Your Dark Gospel

Chapter Twenty-One

Astarion

The storm was relentless.

Three days passed, and it had yet to let up.

Though, Astarion hardly cared or noticed.

Once certain that the compound was truly abandoned, he and Elira had taken more personal lodgings upstairs. He had seen little reason to leave their private room—except to attend to Elira's rather annoying need for food and such.

Astarion delighted in the idea that one day she wouldn't be bound to her mortal needs. They would have each other, feed from each other, and anything beyond that would be excess.

It was clear that his plan to win her over was a complete success. Of course, he hadn't imagined that his feelings would grow to match hers, but that was a bonus, wasn't it? The idea that he could start his new life as a vampire lord with someone standing beside him, not behind him, was rather exciting.

Once Cazador was no longer a threat, they could live in peace and, of course, absolute luxury.

He'd make sure she had everything her little heart desired and more. All the finest things life had to offer. Never knowing even an inkling of the pain that Astarion had suffered under Cazador's rule.

Because he wouldn't rule her—there was no need to. If he'd learned anything from the rings, it was that they were the same.

"If only I'd found you two hundred years ago, hells, a hundred years ago," Astarion murmured into her ear. They were tangled together on the makeshift bed they'd spread upon the floor. It was a travesty to see her beauty stretched upon such poor conditions. The first thing he was going to do when he claimed his power and wealth would be to buy a bed so grand that it'd take him a week to find her beneath the layers of throws and silk.

Elira's mouth twisted into a smile and she sucked in a sleep-heavy breath. "Then I'd have been made into a meal for your master."

Astarion stiffened at the implication, the accuracy of her statement. Elira must have felt it because she twisted around so that they faced each other.

"Perhaps we met exactly when we were supposed to," she continued, hands settling on his cheeks so that she was holding his face to hers. There was a softness in her eyes that set fire to whatever darkness had been budding in the recesses of his mind.

He took hold of her wrist and pinned it to the linen beside her head as he moved in for a kiss, knees prodding her thighs apart so that he could mount her once more. They had spent the last three days fucking and sleeping between meals and whispered sweet nothings.

The intense desire to be inside her was unlike anything he had ever felt.

If she grew sore or tired of his attentions, she didn't show it. She eagerly invited him in, seemingly as starved for touch as he was.

The knock that came at the door was an unwelcome sound that filtered into the room just as he prepared to enter her.

"Go away!" Astarion shouted.

"No," replied the sultry timbre that he recognized as Wyll's voice.

Elira giggled and tried to roll from Astarion's grasp, but he quickly hooked an arm around her waist, dragging her deeper into their little nest.

"Don't you even think about leaving this bed," he said, trailing kisses down the smooth curve of her abdomen. "I'll handle this."

He rose from the ground and slipped into a pair of discarded trousers that had been left in a heap. Elira moved to follow, but he gave her one sharp look and pointed a solitary finger in her direction. "Ah, ah, my love."