Comté Armand Philippe de Chacier leaned against a garland-wrapped banister as he looked out over the ballroom from his place on the second floor. His eyes swept over the space as the staff finished putting on the finishing touches of the holiday decorations. The annual Winter Solstice ball was scheduled to take place two nights from this evening, and dare he admit it, he was actually looking forward to the event.
Truth be told, he had been feeling a little lighter these last few nights. The ache of Cece's absence was still very much present – and undoubtedly, it always would be – but the weight of it wasn't quite as consuming as it had once been. He soon heard the reason for that sudden respite calling out from behind him.
"Ah! There you are! I had wondered where you had disappeared to."
Señor Eduardo de Meirás stepped in to stand at his left, leaning against the railing.
"Not disappeared," Armand corrected. "Just... making sure everything is in order for the weekend."
"I thought that's what the party planner was for?" Meirás offered teasingly. "Or has this last summer taught you nothing?"
Armand didn't bother to even grace that with a response. Instead he sent the man a pointed look. The Spanish devil smiled mischievously.
"You de Chaciers – all such stubborn creatures. It's a wonder I still put up with you after all these years."
"Well, you always were a glutton for punishment."
Satanas laughed through his nose, the hum of his amusement low and deep. Armand could have sworn he felt it vibrate in his own skin.
"If enduring your collective obstinacy is the price I must pay to continue my enjoyment of the special... intimacy I have with you... ," and Eduardo sent the man a meaningful look that would have made him blush had he fed recently, "... and the rest of your family," he quickly tacked on, "well, it could always be worse."
Armand laughed.
"You're not very subtle, are you?"
The Spaniard suddenly leaned in.
"You all like to complain about my lack of subtlety, and yet when it comes down to it, we all know you appreciate it."
The words were spoken with a sensuous husk and Armand watched Satanas's tongue run across his bottom lip suggestively. His throat went dry, recollections of just where that particular appendage had been earlier this evening sending a quiver down his spine.
"I think that depends entirely upon the situation," he said at last, voice equally low. Eduardo inched a little closer, the tip of his nose just barely brushing that of the man in front of him.
"Is that an invitation to investigate this further?" Meirás inquired. "Because if it is, I wholeheartedly accept."
"Tell me – after all these centuries, does hedonism ever get boring to you?"
Another rich, suggestive chuckle vibrated in the Spaniard's chest before he closed the distance and lightly kissed Armand on the lips.
"Never, old man."
"Who are you calling old?"
Eduardo reached with both hands to take the Comté's face in his, mouth moving in for another kiss, when a great rumbling noise interrupted them. The two men looked out over the room as the chandeliers above started to clatter, crystals clanking together. Then the windows began to rattle, the ground quaking as a great light filled the night sky, growing brighter and brighter.
"What is happening?" Armand muttered under his breath. Lifting himself up and over the banister, he vaulted over the railing and landed with unnatural grace onto the main floor of the ballroom. Eduardo followed suit, the pair heading out onto the veranda overlooking the back yard.
Something was plummeting to the earth from the heavens, burning brightly as it finished reentering the earth's atmosphere – and it was moving fast.
"What is it? A meteor? Perhaps a bit of space debris?" Satanas inquired but Armand shrugged.
"I haven't the slightest..." he began, but he stopped when he noticed his youngest, Alayna, racing out of the house from the conservatory. "Lana? What is it?" he shouted across the way.
"It's a person!" she called back before disappearing into the snow-covered gardens.
"What? How could she possibly know that?" Eduardo asked incredulously, but the pair of them were already on the move, several others having gathered near windows and doors as whatever it was that had been falling from the sky disappeared behind the trees of the surrounding wood. It all came to a head when it finally collided the earth.
Its impact was deafening, a loud crack resonating through the night. From what Armand could tell, the thing must have hit stone – or perhaps even a thick sheet of ice? It seemed to have fallen in the direction of the lake in the center of the forest and that, as far as he knew, was still frozen solid. Had been since the end of November. They navigated the garden paths through the recently fallen snow with haste before reaching the edge of the wood. The night was dark, the moon hidden behind the clouds, and yet there was light coming from up ahead.
Armand and Eduardo finally reached Alayna at the edge of the lake, but something was not quite right.
The ice had gone – completely melted from the looks of it, and a thick layer of mist hovered over the surface of the water, rising up into the frigid air in thick billows of steam. The body of water itself also appeared to be glowing from within, something causing the rock and silt beneath to shimmer as if the entire floor had been covered in diamonds and crystals – glistening with light and reflective rainbow prisms.
"What do you think it is?" Eduardo asked, struggling to see through the steam as the light slowly retreated toward the center of the lake.
"I'm not sure," Alayna admitted. "It had arms and legs, though."
"You could tell that all the way from the conservatory?" Armand asked, sounding doubtful.
"Gigi and I were trying out the new telescope. Whatever it is," and she looked back out toward the fading light, "it's human."
"Or at least human-shaped," Satanas corrected with a twinge of lingering skepticism.
Georgine and Joséphine soon joined them at the water's edge.
"Well?"
"We can't make out whatever it is through the steam," Armand explained. Eduardo smirked.
"At least there's one thing we can do about that," and he took a few steps back before shifting into his hellbeast form, but only part way – just enough so he could utilize the great bat-like wings that had sprouted from his back.
With a leap up into the air so he could angle himself just right, he took to flapping, strong billows of air that then pushed back against the mist shrouding the lake like a thick, white veil; just as the unknown light all but blinked out of existence.
Alayna narrowed her gaze as if it would help her see better, and slowly but surely, the ghostly haze retreated, revealing something pale floating out in the middle of the water. Recognition passed over her features as she gasped and suddenly dove in without a word of explanation. Armand called out for her, ordering her to come back, but then he felt his eldest daughter's grip on his arm. He followed Gigi's gaze before he realized just what had fallen from the sky.
"Oh my god, it's Francesca!" Joséphine exclaimed, hands covering her mouth.
"Hey! What's going on? Did you feel that earthquake from earlier..." Marceau called out from the trees, stepping out of the forest, but his wife had already turned toward him.
"Darling, run back to the house and fetch a cloak, a blanket – anything! And quickly!"
"Why?"
"It's Frankie," Gigi explained. "She fell out of the sky!"
"What?!"
"Go, Marceau! Go!" Joe continued, all but shouting orders at some of the newcomers emerging from the wood. Satanas landed back onto the ground. His wings tucked in behind him and then disappeared.
He was about to help Alayna fetch his favorite fledgling from the water, but Gigi was already wading out, reaching for her sister. The youngest de Chacier dragged the unconscious Frankie over to her, her soaked hair starting to frost from the exposure to the air – but if the cold bothered her, she never gave any indication.
"Papa, she's not responsive."
Armand too had stepped out into the water, surprised to find it so hot – almost as if it had been warmed by a volcanic spring. He reached out his arms as Gigi brought Frankie the remainder of the way to shore and he lifted his niece up into his arms.
"She's burning up," he announced.
"I've never seen her so pale!" Eduardo replied. "She's almost translucent! What sort of devilry is this?" He quickly removed his coat and held it out so they could at least wrap the woman up in it. But at the touch of his clothes on her skin, Frankie started to tremble. With a whine and then a groan, she wriggled and pushed herself out of her uncle's hold, falling down into the snow.
"Francesca?" Armand began, but if she could hear or understand him, there was no way to tell.
She opened her eyes, but they were not eyes any of her family could recognize.
They were endless – dark reflective pools without iris or pupil, and they glittered with the twinkling lights of constellations and galaxies, casting a violet glow on the gloom of the early morning.
Frankie scrambled to her feet, legs wobbling like a newborn fawn struggling to walk for the first time. She was taking in deep and labored breaths, fangs out and gaze appearing to dart all over the place as she eventually pressed her back against the nearest tree, clinging to the rough bark with her hands. Not even the scrape of it against her skin was enough to pull her out of whatever state she was in.
The snow had begun to melt beneath her, the slumbering grass blooming underfoot with each step she took.
"Francesca?" Alayna called out soothingly, dripping wet, but still seemingly unfazed by the frigid air around her. She reached out a reassuring hand. "Francesca? It's me... Alayna... do you know where you are?"
Frankie shivered once over, a great and terrible trembling, before she suddenly clutched her head in both hands, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Alayna, be careful," Armand begged his youngest daughter as she cautiously approached her cousin, hand still stretched out. Francesca had crouched down, curling into herself as she stood on the balls of her feet, head still in her hands, squeezing.
"Francesca?" Alayna repeated, voice sweet, almost singsong like, switching to their native mother tongue. "You're safe now... you're safe. You're home."
Very carefully, she placed her hand on Frankie's shoulder and the tension in the woman eased at the touch. Francesca lifted her head and blinked a few times as her eyes returned to normal, though her irises continued to glow that familiar purple in the darkness. Recognition passed over her features as silver lined her yes.
"Lana?"
"I'm right here, Frank... I'm right here."
Frankie's frantic breathing slowed as she visibly returned to herself by degrees. She looked about her, taking in the familiar faces, her surroundings, before returning her attention back to her cousin.
"Am I in France?" she asked in English. Her cousin nodded gently.
"Yes."
"How did I get here?"
"We were hoping that maybe you could tell us, cariño," Eduardo called out, still keeping his distance.
"What do you remember?" Alayna asked sympathetically.
Frankie's brows furrowed as she struggled to recall the last memory she had... everything was so fuzzy.
"I remember... I remember walking to Bernardini's with Jake and Lyra, but then I had to run home to get something..." Her expression shifted. "I remember Vlad... he knew. I don't know how he knew, but he was so angry." Her eyes glistened. "I tried to stop him, but then he... he..." Frankie's voice wavered, lip quivering at the memory. "And then I... and then maman was there... and Margot... and then light. So much light. And I was flying and I wanted to keep flying, wanted to soar forever, but then I felt the tug of the bond and I knew... I knew if I kept going, it would snap... and he's so angry, but I couldn't... I couldn't let it break... I couldn't lose him..."
Francesca covered her mouth with her hand as a great sob broke through her. Alayna wrapped her arms around her cousin as she wept, her entire body shuddering as the weight of her grief consumed her.
"I tried to save them, Lana," Frankie cried, burying her face into Alayna's wet shoulder. "I tried."
"I know you did, sweetie," her cousin reassured her, though she had no idea what the poor woman was talking about. She soon felt the weight of another arm and Alayna moved her head a bit to find that Gigi had knelt down beside them, holding both her cousin and younger sister to her. Joséphine was there next.
The three of them knelt in the snow, huddled around Francesca and holding her tight as at long last, the woman finally allowed herself to fall apart.
----
Frankie sat curled up in a window seat, nursing a glass of blood with a pensive expression as she watched the sun rise slowly over the snow-covered mountains.
After finally managing to get a better hold over her emotions and with the help of her cousins, they had returned to the warmth of the house so she could bathe and dress and feed. Gigi, Alayna, and Joséphine all took prodigious deal of care for the still visibly shaken woman, but after some insistence that she was all right and just needed some sleep, they finally departed from her bedroom.
The truth of it was, however, that Frankie couldn't bear the attention. She knew they all meant well, that they were concerned, but she was still wading through her own grief and anxiety and the last thing she wanted was to be a burden.
But sleep, as she had anticipated, evaded her.
She had tuned her ears to the movement of the estate, and once certain that most of the household had gone to rest, she had grabbed one of the blankets from her bed, along with two additional bottles of blood, before making the quiet trek down to the library.
It was hard being in this house again, and with every corner seeming to remind her of her last visit this summer... more specifically, of Vladislaus. Just the insinuation of the man left her heart aching; a dull throb that had her curling her legs closer to her chest as she pulled the blanket tighter around her once she had taken up residence in one of the window seats.
The sound of her uncle's grumblings from somewhere down the hall reached her ears. Apparently he had been having trouble getting a hold of her brother so he could get some answers as to what exactly had happened. The thought of Rémy being unreachable made her feel a little conflicted. On the one hand, there was a part of her that naturally worried for his wellbeing. Was he safe? Was he all right? But the more self-deprecating part couldn't help but wonder if he knew the truth now. She could only imagine the betrayal he must have felt – having been lied to for so long.
Of course, that thought brought her mind back to Vladislaus and she visibly cringed, hating herself.
Who had told Vlad the truth?
And more importantly – why?
She could still hear his condemnation ringing in her ears; that look of angered disappointment forever burned into her memory.
"The only thing I regret is binding myself to a mercenary woman like you," he had told her. "I wish I had never stepped foot into the Harpy. I wish I had never convinced myself to believe in that stupid prophecy. I wish I could go back in time to that night in Venice and warn myself that falling for you would be the biggest mistake of my life. My only regret, Francesca de Chacier, is that I didn't see what you were from the beginning – cruel, self-centered, and little more than a means to an end."
Her chest cracked and face crumpled at the recollection.
He didn't mean it, she tried to convince herself. He was just angry and hurt. He was only lashing out...
But was he?
Or had there been truth in his words?
The blood-bond between her and Vladislaus remained intact, but it had gone dark shortly after he had left her alone in her flat and that distance between them now seemed impossible to traverse, let alone map. Perhaps that was a tender mercy. The fact of the matter was, she still had no idea if she had even managed to break the curse in time, if the Dracul Sânge had managed to survive his impromptu visit to Vilkova.
A growing part of her was almost too afraid to even ask.
Before she could wallow further in her own self-pity, however, she felt her maker suddenly enter the room.
Instinctive self-preservation had her haphazardly throwing up walls and armored fronts as she quickly tried to bury her true feelings. When he was close enough, she brought her glass of blood back up to her lips with a well-practiced cool indifference before asking, "How long have you been fucking my uncle?"
Eduardo stopped short, a few paces away from her. She didn't have to look at him to guess the expression on his face.
"Don't bother denying it."
"I wasn't going to," he assured her before adding with noted suspicion, "How can you tell?"
She forced herself to scoff, taking a long, slow drink.
"I can smell it on you."
He chuckled.
"If you must know, the development is recent. Only started a couple of days ago."
That surprised her.
"Your idea?" she asked archly.
He snorted, taking up residence on the window seat next to her feet, his back facing the glass.
"Hardly. The man has needs and he wasn't ready to have them fulfilled by a woman that wasn't Cece, so..."
"I didn't ask for the gory details," she reminded him, tone perfectly disinterested.
He sent her a curious look; as if he was unable to translate the expression she was wearing.
"No, I suppose you didn't."
She drained the remaining contents in her cup before retrieving one of the other bottles she had placed on the floor nearest the window, ready for a refill.
"I will never understand why you've always felt the need to sleep with every member of my family," she pointed out candidly. It almost sounded accusatory. Eduardo shrugged.
"My motives aren't nearly as rapacious as you like to assume."
"I'm sure they're not," was her tart reply. She took another drink.
He didn't particularly care for that familiar bite of hostility in her tone, but he also knew Francesca better than most. She was deflecting.
"Why are you here, cariño? What happened?"
When she didn't answer, he repeated the question.
Still she said nothing.
He decided to change tactics.
"You feel different, you know – and not in the way a blood-binding would make you different. This is something else. Something... new, and yet strangely familiar. I can't quite put my finger on it."
Frankie inhaled deep before exhaling through her nose, leaning her head back against the wall. She then tilted it to the side to rest against the cold glass of the window, refusing to meet his gaze. Instead, she tried to occupy herself with a silent study of the coming dawn, the streaks of color appearing in the sky, the way the snow glistened and sparkled under the growing light of the sun.
When he didn't give up and leave her be, she felt her defenses starting to crumble.
"I am finally whole, and yet I've never felt more incomplete in my life," she whispered. When he didn't reply, she stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. "You wouldn't understand." A statement of fact.
"Help me understand?"
She wasn't sure she wanted to recount the events of the last twelve hours, but Frankie knew deep down that torturing herself in self-imposed isolation wasn't going to help her and she was so tired of feeling wretched, so alone. And so, very slowly, she began to tell him what had happened.
The hex.
Her fallout with Vladislaus.
The sacrifice she had made.
The visions of Lamia and Lilith... how she was a Lanari now, though she still didn't quite understand what that entailed exactly.
She told him about the fear that she hadn't been able to save Dracula's children in time, how she was terrified to open herself up to her bond with Vladislaus, to the grief and anger and hatred that she was convinced would be awaiting her.
"I must admit there's also a small part of me that wants him to suffer alone, especially if what I fear has come to pass," she confessed quietly, a flash of shame hidden away behind her righteous indignation. "After the things he said to me, the way he refused to trust me, how he blatantly and willfully violated my trust – some selfish, petty part of me insists that he deserves to suffer after that."
"And do you? Do you really want him to suffer?"
Frankie shuddered a little, already feeling the tears coming on. She hated them. She was so tired of crying.
"Yes... and no," she said with some deliberation. "The things he said to me, Eduardo... the way he used compulsion on me as if it were nothing – he knew he was crossing a line, I'm certain of that, but it was like he didn't care. He said he regretted everything – the whole of our relationship; that I was a means to an end." She flicked away a tear from the corner of her eye before it could tumble down her cheek. "Part of me wants to believe he just said that to get under my skin, that he didn't really mean it... I could forgive him if that was the case. But I don't know what to believe anymore."
She finished off the remaining contents in her glass and then placed it down on the ground beside the empty bottle.
"I swore to myself after Alphonse that no man would ever rule me like that ever again, that I would never let anyone just take away my power, my autonomy like that. And I've kept my word, Eduardo," and she sent him a meaningful look. The corner of his lips tugged upward into a faint and knowing smirk.
"Yes... I know better than anyone how well you have kept that promise," he said.
"You knew compulsion was my line in the sand and when you crossed it..."
"There were consequences," he finished. "I know. I'm still suffering from them."
She sent him a wry look and his smile deepened.
"Why do you think I've shacked up with nearly every member of your family? A taste of you is better than nothing at all."
Frankie groaned and he laughed.
"You don't mean that," she insisted.
"Not really, but perhaps there's a shred of truth in there somewhere."
A comfortable silence settled between them.
"Vladislaus was made aware of that same boundary," she continued after a while.
"True, but you can't break a blood-bond by sheer will alone like you did with our sire-bond, cariño," Satanas pointed out. "Besides, let's be honest with ourselves for a moment – would you even want to if you could?" Frankie looked away, uncomfortable with his query. He persisted. "You said it yourself – the only thing that kept you from losing yourself was your bond to him. You may feel angry, you may feel betrayed – but that doesn't change the fact that you still love him."
"I wouldn't be shocked if the feeling was no longer mutual," she muttered, leaning forward to rest her chin on her knees. "You didn't see the look in his eyes. The distance between us is too great. Even if we wanted to, I wouldn't even know how to start bridging that gulf – not when he doesn't trust me."
The Spaniard groaned.
"Oh, enough with this defeatist attitude, Francesca!" he declared. "You made a mistake. Both of you did. Granted, yours isn't so bad in the grand scheme of things, but as Lyra likes to say – shit happens! No relationship is without its moments of adversity."
"But what about when he finds out what I've become? What if he decides that I'm just not worth the trouble anymore?"
"You know, I often forget how insecure you can be," he teased, but she sent him a nasty look.
"I am trying to be vulnerable here, Eduardo," she snapped suddenly, eyes still glistening. "If you don't like it, if it makes you uncomfortable, then leave. I am hurting – that is the truth of the matter. I am hurting and I'm scared and I don't know what to do. So if your way of dealing with that is condemning and teasing me in the same breath, then the door is over there."
The tension in the air was the only thing keeping her from fully giving way to her tears.
"I was just trying to lighten the mood," he defended, sulking a little.
She buried her face into her knees.
"I don't want you to lighten the mood."
"Then what do you want, Francesca? Do you want me to tell you that the right man would never allow that gulf you speak of to rule a relationship? Do you want me to tell you that if Dracula is even half the man I believe him to be, that he would build a bridge so you two could find each other again?"
Frankie slowly brought herself out of her seated fetal position, her eyes returning to her maker as he spoke. The Spaniard appeared agitated and he bristled a little in his seat as he continued,
"Vladislaus Drăculea is many things, my love. He is arrogant and clever and even a little hypocritical on occasion, but he is no coward. He has never been afraid of you or your power – even when you succumbed to your blood-rage. I sincerely doubt he'd be intimidated by you now. Does you being Lanari or whatever it is change things? Of course it does. But he managed to work around your blood-rage, I'm sure he'll be just fine adjusting to this new development," and he waved his hand in her direction before huffing once. "If anything, you finally coming into your own should – given what you just shared with me – keep him from ever using compulsion on you again. In fact, when you see him again – and yes, I mean when – have him test the theory out. The fact that you were even able to leave Budapest while under his thrall speaks volumes."
The agitation in the way he held himself began to lessen somewhat when he finally took note of the softened look in her expression.
With a sigh and a reassuring he smile, he continued,
"And as for him not wanting you or trusting you, you couldn't be more of a fool for believing that. You had a row, Francesca. One of legendary proportions, sure, but it was just a row nonetheless. You said it yourself, my dear – you love him. You still love him even though he hurt you. And, knowing from personal experience how I reacted when things went a bit sour between us once upon a time, I'd hazard a guess and say that while he too may have been hurt by your deceit – as well-intentioned as it was – he still loves you too."
"You can't know that for certain," she said softly.
"Perhaps, but neither can you. Not until you return to Budapest and face the music."
She blanched.
"I'm not sure I'm ready to go back just yet," she admitted.
"I'm not suggesting you leave now."
"Then what are you suggesting?" she asked, moving over to sit beside him on the window seat, her body still wrapped up in a blanket. He reached over for her as she moved, tucking her underneath his arm and pulling her into an embrace.
"Stay here for the solstice and give both him and yourself time to cool off, to take stock of what is important," he explained, gratified when she leaned against him. "That should give you at least three, maybe four days reprieve before I have your uncle chuck you out of the house so you can go back to Budapest and at least attempt to patch things up with his majesty."
Frankie snorted.
"I love how you think you have any sort of sway over Armand."
"He doesn't – at least to that extent," her uncle called out from within the library and she looked up to find him making his way over from the archive room. "But I happen to agree. You can stay here until Monday – and then you have to go back."
"You'd seriously kick me out?" she asked, genuinely surprised. Armand chuckled, taking the empty seat on Frankie's other side.
"In any other situation, no. I'd probably let you stay. But Eduardo is right – you need to resolve this with Vladislaus. You owe it to yourself, but you also owe it to your people. They need both their king and queen on a united front. If Dracula decides that his pride is more important, then I'll go down to Budapest myself to bring you and your brother and the others back with me and his majesty can clean up that mess with Augustine on his own."
"Rémy won't leave Budapest – he's invested too much. Has lost too much." Armand didn't argue, but he also offered no further reply on that score. After a few moment of silence, Frankie turned to look at her uncle. "Have you been able to get a hold of him?"
"No," Armand admitted. "I don't know if his phone is just off or what, but I couldn't reach him. I'll send him an email before bed."
"Do you think anything could be amiss?" Eduardo asked, but Frankie's uncle shook his head.
"No – he's been notoriously difficult to get a hold of since he and Carmen finally got together – and given everything that's taken place in the last evening alone, I'm sure checking his mobile is the last thing on his mind right now."
"Wait – he and Carmen are together? When did that happen?" Satanas demanded.
"You never told him?" Frankie asked.
Armand shrugged.
"Must have slipped my mind."
The Spaniard scoffed at that, somewhere between genuinely offended and profoundly amused.
"Must have slipped your mind?" he repeated dramatically. "You tell me within the hour of you finding out that Francesca and his majesty had been blood-bound like some kind of village gossip, and yet you somehow forgot to tell me about Carmen finally snatching up Reynaud? And after all these years? Well? Give me details! When did this happen? Have they fucked yet?"
"Eduardo," Frankie announced, "your fascination with the sex lives of my family is nothing short of disturbing."
"I'm going to have to agree!" Armand said with a laugh.
The conversation quickly devolved into both men openly flirting and teasing one another as Francesca sat between them. She tapped out shortly thereafter, announcing that she was going to go to bed. She made her retreat to the sound of her uncle and her maker all but pouncing on one another the second she had turned the corner down the hall.
She was happy for them in a way – for her uncle, mostly, whom she knew had been terribly lonely since the untimely passing of her aunt. And Eduardo – he had always had an aptitude for helping those he took to bed in forgetting about their woes. Once upon a time, she couldn't have been more grateful for that talent of his, for the pleasurable distraction he could provide – but a distraction from the ache that lingered in her heart was not what she craved now.
What she wanted more than anything was a cure.
And so Francesca crawled into her cold and empty bed alone, rest coming fitfully – if it came at all. Halfway through the afternoon, she found herself reaching across the too-large mattress for the one thing that could soothe her mind, but awoke to find he wasn't there – her Vladislaus, a half a world away.
Did he truly hate her?
Had her willful deceit irreparably damaged the beauty of what they had once shared?
She wanted to be angry with him – and a part of her was. After all, anger was easier to feel than the pain and the fear and the insecurity.
But even in her disappointment, in her justified resentment at his behavior, she could not deny that the distance between them was slowly tearing her apart.
She tried to blame it on the blood-bond. It made her feel weak, vulnerable. But blood-bond or no, Francesca couldn't stop herself from missing him, from loving him, from reaching across the bed for him when deep down she knew he wasn't there.
So this is what homesickness for a person feels like, she thought to herself numbly as she tucked her knees in close to her chest, pulling the covers in tighter around her body. I hate it.