Chapter Text
Mackenzie opens her eyes to the soft golden sunlight filtering in through the window, dust motes dancing in the muted rays. She’s exhausted. The last time she slept well at all must have been at Rob’s parents’ property the night before she met Ari at ren faire.
Ari, whose name is actually Tavarian Caldwell, who is now her ex.
Tavarian Caldwell, who is also the former lover of Lord Astarion Ancunin, a day walking vampire that had swept Mac off her feet in less than a day.
Tavarian “Ari” Caldwell, who had run Mac through her middle with a steel blade she always thought was a skillfully made cosplay prop.
But, since the sword that ran her through was real, why isn’t she in any pain?
Screw that. Why is she even alive?
Mac’s heart begins to pound out of her chest as she does the math in her head, the calculations not adding up. She wiggles her fingers, her toes, her legs-all visibly moving under the soft linen sheets that cover her, all working in perfect order without any discomfort.
She sits up in bed, expecting dizziness, nausea, her vision going wonky- all negative.
The attire Mackenzie has on would only be welcomed at a Ren Faire campground wet chemise contest. Thank goodness for the illusion of modesty she has with the oversized, ruffled ivory linen shirt that laces up the front. Beneath the innocent, plain linen lies the decadence of purple and copper colored undergarments. They could technically count as lingerie, with sheer silk paneling and a thong back, showing boldly through the threadbare fabric.
Mac decides to not think too much about how she got changed out of her clothing and who her underwear belongs to.
She’s running through the checklist of what she remembers from nursing school of getting post-op patients out of bed when she hears the trill of a cat as it jumps on the bed.
“Good evening, young lady. I trust it that you’re feeling refreshed?”
Mackenzie looks around in confusion to see where the pleasant female voice came from, curious she doesn’t see another person around.
“Hello…?” Mac says to the empty room, save for the fluffy, tricolor tortoiseshell cat that has joined her.
Another possibility enters her mind about where and when she is after hearing the disembodied female voice, one so crazy that it might just be the truth.
“Computer, end holodeck program,” she declares boldly, feeling a sting of embarrassment when nothing happens.
“Computer, display arch,” she commands the room.
Again, nothing.
Mac lets out an ugly noise of surprise when the cat’s soft, pink paw on her forehead breaks her out of her spell.
“Your fever seems to have broken, but it appears you’re a bit confused- do you know your name, where you are, what year it is in Dale Reckoning, and can you name one of the seven open Lords of Waterdeep?” The feline says with a feminine, smart clip.
“Jesus Christ, am I getting A&O’ed by a talking cat?” Mac says out loud, shrinking towards the headboard.
“I am a Tressym, young lady,” her furry nurse corrects her with an indignant fluff of its wings. “I’ll give you this one, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be as accommodating next time.”
Mac claps her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from uttering her observation that she’s being scolded by a flying, talking cat.
The cat withdraws its paw with a trill, making a circle in her lap before politely sitting down. Mac feels herself begin to choke up- her furry nurse’s movements reminding her of the way that Beans used to find the perfect spot to curl up in her lap.
“I suppose where you’re from there aren’t many like me, are there? I’m Tara,” she says with pride, with as much of a smile to her voice as Mac supposes is possible for a flying cat-Tressym. “You caused quite the stir when you arrived. Mister Dekarios and his guests were terribly worried about you.”
Dekarios…where had Mac heard that name before?
“His guests?” Mackenzie echoes with a tilt of her head.
Tara’s tail twitches spasmodically, a sign that she’s irritated about the subject. “Why yes, the two pointy eared, two-legged stray cats Mister Dekarios adopted five years ago. One of which you positively reek of.”
Mackenzie doesn’t think Tara’s being literal when she describes him as a cat. Mac can’t imagine Astarion in a fursuit, nor does she want to try.
“How long have I been out for?” Mackenzie yawns, wiping her eyes. “I feel like I’ve slept for days.”
“Less than a day,” Tara stands up to meander over to Mackenzie’s legs, lying in the valley between them. “And if you have any sense, you should lie back down to get some more rest. Let the work that was done on you solidify. You’re lucky that the cleric who healed you saved her best spells for what she was about to do to my pet human,” Tara chatters. The tressym might have wings and can talk, but her resource guarding over ‘Mister Dekarios’ outs her. She’s definitely a cat, through and through.
“Healed,” Mac repeats, rucking up the shirt that covers her to feel for the evidence of her injury. She reaches around to her spine, beginning to sweat when her fingers trace over a small scar where Tav had pierced her with his blade, directly in the middle of her back.
Her A&P classes were a hot minute ago, but the ‘A’ she earned in all three quarters was through brute force, and as such she could still easily recall the information. The scar was located near the end of her lumbar spine. If Tav truly severed it, she wouldn’t be able to feel Tara sitting between her calves. And she’d be dead- wouldn’t his steel also have gone through her inferior vena cava and her descending aorta?
Mackenzie unintentionally jostles Tara away from where she had made her nest, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
“And to think I had just made myself comfortable!” Tara complains, indignant that her comfy spot had relocated of its own volition. Mackenzie feels guilty for a fraction of a second for her impulsive actions. It’s a beautiful thing when a cat chooses you, especially a tortie. They have a reputation for being temperamental and territorial, and this one has been downright pleasant to her.
She eases off the bed, standing up with a wobble, her clammy fingers tracing the mattress for reassurance she doesn’t need.
“I shouldn’t be able to do this,” Mackenzie says with wonder to Tara, curling her toes, feeling them grip the coarse, rich rug underneath. “I shouldn’t be alive-”
Her attention is caught by the lilting drawl of Astarion whining and wheedling with another’s short, irritated, sophisticated voice.
“I am her hero, her savior-“
“You are an idiot,” the other male voice interrupts him. “Aside from your delusional thinking, there are rules about transmigration between our two worlds.”
“Oh, and I suppose Volo flinging Tav into an abyss, landing him in a hayfield next to a bloody military shipyard was alright, then?”
“Those were extenuating circumstances.”
“And how were ours not?”
She moves towards them, amazed at every painless, easy step towards the bedroom door.
“I don’t know. It might have something to do that this near tragedy was of your own making!”
“Oh yes, I see it now. You’re upset with me barging in on you and Shads. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? She still thinks you hold a torch for me, doesn’t she?”
“I…yes.”
“I would advise against leaving,” Tara calls out to warn Mackenzie. “You’ve had your adventure, but it’s time to return. I have strict orders to keep you confined. And I don’t oppose my directive- you’re quite comfortable, even though you smell nauseatingly like Astarion.”
Mac feels her heart leap into her throat at the mention of his name. Hearing it makes her heart beat faster, as if he hadn’t just kidnapped her to bring her back to his estate within him.
“Which part?”
“I don’t think I need to say it out loud, do I?”
“But you know how much I adore hearing you say it-“
“Which is why I won’t. Look. I’ll be polite enough to extend my hospitality until she’s well enough to travel. After that, you need to return your new lady…’friend’ home.”
She opens the bedroom door, the dialogue of her lover and the mysterious man he bickers with echoing in the richly decorated hall.
“But of course. How generous of you to host us in the first place. Say, if I am to do as you ask, I’ll need a little something extra-“
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s to my benefit as well as yours, darling-“
“Oh no. No, no, no, don’t you ‘darling’ me, Astarion. I refuse to take part in this manner of debauchery with you again-“
Mac’s pulse thumps in her chest. Who exactly is Astarion calling darling?
She moves like a whisper towards the source of the voices, a door cracked open a couple paces off to the right.
“We don’t have to let it go further than just a drink between old friends. I promise I’ll be out of this lovely mane of yours for good once you’ve let me have a little taste…“
The other voice is silent for a moment as he considers the offer.
“Are you being sincere? What reason do I have to trust you? In my recollection, wasn’t this the exact scenario we found ourselves in before the last attempt at our courtship? It lasted for only a ten-day until we crashed and burned in that oh- so-disastrous spectacle at your last soiree, when I caught you red-handed-“
Caught him red-handed doing what? Mac wishes Astarion hadn’t interrupted the other man, it would have given context to the red flags that were finally flapping in the breeze.
“I’ll apologize as many times as I need to, but, as I’ve heard the youths say: eating isn’t cheating.”
“Gosh. Is that what you’ll tell the young woman when she finally awakens? When she inquires as to how I obtained a bruise with two identical punctures on the side of my neck?”
Mac’s legs begin to tremble with the effort of holding still, hyperextending her knees to hold her steady as she draws flush with the door.
“Not if you bring attention to it,” Astarion purrs. “What do you say, hmm? One more for the road? I swear to you on Karlach’s grave it’ll be the last time.”
“This is it.”
“Yes.”
“You won’t petition me for an encore.”
“I wouldn’t dare to dream of it.”
Mac leans into the frame, peeking through the door, seeing Astarion stand behind a seated human.
It’s unfair how smoking hot this other man is. He looks like he could be a thicker, softer version of Rob, from his furrowed brow to his rich, shoulder-length brown hair shocked with streaks of silver. Or perhaps he could be Aragorn from Lord of the Rings if he took a shower and was from a Dark Academia AU fic. He grits his bearded jaw, taking off the glasses he wears, folding them shut with a great and irritated sigh.
“…Fine.”
Astarion cards the other man’s locks away from his neck, his fingertips leaving goose prickled flesh in their wake. “I knew you’d make the right choice. I won’t forget your generosity, you know.”
“I wish you would. Ah!”
A sensation feeling like cold water being thrown over Mac’s head overcomes her as she watches Astarion latch on to the tanned, olive skin of the man’s neck. He winces, hissing from the temporary pain of Astarion’s teeth plunging into him before he melts into bliss. Mackenzie can’t help but feel a familiar pressure between her legs as she watches. They both groan and pant from pleasure, Mac’s clit twitching in interest at the erotic sounds of Astarion’s consumption of the blood that he pulls from the other man’s neck in large gulps.
“Astarion, that’s enough,” the other man gasps. He pries Astarion’s teeth from his neck with a crooked finger and the same disdain one would pluck off a leech. His actions show disgust but his body betrays him- his lips are flushed red, his eyes nearly black to the edge of his chocolate irises.
Astarion laps at the wound he made with his greedy tongue, making a sound similar to when Mac had his dick in her mouth. The other man seems to enjoy it as well, biting down on a white-knuckled fist, eyes scrunched shut as he tries to hold on to his composure.
Watching the scene unfold before her is so, so wrong, but Mackenzie cannot tear her eyes away. She almost stops breathing when she Astarion’s arms move out from her field of vision, listening to fabric she cannot see rustle. A rush of hot arousal floods the skimpy undergarments she wears, the dampness spreading outwards to her upper thighs.
This doesn’t feel like the other times Mackenzie’s caught Tav in the act with the laundry list of girls he’s cheated on her with.
No, her stomach twists as she realizes she likes watching her lover and his acquaintance. Astarion looks gorgeous whether he seeks pleasure from her or another, a fact that she loathes in the context of her recent past with Tav. Every little quivering sigh, every stuttering breath makes her breasts feel too tight underneath the silk bralette, the ache at the apex of her thighs near unbearable.
Astarion pulls away with reluctance, pressing a fine linen handkerchief to his meal’s neck. “Do you smell that?”
While thinking about what to do to relieve the steadily building pressure, Mac freezes, her hackles raised in fear of being caught.
Astarion sniffs the air. “Whoever it is, they’re enjoying the show. Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he calls out in a singsong voice.
The doors fly open with a wave of the wizard’s hand.
The last thing Mackenzie sees before her world goes dark again is the shame and tenderness reflected in Astarion’s face as she collapses to the ground.
She doesn’t see the blur Astarion becomes when he pushes the other man out of his way, vaults over the desk, and lands at her side to catch her in his arms.
When Mackenzie awakens again, she is blinded by the white light that assaults her as she opens her eyes. She’s returned to her original starting point, laid out on her back underneath the same cozy linen bed sheets. A ball of warmth registers against her thigh that she recognizes as Tara, her new cat-tressym friend on one side with her back coiled against Mac.
To the other side of Mackenzie is the heartbreakingly beautiful Astarion, lying on his side over the duvet, facing her. Her chest aches when she realizes one of her hands is held in his as he appears to slumber peacefully. He looks angelic with his eyes closed and the halo of spun silk silver waves, yet also sinful with the line of dried crimson that had dribbled down his chin when it was fresh.
A loud, open-mouthed snore cuts through the silence. Its source? Rob’s hot doppelganger in a set of plush violet pajamas, his head tilted back, reclining in the over-tufted leather chair in the corner across from the bed. The sonorous log-sawing startles Tara off the bed and sends her running into the other room, and earns him a pillow thrown at his face from Astarion.
“Bloody hells,” Astarion grumbles as he lies back, drawing Mac closer to him, nuzzling her shoulder.
The man Astarion had thrown the pillow at hurls it back in his direction. “Really, Astarion? Was that necessary?!”
Astarion catches it with frightening speed and accuracy, his arm extended in front of him. “It stopped that wretched noise you were making, so, yes, it was.”
“Apologies for my…’friend’s’ rudeness,” the man winces as he stands from the pressure on his knees, making his way to sit on the opposite side of the bed. “I would be a terrible host if I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Gale, you must be Mackenzie?”
“You’re Gale? Astarion’s Gale?” Mac clarifies, the name triggering the memory of Astarion’s admission that she was better at pleasuring him with her mouth than Gale was.
Gale makes a face that Mac has seen Rob make whenever someone mentions the words ‘scabies’ or ‘C.diff’. “People don’t pair my name with his as often anymore.”
“A change we’ve both embraced,” Astarion explains hastily, idly stroking the side of Mackenzie’s arm.
He stops, noting the guarding of her muscles after he’s touched her.
“You don’t believe me.”
She doesn’t. Not after what she saw earlier. She presses her lips together, trying to search for the right words to say when Gale pipes up.
“Astarion, if I may- if memory serves me correctly, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Sweet hells,” Astarion groans in irritation, placing his forearm over his eyes. “The damned Acquisitions Incorporated office. How could I possibly forget?”
Mac furrows her brow, vaguely recognizing the name from a Dungeons and Dragons panel Rob and Amanda dragged her to one year, in hopes they could convince her to play the roleplaying math rocks game with them.
If Acq Inc is real, if the city of Waterdeep is real, that all but confirms that Rob’s option number three was right - that Astarion is Vampire Lord Astarion from a video game.
To his credit, Astarion had admitted as much when Tav had confronted them in the Wizards of the Coast office. The lack of safety from her dangerous ex being present at Astarion’s invitation didn’t really allow her to process that he and her new lover were from the world of the Forgotten Realms.
A place where Mackenzie assumes she is at present.
Astarion rises to his feet with a dramatic sigh, picking a single golden hair away from his ensemble of white linen shirt and black lightweight woolen slacks. “I received a bill yesterday for the ruined rug, tallied by Omin Dran’s assistant. I suppose I should go see if I can charm some sense into them, haggle the price down a bit.”
He snaps his fingers, consumed in a black, glittering smoke to reveal his elegantly tooled leather ensemble from before, a fresh face of makeup and hair styled to look intentionally tousled, his almond-shaped claws painted a deep shade of blood red.
“Well? How do I look?” He says as he twirls for his audience, expecting to be showered with praise for his beauty.
“I’d give you a discount,” Mac says without thinking, taken by surprise when Astarion leans in to kiss her, one she feels is much too sensual for his ex-lover to witness.
“I should return in a few hours,” he purrs to Mac, claiming her lips again. “I’ll be thinking of you, of this, every second we’re apart.”
He stands, adjusting the sleeves and collar of his jacket. “Until then, my greatest treasure.”
Astarion disappears before their eyes, morphing into a bloody mist that disintegrates on the sea breeze wafting in through the open windows.
The bedroom door creaks open, with Tara jauntily trotting over to the bed with a slender blonde in tow. The woman, whose ears were smaller than Astarion’s, walked across the rug with heavy footsteps. Her bare feet pounded the floor. She rolled up the sleeves of her oversized silk pajamas as she moved towards the bed.
“Thank the heavens he’s finally gone,” her soft voice clips harshly, ignoring Gale’s puppy-dog pout as she walks past him. “How’s my patient this morning?”
Mac can’t help but notice the dark circles under her striking green eyes that have scrunched shut as she yawns, the wisps of her platinum hair falling in her face. A deep recognition hits Mac in the gut like a sucker punch- is this the template that Tav had held Mac against? Is this the girl of his dreams he had tried to sculpt Mac into?
“Fine, I think,” Mac starts, unsure of how she should feel, emotionally and physically. “I was telling your ca-Tara earlier that I shouldn’t be walking, but I can. How? Tara said I’d been healed. Was that you?”
“It was! I’m Shadowheart, by the way,” the woman smirks at her with smug delight, huffing on her fingernails to buff them against her silk shirt. “And also, you’re welcome.”
Shadowheart sits on the bed opposite Mackenzie, folding her legs into a pretzel. “In case you’re wondering, you’re in perfect working order. I had a look at you again after you took that tumble earlier. Do you lock your knees when you’re nervous?”
Mac supposes she does. On her second to last day of her OB clinical rotation, she did a similar thing, almost bringing a tray of instruments down with her during a C-section. Thank goodness she had been prevented from doing so by the OB doc that caught her from behind.
Mackenzie shrugs. “It’s not the first time it’s happened.”
They sit in uncomfortable silence for a beat while Mac brushes away the tressym fur that adorns her shirt like glitter. “Hey, I’ve got an uncomfortable question for you both- know anyone named Tavarian Caldwell?”
Mac watches as Shadowheart’s face becomes the same color as her hair.
“How does a woman from Earth know that name? And why on the surface of Selune did Astarion bring her over to this world?” Shadowheart wonders aloud.
From Mackenzie’s point of view, it looks like Gale wants to crawl under a rock and hide from Shadowheart. Mac’s not sure why he feels like he shares the responsibility. Astarion’s decisions are his own to make, and as far as she knows, he’s gotten into this mess all by himself.
“An excellent question that you won’t like the answer to, my dearest,” Gale says through clenched teeth, under his breath.
They move from the bedroom to the kitchen for a light breakfast, huddled around a nook that overlooks Deepwater Harbor.
“Tavarian went by Ari in my world,” Mac begins casually. “We were married up until two days ago…before I met Astarion.”
Shadowheart hums in contemplation as she turns away, distracted by the sway of Gale’s hips as he supplies them with an attractive array of pastries and freshly cut fruit. “Sounds familiar. I have an idea of how Astarion was able to pry you away from Tav’s clutches, but I’d like to hear your end of the story. Goddess knows we’ve heard enough from Astarion on the subject.”
So, Mackenzie tells them. She starts at the very beginning, from that fateful day at the Renaissance Faire, to the events leading up to her awakening in what she’s learned is Gale’s wizard tower. Gale and Shadowheart listen patiently to Mac, sometimes meeting each other’s gaze with a silent, knowing look, their hands around mugs of hot drinks that turn cold while Mac regales them with the tales of her chaotic last few days.
Shadowheart idly taps the side of her ceramic container of coffee that’s too large to be called a cup. “You’re aware that Tav wanted to make us his slaves, destroy everything we’d worked for on the way to the Gate.”
“When he couldn’t, he turned you into my mirror image and tried to do the same. And then Astarion sweeps in like a prince in a fairy tale, promising to take you away from it all?” Shadowheart says, looking like she’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry. She settles somewhere in between an ugly cackle and wiping away a single tear that rolls down her pretty face with her pajama sleeve.
“Blessed Moonmaiden, how depraved. I know how it is to be caught up in the middle of their tangled web of deceit.”
“We both do,” Gale admits, standing to clear the table of dishes from the spread he had laid out for them.
“By the way,” Shadowheart says casually, producing something from her pants pocket. “This fell out while I was piecing you back together. Any idea of what it is?”
It’s Mackenzie’s turn for her face to change the color of Shadowheart’s hair when she sees the clean, white plastic of her IUD held between Shadowheart’s thumb and forefinger.
Gale points at the object with a snap of his fingers, a look of recognition on his handsome face. “Isn’t that…? A moment, if you will-“
Mackenzie blinks in confusion as Gale disappears, crying out in surprise and clutching at Shadowheart’s arm when he reappears next to her. He holds a well-loved brown and white tome in his hand that Mac is surprised he has - an out of date medical textbook from her world, William’s Obstetrics, 22nd edition.
“Ah! I thought as much,” he declares, clapping the book shut with a single hand. “What my lovely companion is holding in her hands is an intrauterine contraceptive device.”
“Yeah, that would be my Mirena,” Mac says with a flat, defeated sigh. “I had a few more years left on it, too. Just my luck it would fall out when I needed it most.”
Shadowheart’s eyes land on Mac’s fingers as she picks at the hem of the ruffles on her linen shirt with trembling hands.
“You’re worried about getting pregnant, aren’t you? You’re not ready to have children, correct? He isn’t forcing himself on you, is he?”
Mac feels blown away by Shadowheart’s insight and very forward inquiry, and by the look on Gale’s face, he’s just as surprised.
“Yes, yes, and no,” Mac answers the three questions, wanting to pull her shirt over her head and disappear. “I usually don’t jump straight into bed with strangers-”
“I’ll venture an educated guess…it all happened so fast- like getting caught up in a whirlwind,” Gale offers gently to her. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of-“
“On your end, at the very least,” Shadowheart nudges Mac with a little smirk. “Gale and I are both…intimately aware of how charming Astarion can be, of how easy it is to get caught up in his deceptions. You’re in good company.”
If Mackenzie’s inner world was an ocean, she’d have more red flag warnings than a hurricane right now. Mac knows they’re trying to reassure her and make her feel less shameful about what’s transpired, but it’s not helpful in the slightest.
“Company that also happens to be a former archmage and a cleric,” Gale adds, though Mackenzie is only vaguely aware of why it’s a good thing.
Gale makes a series of hand symbols that resemble what a raver kid cosplaying Naruto would make, filling the space above his palm with a shifting triangle of violet, floating energy.
“Astarion will be gone for quite a while…just long enough for your personal tutor, Professor Dekarios, to educate you with an abbreviated version of magical theory so we can keep a trick card hidden up your sleeve.”
Shadowheart places a slice of dried root on the table and sits back, curling herself inward against the wooden bench of the nook. “And if magic isn’t for you, then at least you have a ‘Plan B’ from a resourceful healer.”