Frankie did not return to Carmen's place for nearly two weeks after the events with the werewolves. Though she talked to her friends on the phone and received visits during the light hours whenever those closest to her could spare them, Frankie was unable to bring herself to actually go down to the new alliance headquarters and face the inevitable of running into Vlad. But after much persuading and many pleading video calls and rambling text messages from Vesper, Frankie eventually ceded and, after a while, started to visit more regularly again.
By the third week since the south side incident, she and Vlad were still avoiding one another, scarcely in each other's company for more than maybe ten seconds at a time.
Frankie usually took to hiding out in the back kitchen, organizing the expenses and paperwork for the new place while helping Vesper with her studies, or providing a listening ear to Lyra as the woman recounted her amorous encounters with Raul the werewolf. She had also hired on an alliance veteran, Damon Novák, as Carmen's new in-house help and security, which the Castilian female naturally fought at first, but was quick to appreciate.
Vlad, meanwhile, was usually off on assignment with Rémy and Danny, and when the men were at Carmen's, they were usually locked away in some remote corner of the establishment, the three of them planning raids, skirmishes, and other acts of open rebellion against Augustine's administration.
It was one particular evening, while Rémy and a few other alliance members were discussing the details of an upcoming demonstration out in the front room, that found Frankie, Carmen, and Lyra had congregated in the back with Vesper. The former two were listening as the redhead recounted the details of yet another tryst with her lycan lover, leaving the poor teenage dhampir to try and block the conversation out with headphones as she struggled to focus on her studies.
"The man is a fucking GOD!" Lyra exclaimed with a lusty sigh. "I swear, I've never felt so satisfied in the whole of my life. There's something fantastic about having sex with a werewolf... they're so insatiable, and that stamina! Honestly, Frankie, I don't know how you and Tristan were even able to function in public without just bursting from the withdrawals. And how you've gone this long without the sex in general is beyond me. I don't think I could ever give up Raul."
"If only I had a dollar for every time you said that," Frankie answered with temperate indifference, though the corner of her lips tugged upward in amusement. "Though since we're all repeating ourselves here, I remain thoroughly impressed that you've managed to keep going back to the same man for as long as you have. You're usually bored and on to your next victim after a month."
"What can I say? His imagination is limitless... and I never thought I'd be into knotting, but I'm totally into it."
"Jesus Christ on a bike, mention his dick one more time and I'm going to stab out my ear drums with this pencil," Vesper snapped from the corner of the room, and that was after making overly dramatic retching sounds.
Lyra and Carmen laughed at the girl's outburst, while Frankie looked on a little sympathetically.
"Try and focus on your lesson, V," she encouraged her, attempting to bite back a chuckle of her own.
"Kind of hard to do..." she began before Lyra murmured to Carmen,
"That's what she said."
"...when I have to listen to her go on and on and on about that werewolf and his goddamned penis," the teenager insisted with a glare at the redhead. "I may know how sex works, but that doesn't mean I want to hear your pornographic play-by-play," and then she shoved her wireless earbuds back into her ears.
"Vesper's right, Lyra, you really need to tone it down," Frankie noted.
"More than a bit," Carmen corrected as she poured herself another shot of blood-laced tequila. "I swear, I can barely read a romance novel in the company of others, let alone listening to you go on like this."
"It's not my fault I'm enjoying my sexuality while the rest of you nuns go on repressing yourselves."
"I'm betrothed to the son of the devil with known commitment issues," was Frankie's excuse.
"And I'm in love with an emotionally unavailable man who is seeing someone else," Carmen sighed.
"Who happens to be my brother."
"Whose taste in women is questionable at best. Honestly, ever since you kicked him out of your flat, he may be over here more, but so is Lily. I don't need that perfect woman with her perfect ass and her perfect tits constantly reminding me that she's getting what I can never have."
"And as sorry as I am for that, I'm just glad I don't have to listen to the two of them going at it at all hours of the day when I'm trying to sleep. That, and I don't miss having Leinhart under my roof like he was when you didn't have this place. There's something about that man that lingers even after he's gone," and she shivered a little, reaching for her glass of whiskey.
"I still hate my life," Carmen groaned.
"Well, at least you're not betrothed to Dracula."
The Spaniard shot up in her seat.
"Oh, I'd kill to be betrothed to that man if it meant getting some decent sex once in a while. At least he'd sleep with you, even if it was out of duty."
"Still... I'd rather be free to choose who I spend eternity with instead of being signed off to a man who undoubtedly screws every hole he sees." The other two women laughed.
"There's the Frankie we've missed!" Lyra exclaimed dramatically. "Go on, love. Tell us how you really feel."
"It's just... if we end up together, and that's a very big IF, the man is going to find out sooner or later that I'm not some possession that he can use whenever he feels like it," Francesca explained, "and given his reputation, that means he'll start wandering elsewhere. Which, you know, fine – he's more than welcome to do that, so long as I can take a lover as well. And if he tries to stop me, I will make his life hell, I grant you that."
"And who would you take as a lover?" Carmen inquired. "Danny would probably volunteer."
Frankie nearly choked on her whiskey as her two friends laughed at the obvious joke.
"Oh God, no. As much as I love him, it would feel like incest. He's a brother to me."
"I know whom she'd take as a lover," Lyra teased, lowering her voice and wiggling her eyebrows.
"Sadly not Tristan," Frankie insisted with a bit of a forlorned sigh. "The political implications alone would be enough to cause a scandal. And I'm not sure his majesty would appreciate me sharing my bed with a werewolf prince... or even an alpha."
"I say fuck what he thinks, but I hear you. I'd offer to share Raul, but I know from personal experience that you've never been very good at sharing," the redhead added with a lewd wink. "Of course, considering what the man has to offer, I'm not sure I'd be up for sharing either."
Frankie chuckled a little but offered no reply.
"Then if you wouldn't take Tristan back, who would you have?" Carmen wondered.
"I'm beginning to think Lyra here has someone already in mind. Go on, dear. We're all aquiver with anticipation," Frankie replied, and she straightened expectantly, taking on a false air of delicate keenness. "Who are you pimping me out to next in this fantasy world of yours?" and she waved her hand about in invitation like a royal would to a servant. Lyra's grin broadened then grew notably mischievous.
"Well, I was just thinking – who is Tristan to a certain vampire?"
Frankie was silent for a moment, struggling to understand Lyra's insinuation, but when it dawned on her who the woman was speaking of, her posture went ramrod straight, almost rigid, and she was now smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," was all she said, though her feigned ignorance proved horridly unconvincing.
Vesper had long abandoned her lessons and was now listening eagerly to the conversation, careful to be as silent as possible so the three older women wouldn't end the intriguing discussion.
"Oh, but I believe you do. Carmen, Frankie told you about her little encounter with Leinhart on their way back from lycan territory a few weeks back, didn't she?"
"Only that the two of them had another row, but that was all. Why? Did she leave out all the juicy bits again?"
"So many juicy bits that I am about to share with you now."
"Ooh! Gimme!"
"Lyra, I swear, if I didn't love you as much as I do..."
The redhead ignored Frankie's threat and leaned in close to Carmen, lowering her voice.
"It would appear Mr. Vlad Leinhart presented an opportunity for our dear Francesca to get some, and she almost said yes."
"WHAT?" Carmen nearly shouted. She immediately lowered her voice, though the passion in her every word was still very present. "Why on earth did you say no?"
"Okay, first of all, he didn't offer anything. We almost kissed – that was it. Secondly, I still don't entirely trust that man and he's a bit too dominant for my sense of comfort... especially given my present situation."
"Oh please... I think you actually like that about him," Lyra said with a laugh and Frankie blushed a little, though she denied nothing.
"Even if I did, his need for control poses a certain danger that both of you are fully aware of. I don't need more blood on my hands, ladies – especially the blood of another close friend of my brother's. No, everything about Leinhart is just... it's too risky."
"Have you tried telling him why it'd be risky?"
"No – because then I'd have to get into the rest of it and the last time I told someone I was betrothed to Dracula, he shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces."
"Still, this is Vlad Leinhart we're talking about," Carmen insisted. "Mr. Sex-On-Legs, himself. Risk or no risk, Frank, he's gorgeous."
"Beauty and some half-way decent equipment doesn't guarantee he even knows how to use it."
"You are terrible!" Lyra cackled gleefully.
"But it's true and you know it!"
"Well, I would still do him if the opportunity presented itself," Carmen maintained.
"What I'd pay to see is you turning that arrogant prick into a submissive puppy," the redhead added, still chuckling. "Carmen, can you even imagine?"
"We know she could do it."
"I'm woefully out of practice," Frankie insisted with a shy grin.
"Like that would make any difference. You forget, I've seen you in action," Lyra reminded her, wriggling her eyebrows. "The switch thing is hot."
"That was a long time ago."
"Well," her friend continued with a bit of a sigh, "despite you passing up on an opportunity to at least swap saliva with the man, after doing some research over the last couple of days, I do have to commend you for turning him down." This seemed to catch the attention of the other two women.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, one has to wonder: what is Vlad's history? How could a man that attractive and with such wealth and connections be so discrete, so under the radar? The fact of the matter is, ladies, the man does have a history; and though it cost me a pretty penny to uncover it, my sources tell me that there hasn't been a single woman – married or not – who hasn't been had by that man."
"Honestly, Lyra, I don't know where you get your information or why you even listen to such nonsense," Frankie laughed, not at all believing what she was hearing. "Leinhart may possess the air of a rake, but even I can't deny the sense of decorum he possesses. For all his talk, he still strikes me as extremely old-fashioned... a man with standards."
"But these weren't the cheap whores I had talked to, Frank. These were the expensive ones – the courtesans in the north district, the ones who usually remain hush-hush about their aristocratic and high-powered clientele. Though evidently he's been MIA from those sorts of circles for a while now, Leinhart is certainly a name well known up there. Almost as well-known as Dracula."
"But how could he afford a woman of that standing? I've interviewed several of them in the past and their rates aren't exactly affordable."
"Perhaps your Mr. Leinhart is better acquainted with the upper-crust of society than he lets on," Lyra offered. "Perhaps he still is. You yourself said that he had mentioned his prior association with the likes of Dracula and Augustine. It is my belief that his salary may have included certain... privileges? Who knows? Maybe he has a taste for the kind of pussy only good money can buy."
"Then someone explain Morene to me, because that still makes no sense!" Carmen said with a dark chuckle.
But Frankie remained silent, an uneasiness settling in her gut at Lyra's theory.
It wasn't even the insinuation of Leinhart working as a double agent for the council that made her uncomfortable; it was more the idea of him being with another woman that made her stomach churn. Rationally speaking, Frankie knew she should have been more concerned with the safety of her brother and her friends, and yet here she was, suddenly jealous because Leinhart had an all but confirmed sexual history. She tried to shake off the irrational jealousy, but a nefarious voice in the back of her mind whispered mine, and that brush of possessiveness had her balling her hands into tight fists, knuckles going white.
Fortunately, she was able to calm herself pretty quickly.
"I sincerely doubt the man is a double agent, as validating as that would be if it turned out to be true," the woman defended at last.
"But how can you be sure? And who is this mysterious friend he's always visiting?"
"It could be another woman – or man. I'm not one to judge," Carmen offered. "It's just... he hasn't done anything with Morene. But if it's not that, it could very well be linked to the council. For all we know, Frank, he could be working both sides of the board. You've been suspicious of him since day one – maybe your instincts were correct."
"If he wanted to turn my brother in, he would have done so ages ago, and he's proved his loyalty to the alliance on more than one occasion."
"I can't believe you're defending him!" Lyra proclaimed, utterly astounded.
"I'm not. I'm just delivering the facts."
"No, you're defending him. You're not letting his smooth talk get to you, are you?"
"Of course I'm not!" she exclaimed impatiently.
Her sudden outburst and the surprise of her friends had her quickly reining her temper back in as she took a deep breath before continuing.
"Look, my... feelings... whatever they may be, don't matter in the grand scheme of things because, as I have said multiple times in the past, I am done with men. I am finished with the drama and the risk and the heartache that always ensues. I know I shouldn't get emotionally involved, Lyra, but the fact of the matter is I can't help it. It's something that has become increasingly more difficult the older I've gotten. I used to be very good at the casual sex thing, but I will be the first to admit that – especially in the last two hundred years – I just haven't had it in me like I used to. I always end up emotionally involved and it always, always ends in catastrophe."
"I get that, Frank, but I also know you," Lyra insisted with great sympathy, reaching for one of the woman's hands to give a reassuring squeeze. "Prophecy or no prophecy, you can't keep ignoring your needs... or the needs of your demon. And I'm not just talking about the blood, girl. You and any kind of repression have never gotten along."
"It's not like I'm not perfectly adept at meeting my own needs," Frankie replied with an arched look. The redhead chuckled.
"And as hot as that is, bestie, you and I both know self-made orgasms aren't the same as the kind that are given by another."
"Amen to that," Carmen muttered with a bit of a sigh.
"Yes, well, right now I don't have any other options," Francesca maintained. "Besides, the point is even if I decided to toss my inhibitions to the wayside and throw my legs open to the next available man that walked by, Vlad Leinhart would be the last man on earth that I would ever-"
"Miss Chase?" a familiar voice suddenly interrupted from behind and the entire room whirled around to discover the man of the hour standing in the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face. The tension in the air was immediate and Vlad paused for a moment. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"
"No, it's quite alright," Frankie managed. "You weren't interrupting anything of importance anyway. Just idle gossip," and she send Lyra a pointed look. The redhead huffed in her seat as Frankie regained her composure. "Did you need something?"
"I was wondering if I could request a moment of your time. In private?" he asked cordially, motioning toward the hallway in which he stood, not an ounce of anything suggestive or untoward in his countenance. "It will only take a minute."
Frankie discretely took a breath to steady her nerves before making her way over to him.
"Of course."
"I need to go check on the guys up front to make sure everything is okay," Carmen added lamely, quickly getting up and excusing herself from the room.
Motioning for Francesca to lead the way, Dracula stood by and waited patiently for her to exit out into the hall. When the woman's back was finally turned, he returned his attention to the kitchen and sent Lyra a mildly threatening look before departing.
He didn't care much for that redhead, or for how close she and Frankie apparently were. From what he had been listening to for the last five minutes, she had unearthed something he would have preferred to keep private. He started berating himself silently for insisting to Bernardini that his new persona have a history. Had he known Lyra Kennedy to be so resourceful, he wouldn't have succumbed to his vanity.
Vladislaus followed Frankie to the end of the hall, farthest away from the commotion of the front room, and she stopped to lean against the wall beside the staircase that led to Carmen and Vesper's quarters, waiting for him to speak. When he didn't right away, she replied:
"So, to what do I owe the great honor and privilege of you requesting a moment of my time?" She chuckled, but there was little humor in the sound. "'Can we talk?' would have been sufficient. Honestly, you don't speak to anyone else this way."
"My usual excuse would be that some habits die hard, but I'm not entirely certain that that is even the case. I fear I possess no real explanation for you. I'll make an effort not to be so formal in the future," he jested in turn, bowing to her slightly.
While vaguely amused, her smile did not possess the radiance he had been aiming for. Her walls were clearly up. Disappointed, but by no means defeated, he cleared his throat and got to the point.
"I would have preferred to do this sooner, but I recognized that the two of us were busy with other things, and I wanted to allow the unpleasantness of a few weeks ago to subside. Although that wait has put a bit of a crunch on our timeline and I fear we can't put this off for much longer without appearing negligent."
"I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure of understanding you. To what are you referring?"
"You will recall my promise to Queen Isabella."
"Yes, the one where you said you'd retrieve Vivian, though I fail to see what your suicide mission has to do with me."
"Isabella had wished for you to assist me in retrieving her sister, you may recall, and although I am more than capable of doing the deed myself, I think it would be prudent to have an extra set of hands involved."
"So you have a plan?"
"Not really – I was hoping we could work on that together."
"So you need my help, then," she clarified with noted bluntness.
"No. I don't need your help."
"But you're asking for it all the same."
Dracula took a short breath to collect himself.
"I'm not asking for anything. I'm just... presenting an opportunity for you to assist, if it is what you desire to do. I wouldn't want you to feel obligated."
"Of course not."
Sensing that she was making this difficult on purpose, Dracula could feel his patience waning a little, which left his own resolve at appearing aloof and unfettered fraying a little at the seams.
"So what is your answer?" he asked as evenly as he could, but he failed to keep the eagerness out of his tone and he watched as something lit up behind her eyes – recognition. Like a shark, Frankie got a whiff of blood in the water, and it made her previously neutral expression sharpen a little with deviousness. The change lit the man's entire body on fire. In truth, standing in her presence right now while appearing calm and relatively indifferent had proven itself quite the task, and with that single look from her, his legendary resolve was already on the verge of cracking.
He had seen that look in her eyes before, but what was worse, it had made a regular occurrence in his dreams, and those dreams of her had only grown worse in their time apart – more detailed and more frequent in their occurrence. He could hardly hold her gaze now without recalling the vision of her orgasming beneath him in his head, the passionate sex, the way she wept his name in ecstasy in these dreams. She'd often beg him to hold her down over his knee at the start, and by the time he'd made her rump a nice shade of pink, her moaning and her wetness always had him on the verge of bursting.
And of course, thanks to that conversation he had just happened upon, he now had new fodder for his fantasies – images of the female with her fingers between her own legs making his cock twitch.
Would there ever be an end to this exquisite torture? To the yearning, the need, the lust...
Despite the complicated circumstances and the woman's own internal conflict, the attraction was still there and oh! The temptation to move in for a kiss...
"I'm still waiting for you to ask me," Frankie sang tauntingly, interrupting his private thoughts.
She crossed her legs carefully as she continued to lean up against the wall and his attention instantly diverted to the subtle motion, his gaze wandering over her thighs, down to her knees where the hem of her skirt hung idly, shadowing the soft skin of her legs. He swallowed, desperately fighting off the explicit fantasies that were now bombarding his consciousness.
He didn't want her seeking her own pleasure. He wanted to be the one to give it to her. Her pleasure was his and his alone to give, and oh, what he wouldn't sacrifice for the chance to touch those legs of hers, to rub his cheeks against the soft skin of her inner thighs, to drag his tongue deep between her...
"I'm not going to ask you," he said stubbornly, a barely discernible shake of his head the only indication of his internal distraction.
Frankie took a single step toward him, looking directly into his eyes, arms folded across her chest casually.
"It's not that difficult Mr. Leinhart," she goaded. "Just three simple words."
"Need I remind you that I don't require your help?"
"And yet, here we are."
"Would it kill you to not be difficult for five whole seconds?"
"And forgo the pleasure of watching you squirm? I'm afraid it's in my nature to be difficult."
And lord, did that usually dormant masochistic side of him love her for that.
Dracula could feel his resolve diminishing as she leaned in a bit closer, coy and attentive... She parted her lips, her soft, pink tongue peeking out as she unconsciously wet her lips – not exaggeratedly, but demurely. With just a hint of mischief to pull him in further. If asked, he would gladly surrender his immortal soul just to feel that tongue running along the underside of his...
"It's just three words," she continued. "Three syllables for that matter. The longest one has four letters in it."
He could think of a couple choice four-letter words at that moment and none of them had anything to do with the word help. But to save himself from any further humiliation, he relented.
"Will you help?"
She could have tortured him with a long, drawn out silence, but instead, she gave him her answer immediately, going from almost rogue-like to affable in barely half a second as she stopped encroaching on his space and took a step back. Dracula internally mourned the distance.
"Yes. I would love to help."
"Good," he said, sighing a little in relief – though definitely not for the reason she assumed. "Because we have less than a week to figure out how we're going to break into the palace, get into the dungeons undetected, free Vivian, and escape unscathed before anyone notices."
"I don't even get a thank you?"
The look she was giving him almost softened him... almost. But he clung to his control with a kind of desperation, sinking in his claws, refusing to betray himself. He couldn't risk her knowing what that look did to his insides, what power she had over him already.
"Miss Chase, I don't have time for manners. I would like to fulfill my obligation as soon as possible so I can move on with my life."
"Of course," and she rolled her eyes. "Very well. I'll need to get a hold of Rob and ask him to dig up the blueprints of the palace and then we'll have to map the easiest routes, come up with some kind of diversion..." As she rambled on, she had started to make her way towards the opposite end of the hall in the direction of the front room when she turned to look back at him. "Well? Are you coming? You said you wanted this done in less than a week. A full-on break in of the palace dungeons usually takes more than a few days to plan and you have your life to get back to."
He ignored her baited remark, making his way over to her, but the moment her back was turned, the most bemused grin appeared on his face. Mildly irritated as he was with how easily she had gotten him to formally ask her for support, he couldn't help but notice how fetching she looked with that determined expression on her face.
Dare he admit it? – He was actually looking forward to working with her again.
---
"So this is where you hide," Dracula noted as they entered Frankie's office.
"On occasion," she corrected absentmindedly, shuffling through the mail that had been left on her desk in her absence. "I'm not here all of the time, though if I'm not at home or at Carmen's, I'm usually here, I suppose."
"Isn't it dangerous – for a woman in your unique position to be in the north district?"
"I take the necessary precautions. And so long as Rob continues to run VNN, I have nothing to worry about."
"Good to know."
Their eyes met briefly before Frankie broke the contact and placed her shoulder bag down on the chair behind her desk. Dracula examined the room idly, well aware that she was watching him. Her office was decently sized, a large window looking out over the city just behind her desk and a very comfortable looking leather sofa, dark maroon in color, against the wall, ornate pillows and a mink fur throw draped over the back.
"Is it safe to assume you sleep here as well?" he inquired conversationally.
"Sometimes, if I have a lot to do and don't want to take my work home with me," she admitted, keeping an eye on him now as he continued his scrutiny. He walked over to the small wet bar in the corner of the room and examined the selection with a mischievous grin.
"Do you entertain guests often?"
His insinuation was not lost to her and she folded her arms across her chest, facing him fully now.
"Rarely," was the stoic answer.
"And do your guests sleep here with you?"
His implication was obvious, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking.
"I certainly don't see how that is any of your business – or relevant, for that matter. Now if you're done asking me personal questions and critiquing the state of my work space, could we please get to down to business?"
"How sturdy is your desk?" he wondered aloud with suggestive tones.
She almost laughed.
"Mr. Leinhart..."
"I was just curious. Wouldn't want it collapsing beneath us or anything," he teased. "But that's right. I had interrupted you earlier when you were in the middle of saying that I was the last man on earth you'd ever... well, now I suppose you never did finish that thought, though I can assume, given the context of the general conversation, that it had to do with sleeping with me."
"So you were eavesdropping."
"You really shouldn't believe everything Lyra Kennedy says."
"Why not? You yourself have boasted of your exploits."
"I rarely boast, and never in detail," he corrected.
"Fine, I will concede that you're not nearly as guilty of kissing and telling as some of the others are."
"As gratifying as it is to hear that I'm not the only one who likes to eavesdrop on occasion, I have to ask – do my stories intrigue you?"
She rolled her eyes. This man...
"I almost forgot how vain you are. Trust me, the last thing I would willingly do is listen to you wax poetic about your vast amounts of experience."
"You seem to have a lot of 'lasts' when it comes to me."
She shrugged.
"I think that speaks for itself."
"Yes. You must be saving the best for last."
Frankie actually laughed that time, shaking her head.
The man was incorrigible.
"Look at you, being so difficult to discourage all of a sudden."
"I'm not the kind of man who usually takes no for an answer," he explained, suddenly very close to her.
"That's not rapey at all," she commented, perfectly deadpan.
"Especially when that rejection is so clearly unwilling," he continued, ignoring her baited remark.
Deciding to be bold, Frankie dared to look straight into his eyes, appearing as unmoved by him as she could, given the situation. But the black of his pupils had already begun to bleed into the icy blue of his irises. Evidently he liked being as close to her as she did, though she hoped against hope her own eyes weren't betraying her.
"You are determined to make this as difficult as possible, aren't you?" she asked.
The man grinned, but didn't reply right away. He proceeded to take a seat on the opposite side of her desk, lounging back comfortably, clearly having no qualms in taking up the space... her space.
"If that's how you choose to look at it. You agreed to play this game, Miss Chase, and last I checked, it wasn't over."
"Really? I thought our previous encounter ended it pretty thoroughly."
The amusement in his expression never faded, though his gaze darkened a little.
"You wounded me some, but you irritated me more. Instead of taking your victory, you let your conscience get the better of you. Your sloppy attempt to patch things up was one thing, but then you avoid me entirely for weeks. Rather cowardly, if you ask me, but it also begs the question – why? Why go into hiding at all when you so clearly had the upper hand? And after such a pretty speech about how you weren't at all interested and nothing could ever take place between us?"
"I wasn't hiding..."
"Ah, but you were, which suggests to me that the result of our last encounter was not at all what you wanted... not really, anyway."
Frankie said nothing. In fact, her eyes had fallen to absentmindedly study the contents of her desk in idle distraction – anything to avoid looking him in the eye. She couldn't let him see the conflict inside of her. It would give him an edge. But he didn't need to hold her gaze to obtain that.
"You like me, don't you, Francesca?"
She refused to answer.
"You don't know why, but you do, and it makes you feel vulnerable. Makes the game more dangerous... because suddenly, you have something to lose."
Still she ignored him, but it didn't take supernaturally heightened senses for Vlad to pick up on the subtle shift in her expression, the change in her countenance.
"You should be more careful when you play games, dragă. I am very good at games." ( * )
"Are you?" she replied at last, feigning disinterestedness, though she continued to hang onto his every word.
"Yes. I always win."
Frankie suddenly got the strangest sense of déjà vu, like they had had this conversation before. She finally looked up at him.
"You've never played with me before. Not really."
The darkness in his eyes deepened along with his smile.
That man had no business possessing such a sinful looking mouth.
"Are you suggesting that the events of the last couple of months haven't counted?"
"I'm merely suggesting that I've been going easy on you, and I think it's safe to say you haven't exactly been giving it your all, either."
"Perhaps we should rectify that."
Her brows furrowed a little over eyes again.
There it was again... that crazy sense of déjà vu.
"I know you don't usually play these sort of games with strangers," he lilted suggestively, a knowing gleam in his eye, "but I think it's safe to say that come the end, we won't be strangers anymore."
Frankie eyes narrowed further in growing suspicion.
Where had she heard that before?
Had they had this conversation before? But when?
Vlad knew, of course.
He could still remember it: that dark alcove in Venice, the two of them tangled up in each other. He was leaning forward now, his eyes willing her to remember. But the longer they sat there in silence, the tension between them sweetening with every moment, the more he could sense that familiar conflict in her starting to well up.
She was fighting the pull between them again, infuriating woman. Why did she continue to insist on denying what she so clearly wanted?
Frankie could not even deny to herself that the prospect of being seduced by this man appealed to her tremendously, but the danger involved had her smashing her desire in a desperate attempt to keep it from taking root.
"As tempting as your offer is, I refused your advances for a reason – for your own safety, in fact." He scoffed a little at that, as if offended by the suggestion. "Although I'm not wholly against playing this game of dominance with you for the sheer purpose of teaching you a lesson, it would be prudent of you to reconsider," she continued, moving to the other side of the desk in front of the window as she began to unpack the bag she had brought in.
Yes, she thought to herself. Keep busy. Show disinterestedness. Maybe he'll back down. But, of course, the man did anything but.
"I could, but where's the fun in that?" His smile was pure devilment.
Ignoring his question, Frankie began to rummage with a few wires and plugs as Vlad considered her with open curiosity. Asking her for her help earlier this evening had been a bit of a challenge, but the small sacrifice to his ego had been more than worth it. For the next few days, he would get to spend almost all of his time with Francesca. Even better, they would be spending that time alone and undisturbed.
So he was the last man on earth she would ever sleep with? Well, he mused darkly, we'll see about that.
"Alright, what is the matter?" the woman suddenly asked him, interrupting his silent reverie.
"Beg your pardon?"
"You're staring at me. What fault have you discovered this time?"
"Only that you seem a bit tense, dragă."
Oh, he had no idea!
"I thought I told you not to call me that? And if I'm tense, it's no doubt your fault."
"You could always allow me to remedy that," and he straightened a little in his seat as if preparing to stand.
"That won't be necessary," she answered immediately, contradictory shots of panic and excitement working their way up her spine like an electrical current. "If you ever hope to put your hands on me again, you're going to have to earn the honor."
"So determined to play hard-to-get..."
"I'm not one of your north-district courtesans," she insisted, the faint hint of bitterness in her voice not lost to him. "It's going to take a lot more than money or this flirtatious banter of ours for me to even consider submitting to someone like you."
"I never once suggested that you were a harlot," he stated, watching her with increasing amusement as she slowly made her way around to his side of the desk. "As for you submitting... I don't know. You might find you enjoy it." The invisible tremor in her sex agreed and her knees nearly buckled in reply. It took every ounce of self-control to keep herself focused on the task at hand. "Of course, we both know that you have no room to judge me for my exploits – whatever you happen to think they are."
"You keep saying you've heard things about me, but you're never explicit. What do you think you know about my history?" she asked, taking his bait and turning to face him, leaning on the edge of the desk in front of him.
"Just whispers," Dracula admitted. "But I've heard enough to get a general idea."
Frankie's demure smile turned into a sneer.
"Poor Mr. Leinhart... trying so hard to catch up with the rest of the class, but still so woefully behind." She patted the side of his face mockingly.
"I normally don't opt to play the role of student, but I'd be happy to oblige if it means getting to know you better," he replied without missing a beat.
"What, and make it easy for you?" she teased. "I think not. It's far more entertaining to watch you struggle."
His expression narrowed a little.
"You do realize that your arrogance, while precious, can also be a little off-putting, right?"
"Only to the insecure."
"Oh come, now, dragă... play nice."
"Didn't I just tell you not to call me that?" she said, but his serpentine smile only grew more twisted.
"What's the matter? Did an old lover call you that once?" he inquired, enjoying the fire in her eyes as she glared at him. "Does the endearment make you uncomfortable?"
"No one has ever addressed me by that term," she admitted, but then her own countenance grew mischievous. "But Tristan used to call me his little minette." ( ** )
Dracula went visibly rigid in his seat at the mention of the werewolf's name. Unfortunately for him, Frankie noticed his reaction and upon discovering the exposed nerve, she chose to exploit it a bit. She slid off the edge of the desk so she could saunter over to the other side, lightly raking her nails along the surface of the smooth wood.
"He had a weakness for my claws on his skin," she explained in sultry tones. "On his scalp, along his back..."
Frankie stole a look at the man seated before her and she was pleased to find that his expression had darkened considerably. Vlad reeked of jealousy as he gripped the one of the arms of his chair tightly, his other hand balled into a fist as he struggled to keep his growing possessiveness in check. His pupils were blown.
"Little bites along his neck, a nip on his bottom lip," she whispered, slowly taking the back of her seat in both of her hands. "Pinpricks of pain to heighten the pleasure."
She purred the words with noted emphasis, her amusement becoming smug when Vlad then slowly rose from his seat, as if his mere height advantage would be enough to help him reclaim dominance – over her or the conversation, she hardly knew. But she took his movement as a sign of his weakness.
"You astonish me, sir," the woman continued. "You can criticize and tease me with the greatest of ease, and yet the mere thought of me with another man makes you green with envy?"
Not envy. Just anticipation, that dark voice rumbled in the back of his mind.
This little lioness was playing with fire. She had no idea how close he was to surrendering to temptation. So she had claws? Well, he had some of his own.
Desperate not to give her more of an upper hand than she already had, however, he schooled his passions with utter mastery, holding his needs on a short, tight leash. He would not be manipulated further by her – though the devil knew she could clearly pull good strings.
"It's your mode of speech which surprises me," he fibbed. "I've never heard you speak this way to anyone else before."
"Guess you should start eavesdropping more often," she answered archly. "Although I will concede that I tend to be more conscientious of the way I speak and to whom. A similarity between us, I think. The way you speak to me, for instance, is notably more unrestrained when I am your only audience."
That made him smile.
"Perhaps I'm rubbing off on you?"
"An unfortunate occurrence if that were the case, but a fantasy on your part."
"Maybe - but I've overheard a number of your conversations with the likes of Carmen and Lyra. While your tongue certainly loosens in their presence, you still speak in half-truths. You do not tell them everything."
The advantage was now his and for a brief moment Frankie almost lost her footing.
"How would you know that?" she asked him.
"Observation."
The two of them had been slowly circling the desk, but now Frankie had stopped walking entirely.
"You tell them most things but never the entire truth," he continued. "They have to force it out of you, or 'unearth' it, as Miss Kennedy has so aptly put it. It's kind of sad, don't you think, that while you claim to trust them, there is some part of you that so clearly does not? I can't help but wonder, Miss Chase, do you trust anyone at all? In entirety?"
"I keep nothing from my friends," she insisted, but the wavering of her voice shattered all hopes of deception.
This man had come to understand her far better than she had realized and it left her exposed in a way she had not anticipated.
"You and I both know that's not true," he said, speaking softly into her ear from behind. "You do not lie to your friends, but you do omit the truth more often than not."
"They discover it all in time as it is."
"Yes, but its either through prying it out of you or they acquire their information from some other outside source. It's rarely divulged with willingness. You walk around with this air of candidness and unbridled honesty, but it's all a façade, isn't it? You thrive in deception."
"No I don't."
"Deny it all you want, but your actions speak for you."
"I may not volunteer every aspect of my life, but that does not make me a liar."
"You lie to your friends, your family, to me..." He leaned in a little closer, careful not to touch her, but the air of his words spread along the skin of her ear and the side of her neck, inciting shivers that ran along her spine. "And, more importantly – you lie to yourself. Always toeing the line ... to play or not to play? Honesty or denial? Desire or disdain? Submission or mastery? I wonder which will finally win out in the end." The tip of his nose brushed against the lobe of her ear and her whole body visibly quivered.
Before she could respond to his whispers and seduction, he distanced himself from her suddenly, returning to his seat at the other end of the desk, leaning against the armrest. The absence of his heat and tangential power almost left her whimpering in protest. She managed to stifle it before it could slip out.
"Shall we begin?"
It took her a second or two longer than she would have preferred to snap herself out of the stupor he had left her in.
When she did finally return to her senses, Frankie was silent as she moved to her side of the desk to finish setting up the fiber-optic hologram of the palace blueprints and surrounding area. For the next several hours, they reviewed every inch of the northern territory, examining three-dimensional charts and diagrams of buildings, streets, sewers, and long-abandoned catacombs and passageways. It took Frankie a while to temporarily let go of the man's earlier examinations, but when she was able to compartmentalize it away, it made working with him much easier.
The evening was spent productively, and while they still teased one another on occasion, both were careful to keep it from getting too out of hand.
After her plotting session with the man was over, however, and Frankie was finally left to the solitary confinement of her thoughts, she found herself compelled to privately acknowledge that the man, as infuriating as he was, had been in the right with his earlier observations regarding her trust issues. There wasn't a single person she could think of whom she trusted in entirety – not Carmen or Lyra or Uncle Armand or even her maker. And what was worse, he was also right in his assertion that she not only lied to the people she loved – usually to spare them, she quickly defended – but she also was in the habit of lying to herself.
Suddenly the burden of carrying so many secrets by herself became very real to her and she was forced to ask the question – why?
Why didn't she trust her friends?
Why couldn't she speak openly regarding her feelings, her inner conflicts?
What was she so afraid of?
It reminded her of her conversation with Ezekiel a few weeks prior when he had accused her of almost the same thing – never speaking to anyone of the prophecy, of her role in it, how it all made her feel.
Lyra and Carmen were very much acquainted with the details of her past already – Lyra knowing the most out of the two. Her brother understood a great deal as well because he had been there for a lot of it, and there were a small handful of others who had as well. Frankie had never really felt like she had to explain herself to anyone before – because everyone always seemed to know enough; and when they didn't, they either remained uncomplaining in their ignorance or they just never cared enough to press further.
After centuries of denial, Vlad had managed to force Frankie to acknowledge that she had never had anyone she could bear the entirety of her soul to. She could share someof her dreams and experiences and secrets with others, but never the whole of them – even more so now since her return from stasis. And this realization left her feeling horribly and unequivocally isolated and alone in her struggles. But what was more, it left her craving something different, someone she could be that vulnerable with, someone she could trust, someone who could accept all that she was – even the monster inside of her.
But did such a person even exist? Doubtful.
There was some small part of the woman that resented Vlad for being the person to discover this longing in her first, but there was also some piece of her as well that was grateful for his candor. She had always expected the man to be observant, but to know that he was watching her, that he was making an effort to understand her, that in many ways he did understand her – it was flattering, yes, but equally unnerving.
Yet still, the question still remained: what was to be done?
She couldn't tell Carmen or even Lyra of her softening feelings for Dracula, or worse, what she was currently feeling towards her brother's best friend; not without inciting panic or interference. She could barely describe the magnetic pull she felt towards Vlad herself, that simmering passion, the madness, the desire.
The dilemma tormented her for the remainder of the dark hours until she returned home to her empty flat, exhausted from all the planning and the vexatious thoughts that wouldn't give her a moment's peace. Skipping her routine mug of blood and a shower, she went straight to bed in hopes of being able to sleep off her anxiety. She dozed eventually, but the disconcerting visions that ensued permitted very little rest.
----
Frankie dreamt that she was standing in a dimly lit room before a great fire, a cool breeze gliding about the chamber through an open, yet unseen window, the air caressing her. She became aware of the familiar presence of an old lover, his comforting heat radiating from his body as he drew near from behind, whispering her name.
"Tristan," she called in return, never turning to look at him for fear that if she did, he would somehow vanish. "Stay with me," she pleaded in hushed tones. "Stay..."
As the words left her lips, she felt his hands rest on her shoulders, his nose soon in her hair, the front of his body lightly brushing against her back.
"Frankie," he purred, the soft flesh of his mouth caressing the lobe of her ear as his hands slowly pushed the sleeves of her nightgown down her arms, exposing more of her skin to the warm glow of the flames before them. She willingly leaned back into the hard line of his body, moving her head to one side as his lips fell over her neck in lingering, open-mouthed kisses.
"Frankie... my Frankie..."
One of his large hands moved from her arm to a breast, squeezing the mound lightly as his other hand boldly slid between her legs. His touch inspired a familiar passion in her that she had missed terribly, and as he continued to suckle her neck, she lifted one of her hands to touch his face as the other joined him at the juncture separating her thighs, urging him to touch more, to take.
"Do you still want me?" he asked her, voice a low, vibrating rumble as he nibbled her ear, a sharpened canine snagging on the soft lobe and she whimpered.
"Yes... yes, you know I do."
"Then why are you dreaming about me?" someone else inquired, having taken the place of the werewolf.
Frankie looked down to find that her lover's hands had vanished and in their place were the hands of another. Looking back to see whom this newcomer was, she was astonished to find herself not in Tristan's arms, but in that of Vlad Leinhart, his icy blue eyes sending a delicious shiver down her spine. The tiniest part of her almost pulled away from him, but his expression was one of dominance and fierce desire. It quelled any intentions she had held previously to retreat.
She whispered his name in bewilderment, fingers reaching to brush against his cheek, but then she felt the hand at her cunt press up from beneath her shift, his middle and index fingers slipping between her hairless folds, caressing against her aching clit. Frankie's hips bucked in response, the softness of her ass pressing into the hardness of his cock. He was like a velvet-covered rod of steel, his erection teasing her cheeks apart, stroking her cleft.
His fingers began to move in a decisive circle over the pearled heart of her pleasure, drawing up the slick leaking from her opening to make the progress of his ministrations easier, the pressure of his touch stimulating her. She reached up to grip his head to keep from falling to the floor, her back pressed against his muscled front.
"You want me, don't you dragă," he groaned softly into her ear, graveled lust in his timbre. A statement of fact; no hint of question. "I know you do. You want me as much as I do you... say it for me, iubito. Say the words." ( *** )
Try as she might to speak, the only sounds that left Frankie's mouth were moans and whimpers of unadulterated pleasure as her arousal deepened and his attentions intensified. The more pronounced her excitement became, the more wild the fire in the hearth before them grew until the blaze reached the ends of her gown.
The flames began to destroy her raiment, and yet the heat never burned her skin. Her breathing grew more shallow and frantic, that delicious coil in her womb tightening until it was nearly unbearable. Her hips danced, body undulating against him, seeking more friction, a release from the delicious pressure he was nurturing inside her tightly wound body.
But the relief never came.
He only continued to wind her up tighter, drawing her up higher, working her with his masterful fingers, always pausing before she could finish. Before she could come down too far, he would start up again, urging her to say aloud what she had been fervently denying from the very beginning.
"Say you want me," he commanded after a while, continuing to edge her. Her upper half was twisted so she could look at his face as he touched her, his lips hovering over hers in a breathless desire, but never touching. Already she was lost in the flaming azure of his glowing eyes. "Say the words and I'll let you come."
For what felt like an eternity, his fingers continued their torment – stopping and starting their deliciously cruel dance over her clit. She hated him for teasing her body like this, hated him and adored him in equal measure.
"Please," she begged, resting on the cusp of oblivion as the fire began to consume them both. She was swimming in a swirl of scorching heat and promises of ecstasy and when the tip of his tongue lightly caressed her breathless lips, she lifted her head to kiss him but he pulled away tauntingly.
"Say you want me, iubito, and I'll give you what you want... what you need."
Though a part of Frankie knew this was a dream, she was still hesitant to acknowledge the truth. Admission would make it real and if it became real, there would be no going back. But everything about him felt so good and so right and she so desperately wanted a release from this divine torment.
His fingers continued in their ministrations constantly, over and over, edging her until she was near frenzy, begging him with inarticulate moans for completion. It was the most exquisite torture, and she loved it, loved how well he played the instrument of her body, loved it and craved more.
At last, her resolve shattered when he stopped again, her entire body so taut, it was borderline painful.
"I want you," she cried, finally submitting, gaze pleading. "I want you so much, it frightens me. It hurts, Vlad... God, it hurts so much."
At the utterance of her confession, he stilled, smiling sympathetically. His free hand cradled the base of her skull as he lightly tugged the roots of her unsinged hair, pulling her head back some so she could continue to look up into his eyes as he turned her around to face him fully.
"Don't be afraid, Francesca," he said with a tenderness that was foreign to her, and yet it seemed so natural of him. "Don't be afraid. I've got you."
His mouth then ground into hers, and she became aware of his fingers moving again. Her limbs felt heavy as she struggled to wrap her arms around his neck, nearing the precipice with every kiss and touch he offered her. The pleasure and strange sense of liberty she found in his arms was so great and so consuming, it wasn't long until release crested within her.
With a broken cry, she suddenly awoke with a start, abruptly torn out of the erotic fantasy and mercilessly dunked face first into the ice cold waters of reality.
The feral dream had ended and the lustful images vanished before her waking eyes as she was met with the darkness of her empty bedroom. Though fully aware that none of it had been real, her flesh burned and sex ached, swollen and dripping. For the next hour she lied wide awake in her bed, haunted by the accredited thoughts and longings she had struggled for so long to bury.
----
( * ) Dragă translates to honey, dear, or darling in Romanian
( ** ) Minette translates to kitten in French, which is a reference to Francesca's familial association with lions
( *** ) Iubito translates to beloved in Romanian