able to make the same pleading face, his eyes as big as saucers, that Gale found impossible to say no to.

“I’m afraid I’ve never let a vampire feast on me,” he said, taking a seat next to Astarion. “I’m not sure-”

He didn’t finish his sentence before Astarion was on top of him, pinning him into the couch, pressing his face into Gale’s neck and inhaling deeply. Gale’s body flushed with heat as Astarion’s weight settled on top of him.

Astarion gave him no warning before digging his fangs into the flesh of his neck: an icy pinch that was over as quickly as it began. He withdrew his teeth and suctioned his mouth to the wounds he’d made, moaning into Gale’s skin as he drank.

“Ah…” he gasped when he came up for a breath. “Ah…your blood…it’s like…it’s not like Roan’s. It’s…” he latched his mouth back to Gale’s neck and lathed his tongue against the wounds. Gale swallowed hard and tried to think about anything that would prevent the unbidden stirring between his legs. 

He understood now why Roan had submitted to allowing Astarion to drink from her: it was positively euphoric, the feeling of Astarion’s cool lips sucking against his skin. Perhaps it was a kind of magic, to subdue prey, but Gale found himself falling victim to it all too readily.

It was only when black began to eat at the edges of his vision that his senses seemed to return. He might have been content to let Astarion drink him dry prior, but he snapped back into awareness, yanking Astarion’s mouth away from his neck.

Astarion sat back on Gale’s lap, his lips stained crimson, a broad grin on his face. “Your blood is divine, wizard. It’s like I can taste the magic flowing in it.”

Gale frowned up at him. “I have a name.”

“Gabe, was it?”

“Gale.”

“Right, of course.” Astarion slid off of him, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and licking away the excess blood like a cat cleaning itself. “Thank you for that. I feel like a new man.”

Gale sat up, a thousand thoughts rocketing around his brain. “Well, look. I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets and you can sleep on the couch. During the day I’ve got a shop to run. Can I trust you to stay put up here and not get into things…not eat my pet?”

“Cross my heart,” said Astarion, waving his finger across his chest with a flair. “I’ll stay put and be a very good vampire.”

Gale procured the pillow and blanket from his linen closet and settled back into his bed to try and get some sleep before he had to be up to open the shop. As he lay in bed, restless, he wondered just what in hells he was getting himself into.

Chapter Text

The wizard’s flat was exceedingly small: a solitary room with a bed and a couch, a small kitchen, and a washroom off the main room. 

It had the effect of making Astarion feel like a caged animal. 

He could’ve killed Roan. What in the hells was she thinking?

Though he had to admit it was an impressive feat to have snuck into Szarr Palace and found her way back out while carrying him. He just couldn’t figure out why she had done it. 

This thing between them was a mutual obsession, but it was never about more than blood and sex. 

He didn’t want to dwell on a deeper meaning, but with nothing but time stuck inside the wizard’s flat, there was little else to do.

A part of him knew whatever compelled Roan to find and free him was a partner to the feeling that held his tongue while Godey tortured him. He could’ve avoided more pain if he had only said her name. 

But he didn’t. 

He wasn’t keen on the implications of any of it and he had no clue what came next. He couldn’t live the rest of his life holed up in a one room flat. Though he had no doubt Cazador would sniff him out eventually. 

All he could do for the moment was ingratiate himself to the wizard - Gale - in the hopes he might provide a little protection. 

Gale was another curious thing. He would’ve accused Roan of taking advantage of his kindness, but there was something more there between them: unexpected for someone as averse to teamwork as Tevlin. 

Astarion slept through most of the day and paced through the rest. The tressym, Tara, lay curled at his side every time he rested and he found the solid weight of her against his body strangely comforting. 

Had he had a cat before Cazador? Some old memory stirred there. 

He heard Gale’s footsteps on the stairwell before the door opened. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” he said by way of greeting. He carried with him several tomes that he dropped on the kitchen table. 

Astarion found it second nature to slip into the persona that had served him for the last two centuries. 

“Yes, just languishing away waiting for you,” he draped his arm over his forehead. 

Gale stared at him. “Right.” He moved to the kitchen and set about making some tea. “Do you…drink tea?”

“Yes.” Astarion rose to his feet and slunk over to the kitchen, leaning against the counter and looking at Gale from behind his eyelashes. “You know…I can’t stop thinking about the way your blood tasted.”

“Hm,” Gale grunted. “I’ll thank you not to take a bite out of my neck without my permission.”

“Perish the thought! It’s just…I’ve only ever drank from Roan. I didn’t know blood could taste so different.”

The flush in Gale’s cheeks gave him away. “Well, Roan isn’t a student of the weave. Nor has she spent time with Mystra. I have to think that’s what sets apart our…flavor?” He furrowed his brow as he considered the word. 

“Yes, Roan tells me you’re a remarkably skilled wizard.”

Of course the reality was Roan had told him very little about Gale, though what little she’d said had given away her underlying feelings for him. 

“It’s not skill so much as it is studiousness, but,” he puffed out his chest, “I suppose there is some amount of inherent skill involved. I was the youngest wizard ever to be accepted to Blackstaff academy.”

Astarion brushed his hand against Gale’s arm, “Impressive.”

Gale looked at his hand and frowned. “I’m keen to your game, Astarion. Roan told me all about you after we met.” But his frown faded as he plucked Astarion’s hand away. “You needn’t try to seduce me. I promised Roan I’d keep you safe, so keep you safe I shall.”

Astarion bristled and returned to the couch. “I didn’t ask to be rescued, you know.”

“Seems like you needed it all the same.” He set the kettle on the stove to boil. 

“Roan has no clue what she’s started. If we’re lucky it ends with all three of us dead.”

Gale grimaced. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

A moment of awkward silence passed between them. Tara wove between Gale’s legs and then pawed at the door to the balcony to be let out. 

“You’ll have to wait until sundown I’m afraid.”

Astarion could’ve sworn he heard the tressym huff before she lay down next to the door. 

If he couldn’t roam and he couldn’t lay on the charm too heavily, Astarion turned to something he enjoyed doing: being nosy. 

“Roan tells me you were a client before you were her lover.”

“Is that the term she used?” Gale asked. 

“Which? Client or lover?”

Gale gave him a withering look and tended to the whistling kettle. “I had employed the Stone Eyes to obtain a tome I was after.”

“And how exactly did your little romance bloom?”

“Oh romance had very little to do with it. It was just a mutual attraction. But I do like to think she was quite taken by my charm,” Gale chuckled. “She was the one on that job and the one who hand delivered the tome to me. Gods that was almost a decade ago.”

“Well,” said Astarion, “something must have stuck.”

“Yes I seem to have a habit for picking up strays.” Gale looked pointedly at Astarion. “Milk and sugar?”

Astarion nodded. Gale was interesting. He wasn’t quite like other wizards he had met. He handed Astarion his cup of tea and Astarion felt the cool metal of his prosthetic hand as their hands brushed. 

He wanted desperately to know how such a supposedly powerful wizard had managed to lose an arm. But he knew prying too much too fast could get him on Gale’s bad side and he was still trying to win him over. 

“I suppose Roan’s told you all about our affair.” It was a curious situation to find himself stuck with a man who clearly had feelings for the woman he’d been in an obsessive sex spiral with for weeks. 

“Yes, though I don’t need the gory details,” Gale replied tersely. He sat at the kitchen table and sipped his tea. “She did warn me to stay away from you. She said you were dangerous.”

“Ironic that she brought me to your doorstep then.”

Gale shrugged. “She trusts me. I’m not saying this is a situation I’m ecstatic about, but,” he eyed Astarion up and down. “She was right to bring you here.”

Astarion cocked his head. “I’m still curious about how she got me in without an invitation. Do you love her, wizard?”

“We’re most certainly not discussing that,” Gale said, giving himself away entirely. 

Whatever it was the two of them felt for each other, they clearly weren’t eager to admit it aloud. Astarion wondered if they realized how obvious their affections were from an outsider’s perspective. 

Gale dug around the pockets of his robe and withdrew a cigarette, lighting it with his fingers, his foot tapping away anxiously. Astarion wrinkled his nose. 

“I see you and Tevlin have the same nasty habit.”

“Does it bother you?” Gale asked, seeming genuinely concerned. “I can put it out.”

Astarion waved his hand but he was touched by the thoughtfulness. “It’s your home.”

And so they sat in an awkward silence for some time. How long would this last? And how long before Roan turned back up?

By the time Roan snuck through the sewers and used Astarion’s spy route in the ducting to return to her room, it was nearly sunrise and she fell asleep nearly as soon as her head hit the bed. 

It couldn’t have been more than two hours when she was awoken abruptly to her door being kicked open and an icy bucket of water being thrown onto her face. 

She sat up shocked and spluttering to find Nine-Fingers standing in the doorway with her arms crossed. On one side of her, holding an empty bucket, stood Denza, a half-orc who had never been a great fan of Roan’s. On the other side stood Nine-Finger’s right hand woman: a drow named Marisse. 

“What the fuck?” Roan coughed, wringing water from her shirt. 

“Got a missive from Cazador Szarr this morning,” said Nine-Fingers. “Seems Astarion Ancunín’s gone missing.”

Roan, who had spent seventy years lying as second nature, did her best to look unaffected. 

“And what the fuck has that got to do with me?”

Nine-Fingers said nothing, instead nodding to Denza, who lurched forward and slammed her fist into Roan’s eye. She saw stars, falling back onto her bed as she clutched at her now throbbing eye. 

“Tell the truth, Roan. It’ll be easier for you in the long run.”

“What the fuck would I want with Astarion?” Roan groaned, trying to sit back up and finding herself woozy. Before Nine-Fingers could interject, she continued. “I took what you said to heart. I only let him drink from me the one time, before I knew the rules.”

“Is that why Lyrin told me you’re constantly disappearing with Astarion lately?”

“Is there a rule against fucking who I want?” Roan demanded. “I’m sure it’s a piss poor substitute for the taste he got of my blood, but he’s happy enough to oblige. Last time I checked, hate fucking someone wasn’t a crime.”

There was still doubt in Nine-Fingers’ eyes, but she could see a hint of uncertainty too. 

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve got nothing to do with Astarion’s disappearance.”

Roan looked up at her. “I’ve got nothing to do with it. The last time I saw him was two weeks ago. We fucked, he left for home when we were done. It’s not my business what he got up to after that. Maybe Cazador should start with his own guild. Dal was always pissed at him every time I saw her.”

For a moment, Nine-Fingers looked as though she bought the story. Then she looked at Marisse. 

“Give her a truth serum.”

Roan’s pulse pounded in her ears. She had spent some time in her youth building up immunity to the more common truth serum ingredients, but that wouldn’t necessarily save her from whatever Marisse had in mind. Still, she couldn’t let on she was scared. 

So she shrugged. “Fine, give me a truth serum. My story won’t change.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Denza grabbed Roan by the shirt collar and hoisted her up, which Roan protested against. 

“I’m not resisting any of this, gods, stop manhandling me! I’ve been in this guild longer than both of you!”

Marisse backhanded Roan’s mouth, splitting her lip open. “Shut up. Stoll should’ve thrown you out decades ago.”

They dragged her down the hall to a room Roan was intimately familiar with. The guild interrogated both friend and foe in that room when information was needed. While it was nothing as bad as the torture chamber in Szarr Palace, it wasn’t a place Roan was keen to ever find herself.  

Denza shoved her into a chair and shackled her to the arms and legs of it while Marisse dug through a cabinet and began combining ingredients into a glass vial. 

“I already told you I’d take the serum, I don’t see why the restraints are necessary,” Roan grumbled. Her head was positively pounding in pain, her eye swelling shut. 

“Do you take me for a fool, Tevlin? All you know how to do is lie. I’m calling your bluff.”

She stepped forward with a vial full of purple liquid. A foul smell rose up out of it, but Roan recognized the scent of redleaf. If she was lucky, her immunity remained. 

Denza forced her mouth open, pinching her nose shut as Marisse poured the liquid down her throat. She gagged on it, coughing and choking as Denza released her. 

She felt it seeping into her brain, but not fully, not the way a truth serum would when it had full hold on her senses. She steeled her mind to it and stared at Marisse. 

“Where is Astarion?” She demanded. 

“I don’t know,” Roan managed to bite out. Her resistance held. 

“Did you help him escape?”

“No.” Bile rose in her throat and she choked it back down. Whether it was the serum or her throbbing headache, she couldn’t say. 

Marisse and Denza exchanged a glance. “Did you let him drink from you?”

“Only once.”

Marisse cursed and threw the empty vial into the wall. It shattered on impact. 

“You were just itching for a reason to gut me, weren’t you?” Roan laughed. 

“Watch your tongue or I might yet find a reason,” Marisse hissed. “Leave her there. She can languish while we convene with Nine-Fingers.”

She and Denza left the room and she breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn’t exactly keen to be stuck chained to the chair, but at least she’d passed the first test. 

She would have to lay low for some time. She couldn’t risk anyone tailing her to Gale’s shop and put his life in danger. She didn’t think for a second that Nine-Fingers would stop at one truth serum. 

It might’ve been hours she sat there in that cold dank room, the shackles digging into her flesh. The wound from the worgs remained on her arm, only just patched up by Gale’s healing magic. There would be questions about that too, if they caught sight of it beneath her sleeve. 

Eventually, Marisse and Denza returned with Nine-Fingers in tow. 

“Tell me, Roan, am I to believe that after two hundred years in servitude to the Crimson Trust, Astarion would decide to just disappear?”

“That certainly seems to be the case. Maybe he picked the wrong target and he’s floating face down in the sewers somewhere. I’m not the only person in the city with a connection to that fucker.”

“No, but you are highest on my list of suspects,” said Nine-Fingers. “What I don’t understand is why you’d risk your standing in the guild and your life for someone so worthless.”

Roan was getting agitated now. “I didn’t risk anything! How many ways can I tell you that? I’ve been in my room all night.”

Nine-Fingers nodded to Marisse, who all too readily drew the mace from her belt and slammed it into Roan’s knee. Roan couldn’t contain the anguished wail that left her throat, it felt as though her knee had been crushed in and tears trickled from the corners of her eye. Blood leeched through the fabric of her trousers. 

“Why…?” She gasped. 

Nine-Fingers stepped back and opened the door and Roan’s heart dropped into her stomach. 

Cazador Szarr stood in the doorway, more intimidating in person than his ghastly visage in the portrait had been. He stepped forward, nostrils flaring. 

“Roan Tevlin,” he said, staring down at her. “I’ve heard so much about you. Dalyria had quite a lot to tell me about you, in fact. You’re familiar with her, aren’t you?”

Roan stared daggers at him and said nothing. This earned her a smack across the face from Marisse. 

“A guild leader is speaking to you, Tevlin. Answer him.”

“Dalyria doesn’t like me. I’m sure she had plenty of lies to spew about me.”

Cazador leaned over her, bracing his arms on either side of the chair and digging his sharp nails into her flesh until they drew blood. His nostrils flared again. 

“Dalyria knows what happens to liars in my home. Nine-Fingers tells me you aren’t well versed in the nature of my guild.” He was so close to her she could smell his breath, the sharp tang of iron filling her nostrils. She pressed herself harder into the chair and he drew closer. “Do you know what a vampire lord is capable of?”

Behind him, Nine-Fingers motioned to Denza and Marisse and the three of them stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Roan’s heart was pounding so hard and fast she thought it would explode from her chest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this terrified. She refused to meet Cazador’s gaze, afraid it would put her in a trance. 

His nails dug harder into her flesh. “Answer me.”

“No,” she tried to meter her breathing. 

“No.” Cazador gripped her chin, raking a long nail against her cheek and lapping up the blood the sprung forth from the wound. She grimaced. “For starters, each mortal’s blood has its own unique scent. Not something even a mere spawn could suss out.” His breath was hot against her face. She tried to stop her body from trembling and found she physically couldn’t. “It’s the most curious thing. The blood I smelled on Astarion’s breath? I smelled it in the kennels too. All the way down to the sewers were I found my guard worgs dead. Do you know what it smells like?”

She knew lying was no longer going to save her. 

“Me,” she answered. 

“Ah.” He finally drew away from her, standing back and observing her. “You learn quickly. More than I can say for Astarion.”

There was nothing she could do. No one was going to save her from whatever came next. Even if she could get free, there was no overpowering a vampire lord, and even if she could, she couldn’t get far with her knee crushed in. Her breath came shaky as she waited for whatever fate befell her. 

“Where is he?” Cazador asked, his voice eerily calm. 

She thought back to Astarion’s hours of torture. Her name never left his lips. She said nothing. 

“Where is he?” Cazador demanded, more sternly this time. 

Roan looked up at him and spit in his face. “Fuck you.”

He wiped her spittle from his face and stared at her. “Very well.” Then he turned and left the room. 

Roan looked around desperately. She had to get out of that room and she knew she didn’t have much time. She yanked on the chains binding her to the chair. They were old and rusted and she stood half a chance of breaking at least one of them. She writhed, exerting every last ounce of her strength until one of her arms broke free, the chain clanking to the ground. She was quick to undo her other binds, not stopping for even a moment to listen at the door to know if anyone was coming. She stood on top of the chair, her knee screaming in pain as she did so. Lifting the grate to the duct, she pulled herself inside and shoved the grate back into place and then she crawled on her belly as fast as she could, trying to put as much distance between herself and the guild as she could. 

Cazador might be able to suss out the scent of her, but she knew now he couldn’t track her, not unless she was actively bleeding out. If he could, he would already have retrieved Astarion from Gale’s flat. 

Unless of course he already had and she was too late. 

She couldn’t dwell on it. He was a vampire lord, but he wasn’t a godsdamned bloodhound. There was one surefire way to make sure her scent was muddied though. 

She emerged from the ducts and flung herself into the sewer water, nearly vomiting from the smell of it. Her left leg scarcely worked by this point, but she flailed with her arms and her good leg, swimming as far as she could, never stopping until she was certain she was far enough away from the guild that it would take them some time to follow her path, if they even could. 

Only then did she climb from the filthy water, dragging herself through the tunnels until she found one of the stairwells back up to the surface. 

She emerged expecting blinding daylight, but the sun had almost set. Maybe she slept longer than she realized, or maybe the truth serum had fucked with her sense of time and she’d been down in that torture chamber longer than she knew. Regardless, she limped through the streets, her entire body searing with pain. 

By the time she reached Gale’s shop, she was running on pure adrenaline. She could barely feel her legs, barely feel anything at all. She pounded on the door, the shop closed for the day, pleading with any god that would listen that Gale could hear her. 

Maybe Mystra heard her. Her legs gave out just as the door opened and Gale appeared, a look of panic on his face. 

Her body could take no more. She fell unconscious in a heap at his feet.