Quiet conversation moved around the camp as Hope rested on her bedroll near the fire. The sun had just set, and though they spoke in hushed voices, she, of course, heard every word.
"She is a liability," Lae'zel grunted through gritted teeth, "if she cannot pull her own weight, then she needs to leave. We are on a mission to be purified, not babysit."
It was Shadowheart who came to her defense, much to her own surprise, "And what do you intend to do? Throw her to the wolves? If we're out here risking our necks to protect these refugees, she's not much different."
"Then she stays at the camp," Lae'zel bit back.
Hope could practically feel Gale's frown as he said, "While I agree that those who need protection ought to be behind the lines of war, I cannot say she is not a valuable asset. She is…persuasive. Even if you do not wish to see it — cunning, even. I think she holds great potential."
Lae'zel snarled and curled her lip, "You say this because she has shown an interest in your magic. Her vulnerability blinds you. Weak."
"I kind of like her," Astarion said. Hope listened as he swirled a glass of something. Probably wine. "If anything, she is entertaining."
"We don't need a bard; we need a warrior." Lae'zel countered, to which Astarion scoffed.
Shadowheart, through gritted teeth, said, "She is infected just as much as the rest of us. She deserves the chance to fight for herself."
"You are as weak as she is." Lae'zel hissed before she dragged her feet across the dirt, stalking away as she muttered something under her breath.
It wasn't that Hope had intentions of being fast friends with any of them, but the prospect of potentially being secluded because of their view of her worth sent a jolt of panic through her chest. Yes, she wanted to stay in the dark. To be who she was never able to be before, but now, with the potential of being left behind while in search of a cure, the odds were more dire. If they decided to leave her at the grove, she may never get home.
She had to become more useful than she had been while maintaining this story of herself she'd created. For once, since she was born, she wasn't Hope Mikaelson, daughter of the famed and cruel Klaus. She was…just Hope.
The expectation for power didn't dangle above her head like a braided noose of barbed wire. She wanted to keep it that way.
Tomorrow, she could prove herself to be worthy of the group while keeping the level of expectation for her low. Was that a terrible thing to think?
Probably.
At least the others, more or less, didn't wish to banish her from their company. It was really only Lae'zel she would have to convince, preferably before they reached this creche she spoke so fondly of.
For now, she needed to rest and keep up the facade of an injury that had healed hours ago. If she didn't, she'd yet again become what she'd always been.
A pawn.
The whispers in the dark had faded into soft snores and the rustle of covers as she finally allowed herself to fall asleep beneath the moon's watchful gaze. She wasn't entirely sure what woke her next — the sound of footsteps or the instinct alone.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, and at first, she only saw the blanket of stars above; then she saw him.
Astarion.
He was bent over her, his mouth agape and fangs shining in the firelight as he leaned down in reach of her throat.
Hope sucked in a sharp breath, body stiffening as Astarion quickly pulled back with wide eyes and muttered, "Shit…"
Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she lurched from her bedroll, forcing him to step back as she stood to her feet. What the hell… Hope stared at him — his guilty expression. So, she was right.
"You're a vampire…" Part of her didn't believe it herself. Anything was possible, of course, but what were the odds of two vampires finding each other in the same camp from separate worlds?
"Well, not…quite," Astarion pursed his lips uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll have you know, I was only going to taste…"
"You intended to feed from me," Hope, in her still-sleepy state, snorted. In a way, it was hilarious. How often had she fed from someone now for it to happen to her? Tables do tend to turn, she supposed.
Astarion frowned and put his hands on his hips, "Only a nibble, I swear…why are you laughing?"
"I'm not," Hope bit her lip, trying to hide her smirk, "I had suspicions after seeing the boar earlier. You weren't very discreet, were you?"
He'd left his kill in the middle of the road — hadn't even mutilated it to hide the puncture holes. Elijah would have tsked at his sloppiness.
"Well," Astarion released an irritated sigh, "It's difficult to be discreet when one has to sneak around all the time. It's exhausting."
They were silent for a moment; the only sound was the crackling of the fire.
"But you know," Astarion continued, swaying his hips a little, almost nervously, "I could manage to be quieter if I had more strength. I've not been able to feed properly for ages, and it's left me weak and sloppy. If I could have just one drink…just a sip, mind, I could fight better, more easily. I could…protect you." That sly smirk surfaced, and Hope watched the nerves leave his eyes, replaced with a glint of mischief.
Hope didn't see him as much of a protector. Astarion was much like her in a way; selfish. But she knew an out when she saw one. If she wanted to stay with this company on the way to Baldur's Gate, she needed to be useful, and what better way to be helpful than a blood bag for the camp vampire? If she fed him and it aided them in their fight against the goblins, she'd become indispensable. Not just anyone would offer their necks to him, but what did it matter to her? She'd been fed on before, and honestly, she quite liked it. From skilled vampires, anyway. It was usually an erotic experience that she could lose herself in the moment.
"Alright," she conceded.
Astarion blinked, "Alright?"
When she nodded, he eyed her with a new appreciation and smirked, "That was much easier than I thought it would be." He gestured to her bedroll. "Let's make ourselves more comfortable, shall we?"
Hope did as instructed and lay back on her bed. She settled her head against the rolled pillow and stared up, taking in Astarion's face as he hovered above her.
"Do try not to move, I'd like not to make too much of a mess."
"Your bedside manners are terrible."
Grinning, he chuckled low in his throat as he leaned down.
Hope lifted her chin and let her head fall to the side, offering him her throat. Despite feeling fearless a mere minute before, her heart hammered against her chest. It wasn't that she was afraid to be left bloodless, more so that she'd like it too damn much. This wasn't intimate — he was hungry, and she was the juice box. That was it.
Still, as the sharp tip of his fangs pierced the soft flesh of her neck, she released a soft sigh. As he drank, her eyes closed, embracing the sensation of floating darkness. He certainly knew what he was doing…whether that was from frequent feeds or that he was an exceptional lover, she found herself leaning into the swirling of his tongue against her hot skin, coaxing more and more blood.
Oh, God…don't stop.
A wave of arousal flooded her. She didn't know if he could sense such a thing, but at the moment, she didn't care. It wouldn't surprise her if she came right now under the heat of his mouth, but she couldn't let him take it too far.
If he didn't stop…then she'd have a lot of explaining to do.
"Astarion…" Hope gasped.
He merely grunted, continuing to suck the flesh of her throat into his mouth in dragging waves.
A cool numbness filled her core, different from the heat between her legs as darkness edged her vision.
Hope was dying, and oh…it felt amazing.
Suddenly, she dug her nails into his backside, "Too much…"
Astarion pulled away, eyes alight with fresh strength and vigor. He gazed down at her as blood dripped from his lips. "Right. I just…wasn't expecting to enjoy myself so much."
Her body was already on the mend, despite the amount of blood he'd taken. Still, she smirked, her gaze flitting down to his dripping lips and back up to bright eyes, her voice filled with smoke, "Is that right?" she asked.
With the strength she still had, she propped herself on her elbows and leaned up. Her face was mere inches from his as she dragged her tongue from the bottom of his chin to his lip—a slow, sensual lick. The taste of sweet iron and robust salt coated her tongue.
Astarion's breath caught in his chest before he could smirk, a flash of curious danger in his eyes as he chuckled low in his throat, "You are a little minx, aren't you…"
Simply smiling, she lay back on the bedroll, and he watched her every move.
"You're not as innocent as they seem to think you are," he smirked, "but I know better."
His hand rested on her "undamaged" upper thigh, almost a silent warning, waiting for her to stop him. When she didn't — when she merely smirked, he cupped the heat between her thighs and squeezed.
Hope's eyes rolled back as the nerves beneath fluttered under his touch. She lifted her hips to meet his grip, but it was gone all too soon.
"Tease…" She gasped as she opened her eyes and watched him stand.
Smirking, he winked, "I know. Now, if you'll excuse me, as…devastatingly delicious you are, I need something a little more…filling."
Hope rolled her eyes and smirked, "Don't make a mess this time, or you'll have the grove gathering pitchforks and torches."
He laughed, actually laughed.
"One can only hope," he said, bowing dramatically, and disappeared into the dark.
Sighing, Hope looked down at herself and the twitch of her thigh.
Damn, she missed her vibrator.