Dracula silently did the math in his head to a Baroque violin concerto in the front passenger seat of a nondescript black sedan. They had left Budapest around nine in the evening, and according to Carmen before their departure, it was an eleven-hour drive; or less if Francesca's speeding went unnoticed by any on-duty highway patrol.
The journey out of Budapest had been the most eventful, with Rémy still struggling against not only the aftereffects of the Spider's poison, but also the temporary bond Carmen's blood had created. Vlad had found himself grateful for the distraction of trying to soothe his friend with the help of young Vesper, leaving Miss Chase to navigate the claustrophobic underground tunnels of the south side before they emerged into the open air several miles outside of the city borders. Had he been forced to witness the way in which she had weaved through those winding passageways in blinding darkness, and all without scraping the side of their car against the walls, his anxiety would have shot through the roof.
But when they were free of Budapest and all of the troubles it held, things naturally began to calm down and within no time, Rémy had surrendered to exhaustion, falling unconscious in the back of the car.
That left Vesper to carry the bulk of the conversation for the next several hours. The girl talked unceasingly, scarcely pausing for breath. He had been grateful when Francesca had opted to turn on some music to break up the sound of the dhampir's chatter, and even more appreciative when she did most of the responding whenever the teenager required an answer.
Even with the stresses of the start of the evening still fresh in his mind, there was a strange kind of solace to be found in the front seat of that car with Frankie at the wheel. He had listened to the females' conversation for a time before his attention wandered to the darkened views outside his window. He silently reviewed the details of the last few hours over and over again in his head; in particular, the emergence of Francesca's inner demon and all that it implied.
Despite the brief moment of intimacy they had shared in Bernardini's guest shower, Dracula found it impossible to banish what he had seen in the woman's mind when he had pulled her out of her blood-rage. Outside of the exchange she had once had with his elder brother, the rest had only been flashes of memory, mainly darkness and strong bursts of horror and an insatiable anger. What she had endured in the name of Mariella's prophecy left Vlad's stomach to turn, but the true extent of her trauma is what haunted him most.
He was inclined to recall the earlier parts of their acquaintance, how different she had been at the start – her unsociable demeanor and general detachment and disassociation, the exhaustion in her features, the invisible weight she had carried on her shoulders. Initially, he had assumed that much of her earlier state had had to do with her malnutrition and the lingering depression that accompanied the series of consecutive losses she had borne.
While those events may have been the most immediate cause of her previous distress, the man couldn't seem to shake the suspicion that the impact of those incidents had only been exacerbated due to their connection with the invisible wounds she continued to sustain from her time as Augustine's prisoner. It was the only thing that made sense in his mind.
The poison in her veins, the blood-rage, her broken relationship with the lycan prince – a man she clearly had loved a great deal – and then her general refusal to entertain even the suggestion of a romantic rapport with one of her own kind... all roads led back to Marcus Augustine.
A quiet fury boiled beneath the surface as Vladislaus stared absently out the window.
The darkness of the early morning, the quiet serenity of the beautiful mountain vistas of northern Italy – it offered him very little reprieve.
His elder brother had been clever in his revenge; Dracula had to give the villain credit where credit was due. When Augustine had promised him a reckoning all those years ago, Vlad never could have imagined the man would have been so thorough. He had grossly underestimated Marcus' fury. Those close to the Dracul family all knew – at least in part – of Mariella's visions concerning the future queen of the dragon, though the woman's identity had remained unknown to all.
Vlad's stomach curled as the guilt sent a wave of nausea through him. If he had known the undying bride of Mariella's prophecies had been the woman from Venice, if he had known that she had been Francesca, he would have taken the witch's predictions more seriously. He would have renewed his search for her, doubled his efforts... anything to keep her out of danger and at his side. But he hadn't known, and because of his ignorance and indifference, she had suffered needlessly because of him and the ripple effects of his inaction now proved seemingly endless.
He couldn't help but wonder how much could have been prevented had Francesca been in his life sooner. How different would his world be? Would his children still be alive, or would his people still be suffering under the rule of a tyrant with nothing to live for outside of his own hatred and further need for revenge?
Perhaps it was foolish to imagine a world different from the one he now inhabited, but Vladislaus could not resist the temptation as he glanced over at the female seated beside him; this strong, beautiful creature that had been punished because of his negligence; this silent warrior who endured the weight of so much with the grace and dignity befitting of the queen she was destined to be. Nothing Francesca had done in her life, no crime she could have ever committed warranted the torment she had withstood at Augustine's hand. To have been tortured so thoroughly, to have endured the debasement, the violation of her person, her soul, her freedom... it was devastating.
"Are you all right?"
Vladislaus was pulled abruptly out of his private thoughts at the sound of Francesca's query and he turned more fully to look at her, noting suddenly that Vesper was now snoring in the back seat of the car, head propped up against an unconscious Rémy who was still sleeping soundly. He then glanced back outside his window for a moment, no longer recognizing where they were, having been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed the passage of time.
From what he could sense, dawn was fast approaching.
"Where are we?" he inquired.
"We just passed Milan about ten minutes ago," Frankie explained, eyes on the road ahead. "We have perhaps two more hours to go before we arrive. Less if I can help it. I'm hoping we won't have to travel during the daylight hours for very long."
Vlad found himself agreeing as he glanced with guarded wariness at the early morning sky through the darkly tinted windows of the vehicle.
While older vampires had an easier time maintaining consciousness during the daylight hours, that didn't mean it was always an easy task. The undead were creatures of the night for a reason, and it went beyond a sensitivity to the sun. That rest was one of the keys to their own longevity, a biological necessity like the consuming of blood. Staying fully alert, especially when the sun grew higher in the sky, would inherently become a more challenging task as the hours progressed.
"How fast have you been driving?" was his next question, offering her the very faintest of smirks. He noted the way in which the corner of her mouth twitched just slightly in response.
"Fast enough," was all she said, and then a comfortable silence fell between them.
The brief distraction from the mire of this thoughts was welcomed, yet despite the natural ease he enjoyed in Francesca's presence, he could not shake those feelings of anger and guilt which returned with the silence, now moving like a slow poison through his veins. It was like waking from a nightmare only to plunge back in the second one's eyes were closed again. His brow returned to its furrowed position over troubled eyes as he stared blankly ahead.
Frankie noticed the change in his countenance and she spoke up once more.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked again. "You look vexed... or anxious. I can't quite tell."
Her inquiry had him making a more concerted effort to appear neutral, but he found he could not. Vlad steadied his nerves before deciding to initiate a conversation he wasn't entirely certain he was even ready to have.
"I was thinking about what happened to you at the blood factory this evening," he answered truthfully, stealing a glance in her direction to catch her reaction. She appeared unmoved by this revelation and it made him curious. She must have known that he had been in her mind during the incident. She had to have sensed him there. Wasn't she at all curious as to what he had seen? He decided to test his luck. "When were you going to tell me?"
Frankie sighed, eyes still fixed on the road. She adjusted her grip on the wheel in front of her, fingers tightening just a little.
"I don't know," she admitted with some deliberation. "I haven't exactly been eager to have that conversation."
"I suppose I can't blame you..." and his voice trailed off as he began to study her profile. "If you wish to keep me further in the dark, I will, of course, respect your wishes. I have no desire to make you feel uncomfortable," he assured her. Frankie thought that would be end of it, but to her surprise he persisted. "But I... I still feel compelled to at least ask."
She took a slow, deep breath.
"What did you see?"
Vlad lowered his voice as to not disturb those slumbering in the back seat.
"Not much – only flashes of memory and feeling." He paused for a moment, trying to recall additional details that he may have overlooked. "You were in a dungeon, bound in chains. You had been tormented, violated. I could feel your terror, your fury, a growing darkness... some secret hell or hidden madness, I can't be certain. It was all incoherent images without context, save one scene."
Dracula's gaze fell away from her for a moment to stare blankly ahead, the conversation between Augustine and Francesca and all that had followed harrowing.
"I saw Marcus," he continued, voice so low now, it was almost a whisper. "I saw what he did to you..." He would have explained further, but he could scarcely speak the words allowed.
Fortunately, he didn't need to elaborate.
Frankie knew exactly of what he spoke and the faint shuddering breath that escaped her stood as confirmation.
"I suppose the fact that I even lasted as long as I did is something to be proud of," she replied. "Fewer souls could have endured what I did for nearly six months straight without surrendering to madness. But I am no stranger to such physical discomforts; and as a vampire, being generally impervious to pain certainly has its benefits. It's as I told you before a few days ago – when he realized I couldn't taste of true death, he chose to alter his tactics. What I failed to mention was that in my arrogance, I had mocked his attempts at breaking me, and in doing so had revealed my greatest weakness... the one thing I prized above all others."
"Your freedom."
She nodded but kept her eyes forward.
"My freedom," she confirmed, resting her left elbow against the closed window so she could prop her head up for a moment as she continued to drive. "And it was beyond just physical liberation. He knew that whether or not I believed in the prophecy surrounding my betrothal that the choice to submit to my intended, to be bound to him was still my own. It was the one card I had, the one thing that kept my autonomy intact, despite the circumstances of my situation... and he took that from me the moment he poisoned my veins and unleashed my blood-rage. Not only had he effectively broken me, he had ensured the perpetuation of my own suffering. The very essence that could strengthen the intimacy between myself and a lover, or at the very least bind me to my betrothed and seal Augustine's fate – instead, of giving life and pleasure, my blood is poison. Marcus didn't just take away my ability to choose whether or not I believed in the prophecies of a witch. He also doomed me to an existence of being this broken thing – barely salvageable, feared even by those who claim to love me."
Frankie stealthily flicked a tear from her cheek before returning her hand to the wheel in front of her.
"Do you remember how he managed to poison your blood?" Vlad asked, hoping that perhaps if they could identify what had caused the change, they could somehow reverse it.
"No," she answered with a sigh of resignation. "I was in and out of consciousness for most of it, and when I was coherent, the only thing I was aware of was a blinding pain and a breathtaking rage."
"When did your blood-rage first manifest itself?"
"It was gradual, but the night he had successfully ruined my blood was the first time I had lost complete control. Once he had declared me neutralized, I spent the next four years in and out of solitary confinement. I was only ever taken from my cell when he had enemies he wanted discarded of. Apparently watching me submit to the hunger as I slaughtered his adversaries was a source of amusement to him and his cronies."
"How did you escape?"
"Lyra was also one of his prisoners. She was human at the time and her reasons for being there were a mystery to everyone, save Augustine. He never visited her, no one ever touched her. She was kind to me when we happened to be in each other's company, but mostly she kept to herself. When I lost myself to blood-rage one evening, after feasting on the poor souls Augustine had brought me, I managed to break free of my chains. Nothing left that dungeon alive, except Marcus who managed to slip out as reinforcements were coming in to subdue me..."
Although her attention remained fixed ahead of her, Frankie's thoughts were wholly consumed in a different place and time as she relived the events of that fateful night in her mind.
She could still vividly recall the aftermath of her carnage. The walls and floor had been painted in her fury, stone and tile dressed in crimson, bodies and limbs hewn about, the instruments of torture which had been used on her own person now finding rest in the flesh of those that had once wielded them. The stench of death had been overwhelming; the decaying remains of several vampires that had met their ultimate destruction at her hand a grotesque sight.
Not a single soul – living or undead – survived the emergence of her inner demon, the severed bond between the hunger and its previous master. The break in her soul only seemed to worsen with each appearance of her dark passenger until it were as though she had been completely rent in twain as a result of her trauma; but there was one who had survived her wrath.
Lyra Kennedy.
"Lyra was still in her cell when I came to," she continued. "Unlike the other prisoners, she hadn't tried to escape, as if she knew doing so would put herself in my line of fire. So she had waited patiently for me to return to myself and when I did, we escaped together. Her blood is what kept me alive for the next several weeks as we made our way into the mountains, fending off Augustine's men in the interim."
"Were you the one to turn her?"
"Yes. I wasn't sure at the time if she'd survive the transition, let alone my blood, but we were still being hunted and we both knew that her heartbeat was making it easier for our tail of assassins to track us. We argued about it constantly, she insisting that death while free was preferable to wasting away in one of Marcus' cells. So I took a chance and, by some miracle, she survived the transition. She was the last person I was ever able to turn, however. Every other attempt after that ended in tragedy. I never could understand why she was the only one able to survive my blood, but I've learned not to question it."
"Is she still immune?" he asked, vainly hoping that perhaps Lyra's blood could be the key to curing the woman at his side, but she easily guessed his train of thought.
"No. My blood affects her the same way it does every other vampire now – new or ancient."
"So another inexplicable miracle, then?"
"I suppose so."
A tense silence lingered between them as their conversation naturally paused, giving Dracula a moment to digest all he had heard.
"This intended of yours," he began at last and with noted care, "I've noticed that you and even Rémy refuse to utter his name." She said nothing, but could easily guess his train of thought. "There is only one in all existence whom Marcus fears, or at the very least is wary enough of to bode respect. Am I to believe that you are betrothed to Dracula?"
Vlad tried to ask the question in a way that suggested that perhaps he was just now putting the pieces together, and surprisingly it worked. He could sense the change in the air surrounding the woman at his side, the way in which she straightened somewhat in her seat, absently rubbing the mark beneath her collarbone with her fingers as though the utterance of his name had sent it tingling.
She never made eye contact with him.
"Yes."
Vladislaus had to suppress the urge to smile at her concession.
"So that is why the lycan prince broke things off with you."
He couldn't help himself. The satisfaction of having her actually admit to their connection was unexpectedly gratifying. He knew gloating was the last thing he should be doing right now... but old habits and the like.
Frankie's expression proved difficult to read as she adjusted her grip on the wheel.
"Yes."
Her monosyllabic answers had him reining his ego back in, maintaining a more stoic expression in an effort to conceal his pleasure.
"Well, that certainly explains a lot." Frankie offered no response. "The other evening, you had mentioned that there came a time during your imprisonment, when Marcus stopped seeing you and began seeing someone else, as if he was using you as a proxy to hurt another – I presume Dracula." She only nodded. "Are they the same to you?" he then asked after several minutes. "Dracula and Augustine?"
He glanced over to find Frankie smirking somewhat, as if she were amused not by his query, but perhaps by the fact that he continued to keep up this façade of being someone other than who he was. He wondered why she hadn't called him out directly yet, but chose to remain quiet on the subject, intrigued by the way in which she continued to play along with him.
"They were for a long time," she admitted. "To own the truth, I used to despise Dracula only slightly less than Marcus Augustine. But over the last year or so, my opinion of the man has changed in a rather unexpected way."
"How so?"
"I'll readily admit that I don't know our king as well as I'd like. But I must confess, I've been spending the last year or so researching him, interviewing those who've claimed an acquaintance – but even with all my resource and efforts, he continues to elude me. While his closest friends insist that he isn't nearly as awful as his reputation suggests," and she sent him a side-long glance at this, the corners of her lips twitching into a mischievous curve, "I want to know for myself. Even if blood-binding is completely out of the question, he and I are still irrevocably bound by our shared fate. Besides, isn't the best way to learn the inner workings of an individual through personal experience and connection? I've always been a strong advocate of quality one-on-one time."
Dracula nodded his head in agreement as he moved his attention back to the road ahead, unable to resist the smile that was tugging at his own mouth now.
"Who exactly did you talk to? I wonder what sources specifically helped in altering your opinion of our king."
"I'm afraid I've been sworn to secrecy," she confessed before sending him a reassuring look. "Suffice it to say, there's been this assignment I've been working on since I came out of stasis last summer. It's put me in contact with a number of individuals that were reportedly close to his majesty's inner circle."
"Like Bernardini?"
"Yes, though not him specifically, oddly enough. He's been an unexpected bonus of sorts," she replied, piquing his curiosity. "I'm not at liberty to say, but I can tell you that the insights provided have proven invaluable. Because of my association with these people, it's allowed me to come to know the dragon in ways I hadn't been able to before."
"I'm intrigued," he admitted. "I hope you know that you are always more than welcome to ask me any questions you may have regarding our king," he added. "After all, I was in his service for centuries before he went into hibernation."
"I may take you up on that."
"Good. I'm relieved to hear that you don't wholly despise him. He has many enemies, as I'm sure you're aware. He could certainly benefit from having you as an ally."
She laughed.
"Believe me, I know how much people despise him. I've always found it fascinating how society at large loves to fixate on the negative aspects of a person's life. It's as if we hold others hostage to some higher standard than we do ourselves, ignoring the fact that they are indeed as fallible as we are, and then we have the gall to act surprised when they don't live up to our impossible expectations."
"I couldn't agree more."
"I suppose what I have trouble understanding is why Dracula would allow his reputation to get out of hand in the first place," and she glanced over at him expectantly. "For centuries, I only ever heard the tales of his cruelty, his dissolution and greed, his lust for power. And then to hear such different accounts from those closest to him which at times completely contradict the rumors and stories... I confess, it makes it difficult to know what to believe. Why would he refuse to counter the accusations laid at his door?"
"Dracula has never really given much credence to the opinions of others, especially where his own character is concerned," Vlad casually explained. "There were only ever a select few that he truly respected and their estimation him was all that mattered. The ignorant sentiments of the masses meant nothing. Yes, he's certainly made mistakes over the years, but nothing he doesn't take full responsibility for. If those who do not truly know him wish to pass judgment, that is their prerogative – though I've always believed that such judgments often say more about the accusers than the one being accused. At the end of the day, none of us owe the public anything when it comes to who we are or how we choose to live."
"I suppose. But consider – because he made no effort to refute any of it, for decades I was led to believe that he was something other than what he truly is. And I know I'm not the only one."
"And that's understandable, but just because you were never entitled to know the inner workings of the man doesn't excuse the fact that you still chose to pass an adverse judgment – not that I can entirely blame you for doing so. But still... seems a little unfair, don't you think? The two of you have both been placed in a very... peculiar situation with Mariella's prophecy. You aren't the only one who has been impacted by the betrothal."
Frankie's brow furrowed a little.
"I guess," she relented at last.
"Dracula is an imperfect man – I won't dispute that. But surely your own past is not entirely without blemish?" The archness in his countenance had her expression softening a little.
"I feel like you're delicately accusing me of hypocrisy."
"I would never dream of doing so, dragă."
She shook her head a little, chuckling to herself.
"We, all of us, are all flawed beings just trying to survive in our own way," he continued thoughtfully. "It's natural to give way to the assertions of others – its pure survival instinct, really. Biology at work; that trust we put in our fellow man. But in the end, experience is the best teacher. And it is the better man that gives the other the benefit of the doubt rather than immediately accepting the opinion of the masses without second thought."
"Having been a victim of your disposition for premature condemnation," she reminded with a teasing affect of over-exaggerated haughtiness – she even winked at him, "I assume it's safe to point out that as ideal and politically correct as your philosophy is, it remains easier said than done. Nor should it provide any excuse to dismiss the sins of any man or woman – Dracula included."
Vlad's amusement deepened.
He was grateful they had moved passed their initial dislike of one another, but the faint touch of acid in her otherwise lilting tone had him wondering if she'd ever forgive him fully for the abominable way he had treated her in those early days of their acquaintance, if hidden behind her smile and playful eyes existed a shrewdness of memory – quick to forgive, but slow to forget.
"How you choose to reconcile with the failings of others remains your prerogative, Francesca."
"I'm glad you think so," she announced. "It's as the old adage goes – we may not be able to choose our circumstances or the people around us, but we always have control over our own reactions. There's an inherent responsibility that comes with that power, I think; one so many take for granted."
Vlad turned a bit in his seat at this so he could face her better, his eyes filled with a kind of wonder as he studied her from the passenger side of the car, expression contemplative.
"It's important to you, isn't it?" he asked her. "Your ability to choose for yourself. When we first met, I used to believe that it was your way of asserting dominance over those you came in contact with, but I'm beginning to wonder if it has more to do with feeling in control of yourself, finding liberty in your autonomy."
She confirmed his observation with a nod, evidently pleased that he was grasping this integral part of her character.
"Being able to make my own decisions has always been important to me," she admitted. "Especially since I know what it's like to go without. I would much rather make a choice based off of limited options than to be forced into doing something purely out of obligation or coercion. Being able to decide for myself is what makes me feel secure, in control...."
"Safe," he translated and she glanced over at him, nodding.
An agreeable silence fell between them as they held one another's gaze for a moment or two before Frankie had to break it in order to return her attention to the road. The stirring of her brother in the back seat as he began to rouse unfortunately put an end to their conversation, but the disruption also left Vlad with some time to consider all he had learned.
He couldn't deny that he appreciated and even shared her sentiments regarding choice versus compulsion.
When it came to Mariella's prophecy especially, it had always felt like he was being forced into something that he had no say in. From its initial conception, the entire thing had had the appeal of an arranged marriage – and by appeal of course it was the lack of one. It's why he had never quite taken the thing seriously until he had lost everything: his children, his friends, his allies, his throne. With the absence of all he had once held dear, the man had been left with a kind of resignation to his fate that he otherwise had not possessed before.
But now that he knew the woman at his side, his promised undying bride – how differently he had come to feel.
His resistance had transformed into a kind of relief and, dare he admit it, anticipation. And to know that Francesca felt very much as he did, that their experiences proved more similar than not, that the ability to choose to be with him rather than being forced was just as important to her as it was to him – it was strangely comforting.
His smile began to fade, however, as he recalled again what Augustine had done to her. The condition of her blood, the existence of her dark passenger... both of these lingering side-effects of her time as his brother's prisoner weren't just obstacles to overcome. They threatened Frankie's sense of control over her own person and, consequently, her sense of personal security.
Their increasing friendliness was progress to be sure, but Vladislaus Drăculea was not a man without passion; and he suspected that she was very similar. There was an ardor that simmered beneath the surface of her self-restraint. He had tasted of it before that time they had kissed, and even now with the insistent and steadily building of the sexual tension between them, Vlad recognized that what was blooming between them could not go ignored forever.
After all, neither of them were made to be strictly platonic. It went against their very natures.
Dracula's brows furrowed a little, growing more perturbed with the obstacles standing in his way the more he pondered them.
There would be no hope of proceeding in the way he desired, of eventually initiating a more intimate relationship with this woman if she didn't feel truly safe. And if he could not directly cure her of those impediments, he would have to find some way to at least placate her fears if he was to woo her.
The coming weeks would have to be tread with care.
Yet one thing was for certain.
He owed Carmen Guillermo immensely for granting him this rare opportunity to spend time with Francesca and he swore to himself that he would not waste it.
An hour later found them in the French Alps, Frankie navigating the winding mountain roads as Rémy, now fully awake, sat quietly in the back seat, significantly improved in health, though still notably weak. Vesper had been roused as well when they had turned off the highway and onto a private road hidden within the thick woods surrounding.
The passengers within the car were utterly silent as they took in the passing scenery, the classical music that had accompanied them on their lengthy journey turned down low as Frankie's attention remained utterly fixed on the road ahead.
There was a brief instance of concern when their road seemed to be heading straight for the edge of a cliff, but with a click of a controller hidden in the visor on the driver's side of the car, a wall of light illuminated in front of them before they could go careening over the edge. When they passed through that light, Vladislaus was stunned to find that instead of falling into the rocky abyss of a gorge, they were now navigating through more woods. Vesper and Rémy seemed unmoved by the event, but Dracula had sent Francesca a questioning look of concern.
She smiled in the face of his bewilderment as she continued to traverse the hidden road, the wall of light they had passed through just moments ago disappearing behind them.
"What was that?" he asked her.
"It's the dome," she explained. "The de Chacier territory covers several hundred-thousand acres of land which is protected by a large energy field. It not only camouflages us from the outside world, it also lessens the intensity of ultra violet light so we can exist more comfortably in the day."
"Although extended exposure will still impact you if you're out for too long," Rémy chimed in from the back.
"My brother created a sort of microchip that acts similar to the dome but on an individual level. It's why he and I can walk around without daylight rings," and Frankie tapped the back of her neck where Rémy had placed the curious device beneath her skin just a year prior.
"And there are no adverse side-effects?" Vlad inquired, turning to look back at his friend.
"None that we've encountered so far. I can hook you up if you'd like."
Dracula declined the offer with a smile as he turned to face forward again.
"How much farther do we have?"
"About twenty minutes more," Rémy announced as they came up on a small town. "Once we pass through here, we'll have a few miles more before we reach the estate."
"Is Vivian still staying at the hotel?" Frankie asked her brother, motioning to a grand looking building nestled near the side of one of the mountains to their right.
"Last I heard, she was in Toulouse."
"We'll have to pay our respects while we're here."
"You and Vlad can do that since you're the ones that saved her," Rémy replied. "I need to set up some time with Alastair while we're here so I can pick his brain."
"Who?" Vlad asked.
"Benicio Alastair. He's head of the council in this territory. Works closely with Uncle Armand. He's been instrumental in keeping the peace between the different species, nests, and packs in this area. Single-handedly won over the United Nations when requesting additional sanctuaries for our kind. Man's a legend."
"He also has a soft spot for our cousin, Alayna," Frankie added with noted cheek. "Rémy likes to exploit it whenever he gets the chance."
"Hey, if he wants to be part of the family, he's got to be willing to help his future brother-in-law out."
"You're not Alayna's brother, and Alastair owes you nothing. Besides, those two have been on-again off-again for nearly half a century now. The day he manages to tie Alayna down is the day I give up whiskey."
"So basically never. Frankie, you're so unromantic!" her brother teased. "Do you think Satanas will make an appearance while we're here?"
"Does the earth still revolve around the sun?" came her pointed response. The man only laughed, offering no retort.
After they passed through the town, the road led them into another thickly forested area that slowly began to clear after they passed through a grand gate, guarded by two enormous stone lions. The morning sun was now fully in the sky, rising over the snow-capped peaks that lined the valley in which they resided and as the lane turned and the trees thinned, at last they emerged from the shadows and the view cleared.
At the end of the valley, nestled at the base of the towering mountains was an enormous Châteauesque mansion. The manse was constructed in the French Renaissance style with its steeply pitched roofs, turrets, and sculptural ornamentation. The façade was asymmetrically balanced with two projecting wings connecting at a grand entrance tower. There was an open loggia to the left side and a windowed arcade to the right. The main door was elevated, a pair of gorgeous curved white granite staircases on either side of the veranda, with another pair of life-like lion statues situated at the foot as if guarding the entrance.
The palatial house was an imposing structure with equally impressive grounds surrounding. The striking fountain just out front was on full display, the rays of sunlight catching the white spray of water as Frankie pulled the car around and into the shade of the house between the stairs before finally parking the vehicle and removing the keys from the ignition.
Vladislaus emerged first, making his way to Francesca's side of the car so he could open her door before attending to the woman's brother, offering him a much appreciated helping hand. Vesper openly basked in her freedom from the car, stretching her limbs rather dramatically before squealing all of a sudden when she noticed someone had just appeared at the top of the stairs, waving his hand in greeting.
"Uncle Armand!" the teenager shrieked excitedly before bolting passed the adults so she could race up the stairs as fast as her legs could carry her.
The one called Armand met her about halfway down the steps with open arms as the girl collided with him, the two embracing fiercely.
"Vesper, my darling girl! How you've grown!" the man exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm. He took a step back to better examine her. "And so beautiful too. I bet Carmen has the damnedest time keeping all of those young men away!"
"Hah! What young men?" the teenager replied. "I'm constantly surrounded by the elderly."
Armand laughed heartily at this, lightly pinching her cheek affectionately.
"And just as feisty as ever. It's good to see you again, my girl."
The two began to descend the rest of the way together so he could greet the others. The sight of his uncle had Rémy quietly declining Vlad's further assistance as he straightened habitually, making his way over to the stairs despite his weakened state. There would be no showing of feebleness here. It piqued Dracula's curiosity.
Armand de Chacier was a handsome man, eternally fifty, and well-aged from the look of him, with dark brown hair just lightly speckled in flicks of gray and a well-kept beard to match. He was dressed to perfection, donning an immaculately tailored suit, though he had forgone the tie it would seem, the top three buttons of his striped dress shirt left undone. On the surface, he had the most forbidding features, all sharp angles and an imposing jawline, but his eyes were soft and his smile brilliant as he approached his nephew, taking him into his arms.
"Reynaud, my boy," Armand said with a sigh as he wrapped his arms around Rémy, pulling him into a tight hug before warmly smacking him on the back. "You are looking a little worse for wear!" the man pointed out in his native French, laughing a little as he took a closer look. "And much too pale. I'd expect that of your sister, but not you."
"There were some complications with the blood factory yesterday," Rémy began to explain but the man hushed him with a wave of his hand.
"I heard all about that last night when Carmen called to tell me she wasn't coming. I'd chastise you for barreling head first into an obvious trap like that, but I'm certain you've done quite well berating yourself already."
"More than you know," he admitted. "Lives were lost because of my negligence."
"Such is the way of revolutions. I'm just glad you are safe and in one piece," and Armand squeezed his shoulder affectionately before his eyes searched for Francesca.
Dracula, who had opted to linger behind a bit so he could better observe the scene without interrupting its natural flow, watched as Frankie visibly crumbled under her uncle's gaze. It took the extending of his hand and little else before she made her way over to him, clearly fighting back tears.
"Francesca," the man called out soothingly before they embraced. The woman visibly shuddered in his hold as if she had been attempting to hold back a soft cry. In response, Armand gently cradled the back of her head in his hand as she buried her face into his shoulder, the man now trying to suppress a few tears of his own. "Mon trésor," he whispered tenderly before kissing her brow with profound fondness. "Thank you for coming. I know this isn't easy for you..."
Frankie said nothing as she lingered for an extended moment in her uncle's embrace, not that there was anything for her to say. She hadn't seen him in over half a decade, not since the murder of her aunt. Although they had talked a great deal in the last year since then, it was challenging, lingering under his gaze, let alone being back home, surrounded by the memories of those that had been lost.
But if Armand harbored any ill will towards his niece, he never showed it, and Vlad continued to watch as the pair reunited before all eyes eventually fell upon him.
It took a single look from de Chacier for Dracula to realize that the man recognized him immediately.
It was in the way he straightened, the change in his countenance, the sudden sense of conscientiousness. Vlad wondered if it had been Frankie who had revealed to truth of his identity to the man or if it had been Carmen when she had called ahead, but whatever the case, Armand kept the knowledge to himself and smiled graciously in his guest's direction.
"I assume this is the infamous Vlad Leinhart I keep hearing so much about!" the man announced. "Carmen mentioned you would be joining us. Reynaud, won't you introduce me to your friend?"
"Yes, of course! Uncle, this is Vlad Leinhart. Vlad, my uncle, the Comté Armand de Chacier," Rémy called out from his place by the stairs, leaning against one of the lions to keep himself upright.
Dracula extended his hand as Armand approached, the latter almost bowing as if it were instinct, but he stopped himself before he could get too far. They shook hands.
"Mr. Leinhart, welcome to my home. Any friends of my niece and nephew are always welcome. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."
"The pleasure is all mine, Comté."
"Please, call me Armand," he insisted charmingly. Dracula was impressed to find the man's grip so firm, but his expression never betrayed such feelings as he was bidden to follow the others into the house. "I understand that you joining us has been a rather last minute decision."
"Yes, I'm afraid it was," Vlad confessed. "I hope my presence isn't an imposition."
"Not at all! I'm grateful to you for keeping my niece and nephew out of trouble," he announced, offering his arm to Frankie as they began to ascend. Vesper took it upon herself to help Rémy. "I love my brother's children as if they were my own. I've heard nothing but the highest praise regarding you and I'd be fibbing if I said I haven't been looking forward to making your acquaintance. I hope to get to know you better in the coming weeks, but I think we'll save such pleasures for later this evening. I'm sure you all must be quite exhausted from your travels."
"No sleep for me just yet," Rémy insisted. "What I could really use right now is a vein."
"I'm not so very tired myself," Vesper chimed in.
"No, of course you're not. Well, why don't the pair of you head over to the dining room for something to eat while I get these two situated, hmm?"
"Works for me!" Rémy announced and the trio watched as he and Vesper made their way through the darkened entryway before eventually disappearing down one of the dimly lit halls.
Armand waved over for one of the servants to join them.
"Mr. Leinhart, this is our head butler and my right hand, Monsieur Fabian. He's an old friend of the family and a man I would trust with my very life."
Dracula merely nodded his head in acknowledgement as the gentleman approached. He was a thin male with protruding cheekbones and deep set eyes, all formality and stoicism.
"I understand that you were unable to bring any of your own clothes with you, such was the hastiness of your departure," Armand continued. "While you rest, Fabian will see to it that you are fitted with a proper wardrobe for your stay. You have his measurements already, my man?" and he looked to the butler. There was a barely discernible nod as that pair of pale green eyes openly sized Vlad up with razor precision.
"Finding something to adequately fit those shoulders may be a bit of a challenge, but nothing I can't handle," Fabian explained in French before looking to Francesca. "Business casual or perhaps something more structured?"
"He has an affinity for three-pieced suits," she explained with a sidelong glance in Vlad's direction. "Darker colors, fitted."
Her eyes sparkled in her archness as she looked to Dracula for his approval. Amused by her attentiveness, he merely nodded in concession.
"Boxers or briefs, Monsieur?" Fabien then asked, ticking down a few brief notes on a small pad of paper – his measurements no doubt. Frankie had to hide her smile behind her hand as she started to lead her uncle toward the stairs.
"Something in the middle, Fabian – although the latter might be more comfortable," she called out, the laughter in her voice unmistakable. The servant looked to Vladislaus for a confirmation and Dracula, a little thrown off-guard but by no means embarrassed, provided instructions of his own, fully aware of the woman's amused grin in his direction.
The butler wrote a few more things down and then bowed.
"I'll see to it that your wardrobe is delivered before sunset," he announced. "In the interim, there should be some casual sleepwear for you in your chambers, should you wish to change before your rest. Good day, sir," and then he departed.
Armand and Frankie, still slowly ascending the main stair, turned to look back at him.
"Come, Mr. Leinhart. I'll show you to your room," de Chacier called out. Vlad was quick to rejoin them. "I apologize for the ambush and any mortification caused to you, but I wanted to be sure we had enough time to acquire the right clothes while you slept. I hope you understand."
"It's quite all right," Dracula assured the man, stealing a glance at Francesca who was still struggling to hide her smile. "And I am by no means embarrassed. Your niece is apparently well acquainted with the intricate workings of my wardrobe."
Frankie's expression of amusement was quickly exchanged for one of shock as her head snapped in his direction. A pointed glare was delivered in warning and it made Dracula's own grin curl as Armand chuckled richly between them.
"That doesn't surprise me at all," the man teased, ignoring the way in which the woman now lightly smacked his arm.
"Your home is very beautiful," Vlad replied, deciding a change of subject was in order as they continued to ascend.
"Thank you. The land has been in our family since time immemorial, though this particular structure is only a couple of hundred years old now. The original house on the other side of the grounds is much larger and in dire need of renovating, but we haven't gotten around to it, have we ma petite?" and he glanced over at Frankie, patting her hand which was now resting on his arm.
"Rémy and I are hardly ever here. It wouldn't make sense to redo the house if no one is going to live in it."
"I suppose."
"Have you finished the renovations of the east wing yet?"
"Not yet and it is causing Gigi an inordinate amount of stress. We'll more than likely have to close off that portion of the house during the masque in a few weeks. Finding lodgings for everyone has proven quite the task."
"Does the hotel in town not have the capacity?" Frankie asked.
"Barely, but you know how certain individuals are," Armand pointed out with a knowing look. "They'd prefer to stay here on the premises instead of being forced to endure the inconvenience of having to travel a short distance to lodge elsewhere."
"I suppose we cannot blame them for wishing to stay," Vlad interjected. "This is a very handsome building. I noticed a mural on the ceiling in the main foyer, though I suppose I'll have to wait to better admire it."
"Ah yes! That is the work of my eldest, Georgine. She is the artist of the family. Most of the paintings and statuary that furnish these halls are her work, but that ceiling is her chef-d'œuvre. Took her some years to complete. Francesca, you'll have to show it to him this evening after you've rested."
"Actually, I was thinking Alayna could give him the grand tour," she countered innocently, her uncle's reaction to the news being missed entirely by Vladislaus who was too busy admiring the crown molding of the floor they were now on.
"Really?" Armand replied in surprise before whispering to her in his native tongue, "Do you think that wise?"
"Yes. You know how she loves to show people the house and Mr. Leinhart would enjoy her company, I think."
Her uncle cleared his throat, brows furrowing slightly in disapproval.
"We'll discuss that later," he said before motioning to one of the doors to his left. He released the arm of his niece for a moment to open it. "This will be your room during your stay with us, Mr. Leinhart," he announced. "There's a private bath attached and some blood stored in a cabinet beside the bed should you require refreshment before retiring. The evening meal is served an hour before sunset, though if you prefer to rise after dark, that is of course acceptable as well. I'll be sure to send someone to escort you to the dining room so you don't get lost."
"I'm sure I'll manage," Vlad replied courteously, glancing at Frankie for just a moment before returning his attention to his host upon entering the room.
"Should you require anything, my nephew's chambers are just down this hall, third door across to the right from yours. And Francesca is just next-door here on the left if Reynaud isn't around."
The series of looks that passed between Frankie and Vlad were brief, but searing and the woman blushed just faintly, diverting her eyes to the hall as her uncle continued.
"If you require anything, use the touchscreen beside your bed for instructions on how to use any of the amenities or to summon a servant. My staff is always more than happy to help, no matter the hour."
"Thank you," Dracula replied, bowing his head, "for your gracious hospitality."
"It is an honor to have you as my guest, Mr. Leinhart. Truly," Armand insisted. "I wish you a pleasant rest. Good day."
"Good day, Comté. Miss Chase."
Frankie's smile was subtle as she turned to lead her uncle away.
"Mr. Leinhart."
And then the door was shut.
When Dracula was locked away in his bedroom, Armand noticed the way in which his niece notably relaxed on his arm and he glanced over at her with a knowing grin as he guided her into the direction of her bedroom. She knew that look and instead of entertaining him and his unspoken questions, she shook her head wearily.
"Not now, Uncle."
Armand continued to smile as he opened her door, leading her inside the darkened bedchamber before releasing her and placing an affectionate kiss on her brow.
"Yes, yes, I know. There will be plenty of time for that conversation later," he assured her. "He seems pleasant enough, though. I'll admit, I was surprised when Carmen informed me that he was joining you."
"You weren't the only one," she replied, immediately slipping out of her shoes. She rubbed the phantom stiffness out of the back of her neck with one hand, taking a deep breath as she steadied herself, suddenly awash with a number of conflicting emotions. Knowing she was in need of her solitude, Armand began to head back out towards the hall.
"Well, I better go check on that brother of yours while you get settled. Oh! And before I forget," and he paused in the doorway as she continued to move about her room, retrieving a nightgown from the dresser against the wall closest to the door.
"Yes?"
"Señor Meirás will be joining us a fortnight from now," her uncle explained with a rather serious look in her direction. "Given the circumstances, I wanted to ask for your permission to inform the man of the present... situation," and he motioned with his head toward the direction of Dracula's room off to the right.
Frankie paused, hesitant for just a moment before nodding in agreement.
"Yes... it would be wise to tell him now so he's on his best behavior."
"I agree. So I have your blessing to make the call?"
"Yes. The sooner the better."
"I'll take care of it within the hour," he assured her.
The conversation stilted as Armand took his niece in, observing her closely.
"Francesca?"
She looked up at him, expression unreadable.
"It's good to have you home, my dear."
Frankie exhaled slowly and offered him a smile, but said nothing. This whole situation was bittersweet for her, and thankfully, he understood that without requiring further explanation. With one last hug and a kiss on the cheek, he then bid her good day before departing, quietly shutting the door behind him.