Your Dark Gospel

Chapter Eight

Elira hobbled through the snow like her life depended on it. She had to keep moving- otherwise, something bad was going to happen.

She'd felt it when Astarion tackled her to the ground. The sudden hunger - the dark urge. Gazing into his blazing eyes was like looking into a mirror. They had more in common than she realized. The ring on her finger burned her skin in recognition or warning. She wasn't sure which, or if it even mattered.

She just had to stay focused on the path before them. They had landed in a snowy clearing that was easy to navigate and seemed innocent enough until bodies, frozen for all eternity, littered the trail like an ancient battleground.
Icy fingers peeked out from the snow like tiny branches reaching up toward the dark sky. Their owners had died fighting. That much was clear from the weapons still clasped in their cold, dead hands. Elira tried not to look at their faces, at the frozen screams locked on their lips. Whatever had taken place, it had been a long time ago, and no one had cared to clean up the mess.

Why bother in a place like this?

Perhaps they had been hidden away and only recently revealed. She had read stories of the ever-changing landscape and how a shifting iceberg could bring forth the dead of centuries past. There were even tales of an ancient city that had all but disappeared from the maps. It was rumored that its people now lived deep beneath the surface, cut off from everything and everyone. Gods only knew what became of them, and Elira hoped she'd never find out.

The crunch of snow beneath their feet felt like blasphemy in the quiet dome of eternal rest. Even Bhaal spawn like Elira knew better than to disrespect a battlefield. It was a holy location, marked by blood. There was nothing her father revered more than chaos and bloodshed. It was everything that made him who he was.

Who she was.

Bhaal had made her from his divine blood. He hadn't sired her with a mortal mother like Orin or her other half-siblings. She was a creature of his own making, his grand design. She was born to be his blade. The perfect daughter of violence that would bring the world to its knees in his name.

Until Orin had shown everyone how weak she truly was. She wasn't sure who she hated more- her treacherous sister or herself for letting a human man distract her from her mission. Now she was a fugitive in her own home. Hunted by those who were once loyal to her. Alone but for her butler and . . .

"Are we going to talk about the fact that we almost just killed each other?" Astarion's voice cut through the icy silence like a war horn, not even the wind dared to howl on the sacred ground they tread.

"Shhhh," Elira hissed without turning around to face him. She hadn't properly looked at him since she'd almost pushed a firey fist through his chest cavity. She wondered if a vampire's heart would be as succulent as a mortal's or black and wilted like dead flowers shriveled in a vase. Excitement pooled in her stomach as she considered finding out.

Shit.

She had to stop thinking about such things- to control the urge. Murdering her only companion would foil all of her hard work. It was a bad idea, no matter how pretty a corpse he'd make.

"Will you slow down?" Astarion continued. "If you're worried that I'm going to hurt you, I can assure-"

Elira huffed out a laugh as she whirled on Astarion. "Hurt me? Trust me, Vampire Spawn, I have more important matters on my mind, like the fact that we have to keep moving if we're to set up camp anytime soon."

"What's wrong with right here? I didn't think you one to shy away from a few dead bodies."

Elira's eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward a few paces, her footsteps soft and quick like a cat on the prowl. "I do not fear the sleeping dead," she whispered. "I simply don't wish to be around when they wake."