The family plot on the de Chacier estate was one of the few places Frankie tended to avoid on her annual summer visits to her uncle's home. This was not because the graves of those dearly departed served as an unpleasant reminder that even the nosferatu were not truly immune to death; but rather because seeing the names of her father, mother, and now her aunt carved into the stone – to her it was a testament that the consequences of her actions – great or small – had the potential to reach far beyond her own person and that responsibility was crushing.
Any reassurances offered by friends or surviving family did little to relieve her of the weight of the deceased.
Survivor's guilt is what Lyra often called it – a prettily coined phrase designed to lessen the burden of the dead for those who lived on, as if putting such feelings into neat, compartmentalized boxes would somehow ease her suffering. But historically speaking, Francesca's conscience had rarely ever been a thing so easily placated – particularly when she felt directly accountable for the loss of a loved one.
It had taken her nearly half a century to forgive herself for the murder of her parents, to acknowledge and metabolize the irrefutable fact that their deaths had not been her fault, that Augustine's men would have found her sooner or later and that the body count could have been far worse than it had been. Sometimes, her brother had often reminded her, bad things just happen to good people. Sometimes the innocent are the ones who suffer the consequences of the guilty. It's not fair, but life rarely ever is.
It was that brand of tough love Frankie found herself often needing in moments like these, and while the truth had never been a bitter pill she enjoyed swallowing, she counted herself lucky to be surrounded by so many wonderful people that loved her enough to hold her to a higher standard. The pain would eventually pass – centuries of experience had taught her as much. She just needed to allow herself to feel, to heal, and to move on as the others in her family had.
Armand's strength as he stood at her side was helping Frankie in dealing with the culpability she was still experiencing and when she took a deep breath to steady her nerves, not once did he ever utter a word of rebuke or blame. As he had always been with his niece, Armand de Chacier was calm, patient, and attentive.
Frankie made it a point to study the marble busts of her parents first before finally permitting her gaze to fall upon the one of her Aunt Cecilia. Once more, Gigi had captured the likeness to perfection and it sent a faint shiver through the woman as she locked eyes with the statue perched at the top of the grave marker of her uncle's late wife. The small plot of land was nestled in a grove of trees at the far end of the garden closest to the woods at the base of the mountains. With the sun setting in the sky, the hues of light made the white stone appear almost painted with brilliant pinks and violet.
Countesse Giovanna Cecilia de Chacier
1689 – 2132
Beloved wife, mother, and aunt
"I think Marceau is still upset with me for going into stasis before the funeral," she said at last, conscious of her uncle's gaze as he moved to stand closer at her side. Frankie wrapped her arms around herself, the soft breeze rustling the canopy of leaves above them. "Not that I blame him. I should have been there."
"Yes," Armand agreed. "But we cannot undo the past... as much as we may wish to. What is done is done." There was no trace of malice or resentment in his tone, only resignation.
"I am sorry for leaving like I did when I was last here. It was just so hard, facing all of you."
"I know, chère. I know," and he gently patted her back once before allowing his hand to return to his side. "We all understood your reason for leaving – even Marceau. Though I'd be lying if I said we weren't all disappointed by your absence. You were sorely missed."
"It was selfish of me."
"Yes, perhaps in a way it was, but you were grieving as we all were; and unfortunately when loss hits this family, you seem to feel it more acutely than most," and he offered her a reassuring smile when her hold around herself tightened. "I know we've had this conversation before, but while I cannot speak for my son, I hope you know that I do not harbor any ill will toward you. None in the slightest. I told Cece not to go to Budapest, insisted that you and your brother were due to visit in a few short months, that you needed to hurt and heal on your own in the interim, but she would not listen to me."
"She was the only one who really understood what I was going through at the time," Frankie admitted. "Rémy tried to, but he's always been very much like Father was – sometimes pragmatic to a fault."
"Yes. Particularly where the affaires de coeur are concerned," he answered, a smile in his voice. "I assume your brother remains completely oblivious of Carmen's feelings for him?"
Frankie managed a small chuckle.
"Painfully so."
"Poor Carmen. That woman could harrow hell for him, and he still wouldn't figure it out."
"But it's only with her. If any other woman shows even the slightest interest in him, he picks up on it immediately. I sometimes wonder if my brother's ignorance stems from the fact that her late husband used to be his friend. Some stupid bro-code or the like..."
"It's very possible. Can you believe it's been nearly forty years since we lost Ramón?"
"I know. Where did that time go?"
"If only I knew... He was an excellent man."
"He was. And I know she misses him..."
"But she's been ready to move on for a while now."
"Exactly."
"I suppose the same could be said of you when it comes to Tristan," he pointed out, bringing the conversation back. "Your brother and I spoke for some time this afternoon about the progress you've made in the last year since he woke you from stasis. I received the distinct impression from his report that much of your mending may be owed to the influence of a certain Mr. Leinhart?"
Frankie said nothing on that point, opting to continue in her study of her aunt's grave marker, though her attention seemed somewhat beyond the masterfully engraved stone. Her expression was stoic, but Armand could see the very faintest of smiles starting to form in corner of her mouth.
"I know how deeply you cared for the werewolf, my dear; your beloved aunt did as well. She and I both understood the pain of losing his love. But it brings me joy to see you more yourself again."
"You know – for so long I thought my suffering had been borne out of that loss, but in the last year I've come to realize that it wasn't the sudden absence of Tristan's love or affection from my life that wounded me, but the reason for it. He didn't leave because he didn't love me anymore. He left because of the prophecy – because in his mind I already belonged to another man, as if I were someone else's property and he was infringing, as if he only had me on loan. It was like... if he couldn't own me in entirety, he didn't want me at all. I think that hurt more than anything else. That rejection, that feeling of being loved yet somehow worth less because of the mark on my breast."
Frankie absently lifted her hand to touch the dragon-shaped brand below her collarbone from behind the draped cowl neck of her blouse.
"It was the first time in a long time that I didn't feel like I was good enough for someone. That hurt more than anything else – the wound to my pride and my vanity – because he could have stayed with me in spite of it, he could have fought to keep at my side, but he didn't. At the first sign that another man had staked a claim on me, instead of staying to challenge that supposed claim, he turned the other way."
"Perhaps it had less to do with you and more to do with whose claim he would be challenging," Armand offered. "The name of Dracula certainly carries a great deal of weight, as you know, and not just amongst our own kind."
"Well, in hindsight, I'm glad Tristan decided to jump ship when he did," she replied, letting her hands fall to her sides now as she turned to take a seat on the stone bench nestled beside one of the trees. "I'd rather be with a man who chooses to be with me, even in the face of such obstacles."
"And is that what Mr. Leinhart has done? Has he chosen you?"
He took a seat at her side and Frankie sighed heavily, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as her uncle placed a reassuring hand on her back.
"I don't know," she confessed. "This last week or so has been a whirlwind, what with his return and then everything going on with the alliance and the Spider."
"Does he know who you are? Or rather, does he know what you are meant to become?"
"Yes. I told him this morning on the drive over," Frankie replied. "I can't say for certain if he is aware that I know who he is, though. Either way, we've yet to discuss the situation openly – and to own the truth, I'm not even sure I'm ready to."
Armand nodded in understanding but said nothing more on that point.
"I was surprised when Carmen called to inform me that he would be joining you and your brother."
"That makes two of us," she replied. "But he never objected to the proposition and Carmen was especially adamant – for some bewildering reason."
"She has always been an observant woman – a gift that comes with her trade, no doubt. One can only assume that she sees what your brother cannot."
"And what is that?"
"The way our king looks at you when he thinks no one is watching, to start."
Frankie turned to look at her uncle, brows furrowed.
"Not to mention the way you look at him."
Her eyes narrowed that time.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oh, come now, ma petite..." Armand exclaimed, smiling knowingly at his niece. "Don't feign ignorance. He is drawn to you, Francesca. He guards his feelings well, but even I can tell that he desires you... just as you do him. "
"The only thing between us, Uncle, is a mutual admiration and respect. And that is all there can ever be," and she stood.
"But why?" he called, watching her for a moment as she turned to make her way back to the house.
"You know why," she said, not even bothering to turn around.
"Francesca."
She did not get far, his firm tone putting a sudden halt to her retreat.
"I did not say we were finished," he chided gently, patting the empty seat at his side knowing full well that she did not need to see the action to comprehend what he wanted. Though she wished to run from the conversation she knew he wanted to have, she did not, obeying his silent command by returning to the bench. "I know you're afraid to, but I think it's time you address the path before you, my dear. Hiding from the truth will solve nothing."
"And what truth are you referring to?" she asked quietly, eyes fixed on the grass underfoot. She could feel his eyes on her, that piercing gaze all de Chaciers were born with in varying degrees. Her father had possessed a gaze that could cut through stone, and while her uncle's stare was not nearly as penetrating, she could not deny the weight of it.
"You feel something for him."
Frankie closed her eyes, grimacing.
There was power in words, especially when they were spoken aloud. It made her feelings real and she wasn't quite sure she was ready to admit to herself, let alone to her father's brother, the hidden depths in her heart.
"Tell me?" he asked her, imploring this time rather than commanding and the gentle pull in his tone had her succumbing against her better judgment.
She could not deny him – not in this location, surrounded by the dead. Armand had chosen his setting well and a small part of her resented him for it.
"I feel torn," she admitted at last, her voice so low, it was almost a whisper. "He's so much more than I initially believed him to be. There's a depth of feeling to him I never could have anticipated, a genuine empathy and... and patience that seems so out of character when one takes into account his reputation. I've felt drawn to him from the start, in spite of our rocky beginning when he was challenging me at every turn. But I came to appreciate his audaciousness. I still appreciate it. He may be masquerading about as someone else for reasons I may never fully understand, but he knows what he is, who he is... and I admire his self-awareness. His presence is so commanding and to be perfectly honest, I've found it alarming how simple it is to feel at ease in his company. Even with the knowledge of his true identity."
Armand's gaze remained ever vigilant as she continued.
"But my attraction to him – physical or otherwise – does not alter the fact that any pursuit of a relationship with that man would be entirely pointless. I knew this eight months ago when I told him to stay away, and I had hoped that the time apart would cool things down..."
"But it seems to have only accomplished the complete opposite," he finished for her with a knowing look. "So that's why you sicced Alayna on him."
"I didn't sic anyone on anything," she replied, straightening, but the slightly higher octave her voice had adopted in an attempt to sound innocent wasn't fooling anyone.
"So what are you going to do if he passes your little test of fidelity?"
"I haven't gotten that far yet," Frankie admitted, leaning back against the large tree trunk behind them, arms folded over her chest. "I'd like to give him a chance, get to know him better – but I'm afraid giving him any sort of encouragement could prove extremely dangerous – especially if our first kiss is any indication."
Her uncle laughed openly that time, deeply amused despite the anxious creases in her brow.
"I'm not entirely certain it's fair to put all of that blame on him, Francesca. If I recall correctly, that 'release of the sexual tension' as you had put it last year was clearly much more than that if it's left you so on edge since then."
He had hoped his teasing would help to ease the rigidity in her posture, but she only seemed to tighten up more, expression brimming with worry.
"It was like Venice all over again, only worse," she confessed, lowering her voice more, as if she were afraid a certain someone would overhear her. "The effortlessness, the thrill, the hunger... being that close to him felt so right. I don't know how he makes it all so easy, so... so liberating to just lose my sanity like that, my self-control." Frankie leaned forward, hands gripping the bench on either side of her as she visibly struggled to make sense of everything. "There's something so artless in his passion, so genuine, so consuming. When I'm with him it's like..."
She stood suddenly, mind racing.
"It's like a single look or turn of phrase from him disarms me almost completely. To be perfectly honest, Uncle, I don't think him being here is a very good idea at all – let alone having him in the bedchamber next to mine; especially if he figures out there's a door adjoining our rooms."
Armand did his best to suppress the chuckle bubbling in his throat, but failed miserably.
"Would you like me to have him moved?"
"No – that'd be too obvious. He'd probably take it as a sign of my weakening resolve and would only double his efforts in subduing me... and I'm not sure I'd be strong enough to deny him again," Frankie insisted, waving her hand to dismiss the suggestion as she paced in front of him.
"Then what do you propose we do, chère?" he inquired, the amusement in his voice still very present. "Let's look at the facts: you like him. He clearly likes you. Yes, there is some danger present with your blood condition and perhaps even your blood-rage if things get too intense, but nothing you haven't worked around before."
"No vampires, Armand – that is the cardinal rule. Unless I can guarantee absolute control over the situation, the answer has to be no. And I can't guarantee any of that – especially with him."
"Perhaps, but to play devil's advocate here," and he chuckled, the irony of that little colloquialism not lost to him, "historically speaking, how many times have you broken this supposed cardinal rule of yours?" he asked, brow arched knowingly. She sent him a sidelong glance.
"Armand, this is serious."
"I know. That's why I'm asking. You've made exceptions for others in the past. Why not at least consider doing the same for Dracula?"
"Because he's the bloody son of the devil, not some ponce with a crown!" Frankie snapped, losing her patience for just a moment as the stress got the better of her. She immediately collected herself, apologizing for her temper when she noted the look on her uncle's face before continuing. "The only thing I can offer him without putting his life – and potentially the lives of every vampire in existence – in danger is by maintaining the platonic status of our relationship and ignoring the sexual tension. Who knows? Maybe it'll go away after a while..."
Armand laughed once more, hiding his face in his hand for a moment as his niece stood there, as unconvinced as he was by her own proposal, though she looked more disheartened than amused.
"Oh, my dear girl," he proclaimed with a sigh. "I won't insult you by asking if you're aware of how such an arrangement goes against not only your own nature, but his as well, if his reputation is to be believed."
Frankie exhaled heavily, shoulders slumping in a sign of her own growing resignation.
"But I don't have much of a choice, Armand. If there is any truth to the prophecy, any at all, it would be cruel of me to give him hope where there is none."
"You can still enjoy emotional intimacy without adding sex into the equation," he offered half-heartedly, but even he knew that wouldn't satisfy her.
"If his rumored possessive nature is to be believed, I'd rather avoid that entirely. If being in a relationship with him means celibacy for the rest of my eternal life..." She visibly shuddered at the thought. "No, thank you."
"Well, you need to make a decision, Francesca," Armand announced, standing. "Because this tight-rope act of yours, trying to walk the fine line between encouragement and restraint, is not only unfair to the both of you, but I fear it may be pulling his majesty in more than its pushing him away... even with your feeble attempts to tempt him with Alayna." He reached out and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, bringing her attention back to him. "I know you're trying to be indifferent, but I fear your claws are already in him."
Frankie looked up at her uncle, expression still saturated in concern. This was clearly not what she wanted to hear. She knew what his words meant, the consequences that would follow.
"And though there may still be time to release him from your hold, I think it's safe to say that there's a growing part of you that doesn't want to."
"What do I do?" she asked, feeling rather pathetic in that moment. "I don't want to hurt him, Armand, but..."
"I know, chère," and he kissed her brow in reassurance. "I know. I wish your father was still with us. Perhaps he'd know what to say, what advice to offer," and they both turned to look at the bust of Louis de Chacier, situated perfectly on headstone that marked the grave.
Frankie leaned forward to rest her head on Armand's shoulder as he wrapped his arms loosely around her in a bit of a hug.
"He'd be a lot less sympathetic than you are being right now," she said, the two chuckling at that. "He'd tell me to make up my mind, to figure out what I want and to commit to that decision. And he'd be right..."
Her uncle's arms wrapped tighter around her in reassurance.
"Then Mother would agree with him," she continued. "She so often did. Examine your own heart. Know what you want and know yourself..."
"Your mother was a very wise woman."
"Yes, she was."
Another cool mountain breeze rustled the leaves of the trees above their heads and for just a moment, Frankie felt embraced on all sides, comforted by the notion that perhaps in this instant, her mother and father were here with her now, supportive as they had always been. How she missed them.
"I can appreciate your motive for caution, my dear, and it does you credit," Armand said at last, releasing her. "But I think you already know your own mind, what it is you want," and he sent her a gently pointed look. "I won't tell you what to do, but I will say this – this thing between you and Dracula... it isn't a game and you need to stop treating it with the flippancy and indecisiveness of one. That includes using my daughter as your pawn – and I don't care how willing she is to participate. It's time you were honest with yourself, and with him. You know what you want and you know how to proceed."
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her eyes upward so the gravity of his worse would have their full effect.
"It's time to put aside childish things and become what you were meant to be. You were always destined for something greater, ma petite; your family has known this from the beginning. The witch saw it in you all those years ago, and even Eduardo had sensed it the very moment he laid eyes on you." The mention of her maker seemed to solidify his argument and he saw the change in her expression, the subtle shift from uncertainty to recognition. "What does your heart want, Francesca?"
She shivered a little as if from the cold.
Frankie couldn't bring herself to utter the syllables, but it took Armand a single look into her eyes to know the answer.
"Then trust your instincts. I'll spare you the 'you have a duty' speech – you know what is expected," and he smiled when her eyes fell away. "Here is my advice: take advantage of the opportunity before you. You have been given a gift with this interlude away from the city and prying eyes and your brother's revolution. Use this time wisely – to better understand his feelings as well as your own. That should help you make a more definitive decision. Gigi and Joe can help with keeping Vesper busy, and Lucia is due in a couple of hours to take care of that brother of yours," and he paused to check the time on his pocket watch after releasing her from his hold.
"You invited Lucia?" Frankie inquired, surprised.
"Yes? Was I wrong to do so?"
She shrugged.
"Not necessarily, but you do recall she used to be a consort of his." She didn't need to clarify which his she was referring to. Armand's brows shot up when he made the connection.
"Oh, that's right. I hadn't realized. Do you think she'll cause any problems?"
"I don't know. He has a concealment charm, but I can't speak to the extent its effectiveness."
"Well, I'll do what I can to make sure both Lucia and Rémy stay out of the way."
She nodded.
"And should things... escalate between the two of you in the meantime... I don't need to remind you that discretion is preferred?" he added with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.
"No, you don't need to remind me," and she smiled a little before exhaling rather heavily. "I can't believe I'm even considering this."
Armand squeezed her shoulder before wrapping her arm around his, leading her back toward the house.
"You'll be fine. Just... set boundaries for yourself, and for him if it comes to that. Communication is paramount to the success of any relationship, be it platonic or otherwise."
"I just can't shake these nerves," she admitted as they made their way down the short hill and into the gardens as the sun continued to set, the pair keeping to the shade.
"You have no reason to be anxious. You're not committing to anything... yet, anyway."
"I never thought I'd see the day," Frankie confessed. "I never thought I'd ever be entertaining the notion of establishing anything with that man."
"True... very true," and he patted her hand on his arm. "Now then, I believe you owe me at least an hour minimum of practice in the music room before I leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening?"
"Yes, I have not forgotten our agreement; although we may need more than an hour. My fingers are terribly rusty."
"We'll get them whipped into shape in no time," Armand assured her. "By the way, do you know if Gigi ever heard back from Madame Dubeau? I thought I understood from her that we may need to find a substitute to fill in for the first part of the evening?"
"Nothing has been confirmed as of yet, but I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll need a back-up – at least for the first hour or so."
After entering the house, Frankie's arm was released, though she continued to follow her uncle through the sitting room and out into the hall.
"Poor Georgine. Finding a substitute violinist of similar caliber and on such short notice is not going to be an easy task."
"Actually, I was thinking of volunteering to take the post," she announced, much to her uncle's surprise.
"Nonsense. You're a member of the family. It wouldn't be proper..."
"Oh please – you know that no one will care."
"His majesty might," Armand muttered under his breath.
"If he's going to be judging anyone it'll be me. Besides, you know how little I care about what he or anyone else will think. I'm doing this for Gigi, not for him."
"I suppose."
"And you know that finding someone else as familiar with the general repertoire will be near impossible. You won't find a better violinist even if you tried."
Her smile was almost cheeky and he laughed as they entered the music room together.
"Very well, but don't for one moment think that I don't know what this is."
"And what do you think this is?" she asked with a teasing lilt in her voice, even with his pointed look.
"You can't hide from Mr. Leinhart forever, you know – using your need to practice as a means to avoid him."
Frankie was the very picture of innocence, adjusting the position of the music stand with feigned disinterest as Armand went to retrieve her instrument from a nearby cabinet. But there was a flash of deviousness in her eyes that he noticed at once upon handing her the violin and bow.
"I wouldn't dream of avoiding his majesty," she replied dramatically. "But enough talk of Dracula. Shall we begin?"
----
It would be several hours later before Frankie would finally emerge from the music room, fingertips tender and pink as they continued to heal from the abuse they had endured. As she wandered down the empty corridors of her uncle's home, she smiled a little to herself as she watched the violin string marks slowly vanish from her fingers like an afterthought. She was pleased to know she still had it, though it would take a few more practices to get back to the caliber of playing she had previously maintained. But it had been nice to play again, to lose herself in the music and just let her fingers fly on instinct.
It was the one gift from her aunt she found she treasured most, and for those brief hours at the violin, Frankie had been granted reprieve from her thoughts, her concerns, and her loss. The session seemed to be quite beneficial for her uncle as well, who proved to be in excellent spirits by the time the practice was over.
He had opted to linger behind to spend some time alone at the piano and Frankie, curious to see how Alayna and Vlad were getting on, took no trouble in excusing herself. As she continued down the hall, her look of pleasure gradually began to melt away, brow knitting slowly as she braced herself for whatever the outcome of her cousin's grand tour would be. A small part of her hoped that Vladislaus had been able to resist temptation, but she wasn't about to get her hopes up.
That's why she was surprised when she caught the sound of his voice coming from the family archives – the room adjacent to the library – but he was not with the female she had anticipated he'd be with. No, Dracula was in the company of none other than Vesper, the pair perusing through pictures and documents while the teenage dhampir was at the computer, apparently looking for something specific.
"Ah! Here it is!" the girl announced, and she selected the file with just a touch of her finger against the screen.
The projector at the far end of the room hummed to life before illuminating the opposite wall, the only space in this chamber that was devoid of shelf or decoration. Frankie was a bit taken aback when it was her father's face that appeared on the wall, much too close to the camera.
"So it's working?" Louis was saying.
"Yes sir, it's running."
"Excellent! Vita, come look at this!" A dark haired woman stepped into the frame and Frankie's heart was immediately caught in her throat. "See? Now we are captured on film!"
"Louis, this is ridiculous. Armand is not going to want this camera crew following us around all summer."
"Well, it's a good thing my baby brother has no say in the matter!"
Frankie leaned against the frame of the door, careful to stay out of sight she watched the pair in the room, Vlad looking up from a photo book as the video played.
"What year is this?" he asked.
"1937," Vesper explained. "Frankie and Rémy's dad was really into history – genealogy especially. Most of what is in these archives is apparently his life's work. He documented everything the family did – where they went, who they saw. When film and movies really started to take off, he hired an entire camera crew to follow the family around the estate one summer when everyone was home."
"Must have cost a fortune."
"Probably," the girl agreed. "But it was rather inspired. Frankie went missing three years later and Louis and Elisaveta were both dead by then."
Dracula closed the photo book he had been holding as he stepped around the large table in front of him, watching as more people entered the frame – Armand and his wife Cecila, Rémy, Alayna... and finally Francesca.
The camera lingered on the woman and her father, and Frankie, her presence still having gone unnoticed, watched Vlad with interest as he looked up at the moving images.
"Who did the coloring on the film?"
"Marceau," Vesper replied, half-paying attention as her mobile phone illuminated and buzzed in her hand and she began to reply to the text she had received. "He's taken over the whole project now. One of the first things he did was digitize the film and then have it professionally colored. Apparently they did some restoration on it a couple of decades back with the picture and sound..."
"She looks so much like him," Vlad said, though mostly to himself. "The eyes especially."
"Uh-huh..." the girl answered rather distractedly, still texting.
"So it was in 1919 when the summer visits on the estate became a more regular occurrence?" he then asked, reaching blindly behind him for another photo book as he continued to watch the film projected on the wall.
"Yeah, after World War I," Vesper confirmed, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Frankie, Rémy, and Alayna moved to America in 1830, so for a while there the family reunions would be in the states. Alayna lived back and forth between continents, but Frankie and Rémy remained in the US for the better part of a century, going on adventures, making a fortune during the gold rush. And then there was that decade when she practically took over New York City, using a high-end brothel as a front for some super-secret spy network, collecting blackmail on government officials, diplomats, and a few well-to-do vampires. She even went head-to-head with Giuseppe Morello at the turn of the century..."
"Busy woman," was all he said, looking down at the book in his hand as he made his way back to his original spot behind the table, still oblivious that he and the teenager were being watched.
"She was even busier after the whole thing with Augustine," and Vesper pulled out another book from the shelf, handing it to the man. "Didn't return to Europe for nearly two decades. Spent most of her time in Canada with Rémy and Lyra. That's actually when they met Danny," and she turned to a specific page in the book to show him a picture. "He had recently immigrated with his family by that point."
"When did Carmen and Derek enter the picture?"
"Derek was in the late 2060s I think... during that time when vampires were being hunted in the open and imprisoned in holding camps. Lyra ended up in one of those and when they went to bust her out, that's when they met Derek. Carmen came a little later during the siege of Budapest."
"So toward the end of the century. And she was married at that time?"
"To Ramón, yes. He died during that final battle in '99, a few months before the Dracul Sânge were assassinated." Vlad grew quiet at this, expression becoming more stoic, unreadable as he turned away from the dhampir girl, pretending to be distracted by the de Chacier family videos still being projected onto the wall. "Did you know them? Dracula's children?"
Frankie became aware of an almost tangible tugging in her heart as she watched Vladislaus hand the book back to Vesper. Before he could answer, he caught sight of Frankie in his periphery, expression altering at her sudden presence.
"Miss Chase," he called out. "I didn't realize you were standing there."
Vesper nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Frankie!" she exclaimed, looking quite guilty. "How long have you been there?"
The woman smiled mischievously as she entered the room.
"Long enough to know that you've been gossiping about me," she answered with a pointed look in the teenager's direction. Before the girl could defend herself, Frankie turned her attention to the Count. "Tour end early?"
The corners of Dracula's lips twitched.
"Yes. Your cousin only had time to show me the essentials. She had another guest to see to and I volunteered to cut things short."
"I see. And how far did you get?"
The double meaning in her words were not lost to him. He placed his hands casually behind his back as he stepped forward.
"Not as far as she had hoped," he said in low tones, sending her a meaningful look. "Though devil knows she did her best."
Frankie struggled to hide her pleasure at this news, though she was grateful that Vesper was still here, the girl causing just enough of a distraction for her to quickly recover her mask of indifference.
"Whom are you talking to, Vesper?" she asked, noting the way in which the girl was furiously typing, trying to be discreet and failing miserably.
"No one?"
But a single look had the teenager folding immediately.
"It's Carmen. She won't stop texting me."
"Really? What could she possibly want?" Dracula asked, just as surprised as Francesca, the two studying the dhampir with growing curiosity.
Vesper's cheeks grew a shade or two darker as she quickly clicked off the display on her phone, shoving the device into her pocket.
"She's just checking in. You know how she gets when we're separated. Enjoys a good panic, that one," and the girl laughed awkwardly in an attempt to dispel the growing tension, but to no avail. She cleared her throat. "I think I forgot something in my room. Excuse me!" and she was out of the room in a flash.
When she was gone, the pair chuckled quietly to themselves before a different kind of tension began to settle in the air between them.
"So..." Frankie began, racking her brain for a topic, "Alayna abandoned her post and left you to be shown about by a teenager? That's not like her."
"In your cousin's defense, she was the only one of the family available to see to another guest. One Lucia Ghilardi, I believe?" Vlad replied, secretly pleased with himself at how well he was feigning ignorance when it came to his ex-lover's name. Frankie, however, was not so easily beguiled, though she played her part beautifully.
"Ah yes! Lucia! Armand had mentioned she'd be staying with us. Have you had a chance to meet her, yet?"
"No, I have not had that pleasure."
"I could make the introduction if you'd like," she offered with an almost impish sparkle in her eyes. "You'd like Lucia. She's an old friend of the family. In fact, you may have met her once, some centuries ago. She was a lover of Dracula's for a time, I understand. Florence, 1723, if memory serves..."
The expression Vlad was wearing in that moment could only be described as one of horror. Carefully guarded, of course, but it was there in his eyes and it nearly had Frankie doubling over in stitches. He had been hoping she'd be ignorant of his past connection with the woman, but evidently some higher power had other plans in mind.
"I do remember," he admitted calmly, "and as charming as I recall Miss Ghilardi being, I'm in no rush to rekindle that acquaintance."
"Oh come now! Why ever not?" Frankie teased, circling him. "If the king can find her satisfactory enough to amuse him for more than a season, surely you could find similar enjoyment in her company?"
Dracula's earlier embarrassment vanished as his expression took on a more suspicious look, his smile a little menacing.
"So eager to get me in bed with another woman," he accused her in playful tones. "First your cousin and now Miss Ghilardi? Tsk tsk," and he shook his head mockingly.
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she replied casually, turning off the projector. The sudden silence settled in the room like a thick blanket on her shoulders, and though her back was now to him, she could still feel the weight of his gaze. "Besides, while I'm certain she'd happily oblige if asked, Lucia isn't here for you. My uncle invited her on behalf of my brother. To own the truth, we may not see much of either of them until the dust settles a week or two from now."
"Sounds like I'm on my own, then, in the interim," he pointed out, so near that a delightful shiver ran along Frankie's spine. She could feel his energy at her back, radiating in lukewarm waves that lulled away any previously harbored anxiety. "Whatever will I do with all that free time?" he asked suggestively.
"I'm sure Alayna could finish giving you that tour."
"Why don't you do it?" he asked, leaning back against the table in front of her, arms folded across his chest. She looked up at him, genuinely surprised.
"Me?"
"Yes. Show me the rest of the house, or even the grounds. I'm not very particular. Unless you're afraid of being alone with me."
"Afraid of being alone with you?" she countered in disbelief before forcing out a throaty laugh. "Don't be absurd."
"So it's a date, then?"
Frankie paused, studying him for just a moment before she nodded her consent.
"Tomorrow afternoon, two hours before sunset. I'll meet you by the garden entrance of the solarium. Don't be late," and with a smile and a flirtatious arch in her brow she turned and made her way toward the exit.
"I'm looking forward to it," he assured her. "And what are your plans for the remainder of the evening, if you don't mind my asking?"
Frankie turned to look back at him, pausing in the doorway.
He hadn't moved from his position by the book-laden desk, but his arms were now at his side, hands holding the edge of the table as he leaned against it, one foot crossed in front of the other. He looked rather at home, surrounding by dusty old tomes and pages of history, but his stance almost seemed to be an invitation of sorts, one palm moving to rest flat on the surface of the desk. Frankie's eyes lingered on the spot where that hand resided and an image flashed before her mind's eye, a fantasy of being propped up against the wood, Vlad's arm pushing the books aside to make room for her body, his hips between her thighs, his lips against her own.
She felt a rush of heat spear her womb and then spread upward and she found herself grateful for the shadows in which she now dwelt.
"I don't know," she said at last. "A long soak in the bath, perhaps a book or some television. I didn't get must rest during the daylight hours before so I may even turn in early."
"Well then, I shall leave you to your solitude and bid you goodnight, Miss Chase. Until tomorrow," and he straightened, bowing his head to her.
As if out of habit, she offered him a small curtsy, nodding.
"Good evening, Mr. Leinhart," and then she departed.