One Week Later
It was around 4:30 in the afternoon when Frankie finally arrived back home, admittedly sluggish from being up in the daylight hours when she should have been resting. But it had been a sacrifice well worth making. Placing her keys on the table near the entry, she gently nudged the door shut with her foot before making her way into the living area, absently running her fingers through her hair and tugging the roots as if it would help her focus.
It had been a long seven days.
Seven days of adjusting to two extra persons in her living space.
Seven days of being unable to sleep properly because Vesper deforested entire continents in her sleep.
So, as consequence, she had spent the last virtually sleepless week property hunting – and on foot, no less – so she could get Carmen and Vesper out of her flat... or, rather, certain other members of the alliance who had taken to congregating in her home night after night.
Well, the walk she had taken this afternoon to combat her usual restlessness proved beneficial in more ways than one, for at last she had a light at the end of her tunnel.
Frankie placed a file folder on the top of the dining room table, offering its hidden contents a small smile of satisfaction before moving into the kitchen. She returned moments later with a mug of blood in her hand before she sat down. She was grateful her mind and body were finally allowing her to keep actual mortal blood down in place of the artificial stuff she had been living off of since her return from stasis. It wasn't fresh, which meant it wasn't as beneficial as taking it straight from the vein, but it beat feeling lethargic ninety percent of the time.
It would appear, however, that the fiasco at Carmen's a few days ago had had unforeseen benefits – like the return of her stubborn persistence and will to get better. There was this small, nagging little voice in the back of her head that wondered if Mr. Leinhart was partially responsible, but she was usually pretty quick to squash such ridiculous propositions.
With every sip, she felt more like her normal self, the small aches in her body slowly healing.
Comfortable in her seat, she began to peruse the contents of the file she had brought home, rummaging quietly through the numerous deeds, blueprints, and photos of places she had visited in the last week, all as far from the north district as was humanly possible. She had found many favorable prospects but only one in particular was perfection in her mind and she was determined to present that one to Carmen first, as soon as the woman woke up.
It was 5:00 pm when there was an unexpected knock at the door and she glanced out the tinted window in the kitchen for just a moment, noting that the sun, though still up, would begin setting soon. Wondering who could be calling at this hour, she stood and made her way over to the door, cautiously opening it to find no one there. What she did discover was a small envelope sealed with a red wax stamp on the floor addressed to F.E. Chase.
Her brow furrowed as she bent down to fetch the missive, glancing up and down the hall briefly to see if she could spot its deliverer. Seeing no one, she turned the letter over to get a look at the seal. What she saw piqued her curiosity.
The Drăculea symbol.
Upon noting the infamous dragon insignia, she habitually lifted her other hand to touch the small scar hidden beneath her blouse just above her breast – a scar which bore a near identical shape to the dragon of Dracul. She could still recall the night she had been marked, the night the prophecy had been born and her life changed forever. For decades, she had kept the mark hidden – whether via strategically placed clothing or accessories, or even the appropriation of a special kind of concealer, which had been her go-to method for well over a hundred years.
But despite her continued efforts to deny its existence, the brand remained upon her flesh, a constant reminder of what she was destined for.
After rubbing the phantom tingle from the mark on her chest, she quickly realized that the letter must have come from Jack Belinksaya.
She opened it to discover that he had written it in code – and thankfully, his memories were still fresh enough in her mind so she was able to decipher what little was on the page. It read –
Francesca,
Forgive me for using such a primeval mode of contact, but I fear the usual technological means are unavailable to me at this time. Particularly since a prominent member of Augustine's council was 'mysteriously' murdered a few days ago.
I wish to speak with you concerning the details of your upcoming interview with my brother, Niklaus. He is eager to meet with you next, but I am selfish and would like to deliver the formal invitation myself. Please meet me near the old Halászbástya within the hour. Don't fret about the rest. I will find you.
Yours most sincerely,
Jack
Frankie couldn't help but smile as she refolded the letter and quickly hid it within one of the books on the bookshelf before grabbing her jacket and heading back outside.
---
It didn't take her long to find Jack in the designated meeting place, though he was dressed rather nondescript, keeping to the shadows. His smile was warm.
"Francesca! Prompt as usual," he said, making it a point to keep his voice quiet, even as he held out his hand expectantly toward her. She offered her own in return and he immediately brought it to his lips to kiss it. "I am relieved you were able to decipher my note."
"I suppose having possession of your memories has its advantages," and she returned his smile.
"Do you mind if we venture further down this way? I want to make sure no one overhears our discussion."
"Of course," and she permitted him to take her arm and lead her onto one of terraces that had been long since overrun by thick foliage – an excellent place to go unnoticed.
"I heard from a reliable source that you didn't take well to absorbing my memories like you said you would," and he sent her a censorious look. "You really ought to take better care of yourself. I knew I should have listened to my instincts and contacted your brother."
"Don't blame yourself," she replied gently. "I wasn't expecting that kind of reaction and now that I know what to anticipate, I can better prepare myself. There is no need to trouble yourself on my behalf. I can assure you that it won't happen again."
"What exactly did happen?" he asked. "My contact briefly mentioned the occurrence but was unable to provide details."
"Your contact?"
"I have eyes all over the city," he explained, that charming smile of his still present. "Just a precaution – nothing too serious. We... well, I just want to make sure you stay safe." But the disapproving look on her face remained and his expression turned apologetic. "I'm sorry. Old habits – being a Dracul. I should have asked for your permission first."
"I appreciate your concern on my behalf. Truly, I do. But I don't particularly care for being spied on."
"And I completely understand. I hope you can forgive me?"
She only nodded.
"And I hope this doesn't make things awkward or unpleasant between us?"
"I'm not angry with you, if that's what you're wondering."
"I'm glad. And I can respect your desire for discretion."
"I appreciate that."
"Oh! I just remembered... I've been meaning to congratulate you on your comeback article covering the crimes of the late Lord Bartos... that faux-eulogy that was published yesterday? The evidence you had collected... and that footage! Pretty damning stuff."
Frankie offered him a modest smile.
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"Enjoyed it? Oh, it was pure brilliance! That man was vile – pure villainy through and through. But we're not here to discuss my uncle's questionable taste in friends and we're rapidly losing the safety of daylight. I better get to the point, otherwise we'll be walking and talking all evening, though I personally wouldn't mind..."
"So, I'm meeting with Niklaus next," she cued.
"Yes. He has consented to be your next victim," he said with a laugh. "Will Friday next work for you?"
"Of course. I am at your disposal. Location and time?"
"Ten o'clock in the evening, at the old Parliament building. Nobody ventures over there anymore, but we'll have the place secured just in case – though I wouldn't be too concerned. You won't be disturbed. He'll be waiting outside for you."
"Very well then. Ten o'clock it is."
Jack looked behind them briefly and sighed.
"I'm afraid our allotted time is up. I need to head back." He removed his arm from hers and gently took her hand, raising it to his lips. That warmth was still radiating from him, a gentility and lightness that she found infectious. It was a pity they had to part company so soon. "Thank you again for doing this, Francesca. You don't know what it means to the rest of us."
"Us? But I've only met you, Jack. I still have four of you left."
"But you have brought us together," he insisted with sudden passion. "And soon, it will be you who reunites our entire family."
She shifted a little uncomfortably in response to his obvious insinuation.
Dracula.
She still wasn't overly fond of the idea of being sworn to him against her will.
Jack must have noticed this because he offered her a reassuring smile after gently touching her cheek with the back of his fingers.
"He will be taken with you the moment he lays eyes on you, just as I was," he smiled. "Only he isn't obligated to view you as his mother," he added teasingly as he turned to leave. Although feeling a little awkward after such an admission, Frankie couldn't help but chuckle at his comment. "Take care of yourself, Francesca!" he called, and then he disappeared.
When he was gone, it took Frankie a few moments to recover herself before deciding to head home.
She returned to her flat to the sight of Rémy awake and already sitting at the table, rummaging through the file she had left open. He looked up at her as she entered the house, amusement in his countenance.
"You've been busy," he declared, drinking the blood from her abandoned mug. She shrugged after discarding her coat and keys before entering the kitchen to make Vesper breakfast.
"Is that the file I left on top of the pile?" He nodded, still thumbing through its contents.
"Isn't it kind of big, though, for a tavern?"
"I think it's time we graduate to something a little larger than a hole in the wall, don't you?"
"Well yeah – I've been wanting to set up a more permanent HQ for a while now, but Carmen was always so insistent that we keep meeting at the Harpy."
"Yes, well the Harpy obviously isn't an option anymore – especially with the recent revelation that Augustine knows who you are, and undoubtedly who Carmen is. Anyway, I like the one you're looking at best. The location is by far the safest – it's near the border of lycan territory, which could come in handy – and the place isn't nearly as beat up as some of the other ones so it will require less renovating."
"I'm all for less manual labor."
"It also has a hidden entrance that leads into one of the tunnel systems beneath the city. That will need to be properly investigated and reinforced, of course, before anyone goes down there."
"Naturally."
"But the building itself is surprisingly inexpensive when you take into account the amenities we'd be getting. And, as I was mentioning earlier, I like the idea of having it double as an alliance safe-house with its two upper floors of living space... and maybe we could convert one of the back rooms into a proper war room at some point."
"All sounds good to me. So what's wrong with it?"
"The owner insisted it's too isolated for a public establishment so Carmen's source of income would be pretty much non-existent. But, since it's near the wolves, he's had a difficult time selling."
"Guess that puts us in a good position for bargaining on price. I like the layout," Rémy added, studying the mocked up floor plan she had sketched out. "Looks like Carmen could keep her bar front on the first floor... and is this part in here where you were thinking of building out the warm room?... and I'm thinking maybe a safe room in the basement for V would be good. I assume the entrance to the tunnels is this thing here?" and he pointed to a marking on her map. She nodded. "Well, it definitely has the right amount of space for us to expand..."
"That's exactly what I was thinking."
"Leave it to you to find the perfect location."
"What can I say? I have a talent for real estate."
"That's an understatement. I'm still trying to figure out how you got this place for the price you did," and he moved his hand about in the air, motioning to their flat.
"That's for me to know and you to never find out," she replied, a mischievous grin tugging the corner of her lips.
"What's this I hear about a perfect location?" Carmen called out from the hallway, appearing moments later. She was busy pulling her thick, black curls out of her face and into a messy bun on the top of her head.
"Frankie found you some options to go through for the new place," Rémy explained, pushing a chair back with his foot and motioning for her to sit beside him.
"Already? Sheesh, Frank, you didn't have to do that," Carmen answered sweetly, touched by the generosity.
"Rémy, show her the one you were just looking at. I like that one best," she called out from the kitchen, the sound of bacon sizzling in a pan a bit louder than she had anticipated. Rémy and Carmen leaned over the pictures of the place Frankie approved of, discussing their partialities and dislikes as Vesper walked into the room slowly, looking like she had just woken up.
"What is that wonderful smell?" she yawned, rubbing her eyes and pushing her hair out of her face.
"Frankie is making you breakfast," Rémy explained. "And I'm quite envious because she never does that for me anymore," he added with a wink, pushing out another chair so Vesper could sit on his other side.
"Wow. It's not even seven and you're already jealous of me?" Vesper mocked mid-yawn. He mussed her hair playfully as she rested her head on the cool table, still trying to wake up. "I can't wait for my transition," she continued drowsily. "Then I won't be sleepy all the time." Frankie chuckled as she placed a warm mug of hot chocolate in front of her.
"That all depends on the blood you drink and how often you feed. Here. Sugar and a touch of caffeine. That will wake you up," she replied before retreating back into the kitchen.
"What? No coffee?"
"You're too young for that kind of addiction."
"I beg to differ," the teenager muttered before taking the mug and bringing it to her lips.
A few minutes later, Danny and Vlad showed up at the door, the latter proving unusually quiet when he realized that Frankie was still at the flat - and cooking, no less. He said nothing after being encouraged by his friend to join everyone at the table. Rémy and Carmen showed the two gentlemen the various places Frankie had picked out as the aroma of eggs, bacon, and perfectly toasted sourdough permeated the apartment.
Despite the lively conversation, Vlad remained relatively mute unless he was addressed directly. In fact, all he really did was try - and fail rather miserably - to keep from following Francesca with his gaze, otherwise lost in the mire of his own private thoughts.
When Frankie arrived with Vesper's breakfast, her brother stared at the plate with envy.
"Um... excuse me, but where's mine?" Rémy asked. The woman rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the corner of her lips tugging upward into a half smile.
"Ladies first," was her excuse.
"And what does that make me?" Carmen inquired playfully. "Chopped liver?"
"No. You're next. You are a guest."
"I was just teasing hon. I don't need people-food. Just some hemo for me."
"O positive okay?"
"In a mug, please!" she called as Frankie disappeared back into the kitchen to retrieve the order. She then brought out plates for Rémy and Danny and at last turned to Vlad who was yet to acknowledge her verbally.
They made eye contact and though neither spoke, the tension between them was immediate. Everyone at the table watched the pair out of the corner of their eyes, all unwilling to say anything. Frankie and Vlad hadn't seen each other since that night they had unexpectedly teamed up to go after Bartos.
In truth, Dracula had been avoiding her.
After arriving back at his apartment later that evening a week ago, he had finally come to grips with the reality of who Miss Francesca Chase truly was and everything that that entailed. Now that he was seeing her again – and for the first time with truly opened eyes, no trace of doubt remaining – he honestly didn't know what to say. Not that it mattered, as Frankie addressed him first.
"Good evening, Mr. Leinhart."
"Miss Chase," he responded cordially.
Their verbal acknowledgement of one another seemed to diminish enough of the tension as the remainder of the company continued to enjoy their breakfast accompanied by some light chatter.
"Would you like something to eat?" Frankie asked.
Something shamelessly licentious skidded across his brain, a fantasy involving her spread out on the table as his own personal feast, but he quickly smashed it down before replying with an affable,
"No, thank you."
"Is my food not good enough for you, sir?" she inquired archly, daring to tease him – though internally not quite sure why she felt the need to do so. A part of her had hoped it would alter the expression currently on his face, but his countenance remained unchanged. The man almost looked... haunted.
"I'm not usually one for mortal nourishment."
"You're missing out," Danny replied before sticking a fork-full of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "Sure, we don't necessarily require actual food, but I swear, there are days when I miss it."
"Hear, hear!" Rémy called out, lightly rapping his fist on the table.
Carmen just chuckled as she continued to look through the pictures of potential places to live.
Still, Vlad's expression remained unaltered.
"Thank you for the offer, Miss Chase, but I am not hungry."
"If you insist," she said, shrugging as if it would help to hide the suspicion in her eyes, and she made her way back into the kitchen to clean up.
Unbeknownst to anyone present, Dracula hadn't had much of an appetite since the last time he had seen her, and proper rest had eluded him almost entirely. Every thought in his brain – conscious or otherwise – had become saturated in her.
After arriving back at his apartment in the early morning after the fiasco with Bartos, Vladislaus had finally had a moment to sit down and digest the events of the last 24 hours. There had been much he had wanted to go over privately in the solace of his own home.
Once comfortable and content in his solitude, he had proceeded to stare off into space for several long minutes, making a mental recap of the events. But his suspicions proved irrefutable when he had awoken later that day a little after noon from an erotic, Francesca-filled dream with certain parts of his anatomy in full working order again.
He hadn't believed it at first when he had discovered his emancipated member, which hadn't twitched or stirred in decades, suddenly rock hard – excruciatingly so. He had marveled at the occurrence for a few minutes, sitting in bed, fingers grazing over the throbbing length in wonder, the head already leaking. His thoughts had momentarily diverted to the last time he had been in such a state – with the same woman who had been responsible for his recent lack of virility – and he had watched in horror as the rod in his hand had quickly begun to deflate. In fact, the thought of any other woman or past tryst had him going softer and softer in his grip, no matter the frantic stimulus he provided.
But then the dream of Francesca, the thought of her full, parted lips, a blush high on her cheekbones, the sweet, musky aroma of female arousal that he had caught just a whiff of on the bridge – it had brought him back to that immediate renewed hardness.
Inexplicable had been the word of the moment, even has his fingers had rolled down his own broad contours.
What had happened next had been equally alarming – the way he had effortlessly begun to stroke himself, racking his brain for details from the already retreating dream before shifting into the realm of pure fantasy.
His palm and fingers soon became Francesca's hand, then mouth, her lips dragging at him, drawing him into her as he rubbed and squeezed rhythmically until the strokes became almost furious, the man desperate for release – a release only the thought of her could give him. Almost delirious with the pent up need for sexual expression, with the explosive reigniting of his power as a male, it hadn't taken much to send him over the edge, the mere thought of sinking into her cunt or her ass – or both – he had released a guttural roar as his balls finally erupted, shuddering and convulsing as they ejected in violent bursts, forty years of viscous release. He had then stared blankly at the creamy ropes all over his bed for an extended moment.
He had given up on ever producing such a glistening mess ever again, yet he couldn't have been more relieved. Vladislaus had collapsed shortly thereafter, savoring the sensation of release for only a few precious minutes before reality had then set in like a stone on his chest, leaving him utterly stunned.
It was at that moment that he had been forced to acknowledge openly and without a trace of denial just who this woman was. The captivation and magnetism could no longer be excused as mere coincidence, nor reality contradicted, reframed, or ignored.
Francesca Chase was the undying bride of Mariella's prophecy, the queen of Budapest as Lilith had called her. The only woman in existence who could rekindle his desire and save not only his throne, but their entire species.
She was the one, his future queen.
His destined, blood-bound mate.
That realization had left him reeling.
And what baffled him most was the fact that he hadn't realized it from the start.
In retrospect, he should have known the instant their paths had crossed that evening in the east side when they had passed unexpectedly on the street.
The connection, the electricity, that overwhelming sense of calm and sudden clarity.
If only he had recognized it from the get-go, he could have handled their first introduction differently. If only he had been more mirth and less bite that night, although he'd be the last to deny that some secretly nefarious part of him enjoyed testing her.
But with this life-altering realization had come a flood of memories from that night in Venice (and a masturbation marathon that would have put his adolescent-self to shame), followed eventually by a very large elephant in the room that still needed to be accounted for.
The Léonide that had haunted his dreams and inspired countless fantasies – that Francesca of 1763 was not the same woman before him right now, today, in this comfortable yet overcrowded flat.
While the larger part of him could readily acknowledge that change over centuries of living was an inevitability, especially in the span of nearly four hundred years – he was, after all, living proof of that – he couldn't help but wonder what it was that had caused this alteration, why she now seemed shrouded in an unspoken pain and grief that she wore so well. Like he had that night on the bridge, he could still sense the sparks of playfulness in her, but she also seemed so fundamentally changed in some way... perhaps even a little broken, if her present state of malnourishment was any indication.
What had she endured?
Was it the prophecy that had done it to her or something far more insidious?
Had she known his true identity that night in Venice?
Did she even remember?
For himself, Dracula could recall the entirety of that evening with perfect clarity – from their conversations and the dances they had shared, to the passionate kisses exchanged in the shadows. The man knew better than to get his hopes up, but he couldn't seem to help himself. He wanted her to remember him, wanted her to feel and acknowledge the attraction, the pull, the effortless chemistry. He wanted her to embrace and maybe even rejoice in the inevitability of their union.
He could not be alone in his feelings, could he?
Sure, he wasn't wholly keen on the prophecy on principle alone, this idea that he was duty-bound to a woman not of his choosing – but had he not chosen her that night in a way?
On the surface, Dracula was the picture of utter composure, but within, he was a mess of conflicting thoughts and emotions. He wasn't sure he could go on like this – being in her presence and feeling so uncharacteristically awkward and exposed, even though he was positive she had no idea of the truth.
None of them knew.
And that's how it would have to stay... for now, anyway.
"So Frankie," Carmen called out, pulling Vlad from his private thoughts, "I think I've decided. I have to agree with you. I like this one best. It's spacious, the location is excellent, and we wouldn't have to renovate it too much which means, with the proper funds, the new alliance headquarters could be up and running within a couple months. All I have to do is find the money to pay for the place."
"Already taken care of," Frankie announced as she emerged from the kitchen with a new mug of blood for herself and she sat down next to Vesper. All eyes were on her as she took her seat and began to nurse the beverage slowly; she looked up at them curiously. "What?"
"Already taken care of?" Carmen repeated. "Frankie, tell me you didn't..."
"First of all, while this is to be your new home, it is not wholly yours, so I would never dream of making you pay so much as a dime. You've given more than most to the alliance these last few decades. It was the least I could do... and I also knew that if I didn't pay in full for the place this afternoon, that crook of a realtor could hike up the price when I saw him again, so it was a gamble I was willing to make."
"Wait... what?"
"I took care of it."
"You took care of it?"
Frankie put down her mug.
"Carmen, seriously, you don't have to repeat everything I say."
"How much were they asking for? I insist on paying you back."
"Excuse me, but you will do nothing of the sort," Frankie said, perfectly serious. "Like I said – the place isn't wholly yours... it's for all of us. Yes, sure, you'll be living there and running it for all intents and purposes..." She sighed, a hair of a smile curling her lips. She appeared rather satisfied with herself. "Just think of it as me paying off my tab and for the furniture I've broken in the past and will undoubtedly break in the future... and as your birthday present for the next fifty years if you'd like," and she hid behind her mug again.
"Christ, Frank... how much did you spend?" Rémy asked.
"That's irrelevant," she insisted with a wave of her hand as if to dismiss any more questions. "The point is, you should be happy. We can start working on the place this week, which means you won't have to sleep on a cot for much longer, and Vesper's new room will be significantly larger than it used to be, as will yours..."
"I get a bigger room?" Vesper squealed excitedly.
"With a new bed and a new computer and I do believe a certain package arrived this afternoon while you were all asleep..." and she held up her finger, motioning for them to wait and she disappeared for a moment, only to reappear with a large, unmarked box. She placed it at Vesper's feet. The girl jumped out of her chair and tore open the box, only to dance around excitedly, screaming at the top of her lungs like a kid on Christmas morning. "And the beginnings of your own personal library – since you lost what you had in the fire," Frankie finished, trying to appear unmoved by everyone's reaction. She picked up a book and handed it to the girl. "And these ones are fireproof and water resistant. The latest tech."
Vesper's excitement was vocal in the extreme as she continued to jump up and down. She then quickly knelt beside the box and began to pull out the books, practically singing the names of her favorite authors as she did so.
Rémy laughed as he shook his head in disbelief.
"Woman, you are unbelievable."
His sister merely shrugged as if it were nothing.
"After the hell I have put you all through for the last decade, it is the least I could do."
All present – Vlad exempted – immediately began to protest, but she held up her hand, pleading for silence.
"How much did you spend? Please tell me. I have a right to know. We all do," Carmen said after Vesper had finally calmed down. Frankie shook her head, refusing to answer, though privately loving the attention that ensued.
"Was it that expensive?" Danny inquired.
"No, actually I was surprised how cheap it was."
"Is this real-world cheap or Frankie-cheap?" Rémy asked with an amused chuckle.
"Tell me how much it was," Carmen demanded.
The faintest of smiles appeared on Frankie's face as she placed her empty mug down onto the table.
She told them the amount, insisting that it was a steal considering how much she had talked the relator down, but Carmen just shook her head in disbelief.
"Are you insane? I can't accept this!"
"But you will," Frankie replied with sudden seriousness. "Because I know how much you love walnut wood and secret passageways."
"Secret passageways?"
"How many times are you going to repeat everything I say today? Honestly..."
But Carmen was beside herself as she stood, making her way over to her generous friend and she wrapped her arms around her, blessing her in Spanish as she did so.
"Like I said before," Frankie laughed, "it's not all for you. This is to be the official headquarters and safe house for the alliance – our future, the next stage of the movement. It's for all of us. You'll just be the proprietor. Besides, I couldn't think of a more qualified person to continue looking after all of us, providing our little ragtag group with a place to meet and stay every evening."
"I don't even know what to say," Carmen said through her tears. "Thank you, Francesca. I promise, I will pay you back every penny."
"I wouldn't accept your money anyway. This is an investment in the alliance. It's the least I could do."
Dracula watched in silence as the scene unfolded, taken aback by Frankie's generosity, almost moved by it. After the commotion died down, he finally spoke up.
"It is no small feat to drop that much money without a second thought. If you don't mind me asking – how much are you worth?"
She glanced over at him, a curious expression on her face. It was the first real thing he had said since he had arrived... she had almost forgotten the man was even there.
"I have enough to get by," was all she said, not an ounce of hubris in her face.
"Says the heiress," Rémy interjected.
"Oh hush," she countered, shifting a little uncomfortably. "I'm just... I've been very fortunate in past investments."
"I'm sorry, Frank, but when you can drop seven figures on a fixer-upper like it's nothing, all the down-playing in the world doesn't negate the fact that money has never been an object with you."
"As I said, I've been very fortunate."
"I have a hard time buying that what Aunt Cece left you with was just good fortune. You always were her favorite."
"She was extremely charitable in her will," was all Frankie would own to.
"Right. Ten million and the Guarneri is just mere generosity."
Frankie began to blush and she whispered softly from behind her mug, "Shut up, Rémy."
"That is quite a parting gift," Dracula replied, a curious smirk on his lips.
"Our parents were the Duke and Duchess de Chacier of France. And our uncle is a Count in his own right...."
"Yet even with the death of the monarchy, the money still flows in the Chase line," he teased. "How much did you get, Rémy?"
"When my aunt passed away? My cousins and I got five apiece. Frankie's was doubled because reasons..." He sent his sister a knowing look. "And she was always Cece's favorite."
"I was not," the woman insisted, growing uneasy with the conversation.
"Oh please! Yes you were!"
"We're not having this discussion, Rémy. You know how uncomfortable I was taking that money. I'm still uncomfortable it."
"Be that as it may, it must be nice – wanting for nothing," Dracula pointed out.
"In terms of material needs, yes. And I'm grateful I have enough to assure the security and comfort of not only myself, but the people in my life. As much as I may dislike the evils that wealth can breed, it would be ignorant of me to deny the privilege and autonomy my financial independence provides – not to mention, the peace of mind," she admitted. "But I also know what it is like to be without, Mr. Leinhart, and let me tell you that, speaking from experience, money cannot solve everything..."
"Perhaps, but it can certainly stave off any unnecessary discomfort," he replied, the intensity of his gaze deepening. Her brows furrowed a little, evidently unable to account for the change in his expression.
"But at what cost?" she continued. "That contentment and the preoccupation with status – enabled by wealth – makes it easier to ignore the suffering of others. It's why we're in the mess we're in right now with Augustine. Greed, Mr. Leinhart. Greed and the preoccupation with power. Just look at the council, or even the nobility living in the north district, the remnants of Dracula's court. Because they are all at ease in their penthouses and mansions and palatial apartments, their wealth enables them to turn a blind eye to the suffering of the people as they murder and backstab their way to the top."
"So you're suggesting that money, affluence, prestige – all are forces for corruption?" he clarified.
"In the case of the court, absolutely. Those presently in power are only as dissolute as they are because they do not know or care to remember what it is to want... to be without."
"Or perhaps they do care," he countered. "And it is that which drives them to never want again."
"Then clearly they are in need of a better exemplar to lead them," was her retort and she folded her arms across her chest rather defensively. "Vampire aristocracy has a long, proud history of being corrupt. The notorious grabs for power, the betrayals, the general apathy when it comes to the welfare of others. Then again, with Dracula as the standard all these centuries, can we blame them?"
Danny rapped the bottom of his cup against the table in agreement.
"Hear, hear!" Rémy proclaimed.
Frankie nearly smiled in the face of such approval, but Vlad's expression had darkened as if the notion had offended him and it made her curious.
"Do you disagree, Mr. Leinhart?"
"To an extent, but I find your hypocrisy far more troubling than your ignorance."
That sucked all of the humor out of the room.
"My hypocrisy?"
"You claim that it is pride and avarice that have led to the dissolution of the aristocracy, and yet you arrogantly sit there with your own substantial wealth and your comforts and security, not to mention the prestige you enjoy as the daughter of a Duke and the sister of the leader of the alliance acting as though you are somehow superior to the rest. You accuse these nobles that you do not know of vanity and greed, and yet didn't you just use your own money as a means of purchasing the favor and security of your friends and allies? That hardly makes you a paragon of virtue."
Frankie's blood frosted beneath her skin.
"Excuse me? I did that because Carmen and Vesper are homeless."
"No they're not. They're living with you."
"Temporarily," Carmen chimed in.
"Don't come to her defense, Carmen. You've barely been here a week and already she's found a new place to put you."
"Why are you twisting this?" Frankie snapped at him. "You know that's not why I bought the place."
"Am I twisting it?" he asked with feigned innocence. "Or perhaps I unearthed some secret motive you weren't fully conscious of until now?" he added, something malicious in his mockery, as if he was spoiling for a fight, relishing in her anger.
"No, you're projecting your own limitations onto me," she said without missing a beat, the riposte unexpected and insightful, but instead of being affronted, her comment left him pleased. "Is that why you left the north district, Mr. Leinhart? Did your peers grow weary of your baseless jabs and posturing?"
The man's smile grew openly suggestive, the sudden turn in his demeanor causing her to question the purity of her present anger. In fact, there was a noted shift in the air between them and for fear of losing her footing in this verbal duel of theirs, she snapped her mouth shut in an effort to ground herself.
And yet, the way he was suddenly looking at her now...
It was as though he had purposefully misconstrued her words for the sheer purpose of baiting her, of testing her. But why?
"Alright you two, calm down," Rémy intervened a little nervously. "I suppose it was too much to hope that you could actually get along with one another for more than fifteen minutes."
"What are you talking about? We're both being perfectly civil, aren't we, Miss Chase?" Vlad asked cheekily, but there was something yet to be defined in his gaze that the woman seated across from him wasn't sure if she liked.
"I agreed to be civil if you were," she reminded him.
He stretched out his arms a little dramatically, leaning back in his seat as if he had perfect control over the entire room.
"How am I being uncivil?"
She stood up suddenly, hating how easily he dominated the space – her space – and with so little effort. His expression made her feel exposed and his words had her questioning herself.
"You insulted me... again, and for no justifiable reason."
"I was merely making an observation. But if I misread the intentions of your act of charity, then please," and he too rose from his chair with exaggerated elegance, his towering figure having its intended effect, "forgive this lowly cretin for carelessly insulting her majesty, the queen of Budapest," he exclaimed. But then he added, "Although it is clear by that scowl you're wearing that you deem me unworthy of your forgiveness," and he offered her an ironic bow. "But perhaps that is how you like your men? On their knees, begging and unworthy; willing to concede to your every whim and thought without question. I am afraid that I am not so easily bought, Duchess... if you wish for my confidence, you'll have to earn it."
Frankie made a move toward him as if she had intended to strike him but Danny quickly stood, blocking her path to hold her back.
"He's just baiting you, Frank. Let it go."
"Unhand me!" she snapped at him.
Everyone in the room seemed surprised by her sudden outburst.
Everyone, except Dracula.
He had hit more than just a nerve, but of course, that had been the intention. The smug smirk he continued to wear proved as much.
Vladislaus wanted nothing more than to test her further, loving the fire in her eyes, but he realized it would be unwise to linger here for much longer. The tension between them was becoming dangerous, and while their present company was clearly oblivious to the type of tension between himself and the brunette still standing across from him, he suspected that she understood perfectly well.
The way her pupils dilated when she looked at him confirmed that she did.
A pity they weren't alone, he thought to himself as unexpected fantasies began to run rampant in his mind, the heated strain between them deepening amidst their stare-off. The idea of her closing the distance between them with that same passion in her eyes made his skin tingle, as did the vision of her lips smashed against his, her body flush against his own, tongue leaving a molten trail down his neck, fingers digging into the muscles of his back as he rocked his hips against her, brutally nailing her to the nearest wall.
But the sudden intensity of his lust frightened him a little, and so he quickly and elegantly made his retreat.
"No need to hold her back, Danny. I'll show myself out," he announced, tone and person perfectly controlled. "Besides, I have some business I need to attend to this evening. Good evening, Miss Chase and thank you for your unstinting hospitality and... invigorating conversation," and he picked up his jacket, tossed it over his shoulder, and made his exit.
The moment the front door shut behind him, Frankie had already crossed the room to march out onto the small terrace, shutting the drapes and slamming the sliding glass door shut behind her so she wouldn't have to face all of the bewildered expressions that were aimed in her direction.
She was shaking as she reached for her black lights and put one in her mouth, inhaling deeply once the cigarette was lit in an effort to calm herself down. She gripped the iron railing of the small balcony, drawing in deep, deliberate breaths until she started to feel just a little more sane.
That man.
That infuriating, smug, arrogant, diabolical... inexplicably divine man.
The thought of the way he had looked at her just before his sudden departure left an indecent heat to unspool between her tightly clenched thighs. There had been something dark in his expression – nefarious, but also deeply suggestive, as if the sight of her temper had aroused him. While his comments had genuinely offended her, Frankie suspected that the man had been purposefully taunting her, though to what end remained a mystery.
She took another drag from her cigarette, the deep breathing helping her to relax and when she felt more under control, she released a heavy sigh, leaning forward against the railing of the balcony.
What was it about Vlad Leinhart that made her feel so... unhinged?
It was unlike her to be so easily goaded by someone.
True, she wasn't yet at her full strength, but she wasn't sure she could blame malnourishment on her present emotional state. No, this was different than her loss of control with Morene a few weeks ago. With Leinhart, it was like he was purposefully challenging her, trying to see which of her buttons he could get away with pressing.
But why?
What could he possibly have to gain and why did this treatment feel so exclusive to her?
She had yet to hear or witness such behavior toward her brother or their friends, so why the partiality?
Try as she might, Frankie could not account for the "special treatment" Mr. Leinhart felt the need to bestow on her, but she could not deny that their banters and arguments always left her feeling a little intoxicated afterwards. If their last handful of encounters proved anything, it was that the man enjoyed defying her – often outright.
While her pride loathed him for it, some secret part of her was bizarrely delighted by the attention, the twisted sense of respect, as if he considered her a worthy opponent. The teasing in his eyes that night on the bridge, and then again just moments ago in her dining room impressed upon her the very real possibility that he was doing this because she was the only one in their acquaintance he could not influence or control.
Were his motives as simple as him trying to gauge if she was his equal?
It was a familiar game, that vying for dominance – a battle of the sexes that Frankie hadn't properly participated in in decades. The prospect of dusting off the old her and testing her skill where Mr. Leinhart was concerned certainly had its appeal. There was no way she'd give him the satisfaction of assuming himself her superior.
Frankie was no man's subordinate – a sentiment instilled in her from an early age as the beloved daughter of French royalty.
No, if Rémy's new friend wanted to "test" her, she would make it perfectly plain to the man that she wasn't the sort of woman that was so easily taken in.
So what now?
Frankie took one final drag from her cigarette as she contemplated her next move. Should she wait for another attack or should she instigate?
What would Satanas say? she wondered to herself, thinking of her sire and mentor.
An old mantra of his was the first thing to come to mind – Inspiring passion is the quickest and most efficient path to true dominance; but when mastering your own, remember – suppression leads to danger; control leads to liberation.
The memories of a happier time soon followed until she was interrupted when Carmen joined her on the terrace a short time later, having come outside to check in on her friend.
"Hey... you all right?" the Spaniard inquired a little warily.
"Yes... yes, sorry. I'm fine. Just needed some air," Frankie assured her as she snuffed out the butt of her cigarette before flicking it away.
"Understandable. Things got a little heated back there. Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm not even sure I know how to," she admitted. "That man is..."
"Infuriating? Rude? Presumptuous?" Carmen offered absently, assuming she knew where the woman's mind was right now.
How mistaken she was.
"Astonishingly magnetic," Frankie corrected with an unintended sigh, the tone of her voice taking her friend aback.
"Wait... what?"
"I know, I can't believe it either, but... I think I'm attracted to him, Carmen."
"Okay, this was definitely not the conversation I had prepared myself for when I came out here. You mean to tell me that after everything that asshole just did and said in there, questioning your generosity like that..."
"I don't think he did it in earnest. I think he was testing me."
"Testing you? Why?"
"I wish I could explain it, but I can't. Call it intuition."
Carmen exhaled loudly in disbelief before swearing under her breath.
"I don't even know what to say to that."
"Yes, well... that makes two of us."