"Where did the vision take place?" Frankie asked, leaning forward a bit on the bed as she watched her friend access the private cloud-account she and Rémy often used to store encrypted alliance-related data.
"I was on my way home when it hit me," Lyra began. "Augustine was in what looked like an office – most likely in the palace, but something felt off about the place; it was abnormally dark and cold. There were five other people present."
"Did you recognize any of them?"
"Most of them, yes," she replied, nodding as she swiped and tapped her finger a few times on the screen of the tablet before showing Frankie the faces she had seen. "Four of them were council members. It took me a moment to identify this one, as he's new and I'm apparently way behind on my current events. This is Councilman Jósef – newly appointed replacement of Bartos. He's been put in charge of overseeing the city's law enforcement and Augustine has him tracking rumored alliance circle members – the Dannys, Carmens, and Rémys, basically. The good news is that they haven't properly identified anyone except Rémy, although it's in name only – so at least your brother has that going for him. But they've also been watching Carmen's old place, hoping for a lead."
With a swipe of her finger, the image changed to another face.
"Then there's Councilman Ildar. According to the vision, Augustine's private army now stands at five thousand and there's plans to double those numbers, though they didn't discuss timeline. But they've all taken the blood-oath of fealty."
"Five thousand? How did he even manage to find that many within the city?"
"I've been picking up rumors from a couple of old sources that say it's connected to some of the disappearances we've been seeing since Dracula went into stasis. I've also heard that he may be outsourcing... or blackmailing. Probably both."
"God help us."
Lyra swiped to the next image.
"Councilwoman Sonya. Augustine put her in charge of not only reestablishing the blood banks so he can black-market dhampir blood again – I think that's how he's funding his army – but he's involved the Spider now. I think he's trying to create some kind of formal coalition with Basilio, as he controls so much of the east-district."
"Poor Rémy won't be happy when he hears that."
"There was a factory we raided a couple of months ago before Rémy woke you up and according to the vision and Sonya's report, it's been replenished with twice the security as before. Although Augustine didn't state as much, I have every reason to believe that those dhampir disappearances we've been hearing about leads back to this."
Frankie cursed softly under her breath.
"And last but certainly not least, Councilman Krisztian Sokolov."
"How is my least favorite sadist?"
"Apparently still in charge of keeping an eye on the alliance."
"Glad to hear he still has it out for us," she answered sarcastically.
"No shit. But I recently came into some intel that he may have spies within our organization and we should probably talk about a potential purge at some point. I've already told Rémy and he agreed."
"What did Krisztian have to report?"
"Nothing, thankfully, and neither did Jósef. Who knew needing to relocate would be such a blessing?"
"You said there was a fifth person there," Frankie reminded her and Lyra placed the tablet onto the bed so she could remove a piece of paper from her pocket.
"I didn't recognize the man, but I got a good look at him and was able to sketch this before his face escaped my memory." She handed the paper to Frankie and waited expectantly. "Do you recognize him by chance?"
"I don't, unfortunately. And you couldn't find him on file?"
"No. He's non-existent. My gut tells me he might be a mercenary – could be one of the Feng's shadows, but he looks more like one of the Invisibles."
"What would Augustine want with an Invisible?"
"He mentioned obtaining something from the south-district; said that this mercenary was to steal something that belonged to the wolves as punishment for not swearing fealty to the current administration."
"Did he say what it was?"
"Not explicitly. But one of the council members said something about how it's protected by its mother... and I'm not sure if you noticed, but there's no moon out."
Frankie thought about it for a moment and then the answer hit her.
Her eyes widened and she jumped out of bed, quickly throwing on some clothes.
"I see you've come to the same conclusions I did."
"This is not good, Lyra. This is not good at all."
"What are we going to do? We're literally in the middle of a new moon, which means only the vetus lupus can turn – which cuts their numbers down to like nothing. But you know Isabella as well as I do. I seriously doubt she'll budge on this. You know that woman's pride. She'll insist her own royal guard is sufficient over any kind of help from us."
"Queen or not, she doesn't have a choice in this. I refuse to risk open civil war. Come on," and she quickly exited from the room, only to meet the faces of three familiar men awaiting her in the hallway. Her eyes met Leinhart's before anyone else's and the temptation to blush and run back into the safety of her room certainly had its appeal. But now was not the time to retreat in maiden embarrassment, though the devil knew of the affect that man had on her.
All it took was a look from him...
Thankfully, the situation at hand was keeping her distracted, so she was able to move past him without even uttering a word of acknowledgement as she made a beeline for the dining room.
"So are you just going to leave us in suspense or what?" Rémy asked, watching as his sister gathered everything off the table, tossing it all into a corner on the floor. "Lyra said it has something to do with the werewolves."
"It has everything to do with them," was all his sister said before she and Lyra proceeded to roll out a clear mat onto the surface of the table.
With a flick of a switch, the mat suddenly illuminated, displaying a 3D holographic depiction of Budapest, the region carved into four distinct sections that represented the different districts. It was an impressive looking display and Dracula found himself moving closer to get a better look as he and the others present gathered around the table.
"Lyra had a vision," Frankie explained to the men who had been looking rather lost since she had emerged from her bedroom. Rémy and Danny seemed to understand immediately, their expressions taking on looks of anticipation, but Vlad, on the other hand, continued to be openly perplexed. "Long story short, we have reason to believe that Augustine is planning to incite a civil war in hopes of disbanding the alliance and, ultimately, causing enough chaos within the city to give him reason to not only instate martial law, but also – knowing him – to use it as an excuse to commit genocide in the name of 'keeping our people safe.' If we can nip this in the bud, fewer people will die."
"How the hell did you get all of that from a vision?" Danny asked.
"I know how that monster thinks. Being steward of Budapest while Dracula is absent has never been enough for Augustine – the last thirty years have proven that; and the only group of people he detests slightly more than our kind is the werewolves. If he wants a clear shot at annihilating the majority of us while Dracula is MIA, he'll need the lycans out of the way first and if civil war won't do it for him, it'll give him the excuse he needs to attack."
"Makes sense to me," Rémy said with a nod.
"Wait a minute. What do you mean she had a vision?" Vlad finally spoke up, still struggling with the fact that Lyra could apparently see what Augustine was up to.
Those in attendance all exchanged knowing looks, having silent conversations with their eyes that left Dracula feeling left out once more. He was really starting to loathe how these four were all connected in this way, how they all knew everything and anything about one another, how he continuously remained in the dark. He half expected them to not explain what was going on, but was surprised when Francesa, of all people, took the initiative to shed some light.
"Lyra and I met almost two centuries ago under the worst of circumstances. Both of us have been... irrevocably altered in some way because of our previous contact with Marcus Augustine."
"What do you mean?"
"The details are presently irrelevant. All you need to know is that because of what happened to her, and, in many ways, because of her parentage, Lyra has a sort of psychic connection with Augustine, though really that's an inadequate way of describing the source of her abilities. These visions of hers are unpredictable most of the time, but there have been instances where she can actually see what Marcus is doing or what is going on around him. Some of these visions are stronger than others. Most of the time they appear as dreams and are incoherent, ambiguous. The one she had earlier was explicit. I'd go into further detail, but we are hard-pressed for time. May I continue?"
Dracula wasn't quite sure what to make of the tone Frankie had just used with him.
Although she was impeccably calm, the slight inflections in her voice near the end made her sound just a little impatient, as if his ignorance was becoming a hindrance to their progression.
He may have just imagined it, but what really caught his attention was the look in her eyes. For the first time in his acquaintance with the woman, Frankie suddenly looked... different, for lack of a better word. Though a tad disheveled in appearance, she was more focused and more determined than she had ever been – even a little regal-looking in some respects; as if she had cold steel running down her back.
She was effortlessly commanding the room just by being in it.
He had noticed this quality in her before, but it had been subtle, easy to miss if one didn't know where to look. But now – standing at the head of the table with the hologram map of Budapest glowing before her, she appeared more a leader in that moment than she ever had and Dracula found himself momentarily transfixed. He could think of nothing to offer in response to her clipped inquiry, so he merely nodded, a silent request for her to continue.
"In the vision, Lyra witnessed a meeting with Augustine, four of the six other council members, and this man here, whom we believe to be a mercenary; one of the Invisibles." Connecting the holographic mat on the table to her tablet, she pulled up images of each of the council members before revealing the sketch Lyra had drawn.
Dracula recognized the man instantly, uttering an oath of mild annoyance under his breath.
"What is it?" Rémy asked.
"I know that man... or, that is to say, I know of him."
"Who is he?"
"His name is Vittoro. And you were correct in your assumption, Miss Chase. He is an Invisible. In fact, he is one of the best that organization has," and he looked directly into her eyes from across the table. She held his gaze without the least degree of intimidation.
"How do you know that?"
"Before I moved to the west-district, I spent a lot of time in the north side, sometimes working in the Imperial Palace," he lied with ease, recalling the details of his alias' cover-story that he had rehearsed ad nauseam with Bernardini shortly after he had disappeared. "What I never told you was that for some time I actually worked for Dracula, before he went into stasis. He would often hold private conferences with this man, giving him confidential assignments, especially during the final war when the area was being attacked. Apparently, he has been working for Augustine as well."
"That's the trouble with hired mercenaries. Their allegiances go to the highest bidder. There's no loyalty."
"Still, you've got to give the guy credit – two-timing the most powerful vampires in history without the other knowing. He must be incredible," Rémy interrupted, examining the sketch carefully, unaware of the way his sister and best friend were looking at one another.
"He's good at what he does," Dracula agreed. "Still only a mortal, but he's also never failed a mission. Not once."
"Well, if everything goes our way, today will mark his first and last," Lyra announced.
"So what does Augustine want him to do?" Rémy asked, returning his attention to his sister who was unwittingly still staring at Vlad. She shook herself from her private thoughts, attempting to refocus on the task at hand.
"He's sending him into lycan territory."
"Whatever for? What is he after?" Danny asked skeptically. "Not that he should be able to find anything Isabella hides. The werewolves control that entire area, and thanks to some of Augustine's latest legislation, they won't exactly be eager to help him out with whatever he asks for."
"But he isn't asking. Augustine knows he can't acquire their loyalty. That's why he plans to turn them against us the only way he knows how," Lyra announced. "He wants Anna-Sophie, and he hopes to use the new moon to his advantage."
"Striking when the wolves are at their weakest... clever motherfucker."
"But they're still a threat to be reckoned with," Rémy noted, "even without the moon. Are we sure this is worth getting involved in?"
"I will not let Augustine get his hands on that girl," Frankie insisted rather passionately. "Over my dead body."
"I'm sorry – who is Anna-Sophie?" Dracula wondered aloud.
"Isabella's child. The queen of the lycans is also the widow of the late Valerio, original pack alpha of the Budapest werewolves," Frankie explained. "He died some thirty years ago, leaving her as leader until she could find a suitable mate. She never found one and the pack has been under a matriarchal order ever since. Her younger brother, Tristan, is the resident alpha, but Isabella oversees all political matters."
"Which works well for them, actually," Lyra added. "They co-rule together, balancing each other out."
There was a subtle shift in Frankie's countenance that suggested she wasn't so keen to agree, but the only one who seemed to notice was Vlad. He said nothing.
"Then who is Anna-Sophie to Augustine, other than some daughter of a werewolf? A princess, sure... but still..."
"Isabella went through a heat cycle eleven years ago that happened to coincide with a full moon... during an equinox."
"Shit timing, really," Lyra muttered sympathetically.
"She was away from the pack the evening it hit her unexpectedly."
"Basically, the closest thing near her that she could fuck was a vampire," Rémy explained rather crudely. Lyra attempted to hide the embarrassed smirk on her face, but Frankie seemed less amused with her brother's abrasive language.
"So nine months later, she gave birth to Anna-Sophie. Half vampire, half werewolf. She's a hybrid."
Dracula said nothing, but the disapproval in his mien – while briefly worn – had not been missed by anyone.
As the king of the vampires, in Dracula's mind the nosferatu were the more superior and sophisticated of the preternatural species – an admittedly problematic point of view that Bernardini had been struggling to rid him of for centuries now. And while he was certainly more inclined to openness when it came to how others chose to lead their lives, he had always struggled with the idea of hybrid offspring, having so long been convinced that their existence could very well threaten the natural order.
Unfortunately, what he had meant to be a private musing of discontent had in fact been noted by those in attendance; and it became clear rather quickly that Francesca in particular did not care for his evident disdain, as she was suddenly defensive.
"Do you have a problem, Mr. Leinhart?" she bit.
"No," he lied, but when he saw her look of scrutiny, he chose to defend himself. "I don't have an issue with the child herself, but her conception..."
"I don't see why her conception matters – she's still an innocent. Not a monster."
"I never said she was a monster, but she is also neither vampire, nor werewolf. Her existence is not only unnatural, it could threaten the very precarious balance between our species."
"That's antiquated nonsense."
"I have always been a firm believer in keeping the species as separate entities, for the sake of their individual preservation, amongst other reasons that aren't nearly as bigoted and nefarious as you're currently thinking. Certain things are just not intended to mix. There is a set design laid in order for a reason."
"And what legitimate reason might that be?" she asked coolly. "The mortals have always believed our very existence is a threat to their natural order, but even you can surely concede that the prejudice and open hatred our kind has endured as consequence over the centuries has been wholly unwarranted."
"I'd argue that it isn't nearly as black and white as that," he muttered.
"Regardless, I refuse to stand by and listen to you accuse a child of being little more than an unclean mutt when her current state and situation was not decided by her. Sheis not some abomination for you to sneer at," and she glared pointedly at him.
"Miss Chase, you are twisting my words..."
It was evident that Frankie had misunderstood him. He may not have agreed with the child's origin, but that didn't mean he wanted her destroyed or harmed in anyway. He wasn't completely heartless. It was just a clash of ideology.
In that moment, however, Dracula couldn't help but wonder, when he and Frankie eventually became husband and wife, would they argue about this very topic? Unfortunately for him, these ponderings of Francesca being his spouse came to a screeching halt when her brother suddenly opened his mouth in an attempt to dispel the awkward tension in the room.
"Well then, I suppose now wouldn't be the best time to mention that Frankie's ex happens to be Isabella's brother?" the man chuckled, clearly unaware that the conversation between his sister and friend was far more serious in nature than it appeared at surface level.
Of course, he figured it out a moment too late when he noticed the embarrassment in Frankie's now downcast eyes and the open shock that marred Vlad's features. Lyra cursed violently under her breath, having to walk away for a moment to keep herself from smacking Rémy for his foolishness.
"Are you serious?" came Dracula's response, the man unwilling to believe that his future wife had been the lover of not just any werewolf – but a vetus lycan, royalty... an alpha.
Well, that's going to make for some awkward political negotiations in the future, the more cynical side of his brain mused.
"Rémy, how many times do we have to tell you – your sister's sex life is nobody's fucking business but her own," Lyra shot.
"I didn't think he was actually serious! I was trying to lighten the mood!"
"God, give me patience..."
"Yes, Mr. Leinhart. I have had a werewolf as a lover," Frankie interjected with sharpness. "And, in the spirit of full disclosure, he wasn't my first... probably won't be my last, either." Over my dead body, Vlad retorted inwardly. "But seeing as how my private life is none of anyone's concern, we are going to disregard that tangent and return to the subject at hand."
"But why a dog?" he interrupted, unable to help himself.
It was becoming difficult to veil his jealousy, his prejudice.
He may not have known this Tristan personally, but he had met the man a few times before, many years ago when the original treaty with the werewolves had been struck and the Tristan from his memory was certainly not the type of man he would have imagined as a worthy lover for the likes of Francesca.
"Rémy, I swear, you do not know how to keep your mouth shut," Lyra muttered venomously under her breath.
"Hey! Everyone else here knows! What's the problem with Leinhart knowing?" he said a bit louder than was probably necessary.
Frankie covered her face in an effort to hide the blush she could feel burning in her cheeks.
"Leinhart is the problem, Rémy," Lyra snapped.
"Now wait a minute," he defended.
"Honestly, do you ever think before you speak?"
"Oh, shut it, woman. Let's get back to the point... "
"Don't tell me shut up! You have no right, telling me what to do!"
"Lyra, I mean it!"
"You don't get to order shit, Adolf!"
"I am not going to sit here and take another verbal beating from you, Kennedy. Just drop it!"
"Oh you deserve more than a verbal beating, Chase!" The two were now leaning over the table, shouting at one another.
"You want to give it to me?" he taunted. "Go on. Take your tiny, ineffectual fist and hit me."
"Don't tempt me, motherfucker," she growled.
Lyra's fangs had lengthened, as had Rémy's, and the two were glaring daggers at one another. Danny rolled his eyes and walked over to a nearby open window, sticking a cigarette between his lips. One look from Frankie and he immediately offered her one and she took it without so much as a word as Rémy and Lyra continued their row in the background.
Dracula was inches away from taking control over the situation.
His patience had been wearing thin for months now and with the arguing and secrecy... Any moment now and he would snap. It would be so easy to break the charm that kept his identity secret so he could reveal himself to this band of misfits. Then he could show them what a real leader looked like, and perhaps – by some miracle – maybe then they would treat him with the respect his station deserved.
But before he could act on his growing annoyance, Frankie stepped back onto the scene. In a way that was distinctly Francesca Chase, she returned to the table, standing in her original spot beside Lyra who was still seething. He watched as the woman placed her hand strategically on her friend's shoulder, the action causing the raging redhead to silence almost instantly.
With a single look from his sister, Rémy quickly followed suit, and though the confrontational pair continued their exchange of scathing looks, they remained quiet as Frankie fixed her focus on the other gentleman across the table.
"Mr. Leinhart..." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "I acknowledge your concern regarding the existence of a child like Anna-Sophie – of the presently unseen implications as it pertains to the longevity of not only the vampire, but the werewolves as well. But allow me to assure you, that girl is of no threat."
"I never said she was."
"Then I misunderstood you. Forgive me," she said with gentle earnestness. "I know those werewolves better than anyone present. Because of certain experiences that happened some two centuries passed, it has become literally impossible for me to enjoy a complete and fulfilling romantic relationship with those of our kind. Because of this, I have been forced to look elsewhere for that kind of companionship and my past relationship with Tristan has made me far more sympathetic to the werewolf community than probably anyone else present."
"And being Anna-Sophie's godmother I'm sure has nothing to do with that either," Lyra added with a faint smirk.
All those in attendance assumed that would be the end of the topic, but Dracula was still trying to wrap his head around why his betrothed would turn to the werewolves in the first place.
"But that still doesn't explain..."
"What?"
"What do you mean you can't?"
"Frankie can't have sex with vampires. Too risky," Rémy explained rather mercilessly, pretending to ignore but fully enjoying the look of death that Lyra was sending him.
"Why?" Dracula asked, visibly offended by the suggestion.
He could see the humiliation in Frankie's eyes, and he would have saved this conversation for another time, but he had to know...
"Because vampires can't keep their bloody fangs to themselves," Frankie sighed a little impatiently, and she squeezed the bridge between her eyes with two fingers as if to dispel a sudden ache in her head. "Now can we PLEASE discuss my present lack of a sex life later?" she then shot, voice shaking a little. "This Vittoro is going to kidnap Anna-Sophie and deliver her to Augustine and when Isabella finds out her daughter was stolen, she and the other wolves are going to declare war on the whole of our kind and they will kill anything and anyone that gets in their way! Never mind what that monster is capable of doing when he gets his hands on an innocent girl."
The blunt truth seemed to bring everyone to order, though Dracula continued to struggle in suppressing the images of Frankie in a lover's embrace with another man. It had already been burned into his brain like a branding iron. He could see her as clear as day – pale, naked limbs wrapped around the tanned flesh of another man, her knees bent and lifted up, allowing a faceless male to penetrate her deeper – hips rolling, spine arching.
An uncharacteristic rush of insecurity overcame his sense of confidence as he was abruptly possessed with a sudden need to mark the woman as his own. It took every solitary ounce of his self-mastery to stay put, to appear indifferent.
"So what should we do?" Danny asked as Frankie motioned to the hologram map on the table, zooming in on a three-dimensional replica of the South side.
"We need to warn Isabella and get Anna-Sophie to safety before Vittoro and his cadre does. I think we should go to the pack directly, offer to take Anna-Sophie and hide her for a while until the threat is neutralized and things are safe again. Isabella has endured so much in the last couple of decades. I don't think she could bear to lose her daughter – especially to Augustine."
"Isabella will never let us take Anna-Sophie," Rémy replied. "She loves that girl more than life itself and never lets her out of her sight."
"She won't have a choice. If the child stays, the risk of her being taken increases exponentially – especially with the new moon – and if Isabella leaves with the child, the assassins will surely follow. It will take some hefty persuasion, for sure, but she will cede... she has to."
"And if she doesn't?" Dracula asked.
Frankie met his gaze and in that moment, he could deny his feelings no longer. The pull he felt when it came to this woman was strong, potent, and damn near impossible to resist.
How he was even managing to stay his distance in that instant, he'd never understand.
"She will listen to reason. She's a smart woman."
"I hope to God you're right," Rémy replied. "If the wolves declare war, Augustine won't have to flush the alliance out. We'll be dead before Christmas."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," was Frankie's answer. "So...any questions?"
"Just two," Vlad announced. "The first: where do you plan to stow the girl until things are safe again? And the second: who gets to take out Vittoro, because I want to help."
"We'll need somewhere safe – discrete. Somewhere off of Augustine's radar," Rémy explained. "I can take the princess and hide her at Carmen's until we find a more suitable place. Vesper can keep her company while we wait for the all-clear."
"I'll go with you," Danny offered.
"And I'll stay with Isabella," Lyra replied.
Frankie and Dracula immediately looked at one another for a brief moment before quickly looking away.
"I cannot believe this," the woman muttered under her breath.
"The two of you were able to capture Bartos and you weren't even at your full strength," Rémy explained with a cheeky smile. "Who else should take on Vittoro except for the dynamic duo?"
The two sent him identical looks.
"The dynamic what?" they said in unison.
"Rémy, that is the stupidest name..."
"I have to agree," Dracula added, a bit bewildered himself, though he had been secretly hoping to take on the mercenary with the woman. That would give them some time alone together. He wasn't entirely certain how he'd utilize that time, but a part of him didn't really care. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.
"Nobody knows the tunnels and sewers better than you do, Frank," Rémy insisted. "None of us could make it out of that labyrinth without you as a guide and if Vittoro is as good as we have come to believe, if he tries to make a break for it, he could try to lose you there. Besides, you hold an advantage. You see better in the dark than anyone here."
"Fine. Whatever, let's just get this over with," she interrupted, not wanting to waste any more time talking. "Gather some supplies and inform Carmen of the situation. I need to go change."
Rémy immediately went for the phone as Danny found a duffel bag and began to fill it with an assortment of items and weapons that were hidden away in a safe behind one of the bookcases.
As Frankie retreated to her bedroom, Dracula slipped away from the group to put himself in her path.
"So you sleep with dogs and play in sewers? Anything else I should know?" he teased in a low voice so no one would overhear. "If we're to work together, I think now would be the time to..." but she cut him off, lightly pushing him out of the way as she stalked down the hall. She knew what he was doing and she refused to be baited into another one of his games.
"Go fuck yourself," she snapped.
Making sure no one noticed, Dracula followed after her down the darkened hall and whispered, breath fanning her ear,
"Fuck me yourself, you coward."
Frankie whirled around and grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him against the nearest wall. She had been straining to keep herself in check since the moment he had arrived.
He wanted to play more games?
Fine – a little indulgence wouldn't hurt.
"Leinhart, listen and listen well. I don't know who told you that I desired your attentions, but allow me to make myself perfectly clear. I don't like you. I don't even trust you. So whatever this is," and she waved her hands between them, "it needs to stop. Do you understand, or must I prove myself in some other way?"
"Oh, I understand perfectly," he answered smoothly. She released him with a degree of roughness and then turned to enter her room when he called out to her, careful to keep his voice low enough so only she'd hear. "I understand that your pride and your cowardice will force you to continue in vehement denial of your desire; but take it from someone with experience. The body is a treacherous thing and it usually gets what it wants, one way or another."
"How dare you continue to presume that I..." but he interrupted her before she could finish, snatching her arm so he could pull her close to him.
"The passionate mind is a selfish thing. If not checked, it can become so fixated on what it wants, anything rational becomes merely background noise."
"My mind is not so singular," she insisted, though there was a wavering in her voice that suggested otherwise. His nearness was having its intended effect.
"Are you sure?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I'm as resilient as they come."
"Perhaps, but even you cannot deny..." and he leaned in a bit closer as if he planned to kiss her. Frankie made no attempt to retreat. He could sense the conflict in her, that flicker of uncertainty – torn between desire and discipline. Raising her hand to his lips, he tenderly brushed them against her knuckles. "There is a spark between us, Francesca. And it's white hot."
The sensation of his lips against her skin and her given name on his tongue sent a divine tremor through her sex and Frankie found herself paralyzed, wavering between crippling lust and utter outrage. Predictably, the latter won out as her pride awoke from its moment of stupefaction and she removed her hand from his hold.
"Fuck you," was all she could think to say, having hoped the words would be taken as a deterrent, but his self-satisfied smirk grew all the more smug.
"All in good time, dragă. All in good time."
Before things could get more out of hand, Frankie – mustering what sense she could – slapped him hard across the face as if that would somehow bring him to his senses before retreating into her room, slamming the door and effectively drawing the attention of the others. Dracula emerged from the darkened hall, cheek a bit flushed, but his smile still intact. The eyes of those in attendance all silently wondered what had caused Frankie to act thus, to which Vlad only replied,
"We are at last on the same page."