Your Dark Gospel

Chapter Seven

Astarion had followed Elira to hell.

He’d actually done it.

And now, here he was, hideous boots sunk deep in the snow beneath a canopy of dark clouds. There was a sort of spectral green flashing of light between the gaps that reminded him of lightning. It cast an eerie glow on the frozen landscape of ice and jagged mountain terrain. He could see icebergs in the distance, all varying in size, protruding from a frozen sea like glittering glass, gleaming against the constant flash of green from above.

“At least we don’t have to worry about the sun,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself. He couldn’t remember having ever felt so cold in his two hundred years spent as a vampire. The undead didn’t feel temperature the way mortals did. But this— this chill he felt to his very bones.

There was something else he felt, but he couldn’t place it. He was different somehow— lighter.

He turned to Elira and noticed the snow already gathering on her auburn lashes. She was pulling her dark hood over her hair, casting her face in shadow. She looked exactly as she had the night they met. The little death omen sitting next to him in some filthy tavern. He suddenly felt that they were a long way from that night.

She steepled her fingers in front of her mouth and bowed her head, whispering some sort of spell or prayer. He wasn’t sure which, but he suddenly felt a rush of hot air encircling them. The snow that had been steadily falling upon them seemed to hit an invisible barrier above their heads and slide off.

Elira trudged forward through the snow. “Better get going.”

Astarion had no choice but to follow, lest he be left to freeze in the bitter cold. He didn’t think it could kill him, but freezing his limbs to ice, trapping him here for all eternity— that was a real possibility. A very terrifying possibility.

“How do you know where you’re going?” He had to yell to be heard over the howling wind. At least, he hoped it was the wind. “Everything looks the same.”

Elira pulled something small out from around her neck, buried beneath her layers of clothing, and showed it to Astarion. It was a compass strung along a silver chain. It glowed red and warm in her gloved hand. He reached out to touch it, but she tucked it away once more and continued forward. “It’s enchanted to lead the way.”

“You’ve certainly thought of everything.”

She didn’t respond or even acknowledge him as she continued to push her way through the blizzard that had engulfed them. Astarion decided it was probably for the best that they focused on getting out of the storm . . . if that was even a possibility. They’d have plenty of time to talk later. But what if the whole bloody place was like this? It was hell, after all. One of the coldest, most unforgiving layers.

Hours felt like days as their careful steps slowed their pace to a crawl across the desolate landscape. It was devoid of life and vegetation. But Astarion could have sworn he’d seen something big and winged pass by overhead. He didn’t get a very good look at it. Maybe he’d just imagined the creature— or maybe it was simply waiting to devour them both. Either way, he didn’t see what good slowing down to talk about it would do. It’s not like they could be any better prepared than they already were.

Which wasn’t saying much.

“How much longer until we make camp?”

Elira turned to answer, but her steps faltered. He watched her eyes grow wide as her body tumbled downward, the ground beneath her feet suddenly turning into a steep, rocky descent. She hadn’t seen it coming. The snowfall had become so heavy they could barely see their own hands held out in front of them.

He watched in horror as her delicate body bounced against the dark rock and hurtled toward the hard ground below. He tried to give chase, but he wasn’t fast enough; the rock was too icy. He found himself crouching to stay upright as he slid down after her. Panic tightened his throat at the sight of her crumpled form on the hard-packed snow.

It had only been a few hours since they bound their fates together, and she had already found a way to throw herself at the first opportunity to die. What a fool he had been to tie himself to something so fragile.
She was pulling herself onto her knees when he reached her side. She pushed up slowly, arms trembling as she tried to raise herself off the cold ground. Astarion took hold of the crook of her arm and wrenched her to her feet, holding tight while she staggered and gained her footing.

“Are you—”

She brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen across her face and looked up at him. “I’m okay.”

The words sounded . . . far away. She might as well have been speaking to him underwater.

He felt his pupils dilate into two narrow orbs, unable to see anything but the vibrant, shimmering red leaking from her nose. His body tensed as he sucked in the intoxicating aroma.

Somewhere a drum sounded. The rhythm was a distant but consuming thump, thump, thump. The predator inside reached for the chains that Cazador had placed in his mind to confine him— a compulsion that kept him from his most basic nature—feeding on mortal blood.

But the chains weren’t there.

Astarion leaped forward, pushing Elira back into the snow with a dull thud. His body pinned her to the ground, and he bared his fangs and hissed his ecstasy into the cold air like a wolf howling at the moon.

All he could see was red. Beautiful, tantalizing red streaked across the face of the woman beneath him. Her scarlet hair had gathered around her head in a crown of crimson. His fangs ached with need as he guided them to her throat, ready to rip her delicate skin to—

Heat seared against his chest, a blast so sudden and unbearably agonizing it tore through his predatory daze. He felt himself scrambling backward; the pain engulfing him like a thousand heated daggers piercing his flesh.

“You burned me!” A deep scowl overtook his face as he brushed at the scorch marks on his elegant doublet. The blood stupor had subsided, and his mind felt entirely his own again.

Elira picked herself up from the ground and hastily wiped clumps of snow off her dark clothes before she shouted back, “You tried to kill me!”

Astarion groaned. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to! The hunger . . . I was . . .” Astarion was lost for words. He racked his brain for a way to explain properly what had taken hold of him. His jaw slackened as the realization of what had just happened took hold. “The chains—  the compulsions Cazador put in place. I don’t— I don’t feel them anymore. I knew something was different when we got here, but I didn’t realize . . .”

Elira swiped at the blood beneath her nose. The gaze she directed at Astarion was cold and glassy. “Your master can’t reach you here.” She was already turning away— ready to carry on as if she hadn’t just hurled herself down an icy rock, and then been attacked by a vampire. “Welcome to the hells, Astarion.