It took a few minutes for Frankie to come to and when she did, she found not one, but two concerned faces hovering over her, looking on expectantly. The more her state of consciousness returned, the more aware she became of the way her whole body seemed to ache. Stupid Francesca, she cursed to herself. Doing that on an empty stomach, you blithering idiot. Jesus H. Christ, my head...
"Dad, what happened?" she heard Anna-Sophie ask. "Is she ok?"
"I don't know," answered Ezekiel. "I did what she told me to, and she barely flinched; just sort of... passed out. Is she all right, sweetie? Can you hear her thoughts at all?"
"Yes," the girl said, starting to giggle. "She is complaining of a headache... and she's hungry."
Frankie blinked her eyes a couple of times in a feeble attempt to focus. She discovered Anna-Sophie awake and kneeling on the ground beside her father who was cradling Frankie's upper half in his arms.
"Are you all right?" he asked, the empty syringe still in his hand.
"I think so," Frankie muttered, accepting his assistance when he offered to help her to her feet.
She could feel her body healing itself of the usual aches and pains, but one discomfort in particular lingered as she smoothed out her blouse and fixed her lightly frizzing hair: she was still very hungry. Terribly so.
"You look dreadfully pale, Francesca. Are you sure you should be standing?"
"Yes, yes. I'll be fine," she insisted. "It'll pass, and more quickly if I get around and moving. Come on – let's get the two of you to Isabella. She's probably beside herself right about now."
"Are you going to stay with mom and me?" Anna-Sophie inquired excitedly, wrapping her arms around her father's waist. He placed an affectionate kiss on the top of her head before taking her hand and leading the way into the gaping hole in the floor.
"Yes, my sweet. For a little while, at least," he replied, motioning for Frankie to follow them.
"How are you feeling?" the woman eventually asked him as they made their way through the tunnel.
"A lot lighter, actually," was his response. "It feels like you removed a great amount of weight from my shoulders that I had no idea I was even carrying... It's a little strange, but certainly not unpleasant."
"You appear to have a newfound lightness in your step," she pointed out.
"I think part of that is owed to the woman a hundred yards or so up ahead," he said with a wink and brilliant smile, the likes of which Frankie had never seen before. The man looked besotted.
It didn't take them long to emerge from the gloomy passageway and into a cavernous opening – one that Frankie recognized as the lycan throne room. Isabella was seated at the far side of the hall, her knees drawn up as she hugged them to her chest, staring off into the distance. She appeared to have noticed their entrance out of the corner of her eye because she suddenly turned her head and stood.
"Anna-Sophie? Baby, is that you?" she called to the shadows.
Ezekiel immediately released the hand of his squirming daughter and watched as she bolted into her mother's open arms, the two females embracing almost violently, Isabella visibly overcome with relief. When the queen took note of Frankie in the distance, she whispered the words "thank you" over and over again like a prayer.
After sending a grateful expression in the woman's direction, Isabella's eyes swept toward the familiar, towering silhouette just a couple of feet behind Frankie and her eyes widened in astonishment. The female vampire remained quiet and still as she observed the reunion of Ezekiel and Isabella. The two moved toward one another and were in each other's arms within mere seconds. Silent tears of joy tumbled down the queen's cheeks as she touched her husband's face with almost timid fingers, as if a part of her couldn't believe he was standing before her.
Frankie had known the woman for a good many years and not once had she ever seen Isabella this happy. The werewolf queen had always appeared a little inexplicably melancholic in the past, as though she had been bearing a burden unknown to the rest of the world. But with Ezekiel in the room, her joy was consuming, nearly to the point of overwhelming her, and Frankie had the privilege of finally understanding why. She watched as the small family reunited, as they hugged and kissed and laughed.
Although the scene would have otherwise felt a little clichéd in any other instance, with Ezekiel's own memories fresh in the forefront of Frankie's mind, this reunion proved moving in a rather profound way and the woman soon became aware of an old, forgotten ache now swelling inside of her.
How she secretly desired such a reunion of her own. With whom, she couldn't be certain, but she longed for that feeling of peace and contentment, of belonging, of everything being right in the world – of finding home in someone else's arms.
Frankie chose to make her exit quietly, not wishing to intrude on the small family's happiness. A short time later, she emerged out of the tunnels and into the crisp, cool air of the afternoon. The rain hadn't let up, because of course it hadn't, but she didn't seem to mind. She was already resigned to the fact that she'd remain soaked through until she arrived back at her flat.
Absently turning off the recording device in her jacket pocket before pulling her collar closer to her neck, her thoughts were soon everywhere and nowhere all at once.
The things she had heard and discussed with Ezekiel weighed heavily on her conscience, but even more so were the memories of a particular encounter she had had only hours ago with a certain man.
Leinhart.
Why her thoughts turned to him she wasn't sure, but she was too tired to fight them off. She couldn't help but compare Ezekiel's description of his attraction to Isabella to her own attraction to Leinhart. And while she hadn't kissed him when they first met – or at all for that matter – she had always felt drawn to him in some bizarre, borderline-irrational way.
There was something as of yet indefinable about the man that made him appealing to her, alarmingly so, and the danger this attraction presented only made him all the more irresistible. For a brief moment as she walked, the clicking of her heeled boots her only companion, Frankie actually contemplated the idea of apologizing to him for what she had said.
But, like clockwork, the shame hit her – the memories of her past relationships, and not just with Tristan, but the others, the vampires especially – all disappointments, so many ending in catastrophe in the last century and a half in particular. She couldn't allow Leinhart to become another tragic statistic in her life. She had battled the prophecy for so long, anyway.
Perhaps Ezekiel was right. Maybe she needed to stop fighting the unavoidable.
She would end up with Dracula sooner or later.
Why torture herself by nurturing a relationship with Vlad Leinhart, one that would be doomed from the start?
The voice of reason in her head insisted that it just wasn't worth the risk. Besides, according to Ezekiel, Dracula was in Budapest. Where, nobody knew, but he was there which meant the inevitable could be right around the corner – and it would be cruel to both Vlad and herself if she allowed something further to bloom between them when it was all doomed to end in disappointment anyway.
An uneasy feeling settled in pit of Frankie's stomach as she continued to walk, oblivious to the time that passed and the lethargy that was gradually consuming her body. Cars eventually passed her on the street as she entered the more busy part of east side Budapest, though she barely noticed them as her feet continued to carry her along the familiar sidewalks. The only thing she noticed, besides her own thoughts, was the growing ache in her chest, just over her left breast. She slipped her hand behind the collar of her blouse, keenly aware of the soft dragon-shaped scar on her skin, and even with the persistent thoughts of Vlad Leinhart and their mutual attraction towards one another, the branded reminder on her flesh left her even more conflicted than before.
Noting a small acre of a park up ahead, she decided to stop for a couple of minutes to rest. The moment she sat down, however, she noticed a familiar car in the distance that was slowing as it moved ever closer. The sleek sports car carried none other than Danny, who eventually emerged from the vehicle, waving to her from the other side of the lawn from the parking lot.
He made this way over to her at a brisk pace.
Frankie sighed in relief, realizing that she wouldn't have to walk the rest of the way home, though Danny himself wasn't exactly the company she wished to keep at the moment. In truth, she wasn't up for much socializing in general right now, but she smiled nonetheless.
"What a chance. Carmen had just sent me to go looking for you not even twenty minutes ago, and here you are, almost home."
"Have you forgotten already what an excellent walker I am?" she teased, patting the bench, silently inviting him to sit beside her.
"I could never forget it, though I had figured you'd be pretty beat after the events of this morning. You didn't have to walk all the way back home, Frank," he replied with an almost chastising tone. "You could have called to have someone pick you up. Or just crashed with the wolves."
"I needed the walk."
"But the storm earlier..." he began.
"Was no bother at all," she assured him quickly. "Actually, it was rather refreshing. Besides, you know how much I love the rain."
"Yes. I know how much you love the rain... and walking in it." A playful glint appeared in his eyes. "And I see you're soaked through. I'm surprised at you, wearing cotton at this time of year. That material is like a sponge," and he waved his hand. "Come now – give me your jacket."
"What?"
"You're sopping wet and I'm not letting you get into my car with that jacket."
She actually rolled her eyes.
"Ah, so it's the car you're concerned about."
"You know that's not-" but she interrupted him, eager to dispel the growing awkwardness that came with his flustered expression.
"I'm only teasing. I know you mean well," she said softly, unbuttoning her coat.
"It's alright," he replied as she draped to sopping wet clothing over the back of the bench. "Here," and he stood, removing his own coat and holding it out for her. "Wear this."
"Danny, I couldn't."
"Please... I insist," he said in earnest. She finally looked up at him and noted how he was struggling to look away from her.
"What is it?"
"It's nothing; just please wear the coat."
She looked down at herself to see if there was something wrong when she realized how transparent the water had made her blouse. Her bra was clearly visible and the padding of the cups so thin, the soft peaks of her hardened nipples could be seen. Embarrassed on his behalf, she snatched the garment from his hand and quickly put it on, pulling it tightly around her before standing up.
"Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he insisted, running his fingers anxiously through his hair. "Let's just... get you home."
The rather short distance between the bench and the car seemed to stretch for eternity, but at last they made it when Danny suddenly realized he had forgotten to grab Frankie's discarded jacket. He sheepishly excused himself and turned back to fetch it just as his phone began to ring. With a single finger indicating that he'd be back soon, he departed, momentarily leaving Frankie to stand alone beside the locked vehicle.
While he was gone, she rummaged idly through the pockets of his jacket and was pleased to discover a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Although she needed a hot shower and some decent blood to feed on more than anything else, a smoke would give her something to do in the meantime, and lord knew how much she needed the distraction. Certain that Danny wouldn't mind, she removed one of the white sticks from its pack and placed it between her lips. Just as the flame consumed the butt of the cigarette, she noticed a familiar figure a couple of yards ahead of her.
Vlad Leinhart.
She groaned inwardly, cursing fate for this coincidental meeting while inhaling deep of the smoke as if the nicotine and menthol would help soothe her tattered nerves. They didn't. She half hoped the man would turn around and head in the opposite direction, but he didn't. He stayed his course, expression perfectly aloof.
"Miss Chase." He bowed his head to her after approaching.
Noticing that he had changed his clothes but was walking in the wrong direction – towards the supposed direction of his flat instead of away from it, Frankie couldn't help but wonder where exactly he was coming from, where he had gotten the clothes, whom he had been to see.
Instead of prying, however, she merely returned his salutation and said nothing more. Not that it mattered.
The man was too busy taking in her appearance and his eyes narrowed slightly when he noted the jacket she was wearing.
"Since when did you start wearing Danny's clothes?" was the first thing out of his mouth.
Frankie struggled to decipher some kind of hidden meaning, but his voice was so flat, she couldn't decide whether he had asked that out of jealousy, genuine curiosity, or simply to fill the dead air.
"I just got back from the south side and he was kind enough to offer me his coat, as mine was soaked through," she explained.
"I see."
She attempted to look deeper into his eyes, not knowing what it was exactly that she was searching for, but the lack of whatever it was left her strangely disappointed.
"And where are you heading at this hour?" she asked conversationally.
"I'm on my way home."
"You haven't been there already?"
"No. I stopped to visit a friend and he was kind enough to lend me an unsoiled suit."
"So the blood didn't wash out?"
"I didn't bother to try. Some stains are just not worth the effort."
"Maybe you should reconsider your methods," she offered, suspicious of a possible double meaning in his words. It wasn't hard to imagine how her refusal from earlier could have wounded him. "Not all soils react well to blunt or abrasive force. Some need patience and a good soak. Did you consider that?"
"No, I confess I did not," he answered, his features softening a fraction. "Though I'm intrigued as to why you feel it necessary to offer the advice."
Frankie almost smiled.
"I suppose out of pity."
His gaze narrowed, brows furrowing in evident disdain.
"I don't need your pity. In fact, I don't believe I require anything from you at all. Excuse me," and he stepped around her, clearly intent to get as far from her person as possible. Frankie tried to keep her mouth shut, begged herself not to engage further, to just shut up and let him walk away, but she couldn't help herself. She flicked the cigarette away from her and whirled around.
"That was certainly not the impression I got earlier this morning," she called out.
She half expected him to ignore her, to stay the course of his retreat, but was oddly relieved when he didn't. He stopped dead in his tracks, hands curling into tight fists before he turned on his heel and made it back to her in three impatient strides.
"You made your feelings on that impression abundantly clear. I have endured your negation, madam. I have no desire to subject myself to it again."
His words tasted of bitterness, and while it made her feel a little sorry for him, the evident longing in his expression – something he was so clearly trying to mask – made her step right back into the game, even after she had sworn to herself to stay out of it.
Stupid, selfish chit, her conscience nagged in the back of her head, but she ignored it.
"So it would appear Shakespeare got it wrong then. Women aren't fickle at all. 'Frailty, thy name is man.'"
"Miss Chase, I'm warning you..."
"Warn me all you like. I do not fear your wrath, even with your wounded pride. I regret being harsh with you this morning, and I am sorry for it, but trust me – it was for a good reason."
"This may come as a surprise to you, but I don't actually care about your reasons," he insisted. "Nor will I be the willing subject of your feeble attempts to assuage any guilt you may feel for being austere with me. I am tired of your indecisiveness. You've made your decision, so own it."
Frankie's eyes narrowed, but he remained seemingly unmoved by her pointed stare. He wasn't about to let her off the hook so easily, that much was apparent – and in a way, she could respect that. She needed to figure out what it was she wanted, and what was more, she needed to feel the effects of her actions. Where she had hoped for some form of easy reconciliation between them, he offered her no such prospect.
But to her eternal astonishment – and mild frustration – his rejection now pained her in ways she had not anticipated. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of revealing as much, however, she mustered what confidence she could, bowing her head to him in acquiescence.
"As you wish. Forgive me for even uttering a word on the matter. I will not detain you a moment longer," and she gave him her back.
Dracula sighed quietly in frustration as he felt his resolve to punish her weaken.
Why was she making this so bloody difficult?
He knew he should have just walked away, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Leaving things so unresolved was sure to drive him mad, but before he could continue in their conversation, Danny joined them, Frankie's soaked jacket draped over his arm.
"Ah, Vlad... nice to see you in one piece. You'll have to let Rémy and the rest of us know how last night went with that Invisible. We're all bloody envious of you, you know," he replied enthusiastically.
"There is nothing to be envious of," Dracula assured him evenly. "I'm surprised Miss Chase hasn't recounted the tale for you yet."
"She just got back from returning Anna-Sophie to Isabella, though I'm sure Rémy will want a full report from you, Frankie, when you've recovered."
"Recovered?" the man inquired, feebly attempting to keep the concern out of his voice.
Look who isn't so indifferent after all, the woman mused silently in private triumph.
"It's nothing to worry yourself about," Frankie insisted over her shoulder, glancing back at him. "I just need some rest, a long hot soak in the tub, and a vein."
Both men looked as though they were ready to offer their necks as tribute but she stopped them before they could even begin.
"And I am more than capable when it comes to taking care of myself; so Danny, if you would be so kind as to drive me home please – unless you intend to rescind your earlier offer?"
"Don't be absurd. Of course I can give you a ride home," and he opened the passenger door of the car, helping her inside before hustling over to the other side and climbing in, leaving Vlad to watch without so much as a word as the other man drove his betrothed away.
Frankie and Danny arrived at her apartment in no time at all, the former remaining utterly silent the entire way as the latter chatted up a storm, talking about the events of last evening and the assassins they had narrowly escaped and or killed. All the details were of little interest to the female who wanted nothing more than some peace and quiet. Danny tried to insist on escorting her upstairs to her flat, but one look from Frankie told him to stay put so he obeyed as she climbed out of the car. She thanked her brother's friend as graciously as she could for his assistance and gently declined his offers to stay and help her.
When there was nothing more for him to do, she was finally left alone.
The silence slowly sank in as Frankie stumbled through the apartment after shutting the door behind her, nearly blind with exhaustion. Her clothes seemed to sluff off of her as she made her way through the house, grabbing two bags of hemo on her way into the bathroom.
Lacking the patience for a bath, she turned on the shower and allowed the steam to fill up the dimly lit room before stepping carefully under the spray and sitting down on the slippery tile floor with her back to the wall. She relished in the feel of near-scalding water raining down on her, thawing out the cold of her undead flesh as she opened one of the blood bags she had brought into the shower with her and she lifted the end of the small tube up to her lips.
As the water washed away the filth and grime of the last twenty-four hours, the crimson she drank helped to replenish her strength, sating much of her hunger, though not entirely. What she found herself truly craving was the chance to sink her fangs into the flesh of another. It was a morbid fantasy, but certainly not an abnormal one. What was abnormal was her increasing desire for that other being to be Leinhart.
She sighed a little as her mind got lost in the fantasy - his strong arms pulling her into the hard line of his body. Feminine softness pressed against that wall of muscle. She could almost feel his fingers in her hair, fisting at the nape. Frankie conjured up recollections of what the man's throat looked like and she swallowed hard, licking her lips as a familiar ache pulsated and quivered in her belly and cunt.
What she wouldn't give to sink her teeth into the cord of his neck... or his chest, his wrist... or his inner thigh as she wrapped her fingers around his turgid...
"Ughh... why can't you make up your damn mind, Francesca?" she asked herself aloud, dispelling the fantasy and her bourgeoning lust with a groan. "It's either yes or no – can't you just pick one and commit?"
But she knew why.
When left alone to her own devices, it was usually easier to distract herself from the thoughts of her brother's friend; but when the man was before her, when she still had his scent in her nose, the task proved damn near impossible.
After finishing her shower, she made her way into her bedroom, the incessant buzzing of her vibrating mobile drawing her attention. Though she wanted more than anything to just ignore it, she decided against it when she noticed Carmen's number on the screen.
"Miss me already?" Frankie teased after picking up the phone.
"Just wanted to make sure you're still conscious," came Carmen's voice on the other end.
"Well, I was hoping not to be in a couple of minutes."
"Alright, I can take a hint," the woman chuckled.
"Wait, before you go... did Lyra ever come back?"
"No, she didn't, now that I think of it. Though she did text me before you showed up the first time, asking me to let her know when you got back. I'll have to call her."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Frankie warned after slipping into a nightgown, now crawling into her bed.
"Why not? You know how she is... she'll be a nervous wreck if I don't let her know you're okay."
"I could always let her know. I can take care of myself."
"Yes, but your version of 'okay' is often far from reality, my dear."
"Point taken."
"Honestly, Frank, you need to take better care of yourself. Danny was just telling me about the state he found you in."
"That traitor. And I do take care of myself! I took a shower, drank two pouches of blood – and not the cloned stuff – and now I'm attempting, with little success, mind you, to get some much needed rest."
"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it."
Frankie fell silent as Carmen lowered her voice.
"When was the last time you fed?"
"Fifteen minutes ago."
"No, I mean really fed? As in from an actual vein – human, dhampir, vampire – I don't really care which. Something fresh..."
It took her a moment to answer.
"Honestly?"
"Yes... honestly."
"From Rémy, when he woke me from stasis."
"Francesca Elisabeth de Chacier!"
"I'm sorry, alright! Its just... baby-steps, Carmen. I'm working up to it. Hell, I was lucky I could keep down what I just had."
"Yes, but you don't make regular feeding a priority, woman, and you should be."
"I can at least hold the cloned stuff down on a regular basis – human blood if I'm starving. It's not like I'm doing this to myself on purpose."
"You and I both know that cloned blood is crap. It does nothing for you, offers you no real nourishment, no strength. Animal blood would almost be more preferable. Regular human hemo is better, though quite honestly, I think you need the vein of dhampir or even another vampire if you ask me."
"Oh, and who do you think I should be feeding from, Carmen? Danny, perhaps? Oh, that would go over well..."
"It doesn't have to be anyone else you know. Just... I'm sorry I said anything."
Frankie released a reluctant sigh. "No, don't be. I'm glad you care... your timing is just really bad."
"Well, I'm sorry," Carmen chuckled on the other end. "So why don't you get some rest and I'll call Lyra and let her know you're alright."
"Alright. And Carmen?"
"Yes?"
"I wouldn't call her if I were you... just text her."
"Why?"
"Just... trust me on this one."
"But..."
"Seriously... knowing her, she's probably busy."
The woman finally put two and two together and Frankie could hear the epiphany happening on the other end of the phone as her friend muttered a curse under her breath.
"That lucky bitch. I swear, she gets more dick than the two of us combined."
"That's only because I've opted for celibacy and you're irrationally devoted to my brother, who has a girlfriend."
"Yeah, you don't need to remind me."
"Just pointing out the obvious, darling. It's what I do."
"Doesn't mean I enjoy hearing it. Can't you let me live in denial?"
"I wouldn't be a good friend if I did. Anyways, text Lyra to let her know I'm okay – don't call. Raul won't appreciate the interruption."
"Yes, your grace."
"And don't call me that."
"Does her majesty require anything else?" Carmen continued to tease.
"I'm hanging up now."
"I love you, darling."
"Good night," she huffed with a smile, hanging up the phone. After turning off the ringer, she tossed it aside before switching off the lights and rolling over to pull the heavy down comforter over her body, curling up into a ball underneath the soothing linens of her bed. It didn't take long until Frankie had fallen into a deep, undisturbed sleep.