Eternal Night Chapter 14: This Means War, a van helsing fanfic

Happy Friday, my dear readers. I hope the week treated you all well.

A special thanks to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, cneajna, and Arwen17evenstar for reviewing this week. The continued engagement and support from a number of you has really helped buoy me through the last few days, so thank you as always for taking the time to do that. I know I'm a broken record at this point, but it really does mean a lot.

Fair warning, Frankie and Dracula are going to butt heads again in this chapter. The relationship I'm hoping to develop between them long-term sadly won't happen overnight, but rest assured, these heated conflicts between them won't last forever. But for now, we've got another war of words on the horizon. I wonder who will come out on top this time? ;) I personally enjoy writing these sort of exchanges, but if they're boring you... I'm sorry, I guess? But also... no I'm not?

Whatever. You do you, boo. :)

Not much to provide in the way of content warnings for this one... Dracula continues to lean into his own assholery and arrogance, but Frankie will always refuse to take that shit lying down, so I guess all we can do is sit back and enjoy the fireworks!

Chapter 14
This Means War

Carmen raked her bony fingers through her thick, black hair in a sign of evident frustration.

"Again, Vesper."

"I don't want to study the Renaissance anymore. Can't we do something else? What about science or something?"

"It's Renaissance or French, young lady, and I don't have the patience Frankie does when it comes to French, so you're stuck with the Renaissance."

The teenage dhampir actually stomped her foot.

"But Carmen…"

"Fine. We'll start all the way back at the beginning. Define Renaissance."

Vesper crossed her arms defiantly over her chest and shook her head roughly.

"No."

"Child, you are seriously showing your age right now."

"I'm not a child! I almost fifteen!"

"You say that like it implies some level of improvement."

As the two continued to bicker at the breakfast bar next to the kitchen, the three men sitting at the dining room table all rolled their eyes. They had been listening to this same conversation for the last couple of hours. Carmen had given up on finding affordable furnishings for her new place, despite Rémy's suggestion that they just ask Frankie for the funds. But the woman, with her Castilian pride, instead cursed him with some colorful language before informing Vesper that it was time for her studies.

Dracula inhaled deep through his nose, trying to keep himself composed as he struggled to ignore the two females by the kitchen.

"Rémy, don't take this the wrong way, but how much longer are we going to be congregating each evening in this particular location?" he inquired.

"Seriously, though. We've both offered our own places and…" Danny began, but Rémy cut him off.

"Not having this discussion, gentlemen."

"But…"

"Damn it, Vesper!" Carmen shouted, unintentionally interrupting the conversation by slamming her hand on the counter. "Just define the bloody word!"

"I'm not going to surrender to you! Yell all you want, you tyrant!"

"Vesper…" The woman's fangs lengthened as her patience vanished before the girl's eyes, but the display had no effect.

"I am not your prisoner! I will not recite facts about the Renaissance any longer! I demand my freedom!" the girl shouted dramatically, standing on top of the barstool. She stomped her foot, hands clenched into tight fists. "Give me liberty or give me…"

As if on cue, the front door suddenly opened and in walked Lyra and Frankie, the two openly laughing about something until they realized that every eye in the apartment was on them. The latter was quick to notice that Leinhart was still present and her smile disappeared at once as she straightened her posture and diverted her gaze elsewhere.

"Frankie! Thank God! Carmen is making me memorize useless historical facts. Please make her stop!" Vesper called out, her complaints interrupting the tension. Lyra began to excuse herself, embracing her friend who had offered her a drink.

"No thanks, hon, but call me later this weekend, alright?"

"I will. Thank you for keeping me company."

"Anytime."

Lyra looked over at Carmen and the two women nodded in understanding to one another. Frankie looked between them and just rolled her eyes, muttering an oath in her native tongue just as Lyra departed, shutting the door behind her while chuckling.

Vesper perked up at the sound of Frankie's mumbled French and she watched the woman make her way over to the kitchen.

"What did you say?" the girl asked.

"Have you mastered your French grammar yet?" Vesper made a face. "Then you don't get to learn curse words. Now, listen to Carmen and define Renaissance."

Carmen sent Frankie an appreciative look while Vesper sat back down in her seat and rambled off the definition in monotone.

"Renaissance: a term most commonly used by scholars to describe the cultural achievements of the fourteenth through sixteenth centuries; those achievements rest on the economic and political developments of earlier centuries."

"See? That wasn't so painful, was it?" Frankie smirked, opening the cupboard by the fridge and pulling out a bottle of absinthe. Rémy immediately took note of that.

"Why do you get to open the absinthe? You said that was for the night we opened Carmen's new place!"

Frankie poured herself a glass and downed the light green liquid in a single breath to the surprise of everyone.

"How long are your guests going to be here, Rémy?" she inquired instead of answering his question. "I would like to have my home to myself for an evening, at least once," she added, sending a pointed look to Leinhart who hadn't taken his eyes off of her since she had entered the apartment. "There's too much testosterone in here."

There was the faintest hint of mirth hidden behind her mask of indifference and at the sight of it, Vlad leaned back in his chair, a smug look spreading across his countenance as he continued to watch her more openly now.

"The moment Carmen stops being picky and decides on what kind of furniture she wants, we'll be back to normal," Rémy explained, missing the way his friend and sister had been looking at one another.

"Why would Carmen be picky?"

"It's nothing," the woman lied immediately. Frankie was about to pry it out of her when Danny saved her the trouble.

"She's taken it into her head that she has to pay for all the furnishings since you paid for the actual location. And she's too afraid to ask you for a loan, even though she knows she doesn't have enough money to get the furniture she wants, even after the insurance payout."

Carmen sent Danny a look that promised death.

"That's not true! Frankie, I swear. There are just so many options and I'm having a hard time deciding."

"You were always a terrible liar, Carmen Guillermo."

"I'm not going to ask you for more money," she insisted. "I don't need or want it. You've given PLENTY already. Infinitely more than I or anyone else deserves. I'm not accepting any more handouts from you, Frankie. I'm serious!"

"How much money would it take to get you into that building by next week?" Leinhart suddenly asked. Carmen shrugged.

"Well, we're still renovating because I can't afford to hire any more help."

"We will help you," Rémy proclaimed. "I can call in a few favors and have some guys at the place tomorrow night."

"Alright. Well, the furnishings, floors, counters, the kitchen, the bedrooms, the actual meeting area itself, not to mention the supply of alcohol needed so we could adequately pull off the whole tavern-inn façade… hell, even the security system I'd need, the usual tech…" she added it up in her head silently before replying. "It would cost about as much as the building itself – if we wanted to get the bulk of it done by the end of next week. Why?"

Dracula looked over at Frankie, that mischievous grin of his widening noticeably as he removed a checkbook from the inside pocket of his jacket. When he was done filling out the check, he stood up from his seat and handed it to Carmen whose eyes went wide in astonishment. She opened her mouth to speak, most likely in an effort to refuse the gift he had just handed to her, but he held up his hand, requesting her acquiescence.

"Take it. And think of it as me paying for my tab and for the furniture I will most likely break in the future and… as your birthday present for the next fifty years," and he looked directly over at Frankie.

The mirth that had previously been in Francesca Chase's eyes was soon exchanged for a look of complete shock.

She took the check from Carmen's trembling hand and looked down at it. Written on the line beneath Carmen's name in a strong hand he had spelled out the precise amount she had put down for the new place… plus a single, solitary cent. Frankie felt the jab to her pride instantly.

He had one-upped her by one.

Fucking.

Cent.

Not only that, he had used her words – the tab, the furniture joke, and the birthday present for the next fifty years. Frankie was finally able to pull her eyes away from the check so she could look up at Leinhart. He was still smiling as Carmen wrapped her arms around him in gratitude, evidently won over by his generosity. While everyone thanked him for his impressive contribution, Frankie, on the other hand, didn't quite know what to do.

He hadn't given that money out of the goodness of his heart – that much was obvious by the way he was looking at her even as the others went on and on about his generosity. No. He had done it to spite her, to bait her, to get under her skin.

Damn the man, it was working…

He knew exactly what he was doing, and his condescending smirk only added fuel to the fire. She didn't know whether to slap him for the impertinence or thank him for the charitable contribution… even if his motives were undeniably problematic.

Instead, she gripped the back of one of the chairs at her side to steady herself.

While Dracula reveled in his brief victory, he waited with an almost childlike anticipation for Frankie's response. He knew she was cross with him, that she perfectly comprehended his intentions, that desire to get a rise out of her; but what she did next completely threw him off his axis.

Frankie took a deep, calming breath and allowed the tension in her body to slip away as she relaxed visibly.

"Mr. Leinhart, that was an incredibly generous thing to do," she said to him with as much sincerity as she could muster.

His smugness lingered as he privately hoped against hope that she would grant him the victory he truly craved – an impassioned reaction. Instead, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into an unexpected hug.

Now it was his turn to be surprised.

His eyes widened visibly, as did everyone else's in the room as Frankie embraced the man who so clearly enjoyed riling her.

Dracula, meanwhile, was too stunned to react.

Whether it was the fact that she hadn't played into his hands as anticipated or that her soft body was now pressed against his as she hugged him, he hardly knew. But the scent of her lightly perfumed skin attacked him immediately; that familiar sense of delirium ravaging him as his arms instinctually wrapped around her waist, returning her embrace – and consequently pulling her closer, making their contact more intimate.

He was too lost in how perfectly she fit in his arms to care about how this must have looked to the others. He felt her hand run down from his shoulder, halting at the center of his chest while her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered for only him to hear.

"You arrogant, self-serving prick," she breathed. Ah… there it was, he mused inwardly and the corner of his lips twitched. "You want to play games? Fine."

She then stepped out of his hold and offered a charming smile, but behind her eyes was a deadly fire that enthralled him. Quickly banishing the sensuous spell her nearness had cast on him, he mirrored her feigned graciousness and bowed his head just slightly in acknowledgement of her challenge.

Rémy asked what was going on and Frankie was first to reply, her gaze still locked on Vlad's.

"Oh nothing, brother. We just decided a while back to make an effort to behave more civilly with one another, for the sake of everyone," she responded. "Isn't that right, Mr. Leinhart?"

"Yes," he stated, glancing over at Rémy in an effort to avoid ravishing the woman with his eyes. "We both recognize that our previous spats have had an impact beyond just the two of us. We have consented to do our best to behave like rational, emotionally grounded adults."

"Though we clearly aren't making any promises," Frankie added with a narrowed look sent his way.

Dracula returned his attention to the woman at his side, his expression borderline wolfish.

"Of course not."

"Well, it's about time," Rémy interrupted, sighing loudly in relief, totally ignorant to what was actually going on between his sister and friend. "For a moment there, I thought Frankie was going to gut you."

"And why on earth would I do that?" his sister inquired with a false sense of sweetness, exquisitely composed. Had her brother been paying attention, he would have noticed the icy bite in her tone. Dracula had noticed it, however, and her sarcasm made him want to laugh.

Oh yes. He loved that fire in her eyes, the way she masterfully leashed that temper of hers… that dominance, the discipline. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if he could get her to fumble that control of hers just a little. The thought made him feel devious.

"Well, he paid as much as you did for Carmen's new place. I know how competitive you are."

"Miss Chase is competitive?" Dracula noted with contrived astonishment. "I never would have guessed."

Seems she wasn't the only one with a cynic's tongue.

Frankie had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself in check. He was baiting her again, but she would not take it.

"I believe it healthy for a woman to possess a certain degree of combative ambition," she answered simply. "We need it to survive amongst our own sex, after all."

"So you think competition only resides among your own sex, then?"

"But of course. There is no competition between men and women. Women won that battle a long time ago."

The superiority in her tone amused him to no end, that confidence of hers putting him in mind of their encounter on the bridge a couple weeks ago.

"Really? I wasn't aware women had the upper-hand in anything."

A sentiment he naturally didn't possess, but she didn't know that.

"And thus proves my point," was Frankie's riposte. "Your sex has been completely beguiled by the illusion of power. Any authority you actually possess is granted to you."

The way her brow arched and her eyes swept over him, expression suggesting that she was entirely unimpressed by what she beheld, it touched a nerve and his façade of composure slipped a fraction as his eyes visibly narrowed. He opened his mouth, ready to retort, but he was interrupted, leaving Frankie to claim the victory of their verbal skirmish.

"Alright, I think we should stop right now before you two break out into another argument like last time," Danny announced, moving between the two of them.

"I agree," she interjected, moving toward the door. "I also believe Mr. Leinhart has been exceptionally charitable this evening and if he were wise, he would be a gentleman and not overstay his welcome."

"Frankie, be nice," Rémy called from the dining room, but she was adamant as she walked over to the front door, holding it open.

By no means defeated by her small triumph, Dracula silenced Rémy's insisting and started to gather his belongings.

"No, your sister is right. Besides, the sun will be rising soon."

"Danny, you too," Frankie called out.

"What?! What did I do?"

"I am sick of drowning in all of this testosterone – please leave."

Danny started to gather his things a bit reluctantly and he was the first one out the door.

"Goodnight, Frankie."

"Goodnight, Danny." She then turned to her brother who was attempting to hide his face from the humiliation of his younger sister kicking out his friends. "Rémy, I think it would be wise if you left as well."

"Excuse me? This is my home too! Unlike those two, I actually live here"

"Correction, dear brother. This flat is mine. I am the one that cleans it and pays for it, and it's under my name. Don't fret. I'm sure you won't go entirely homeless. Why don't you give Lily a call? I have no doubt she'll welcome you with open arms…" and legs, but she kept that last part to herself for Carmen's sake. Rémy grumbled a few choice words as he grabbed his jacket and keys before marching out the door. "Goodnight, brother."

Rémy only continued to curse as he made his way bitterly down the hall.

Dracula still hadn't left yet. He was taking his sweet, precious time, watching with amusement as Frankie gradually gave way to her irritation. He couldn't articulate why, but the woman's temper entertained him to no end. Perhaps it was because it reminded him of the passion that brewed beneath her cool exterior, an ardor he longed to explore more fully.

"You are still present, sir," she pointed out with a whip of impatience.

"I'm merely gathering my things," he replied with contrasting calm, his smile remaining charismatic. At last, he made his way over to the door, but instead of walking out, he lingered, turning around to face her.

"Goodnight, Mr. Leinhart," she cued.

"And goodnight to you, Miss Chase." He took her hand and bent over it, proving that he could still behave like a gentleman, despite her provocation, but she quickly removed herself from his grasp before his lips could graze her knuckles.

"That won't be necessary." A little put off by her refusal – though not exactly surprised by it either – he finally stepped out into the hall. "And Mr. Leinhart?" she called out. He turned to face her. "You accused me about a fortnight ago of using my wealth to purchase the good opinions of others. In fact, if memory serves, you called me a hypocrite for it. I had wondered if I was mistaken in accusing you of projecting your own failings onto me, but it's clear I was perfectly accurate in my assessment of you. Your charitable contribution, not to mention your present behavior towards myself in particular, stands as a testament of your own vain and duplicitous nature. I thank you, sir, for validating my earlier estimation of your character. It has been most gratifying. Goodnight," and with that, she closed the door before he could even respond.

Her words had had their intended effect.

With surgical precision, she and her razor sharp tongue had cut where he was most vulnerable – his pride.

Dracula wasn't just troubled by her succinct dressing-down of his character; he was genuinely offended, and for a couple of seconds the unconquerable monarch in him lost his cool.

He marched over and banged his fist against the apartment door, probably a little harder than was entirely necessary, but he had momentarily forgotten the extent of his own strength. Frankie took her precious time opening the door again, the smuggest expression on her face.

"Mr. Leinhart!" she exclaimed with a blatantly false sense of surprise. "How may I be of assistance?"

Oh, that arrogance!

That woman deserved punishing and his hand twitched at the thought of coming down hard on her naked ass. But would she shrink or would she lean into it, he couldn't help but wonder. His wounded ego, however, proved a little more vocal than his libido presently was.

Vladislaus pointed a menacing finger at her.

"Listen here, you vicious little snake," he began.

A deliciously malevolent smile curled her mouth as she licked her lips and leaned against the doorframe.

"Ah, so I'm a snake now. I was wondering when the proper insults would start. First I wasn't attractive enough for you; then I was egotistical and needy, and now I'm serpentine? Tell me, do you spend all your time away from me thinking of ways to decimate my character because I swear, every time we meet, you have come up with something new!"

He gripped the frame of the door with his hand, desperate to regain control over himself.

As king, he was unaccustomed to being addressed in such a fashion by anyone. Not even Bernardini had ever had the audacity to talk to him this way.

Vladislaus rarely – if ever – gave much credence to the opinions of others. But suddenly finding himself as the subject of her pitiless critique stung a great deal more than he could have ever anticipated. She couldn't be in earnest, could she? Of course, therein lied the problem. He wasn't sure he could even tell the difference – if she was merely giving him a taste of his own medicine with her teasing or if she meant every word. And it didn't help that – no matter the case – she had an uncanny ability to cut him to the quick with minimal effort.

Vlad hadn't quite made up his mind on whether or not he revered or detested her for that particular talent.

Of course, internally admitting as much forced him to also recognize the irony of his own hypocrisy, but he was in no mood for introspection at present. He was already on the warpath.

"Oh believe me; I could think of far more satisfying ways of humbling you," he managed to hiss back in response.

The barest hint of suggestion in his eyes wasn't lost to her, and her gaze narrowed, brows furrowing as she leaned in just a fraction. She refused to be intimidated by him.

"What are you going to do? Spank me?"

Little sparks of delight went off in his brain, elated that her mind had instinctually gone down the same route his had just moments ago. And he had every intention of getting off to that particular fantasy later when he got home.

"Only after you beg me first," he replied darkly, dancing along that delicate line between fury and desire.

His words sent a quiver down Francesca's spine and even though she rolled her eyes, scoffing in an attempt to deflect, she could not hide the way her pupils had expanded at his suggestion.

Interesting development, he mused silently.

"What do you want, Leinhart?" she asked him then, deciding to get to the point.

"I just wanted to inform you that I didn't give Carmen that money to purchase her good opinion, let alone anyone else's."

"Is that so? Then please, enlighten me."

"The sooner she gets that place up and running, the sooner I don't have to find myself in your flat night after night."

"And yet you'll see me nearly every evening there, so I'm still curious as to why the venue is of any relevance. Is it because you'd prefer to insult me on more neutral ground, or perhaps you've convinced yourself that my living situation lends me some unfair advantage?"

"I never said..."

"Why did you one-up me by one cent?" she suddenly demanded, the truth of her indignation coming out at last. "Your donation doesn't disturb me, contrary to what you may think. What I find so offensive is your constant and deliberate attempts to put me in an ill light, to get a rise out of me – and for no rational purpose, outside of the fact that I am the only one that dares to question you!"

Frankie then opened the door a bit more so she could step forward, clearly undaunted by how he towered over her.

"It wasn't the money that disgusted me; it was the lack of principle!" she continued. "I am not blind. I can see that you clearly pride yourself in virtues that your actions have proven you do not possess. Only a tyrannical bully would openly relish in the anger or discomfort of another. Behind your charming façade and presumptuous superiority, I am convinced that you are little more than the despotic, sadistic, cavalier embodiment of all that is wrong with vampire aristocracy. That behavior may be acceptable in the north district, but here it is not. You can't straddle both sides of the board, Mr. Leinhart. You can't proclaim to care about the state of the city and its people while acting like you're mightier than the rest of us, because you're not."

When her lecture was over, Vlad could do nothing but stand there in the hallway, his eyes betraying his astonishment.

He was speechless.

It had been a very long time since he had been so thoroughly scolded. Even with the simmering sexual tension, it did little to distract him from the fact that the truth in her words smarted some. But once again – as much as his pride was loathed to admit – he found her boldness refreshing. And that fire in her eyes… it was divine and hellish almost simultaneously. She wasn't the least bit afraid or intimidated by him and he- he loved it.

But, his growing attraction for her aside, while he hadn't meant for his behavior to be taken so maliciously, it was evident that he had crossed a line.

"I apologize for offending you," he said at long last. "It was not my intention to antagonize you to this extent."

"As much as I'd like to believe that, your words have proven themselves hollow. Only your actions will convince me." The anger had left her voice, but her words remained firm.

"I understand."

"I know you enjoy provoking me, Vlad Leinhart. I am not ignorant of that, although for the life of me I can't understand why. But if this behavior of yours is your way of earning my approval, you may wish to rethink your tactics. I do not play games with men who do not understand the distinction between commanding respectand demanding it. Then again, I wouldn't expect a man as entitled as you to grasp the concept. Now, if you would please remove yourself from my doorstep..."

He released the frame of the door, but only continued to stand there, still reeling from what had just passed between them.

"Goodnight," she said curtly, and then she shut the door in his face, the click of the deadbolt snapping him back into reality.

He was an amalgamation of outrage, embarrassment, and desire, but after a few moments in that stunned silence, his feelings turned to something more akin to relief and approval.

That woman really was his equal.

She had no qualms in going toe-to-toe with him, and she held her own in a way that could only be described as marvelous. It left something to curl deliciously inside of him, a familiar pressure building at the base of his spine, even as the corner of his lips began to twitch.

Vladislaus Drăculea had never bowed to anyone – not even to someone as beautiful, as incredible, or as fierce as Francesca Chase. And while he wasn't ready to admit that he'd willingly make her the exception to the rule, he'd be damned if he denied that the thought didn't suddenly have an appeal to it.

He was so engrossed in his own private musings that he never noticed Rémy at the other end of the hall until the man called out,

"I think she may be finally warming up to you."

Dracula sent his new friend a sidelong glance.

"You're hilarious," he replied in turn, completely deadpan.

"I'm serious. If she really hated you, she would have told you as much. That comment at the end about playing games was an invitation if ever I heard one."

"An invitation for what?" Dracula asked, feigning ignorance though he knew the answer to that query perfectly well.

"Honestly, it could mean a number of things, and all of them make me anxious," Rémy admitted with a sigh and a certain look at the closed door of his flat. "Although I have to say, I am in awe of how effortlessly you manage to piss her off," he added with a faint smile. "I'd ask you to teach me, but I'm no masochist."

"One of my many gifts, I suppose," Vladislaus answered distractedly.

"Well come on, I'll give you a ride home."

"Thank you, but I'd prefer to walk. I think I could use a bit of fresh air after that."

"If you insist. Hey, so we'll be meeting at Carmen's new place tomorrow – could use your help with the renovations if you don't have anything going on."

Dracula almost declined the offer, not entirely keen to devote himself to several days of manual labor, but the thought of seeing Francesca again had him reconsidering.

"I'll be there at sundown," he promised. "I give you my word."

"And I know you are a man of your word, despite what my sister may say. Now then, Lily is expecting me and I really need to get laid, so… I will see you in a few hours."

Dracula grimaced a little, suddenly recalling that he no longer had that luxury. If he wanted sex, the only woman he could get it from was that lioness on the other side of the door; and while the idea of hate-fucking her brains out had its appeal, even a fool could see that that wasn't going to be happening any time soon.

So he satisfied himself with plots for his revenge instead as he followed Rémy down the stairs. When his friend was far enough ahead, he turned to take one last look at the door near the end of the hall.

"Let it be war, then, dragă," he whispered.

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