Eternal Night

(III) Chapter 31: Of the Dragon's Blood

Vlad idly ran his fingers up and down Frankie's arm as they continued to sit quietly on the floor in the unlit sitting room. Francesca in particular wasn't quite sure how much time had passed since she had entered this chamber, but truth be told, she didn't particular care. She was just grateful that Vladislaus' previous grief-ridden madness had finally given way to calm. The tears of earlier had long-since ceased, and with their minds and souls irrevocably entwined, it left little need for actual verbal conversation – not when thoughts and feelings could be discerned in an instant through their blood-bond.

It was a little strange, being conjoined in this new way, but Frankie found it oddly reassuring. She could hardly believe that barely a week ago, that bond had nearly been severed with the revelation of the Dracul Sânge's existence. It seemed like such an age since then, yet it had only been a matter of days. Considering all that had happened since their arrival back in Budapest, for a moment she found herself missing the idyllic comfort of France, of home.

"I miss it too," Dracula murmured with a heavy sigh.

"Is it selfish of me to wish that we had never left that room in the old house?" she asked him. "That we had been snowed in, unable to leave..."

"Forced to keep each other warm until the storm passed?" he offered with a hint of mischief.

"Or until someone came looking for us."

She found the rumble of quiet laughter in his chest against her cheek incredibly soothing.

"When this is all over," he said, "I'm putting someone else in charge for a while so you and I can have a proper honeymoon." She looked up at him, a soft smile passing over her lips. "Somewhere quiet and cold and secluded. No interruptions. No time constraints."

"No clothes?" she mused with an arched brow and that hum of laughter reverberated against her cheek once again.

"None whatsoever."

She chuckled a little, until her brow furrowed with a thought.

"I feel kind of awful for even thinking about sex right now."

"You needn't," he insisted gently, still stroking her arm. "From a purely psychological standpoint, it makes perfect sense. Sex, pleasure, physical intimacy – that need for connection – it's an excellent means of coping with grief. Certainly a healthier outlet compared to some others I could mention."

"Is that Bernardini talking or you?"

Vlad's smile became rueful.

He didn't offer a reply right away, instead staring off blankly into the distance. After a while, he whispered,

"I don't know what I'm going to do without him."

Frankie lifted herself up a bit so she could tuck her face into that crook where his neck met his shoulder. She pressed a kiss there.

"I'll miss him too," she said. "You know, I never did thank him properly for all his meddling," and she looked up to gaze into her husband's eyes. "We owe so much to him."

"Myself more so than anyone else," Vlad admitted. "I never could have won you over without the help of his counsel."

The corner of her lips tugged for a moment, but then her expression grew contemplative.

"I can't imagine what it must have been like for him."

"Hmm?"

"Living so long being separated from his wife, having that bond broken by death. I always wanted to ask him how he bore the pain of it while in his isolation, but never had the heart to ask."