Part 2 Summary: Previously banished from the alliance at the behest of his intended, Dracula is relieved when he's invited to engage with the little band of revolutionaries once again. But an impromptu trip to France puts both his and Francesca's sense of discipline to the test. One drop of her blood could be his undoing, but his growing hunger for her is proving without limit.
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Part 2 – Claimed
"I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we."
– Nikita Gill, The Dance
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Early June, 2138 AD
It's just a dream, his subconscious reminded him. This is only a dream.
But Vladislaus Drăculea refused to listen to reason as he willed that more relentlessly logical part of his brain to be silent so he could enjoy the fantasy. It was a beautiful lie, one he beheld often. He would close his eyes at the end of a long evening to rest and the reality of the day would then slip away as he entered the realm of reveries.
It had been the same setting for the last handful of weeks, his imagination placing him in a dimly lit chamber of stone and ice within the very heart of the Carpathian Mountains, a dull aching homesickness settling in the center of his chest every time recognition overcame him. The room within the frozen fortress was littered with lit candles and stalactites of ivory wax, the flames still and bright as they illuminated the space, revealing a large bed lined in dark linens in the center. The sumptuous sheets concealed the nudity of his own body, along with that of the woman at his side.
Seeing that luxurious mass of dark mahogany hair always made that homesick feeling worse, a painful longing tightening behind his ribs, forcing a lump to catch in his throat.
It had been eight long months since he had seen her face in person, but nearly every morning when he closed his eyes to slumber, the vision of her always awaited him – her hair open and spread across the pillow in a mass of waves and delicate curls. They would lay side by side facing each other, silent and still for several long moments until he finally breathed her name. The syllables were often softly delivered in a single flow of uncharacteristic yearning, the utterance giving the nocturnal visions new life.
"Francesca."
She always smiled at the sound of her name in these imaginings of his, always reached for him to move closer, nestling her head against his naked chest so he could hold her. Usually the dreams took a more erotic turn right away, but as of late he found himself merely content in holding her – or at least dreaming that he was doing so.
"I miss you," he whispered into her hair, the confession having grown easier to utter as time had progressed. He bestowed a gentle kiss on the crown of her head and he felt her snuggle closer to him.
"I know," she said. "But it's not safe."
"It will never be safe for us," he answered. "That does not change what I feel."
"And what do you feel?" the dream-Frankie inquired, moving up a little so her face could be level with his.
"I feel stilted, as if the hands of time have ceased altogether, and though I am living, I am not alive."
"It's called being undead," she answered cheekily. "And when did you get so poetic?"
"If I am, it is you who has made me so," he said, his expression pensive as he studied the movement of her lips.
"Who ever heard of a sensitive dragon?"
Even the Francesca of his dreams was feisty, and while her teasing often amused him, it did little to fill the void in the center of his chest. He rested his brow against hers.
"There is more to me than you could possibly know, iubito," he insisted, a familiar somberness overcoming him. "What I say is the truth. I feel torn down the middle, as if some fraction of me still resides, but so much is with you."
"And every night that passes by takes more of you," she said, finishing his thought, lightly tracing the contours of his face with her finger. "I am sorry for your suffering. I just wanted to keep you safe."
"That should have been my choice. Not yours," was his reply, and though the words were spoken with tenderness and understanding, the chastisement in his tone was unmistakable.
"Do you blame me?"
Dracula thought on it, his fingers idly caressing unknown designs along her back.
"No. I've wanted to – many times, but I cannot."
"My poor Vladislaus," and she rested her hand on his cheek after tucking an errant lock of hair behind his ear. "I miss you, too."
She kissed him then and though it was but a dream, everything about her felt so real, visceral, and it momentarily soothed the ache in the heart he had oft denied for centuries. It took very little effort to fall into her, his arms wrapped around her naked form as the fingers of her left hand tangled in his hair. The palm of her right smoothed down the front of his chest in a slow, possessive sweep, as if she knew she owned him – something he still wasn't quite ready to admit to himself, but deep down he understood denial was futile. He was a man possessed and there was nothing he could do to stave the growing need in him to claim, to devour.
They continued to kiss – slow kisses, languid, deep, and without urgency, as if they had all the time in the world to savor one another.
Dracula would have happily stayed forever in the cruel fabrication of his dreams, but the universe had other plans as he was forcefully awoken by the agitating sound of his mobile phone ringing on his nightstand. With an irritated grumble, he awoke, reaching for the infernal device to find Antón Bernardini's name across the front of the screen. He considered sending the man straight to voicemail, but thought the better of it and answered.
"Yes, what is it?" he asked a little impatiently.
"Vladislaus, it appears I have woken you. My apologies. I had assumed you would still be up at this hour."
"I decided to take the evening off since my meeting with Elina had to be postponed."
"Was she able to find the rest of Mariella's journals in the palace? Specifically the one I told you about?"
"She's located them. They're in the archives."
"You sound surprised."
"I thought Marcus would have destroyed them – he doesn't seem the type to leave something that valuable just lying around..."
"They're more than likely protected by some sort of spell..."
"Lucky for us."
"So when can Elina retrieve them?"
"It will take time," Vlad said with a sigh. "Elina has already put herself in danger by agreeing to help us and her investigation into tracking those things down put her at risk on more than one occasion. I've instructed her to only make a move if she can do so safely. She may still sit on the council, but she does not need to be on Augustine's radar even more so than she already is."
"I understand," Antón conceded, though he didn't sound very enthused by the news. "Is there anything we can do to help her?"
"No," Dracula said with a sigh as he lied back down, staring up at the ceiling. "All we can do is be patient and wait; and in the meantime, the journals you already have will have to suffice."
"I've combed through most of them multiple times already, Vladislaus – the details of what Mariella saw when she made the prophecy in 1830 cannot be found in any of these volumes – at least in whole. There's merely fragments, references that will continue to be of no use to us until we get our hands on..."
"The one in Marcus' possession," Dracula finished, "I know. And I've told you already; I will have Elina acquire it when it is safe for her to do so and not a moment sooner. I understand the urgency and I appreciate your diligence in this, Antón, but there is nothing more that we can do. Even if she was somehow able to acquire this particular grimoire, it does not guarantee that we will be able to find a way to cure Francesca."
The silence on the other end of the line was poignant and Vlad could sense the ensuing question before Bernardini could even speak it.
"I take it you still haven't heard from her, then," the Italian clarified with soberness.
Dracula became aware of that familiar ache behind the ribs and for a brief instant, his brow furrowed in a flash of sadness. He quickly suppressed it, rubbing the lion brand on his chest absentmindedly.
"Not a word," he stated. There was no discernible emotion in his tone. "I did hear from Rémy again."
"Another 'solo mission?'"
"Something to that effect, yes."
"Is he still trying to bring you back into the fold?"
"Yes – although he's become a little less insistent these last few weeks."
Bernardini fell silent for a moment, as if carefully weighing the options.
"The next time he asks, you should say yes. You've been away for long enough."
"You know that is not..."
"Yes, I know you gave Miss Chase your word when you agreed to stay away, but it's been eight months, Vladislaus, and I know what your time apart has done to you."
"I'm fine."
"You may be functioning, old friend, but you are anything but fine. You haven't been yourself since that night."
Dracula said nothing on that point. He knew Bernardini was right but he refused to give the man the satisfaction of saying as much.
"Listen, Vladislaus – you have granted Miss Chase the space she requested. You understand the situation and her reasons for doing what she did. But even with all of that taken into consideration, that doesn't change the fact that the prophecy has not gone away, nor have your responsibilities to yourself and to your people. Hope is not completely lost – not yet. We will find a way around this, I am certain of it. But you can't linger in hiding like this any longer."
Dracula remained silent as he listened to his friend's familiar little tirade. He knew the Italian meant well, but that didn't make the truths he spoke any easier to swallow. Even if Rémy invited him back and he returned to join the revolution, there was a very strong chance that Frankie had already moved on without him.
Would he be able to live with that?
Could he accept and even prove supportive of however she had chosen to live her life – especially if it was without him?
There was no way he would be able to answer those questions right now.
"I will take your words under advisement," he said at last and though Bernardini said nothing in reply, he could sense his friend's mild irritation in the way he sighed.
"I suppose that is all I can ask for at present," Antón said eventually. "Am I still to expect you here in the evening?"
"Yes, of course. I'll be there."
"We shall continue this conversation at that time, then. Good day, Vladislaus."
"Goodnight," and with the flick of a switch, Dracula silenced his mobile phone and placed it back onto the nightstand.
It wasn't long until he slipped back into that blissful state of unconsciousness, returning to the dream of Francesca and her loving embrace, but instead of it soothing him as it had before, the understanding that this wasn't real and the Frankie he truly desired was anywhere but in his arms left him in a state of unbearable longing.
This is intolerable, he thought to himself, even as he slumbered, struggling to lose himself in the lie. But he eventually acknowledged that fantasy would never be enough for him – not really. What he desired above all was the real thing.
He ached to have the real Frankie willingly in his arms, kissing him, wanting him, loving him.
And even if his greatest wishes by some miracle came true, even if they could somehow overcome their differences and individual fears and reservations, the harsh reality of it all was that in the end, they could never be one – not completely. She could be his in heart and flesh with time, but never in blood or soul, and that harsh reality proved more painful than the entirety of her absence from his life.
----
Bernardini sighed when he heard the click of Dracula's line being disconnected. He placed the phone in his hand down on the table in front of him with a look of defeat.
"Well?"
"He's giving up," the Italian explained, turning around so he could meet the razor sharp gaze of his present guest – the bride of Lucifer herself. Lilith.
The redhead huffed her displeasure at the news, rolling her eyes a little exaggeratedly.
"This is outrageous!" she exclaimed, taking to pacing as she caressed the cloudy jewel of her choker necklace around her throat.
"Can you blame him?" Bernardini inquired patiently. "It's been almost a year since he's seen her and we're no closer to finding a way to undo what Augustine has done."
"He's waited longer for more trivial things," she pointed out.
"There was always hope in those instances, though. Something for him to hold on to, to look forward to, to drive him on. But in the matter of Miss Chase..."
"Things feel rather desperate, I know. But that's no excuse! This isn't like him to just roll over and give up!"
"He's been on his own for too long. Even the most introverted persons require social interaction on occasion, Lilith. He's isolating. He's without his children, his throne, and the woman he desires he's convinced he cannot have. To him, I'm sure it feels as though he has lost everything."
"He still has you."
"True, but I am a poor substitute for the companionship of Francesca de Chacier."
"Are you suggesting I pay him a visit, then? Offer him a distraction?"
She was teasing, of course, but still he replied without missing a beat,
"Heavens no," and he made his way over to the miniature wet-bar next to the door so he could pour himself a much needed drink. "You are the last person he'll want to see. No... if we can somehow influence Rémy Chase to reach out to him again, there may be a chance to pull Vladislaus out of this depression. He needs an occupation, something to take his mind off things – since you've denied him his usual vices," and he sent the demoness a pointed look. She only smiled.
"At the time, I believed it was for his own good."
"You keep telling yourself that, your majesty... if it makes you feel better," he answered charmingly. "But the point remains. At the end of the day, the decision to rise above his adversity is entirely in his hands."
Lilith released a long and beleaguered sigh.
"I hate this! I thought we'd be farther along by this point, that we'd have more clarity on the situation. We need that journal."
"I still don't understand why you can't go beyond the veil and ask Mariella yourself for the information we need," Bernardini pointed out.
"After what happened the last time I was in the company of your charming wife, I sincerely doubt I'll be granted access to her again any time soon."
"You're the one who tried to keep her from marking Vladislaus."
"I had my reasons."
"Yet you're helping now?"
"Temporarily... until it doesn't suit me anymore," she said with a wicked smile. "And then we'll return to normal, I promise."
"Somehow, I don't find that very comforting."
She shrugged.
"Not my problem," Lilith admitted nonchalantly. Bernardini studied the demoness for a moment, not entirely buying what she was selling.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with that rumored daughter of yours, would it?"
She noted the suspicious furrowing in his brow and rolled her eyes a bit, suddenly exasperated.
"What does it matter? I'm helping you now, aren't I? My motives for doing so really shouldn't matter to you if it means getting your precious sire and that chit together," the woman insisted, fingering the necklace around her throat absentmindedly. "This game is not yet over and the only thing set in stone is the past. The future remains unclear – prophecy or not."
"Perhaps, but don't forget that you'll only have my assistance in your search if you continue to help me in bringing together Vladislaus and Miss Chase," he reminded her.
"Yes, yes... I know. I have not forgotten our arrangement."
The Italian smiled charmingly at her, even as she helped herself to a drink while he began to idly thumb through one of Mariella's recently retrieved journals.
"How is Miss Chase?" he asked the demoness casually and Lilith rolled her eyes again.
"Just as miserable as he is – if not more so," she said with a sigh of pure boredom. "I don't understand what is wrong with those two. It doesn't matter how I influence them or their dreams... neither of them are willing to budge. They really are a bloody match made in heaven."
Bernardini laughed.
"Oh how little you understand humans."
"Your kind had been designed to be more beast than man – something that Vladislaus always excelled at until he met that infernally willful tart. I blame this brooding of his entirely on her. She's a bad influence."
"Why? Because despite everything, she's still in possession of her humanity?"
"Yes, exactly! And because of that, it's as if she's put this absurd notion into his head that he needs to be worthy of her, to be better for her. Utter ridiculousness. I thought Vladislaus had moved past the need for trifling emotions. I find his pining to be nothing short of pathetic, if not completely out of character."
"Age, experience, and loss will change a man, your majesty, and Vladislaus is no exception. He has been rather lonely for most of his immortal life – even with the company of his children."
"He never indicated as much."
"That's because you never bothered to look beyond the surface. Just because he's had countless lovers and has blatantly disregarded the conventions of morality doesn't make him incapable of real human connection. You weren't there that night in Venice after he and Miss Chase's paths had first crossed. Their encounter – however brief and inconsequential it may seem to you – it changed him."
"They danced a few dances, kissed once, and then she vanished into thin air. That still doesn't explain why he's falling over himself now. She's just a woman."
"Not to him."
"The Vladislaus you're describing is clearly not one I'm acquainted with."
"And I pity you the deprivation. I'll be the last to deny that he's done some very monstrous things in his time, but haven't we all in our prolonged existence? Despite our eternal thirst for blood and our general aversion to the light, we nosferatu are still human at our core – even with our more beastly natures. Which would explain why vivid dreams of sex is not what makes two people fall in love," and he looked at her with a pointed expression.
"Perhaps," she conceded, knowing he was right, though not taking kindly to him questioning her methods. "But I maintain that the tension it creates has some benefits in our favor."
"That is lust, your majesty – not love. Then again, I suppose I shouldn't expect the queen of Hell to know what love is."
Lilith's eyes narrowed a little in his direction, but she surprisingly did not chastise him for his impudence. He had hit the nail on the head once again – and though her pride loathed him for it, she was beginning to see why her favorite son of the devil had taken to this Italian as he had.
"So what am I to do? We need them together if things are to progress. The path ahead is still shrouded and I can't obtain clarity on the situation if the two of them don't start moving forward."
"There is nothing more we can do, other than wait for the opportune moment," he said with a dramatic exhale as he continued to peruse the pages of one of his wife's diaries in his hand, though his brows began to knit a little in a curious way that caught Lilith's attention.
"What is it?"
"That's strange. I hadn't noticed... I don't recall these drawings being here before," and he held the book out so she could see over his shoulder as he turned the pages. "Curious... it appears to be the same female in each one. And you see these markings? Here on her left arm. I don't know how I could have missed it..."
Lilith said nothing as Antón continued to examine the sketches, pausing when he turned to a page where Frankie, Augustine, and this mystery female all shared the same space. This particular drawing was far more detailed than the others, the two women in the picture joining hands and emanating what looked like a kind of light – given Mariella's shading of the scene. The figure with Augustine's face was bound in chains, appearing to cry out in pain as the nameless female gripped his throat.
In the corner of the page opposite was a sketch of some kind of rune of unknown origin, the word death written ominously underneath it.
"How odd that I never noticed this," he said after a spell of strangely tense silence. "What do you think it means?"
Bernardini turned to glance at Lilith and found her expression empty, jaw tight. Realizing he was looking at her, her hands dropped quickly to her side before she abruptly snatched the book from his grip, snapping it shut before tossing it back onto the table.
"These silly drawings won't help us," she insisted before turning to head in the direction of the hearth. "Stick to the plan. We don't have time for any deviations from the path now. I must go, but I will call on you again in the coming weeks; and I sincerely hope that Vladislaus proves a disappointment no longer by that time."
Then she walked directly into the fire.
The flames engulfed her immediately as if she were made of parchment, devouring her gown, hair, and then flesh until she disappeared altogether, leaving behind only the faintest stench of sulfur in her wake.
While Bernardini's nose instinctually curled in response to the smell, his expression remained that of grave suspicion.
This alliance with Lilith was certainly not ideal. There was much the woman clearly wasn't telling him, but her eagerness to help in curing Frankie of her blood condition so the prophecy could be fulfilled was something the man could not disregard. It was a precarious arrangement, one that he had chosen to keep to himself. He only hoped that he wouldn't come to regret this. Antón was already keeping so many secrets from his maker and closest friend – then again, what was one more?
But this woman Mariella had sketched repeatedly – and the drawing that had unnerved Lilith so. It made Bernardini curious, but as he reached for the tome, ready to study the pictures more closely, his phone rang, interrupting him.
"Hello?" he said after answering.
"Uncle? It's me."
"Jack... I was going to call you."
"Any word on getting Aunt Mariella's journal from Marcus?"
"Elina's working on it, but things in the palace are a bit uncertain for her at present."
Jack cursed softly on the other end of the line.
"What about Father? Have you heard from him?"
"He's not doing too well."
"I was afraid of that."
"Have you made contact with Francesca?"
"I have a meeting with her tonight. Still finalizing the details of her upcoming interview with Tempi. Zeke has to talk to Isabella first and explain the situation – he'll do that in a couple of hours. But once we have the okay from her, we'll more than likely have Francesca come down and do the interview there."
"That's good. We need to get her and your father in the same room together, and soon... but I'm glad you're still pursuing this. Her relationship with all of you can only help."
"I know. I just wish it was safer."
"As do I. Vladislaus would kill me if he found out I was encouraging the lot of you in this."
"Zeke says Augustine and the council are too preoccupied with the alliance to bother the wolves in the south district right now. We should be fine meeting on their turf. Just need the okay from the sister-in-law first."
Bernardini sighed in relief, smiling a little.
"I'm glad to hear it. Keep me posted on any new developments. After you meet with Francesca, let me know and I'll try to work on your father again."
"Will do."
"And give my love to your siblings."
"Of course."
"And Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"Please keep yourselves safe. I don't know how I'd face your father it if anything happened to any of you."
"You've seriously got to stop worrying, old man," Jack teased and though Bernardini laughed, there was a sorrow in his eyes.
"I know. But I've lost enough loved ones to last me several lifetimes. I don't want to lose anymore."
"We'll stay out of trouble. I promise."
"Thank you, my boy."