Eternal Night (I) Chapter 24: Ezekiel Masthena, a van helsing fanfic

This chapter is a long one, so strap in.

But before we begin, a massive thank you to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, and cneajna for your reviews of the last chapter. Seriously love you guys. Thank you for always being so consistently supportive. Your kindness has once again carried me through another excruciating week. Y'all are real ones.

CW: references to past sexual assault and abuse of a minor.

Chapter 24
Ezekiel Masthena

"Does Rémy know he's here?" Frankie whispered.

"No, I haven't told him," Carmen insisted. "He snuck in through the back and I caught him nosing around."

"Were you seen by anyone?" and she glanced at the man who was still seated on the other side of the room.

"No."

"Good. I was about to take Anna-Sophie back, but since you're here…"

"You must be Francesca Chase," he interrupted, recognition now sparkling in his eyes. "I'd call you 'mother', but Jack and Niklaus made me swear not to, as it seems the term still makes you uncomfortable."

She had no idea why, but all of Dracula's sons seemed to have the most intense eyes and Ezekiel's were no exception. He had the kind of stare that could penetrate stone, as if he could see into the very depths of her soul. Frankie half-expected herself to feel awkward by his sudden attention, but was instead surprised by how drawn to him it made her feel – connected, calm. As if he knew her. As if he could see her – really see her – as a kindred spirit would. His next words only intensified that impression.

"I've waited a long time to meet you, Francesca," he continued and the confession took her by honest surprise.

Well, this was a little embarrassing, she mused inwardly. She wasn't exactly looking her best at the moment, let alone feeling it – her nerves already shot from the events of the morning. In truth, she was nowhere near prepared to be face to face with the eldest member of the Dracul Sânge, but fate evidently had other things in mind.

"So wait a minute, you're Anna-Sophie's father?" Frankie clarified, still wrapping her head around the fact that the queen of the werewolves and the eldest son of Dracula were an item. Suddenly Isabella's push for a unification of the species was making a whole lot more sense.

She absently wondered with private amusement what the man's father would think if he knew. Hopefully Dracula was more accepting of interspecies relationships than Mr. Leinhart was.

"She certainly takes after her mother, but yes. She's mine," and he smiled affectionately at the slumbering girl in his lap before looking back to Frankie. "I apologize for arriving unannounced, but when I received word of the threat made towards my daughter – well, you can imagine my concern. And then I learned that you were involved in protecting her, and I decided that I had to see you myself. Louise was supposed to be your next interview and Jack insisted I stay put, but I hope you don't mind interviewing me this evening, as the opportunity is presently before us. I can accompany you back to the south district so you can keep to your agreement with Bella, but this way I can keep an eye on the two of you… if you have no objections, of course."

"No, I don't have any objections… I just… I feel so unprepared."

"And that is entirely my fault. I hope you can forgive me."

"No. Don't worry, its fine. I'm just normally better put together," and she glanced down at herself, finally taking note of the blood and filth all over her clothes. Had she really walked back like this? "I fear the last few hours have been especially chaotic," she answered lightly. "But of course, I'd be more than happy to interview you now, if that suits you best. And I would be grateful for the company." And the distraction. Anything to keep her mind off of Vlad Leinhart.

"I appreciate your flexibility."

His smile was soft and a flood of warmth seemed to rush over her like a wave. There was something incredibly soothing about his presence, her previous irritation already melting away, soon to be a thing of the past. She watched as the man finally rose from his seat, stepping into the light. He was tall like his brothers, but in terms of physique, he was a lot more strapping – broad shouldered, arms thick like tree trunks, each muscle exquisitely sculpted. His eyes were a brilliant summer green and Frankie soon began to see the similarities between the father and daughter. Anna-Sophie had Ezekiel's pin-straight hair, pointed nose, and round cheeks. And the shape of the eyes were almost identical.

Seeing the girl in the protective embrace of her father made something ache deep inside of the woman's heart, but now was not the time to dwell on such things, and she immediately turned to Carmen.

"Can you grab the spare recorder? I put it in the kitchen in the drawer closest to the door. There should be a syringe in there as well. When I'm gone, tell Rémy we'll need to put a new spare in there."

"Sure thing, hon," and Carmen made her exit just as Frankie motioned for Ezekiel to follow her outside. The three met out in the alley beside the tavern, Carmen discretely handing Frankie the requested items before re-entering the establishment without a word.

"Can she be trusted?" Ezekiel asked.

"She's one of my closest friends. I have full confidence in her discretion."

"Good. I trust you understand how dangerous it is for us to be out and about here in Budapest. My siblings and I technically aren't supposed to exist anymore."

"I know. Don't worry – your secret is safe."

While the sun had risen, they remained protected from its rays, the thick storm clouds still brewing above their heads, though thankfully the earlier rain had turned into little more than a faint drizzle.

"You don't mind if we walk, do you? That way we can have more time to talk undisturbed? I know a short-cut that will keep us out of the way of the populace, if that's all right," he offered.

"Yes. Please… lead the way."

"Before we begin, where on earth are my manners? I swear, if Father knew, I'd never hear the end of it."

Ezekiel carefully maneuvered Anna-Sophie in his hold and extended his hand.

"You deserve a formal introduction. I am Ezekiel Mathsena-Drăculea: born 1442; turned 1474 at the age of two-and-thirty."

Frankie took his offered hand and just like his brother's before him, he moved as though to kiss her knuckles, but his lips never touched her skin. She smiled, her admiration for these men and their old-fashioned sensibilities growing all the more profound.

"As I mentioned before, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance," he continued, and then he released her hand, readjusting the slumbering Anna-Sophie in his arms after motioning with his head in the direction he wished for them to take. She followed after clicking on her digital recorder, placing it into the pocket of her jacket.

"So, I really don't know how to start this interview," Frankie confessed. "Normally I would prepare questions to help get us started, but to be honest with you, I'm more curious about your relationship with Isabella. How on earth have the two of you managed to keep that a secret?"

The smile on his face was borderline mischievous.

"I am my father's son. Discretion is one of my strong-suits," and he winked in her direction.

"Evidently," she replied.

"Have no fear. You will hear all in due time. As to your present discomfort at being ill-prepared, perhaps you would be more at ease if you knew us all a little better."

"Well, you are the only ones who can remedy that at the moment," Frankie hinted with a smile.

"Yes, I suppose that's true, which is a pity because if it were up to me, you'd be able to meet with all of us whenever you wished without the need for all these preparations and secret meetings. But until that changes, I suppose we'll have to satisfy ourselves with the current arrangement."

"I see no other way around it," she admitted.

"Now then, if Jack explained this to me correctly, I tell you my life story in as little or as much detail as I see fit and when I'm done, you absorb my memories? I don't mean to be rude, but if you're going to absorb my memories anyway, what's the point of talking?"

"Your brothers all asked me the same thing. It's a stylistic approach. Honestly, anything else kind of feels rather callous."

"Well, I'm pleased to find you're making an effort to get to know us on a more personal level. Jack had explained that when you two had first met, you were still very against all of this."

"I find myself gradually opening up to the prospect, but I would be lying if I said I didn't still have my reservations," she replied. "When I met Jack, I was whole-heartedly against the notion of being betrothed to Dracula. For years now, the very suggestion has left me feeling trapped, confined, unable to make my own decisions, like I'm a… "

"A prisoner?" he finished for her. "Like you have little to no control over your destiny, as if you're some kind of toy of fate?"

"Yes. That's it exactly," she exclaimed, a bit surprised that he seemed to understand the feeling so well.

"You are not the only one who has felt condemned to the unforgiving whims and desires of some unseen power. I don't say this because I desire pity."

"I appreciate the empathy, though," she answered genuinely. "People can offer compassion, but very few truly ever understand." His smile was rueful.

"That's true. For myself, the story of my mortal life is a sad tale, and for the majority of it, I experienced a similar sense of entrapment like the one you describe. But with time, I've learned that it is not fate or even the universe that imprisons us. We are the masters of our own destinies, Francesca. The only person who can put us in true bondage is ourselves."

"If that is true, then why was Mariella able to foresee the supposed future in the first place? The very existence of her prophecy about your father and I suggests that free-will is merely an illusion. Surely even a proud man like Dracula must take issue with that. That man doesn't do anything unless it's what he wants… or so I've been told. As far as I know, he's never really had to answer to anybody."

"All very valid points, and it is true – my father is beholden to no one. Its in moments like these where I find myself wishing that Mariella were still around. She was a very wise woman and an extremely talented witch. I think what she would say is that even with things like prophecies and fortune telling, the future is never truly set in stone. It was her belief that we all have a number of paths set before us, and we all get to choose which direction we take, but sometimes, no matter the path, our destinations remain unavoidable."

"So you're saying that my ending up with Dracula is an inevitability, but the path leading to him is one of my own choosing?"

"More or less. At the end of the day, Francesca, predictions of future events only have the power that we give them. Your life path may be intended to cross with my father's, but how you get there and what happens after is entirely in your hands – and his. You still have the ability to choose your reaction to the situation, what actions you will take and the like. You may feel like a prisoner of fate now, but you have far more power over your destiny than you may realize. Free will, after all, is the most underestimated power of them all."

Frankie watched him carefully as he spoke, keenly aware of the many centuries this man had on her. There was something akin to the burden of wisdom in his expression, and yet he walked with remarkable lightness, like a man with a purpose and perspective. It made her curious.

"I can't help but get the impression," she said, "that you're speaking from personal experience."

"It is the most effective teacher," Ezekiel explained with solemnity.

"You mentioned that the story of your life as a mortal was a sad one. I assume much of the experiences that led you to your current level of understanding were born at that time?"

"Not all of it, but a great deal of it certainly was. Would you like me to tell you about it?"

"Only if you want to."

That seemed to be enough for Ezekiel, so he began to tell her the story of his life.

It began with his birth in 1422. He was of Hebrew and Grecian descent, which accounted for his naturally olive complexion and dark hair. His biological parents had been poor migrant farmers and when the nobleman who owned their estate increased the taxes on the land, Ezekiel's father had sold his son to a group of Romany gypsies passing through on their way to the north country. When the gypsies had reached the town of Sighișoara in the Carpathian Mountains, Ezekiel had been sold once again, this time to a blacksmith named Ioande, and his wife.

Ezekiel made it a point not to speak the woman's name.

His boyhood had been tragic in every sense of the word, filled with accounts of horrid abuse committed by the blacksmith's sadistic wife. She had taken advantage of her husband's regularly inebriated state, satiating her carnal appetites by cavorting with strangers that passed through the village or by forcing herself on a helpless Ezekiel, who had no friends or allies to speak of.

It was a dark time in his life, and as the man at her side bravely recounted the assaults and abuse he had endured as a boy, Frankie found her heart aching with empathy. She had endured the stories of other's with similar traumatic experiences before, and though she had always greatly pitied any victim of abuse of any kind, she had always been able to distance herself somewhat, separating their experiences from her own. But hearing this from the man beside her, it felt as though the atrocities had been committed to her personally and the mere thought of the injustice, of the level of violation on an innocent – it rattled the woman to her very core.

Listening to the unfortunate proceedings of Ezekiel's early youth left Frankie feeling suddenly protective of this man, a bewildering need to right the injustices that had long since passed possessing her. His pain was her pain.

There came a point in his story when he had to pause for a moment to collect himself.

"I apologize, Francesca," he said softly. "I haven't talked about my youth in so long. It was centuries ago and I thought I had moved passed it, but it would seem it is still a part of me."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Frankie assured him immediately. "I hope you know that you don't have to tell me any of this if it makes you uncomfortable. If it's too much…"

"No, it is not too much for me," he replied, though it was clearly more for his own sake than for hers, as if he were attempting to convince himself that all of this played some necessary part in a plan unknown to her. Frankie sent him an inquisitive look in response, but he ignored it and continued.

"One evening, I had a dream that a figure cloaked in shadow raised me from my perdition and when I awoke, I realized that the figure in the dream was then-Prince Vlad Țepeș. I had heard rumors earlier in the week that he was traveling the countryside and would be arriving in Sighișoara to receive a special sword that Ioande had been working on and it dawned on me that if anyone could free me from my captors, it would be him."

Given Dracula's earlier reputation, Frankie wasn't entirely sure she like the implied meaning in Ezekiel's tone. Had he planned to offer up his own life? She supposed she couldn't blame the man. She could easily recall several periods in her own existence where death would have been infinitely preferable to enduring.

"I broke into the house in the early hours of the morning, took all of Ioande's shirts and cut them so they would all be short," the man at her side continued. "The idea sounds absurd now, I realize, but I felt strongly impressed to do so and so I followed through. In retrospect, it makes sense to some degree. Father has always had an eye for details and in his youth, he was a strong advocate for perfection and uniformity in all things. And since Ioande was supposed to present a sword to him, his own lack of perfection would be seen as an insult to Father, thereby helping my cause."

Frankie found herself silently relieved that the young Ezekiel hadn't been considering suicide as she had thought. His strength - even then as a boy - moved her, inspired her, even.

"After putting my plan into action, I hid in the stables and waited. Dracula arrived in the early morning and I can still recall to this day how powerful and regal he looked, riding his black charger through the village streets with his entourage behind him. He stopped at the smithy and I watched as Ioande came forward with the new sword, more sober than I had ever seen him before in my life. When he lifted his arms to hand him the blade, Dracula immediately noticed how his shirt was too short and he demanded to know who made him that shirt. When he refused to speak, I revealed that his wife had made them, and then I pointed the woman out."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing at first. Ioande told me to be silent, but naturally I disobeyed him. Even as the brute threatened to beat me, I purged my soul to Dracula, telling him of the blacksmith's wife's adultery – amongst some of the other unsavory things she had done. I then informed him that the village physicians had declared the woman barren, and yet just the month previously she had conceived a child, but had miscarried – feeding into the superstitions of the day that it was a sign from God that the child was illegitimate, that the woman herself was cursed. At that point, Ioande had charged for me, ready to murder me where I stood, but Dracula demanded that the blacksmith and his wife be restrained. When the couple were in the hands of his soldiers, Father then approached me. I should have been afraid – the rest of the village certainly was, but I was not. I remember being utterly spellbound. The power that emanated from him was awe-inspiring and the discernment in his eyes… I could tell in just a single look that he believed what I had said."

"Did he ever say as much?"

"He didn't need to. He warned me, of course, what the consequences would be if he ever discovered that I had lied to him, but I think he said that more for the audience than for my sake. When I swore that what I had told him about Ioande's wife was true and that the man himself was no better, that their very existence in his city was a blight on Dracula's reputation, he had the couple impaled on the spot and took a gold coin from the purse he had meant to give to Ioande as payment and presented it to me for my trouble as he departed. Before Ioande and his wife were even dead on their spikes, I was out of that cursed town, liberated and determined to return home to my family. I took what precious little commodities I could find and was gone before nightfall, with Dracula's gold coin mounted on a chain around my neck. So many viewed him as some tyrannical demon from hell, but to me, he was my savoir."

"How long did it take for you to get home?"

"Eight weeks. The Turks had already begun to occupy the land, but I was able to travel about, beyond their notice. I just wanted to see my parents again. I asked around for their whereabouts for months, searching high and low for anyone named Mathsena. It wasn't until sometime later when I discovered that my parents had been unable to make the yearly tribute for our land shortly after I had been sold to the gypsies. My father had died in debtor's prison after his arrest and my mother had been left destitute, passing from the sweating sickness within days of their eviction. I had been too late to save them and suddenly my taste of freedom went sour and I felt trapped by my misfortunes.

"I had no home and no hope, so I returned to the only other place I knew – Transylvania. I wandered for well over a decade after that, trekking the forests, hiking the treacherous peaks of the Carpathians. I would spend time with different groups of gypsies when my supplies ran low. Using the skills I had acquired during my apprenticeship with Ioande, I was able to fashion myself some weapons to hunt with, or for defensive purposes. The years that passed did so at a slow pace. Here I was, finally in possession of the freedom I had so long coveted, but I didn't feel free. I felt like a refugee, running for my life, but from what I never knew. I had no friends, no family to speak of, no one I belonged to. People used to travel great distances for this kind of solitude, and here I had it at my beck and call, yet I wanted nothing more than to be rid of it. By the time I reached thirty years of age, I became desperate for some kind of consistent company and eventually found it in a gypsy caravan where I met Ibrahim and his young niece, Sophie. She was barely ten when I first met her, but she was a vivacious child. So bright and full of potential and spirit. I could do nothing wrong in her eyes."

He then recounted the events of the following two years with great fondness and reflection, describing how he had come to meet the gypsy clan and how cautious Sophie's uncle had been when Ezekiel had first asked to join the group. There even came a point in the narrative where Frankie caught the man smiling, but as quickly as it had come, the joy was short-lived as another somber expression took its place, his tale going notably dark once again.

"The year was 1474 when Sophie went missing. She had wandered outside of the encampment and had been attacked by a small pack of wolves. Enraged, I hunted down the beasts and killed every last one of them, but when I returned with my prize several nights later, I found the camp deserted, save a few bodies strewn about. From what I could tell, they had been attacked while I was away, but as I moved through the site, I quickly realized that it was not man or beast who had done this but something else entirely. Their throats had been torn out and their bodies sucked dry of blood. I found Sophie's uncle near death by a tree and I ran to his aid but was ambushed from behind. I had heard the tales of the nosferatu but I had never seen a vampire in person before. He came straight for me, clearly going in for the kill when a voice shouted from the shadows of the forest, commanding him to leave me be. I recognized its owner immediately and when I turned in that direction, I saw Dracula emerging from the darkness – alive and in the flesh."

"He had been a vampire for some time by that point, had he not?" Frankie interrupted, trying to keep her timelines straight.

"Yes – a little over a decade. I had heard the rumors of his murder when I had returned to Romania and had found the tales of him selling his soul to the devil rather preposterous. But seeing him standing there, looking even more youthful and strong then when last we had met… I could not believe it. He spoke my name, though I could not recall ever giving it to him, but he had remembered me – had recognized me, even after all these years, and I felt something within me soar. He evidently sensed that because he was soon smiling, making comments on how troubled and bleak my mind had been as a child, and how as an adult not much had changed. I was confused by this at first, as I did not know that he could read my mind, but I never questioned how he knew."

"So what happened?"

"I asked him what he wanted of me, declaring that I owed him my life as he had saved it twice now, but he just shrugged, telling me to keep it and he and the other vampire turned to leave. I called out to him, demanding to know why he insisted on sparing my life when I had no use for it and in the blink of an eye, he was suddenly in my face, accusing me of being ungrateful after he had granted me freedom."

"That seems rather harsh," Frankie pointed out. "After the hell you had been through – I don't blame you for being rather flippant with your life."

"Yes, but he was in the right. I had squandered the independence he had given me, choosing to dwell in directionless misery instead of taking control over my existence as I should have. I didn't know it then, but he had seen something in me, and after a few moments of tense silence, he declared that he would give me one last chance to take control of my existence and should I fail, my soul would be forfeit. I was to run to the Argeș River, and if I could reach the banks without being caught, he promised to relieve my suffering. I thought he was merely jesting at first, but then he transformed before my eyes into his bestial form and I felt myself consumed with a newfound will to live."

"What? That's ridiculous! Surely he knew how completely unfair that agreement was. What – was he doing this for his own amusement?"

Ezekiel laughed.

"No, no, Francesca – it was nothing like that. He was testing me."

"But that's absurd! Obviously, because you're standing before me now, you didn't make it to the river."

"Actually, I did make it."

"Really?"

"Yes. I made it to the bank before they could catch me and when his fledgling attacked me anyway, Dracula destroyed him in a single blow as punishment. When I was out of danger, he helped me to my feet, even dusted me off. He looked so proud of me and I couldn't understand why."

"But he still turned you," Frankie pointed out. "He promised to relieve your suffering and instead he gave you eternal life as some creature of the night that has to feed on the blood of others in order to survive. Why would he do that?"

"Because I asked him to," Ezekiel answered simply. "He and I walked along the banks of the river for some time as he explained what he was, what it entailed, and what I could become under his tutorage. How well do you recall your own transition, Francesca? The day you were turned?"

"With perfect clarity," she answered with confidence.

"And after the physical pain of the transition had passed, just before the hunger sets in, what was the first thing you recall feeling?"

Frankie had to think about it for a moment.

It had been centuries since that fateful evening. The years leading up to the event of her transition had been dark ones, trapped in a loveless marriage, unable to make her own decisions, to be her own person…. a prisoner to the will of an abusive, manipulative husband who had at one point controlled and micro-managed nearly every aspect of her life.

"I felt free," she said at long last. "It was like a sudden moment of clarity, as if I were standing in a high place and could see what lay beyond for miles and miles in every direction. I had perspective, a newfound sense of understanding, and the things in my life that had weighed down on me weren't as strong as they had once been. I had everything to gain and nothing to lose."

"It was the promise of that kind of liberation that convinced me to become as he was," he explained. "I didn't want to carry the weight of my sorrows around with me anymore, but I didn't know how to let them go without being released from my life. Shaking off my mortal coil and being reborn was exactly what I needed. The first step, anyway. And more than that – I needed a place to belong. I needed purpose, direction. Although Dracula had his own share of issues in those early days and he certainly did not become the father figure that he is to me today until much, much later, once again he proved to be my savior when I needed saving most.

"He saved my life by taking it. I was turned that very morning, just before sunrise; and though it took years to even partially heal from the mental and emotional damages of my human existence, I can tell you with confidence that Dracula had kept his promise to me. He relieved me of my pain, helped me in reclaiming control over my life, and not once have I ever regretted it, Francesca. Not in my whole six-hundred and ninety-five years of life have I ever regretted becoming what I am. I was proud to be considered one of his elite warriors in those early days, and when the Dracul Sânge was formed, I was proud to be called his son, to even be considered as one of his heirs, to be chosen by him. He has been more of a father to me than any I have ever known. Despite what the world says of him, to me he is the best of men."

Ezekiel took a pause in his current reflections and Frankie used the interruption to look around and take in her surroundings. They were somewhere in lycan territory now, walking along an alleyway she did not recognize.

"Where are we?"

"We're getting close," was the only answer he offered her. "I just wish this infernal rain would stop. You must be soaked through," and he sent her an apologetic look. "I've been trying to keep us out of it but it looks like this weather has out-bested my efforts."

Frankie offered a reassuring smile as she removed her hair from the loose bun she had put it in, wringing the water out before pulling the strands back up.

"Don't worry about me. I've been in worse storms and you'll come to find I'm rather resilient," and she winked teasingly.

"True. But here I am, making you walk all this way and you've had a long enough evening as it is."

She yawned at that.

"Well, at least the clouds are blocking the sun," she said.

"Do you want to stop for a moment? I don't mind and I think it would be best to get Anna-Sophie out of this rain."

"I'm surprised the girl is still asleep!"

The man grinned.

"Don't be fooled. This daughter of mine is a rather light sleeper. I've been using my will to keep her unconscious. The last thing I need is for her to listen in on our conversation." Frankie chuckled while taking a seat at an empty bus stop, removing a pack of black cigarettes from her jacket before placing one between her lips. "I didn't know you smoked."

The woman looked up to catch his surprise as he took a seat beside her.

"Recently developed habit," she replied before lighting the end. "You don't mind?"

"I don't… but my father is a different story."

"Not a fan of smokers?"

"Actually, he finds it rather… repulsive."

Frankie's smile grew mischievous.

"You have no idea how happy that information makes me," she answered, inhaling deeply.

"You are a very peculiar woman, Francesca Chase," was his bemused reply.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Though, I confess, my greatest ambition in life is mysteriousness." She was teasing of course – well, mostly. And he picked up on that immediately.

"Why would you wish to remain a mystery?" he inquired. "Don't tell me you're the type of female that takes pleasure in tormenting men?"

"I would never dream of tormenting a respectable man," she countered.

"Ah, so there is catch."

"If I were easy, Ezekiel, I would cease to be enigmatic and that's half my charm."

"Call me Zeke, please – everyone else does."

"Very well, Zeke," she said, trying the nickname on for size. "Anyway, outside of my secrets, I don't exactly have much going for me."

"You sound exactly like Isabella," he declared with a huff.

"Do I?"

"Lord, yes. You're both simultaneously confident yet self-deprecating. That's something I will never understand about your sex. So many of you waste your years belittling yourselves in some way, even when you have absolutely no cause to do so. I just can't fathom how a stunning creature, like yourself, has trouble seeing her worth."

"Oh darling… I know I'm beautiful, but me being thus doesn't make me infallible," she pointed out with a wry grin.

"I know – and I would never expect you to be. We may be immortal beings, but we are still confined to our human flesh. Our physicality and capacity for greater intelligence might have increased a hundred fold when we became one of the undead, but we are still each deeply flawed in our own way. What makes all the difference is what we choose to do with our imperfections. Some live an eternity without changing, but the wise strive for continuous improvement. I sincerely doubt you are the same woman you were when you were a mortal."

"Some would argue that I've only gotten worse with age," and though she had said the words with a degree of mirth, once more he was able to see past her flippancy. It was a talent a part of her wish he didn't possess.

"I'm fairly certain the only person who thinks that way is you," he said with a knowing smile and his insight left Frankie a little perturbed.

His words were causing her to indulge in a level of introspection she had been avoiding for a long while now. She hated to admit it, but even she could not deny that her usual confident-self had taken a severe beating since her and Tristan's split… and then everything else as her life had unraveled shortly thereafter.

Perhaps that was what had left her feeling so insecure in herself since her return, why her feelings toward Leinhart were so damn conflicted. Her sense of worth had been rocked and even after all these years, she was still struggling to recover, to find herself again.

The woman absently studied the black cigarette between her fingers, the clove-scented smoke rising from its end.

Had she truly let herself go so much?

Frankie took another drag, inhaling deep this time in an attempt to find solace in the nicotine-filled air, but suddenly the drug did little for her. Ezekiel's scrutinizing gaze saw to that, as if his very presence was forcing her to see what she had been trying to deny since her brother had woken her from stasis.

She had been wounded by the hand life had dealt her and instead of taking control in spite of her circumstances as she ought, she had continued to dwell in the abyss of fear and self-pity, and that was not like her at all. Frankie could already hear her old mentor, Señor Meirás, chiding her for her inexcusable lack of self-assurance and mastery she had once prided herself in.

"You are better than this, mi cielo," he would say. "I would never have wasted my time on some passionless, undisciplined nobody. You have the blood of queens in your veins. Act like it."

The thought of the sire she hadn't seen in well over half a decade brought her back to the present and she studied the cigarette between her fingers once more, only this time it was with newfound disapproval and she flicked it away into the empty street.

"You are too wise for your own good," she said at last.

"Well, I can't take all the credit for that – being nearly seven-hundred years old certainly has its advantages."

"Yes, but you're only a few centuries older than I, and you are far more insightful than I could ever hope to be."

"How many moons I have seen does not serve as an adequate comparison to life experience," he said. "A child can be wiser than an old man. He may have the advantage of years, but the child has a keen, untainted view of the world. They see things for what they could be. They see potential where others do not."

"I sincerely hope you're not calling me a child," she teased.

"I'm not," he answered gently. "I'm merely suggesting that you are wiser and stronger than you give yourself credit and have the potential for more if you'd let go of your fear."

His pointed expression made that badgering guilt in her brain unbearable. She quickly stood from her seat and began to pace back and forth in front of him as he idly caressed his slumbering daughter's hair.

"You don't know me," Frankie defended. "I can't understand why the lot of you would want me as your mother or step-mother or whatever I'm supposed to be to you in the first place. Why are you all so hellbent on taking some ridiculous prophecy seriously anyway? If it didn't come to fruition three-hundred years ago, what makes you think it will now?"

"You don't take the prophecy seriously?"

"Of course I don't," but that was only half true.

She could not deny the influence it had had in her unnaturally elongated life, nor could she deny the unexplainable connection and growing affection she was coming to feel for the Dracul Sânge; for each of her children, though she wasn't necessarily ready to call them that openly.

Ezekiel watched Frankie closely as the woman continued to pace, gently biting her knuckle as she stared at the cracked asphalt beneath her feet.

"I mean-" She paused, so torn with herself. "I just… I don't know what to believe anymore. I don't even know why we're discussing this. This interview is supposed to be about you, not me."

"I think the diversion may be of benefit."

"Well, I don't," she replied stubbornly.

"Francesca," he called out, his voice holding a hint of rebuke to it, "you have spent your whole life listening to other people. Why don't you take a moment and have somebody listen to you?"

"That's not true. I talk to Carmen and Lyra. I even used to talk to Isabella, until her brother and I stopped seeing each other. I would tell them about everything."

"Not everything," he countered. "You talk about your brother, about the alliance, and even about your other loved ones – the meaningless affairs, the frustrations, the mundane of day-to-day life."

"That's not-" but he continued, ignoring her interruption.

"You never talk about the prophecy."

"How would you know that?"

He sent her a pointed look, daring her to refute it, but instead she huffed in defiance. The weight of his gaze, his perceptiveness, it had caused a fine, hairline fracture to appear in her armor and she hated it.

"Why don't you talk about it?" he pressed.

"Because there is nothing to discuss. Everyone knows about the prophecy. I see no point in beating a dead horse."

"Jack wasn't exaggerating when he said you were stubborn," he exclaimed with a slight smile.

That eased the tension a little, but only momentarily. Neither of them said much of anything for some time as Ezekiel patiently waited for Frankie to open up, even if it was just a fraction. Though it was clearly a struggle, she eventually ceded, wrapping her arms around herself - an unconscious method of self-soothing.

"The prophecy makes me feel like I have no control over my own life," she finally answered. "I feel like it's had some hand in my existence even before it was made. It's the reason my parents are dead, why I lost five years of my life and then at least twenty more in recovery because of what Marcus did to me, and I refuse to have him as a brother-in-law by the way. Because of him, I have been forced to watch so many – friends, strangers, enemies, loved-ones – they die at my hand, Zeke, whether I mean for them to or not. Do you have any idea what that feels like, to be surrounded by – to be the instrument of so much death? Against your own will?"

"What had happened to you and the people who have died since – not all of that is your fault, Francesca," he consoled as she sat down beside him again. Frankie said nothing, but her hardened expression softened some when he reached out to lightly caress her cheek with the back of his knuckles. "Not all of that blood is not on your hands."

"Yes, it is," she replied, her voice an inaudible whisper. "I'm drowning in blood and will never get clean. I am prisoner to my shame."

"Look at me," he commanded her gently. When she refused to move, he grabbed her chin and carefully turned her gaze to his, repeating the instruction. "If you are indeed a prisoner it is because you put yourself there. You accepted the shackles of your shame, you made the conscious decision to stay in that state of captivity and wallow in it. Only you can set yourself free."

"I don't deserve to be free; not after the things I've done."

"Don't say that," he insisted, taking the side of her face in the palm of his hand.

"How can you even bear to look at me?" she asked him with sudden earnestness. "You and your siblings all talk about what a wonderful man your father is – how can you even begin to imagine me worthy of him, if he is so amazing?"

"Because the two of you are so painfully similar, it only makes sense that you are destined for each other."

This seemed to snap Frankie out of her sentimental stupor and she went visibly rigid.

Ezekiel thought she was a lot like Dracula?

He was the second person to make that accusation in the last twenty-four hours – first Isabella and now him! She would have confronted him on the comparison, but he quickly distracted her.

"I do believe we have rested long enough. Let's get a move on, shall we? So much of the day has gone already," and he stood from his seat, lifting Anna-Sophie up and readjusting her in his arms. "Now then, I do believe there will be enough time for me to tell you about how I met Isabella before we reach the den."

"Very well," Frankie conceded, following after him as they headed back into the drizzling rain. "So, how long have you two been together?"

"Over three decades."

"You two have been together for over thirty years?" she exclaimed. "And I didn't know about it?"

"Oh believe me, keeping the secret was far from easy. There were several occasions when she wanted to tell you about it, but I forbade her."

"Why?"

"Because at the time, I didn't want anyone to know about us. I still don't. My father would more than likely not approve."

"You kept all of this a secret for thirty years because you were afraid Dracula wouldn't approve? You have heard the rumors that he's gone missing, right?"

"For starters, he's not missing. He's still in Budapest."

That was news to Frankie.

"How do you know that?" she asked him. "No one has seen him."

"An old friend of his has been keeping in touch with us over the last couple of years," he explained. "Unfortunately, my siblings and I haven't had the chance to see him. You will recall from both Niklaus and Jack's memories that Augustine threatened us if we ever tried to make contact with Father."

"Yes. I have some vague recollections. I must admit I'm still working my way through their memories. But stop trying to change the subject. Tell me how you and Isabella met."

"We met by chance at a nightclub a couple of years after her husband passed away. I happened to notice her drinking alone at the bar and being my father's son, I couldn't resist the opportunity to engage with a woman as beautiful as her. Naturally I had no idea who or what she was, so I proceeded without thought. It wasn't until I got close to her that I caught wind of her scent, realizing that she was a werewolf. I almost turned away, but something about her drew me in – which is utterly clichéd of me to say, I know, but it's the truth. Understand, I had never felt this way about any woman before. Knowing my earlier history with the female sex, that cannot come as a surprise to you."

"It doesn't."

"Though I had long since overcome any lingering apprehension and had learned to find delight in the company of women, I never got emotionally involved, and I certainly never acted as bold as I did that night."

"What did you do?"

"She sensed me standing behind her and turned to look at me and instead of saying hello, I sort of just took her face in both of my hands and kissed her."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"And how did she react to your assault?" Frankie asked with an arched brow.

"She slapped me. At least twice, if memory serves."

"That sounds like Isabella," she chuckled. "Good girl."

"I still don't know what came over me. To kiss her like that, and without asking for consent first – I can only explain it as a moment of pure insanity. She was furious, of course. Utterly enraged and rightfully so. But I distinctly remember how her angered flush added a nice glow to her cheeks and the passion in her speech only ensnared me further. To this day, I wonder if I was indeed intoxicated when I met her. I have never acted so out of character in my life. I watched her storm out of the club and after standing there for a couple of seconds in shock and humiliation, the stinging in my cheek began to fade and I quickly gathered what sense I had as I too decided to leave. I was on my way to head back over the border to leave the city when our paths crossed again – only I came to find out that she had followed me. We were in some remote part of town, no one around. Neither of us uttered a word, but the attraction between us was inexplicable… instinctual. The next thing I know, she's all over me and the two of us … well. I suppose that goes without saying."

"Yeah – I'll pass on those details, thanks," she teased. "So what happened after the two of you… got to know each other in the biblical sense?"

"Well, we both thought that was the end of the affair – a one-night-stand; until we ran into each other again the following weekend, and then the weekend after that, until we were purposefully running into one another. Bella would abandon her entourage and I would sneak into the city more often. My siblings became suspicious, but I never breathed a word to them for the longest time. Isabella became an obsession, an addiction, and it didn't take us long to realize that we couldn't remain separated from one another. We discussed the difficulties of pursuing such a relationship. She was the queen and ruler of the werewolves. I was the eldest son of Dracula, king of the vampires and Budapest in general. The prejudices between our kinds made it difficult enough as it was. But after several failed attempts to break things off, we quickly came to terms with the fact that we would never be able to part from one another. I loved her too much to leave her, to allow some worthless, undeserving dog the privilege of her love and devotion. A couple years later after we had met, we were secretly married."

"Whoa… wait a second. You two are actually married? Like… legally?"

"Blood-bound and everything. Have been for twenty-seven years now."

"How did you two keep this a secret from your friends? Your family?"

"Oh, her family knows – Vivian and Tristan do at least, as do the lycan elders. And I eventually told my siblings, but all of us have taken a blood-oath of silence. It's difficult enough that I can't see Isabella as often as I'd like – sometimes it's just once or twice a month if I'm lucky."

"I'm amazed. And what of Anna-Sophie?"

"When Isabella first had signs of heat, she sent for me immediately. We met in our usual place just in time and I was able to perform my duty as her husband to relieve her."

"But she told all of us that it had happened suddenly and that she had picked the first man she came across, blinded by need."

"I told Bella to tell everyone that. She wasn't pleased, naturally. She claimed that I was more than just some random man on the street, but she obeyed to keep up the ruse."

"I have no idea how you managed to talk her into listening to you," Frankie sighed after his tale was done. "That woman doesn't really listen to anyone."

"Kind of like you," was his cheeky response, and Frankie looked away, embarrassed.

He wasn't exactly wrong…

As Ezekiel answered a few more of her questions, Frankie soon recognized that they were close to their destination. Leading her into a dank looking basement beneath a large rotting building, he then motioned for her to wait, leaving her to stand next to the door they had just come through. She watched as he laid his slumbering daughter onto a nearby table before moving several crates about the room, revealing a metal grate that covered the entrance to the caves that led underground. After clearing the path, she half expected him to gather his daughter into his arms and lead the way, but he made no movement to do so. Instead, he turned to face her.

"I have told you my story, Francesca," he said at last, holding out his hands in an accepting manner, as if he was waiting for something to happen, "and I know that the moment we return my daughter to my wife, I will not have the privilege of speaking with you alone again for some time."

It took Frankie a few seconds to realize what he was not saying, and she nodded in understanding, recognizing what needed to be done before they parted ways. She removed the syringe that Carmen had given her from her jacket, and she placed it on the table before him. His inquisitive expression asked what it was for.

"When I absorb your memories, I will have a difficult time controlling them – perhaps more so than ever, as you are the oldest vampire I have ever done this with and I haven't fed properly in a while." She noticed the hint of alarm in his eyes and she held her hands up in defense. "Trust me, what I am about to undergo is not something you should feel guilty for in the slightest. It happens with everyone and it will pass soon enough."

"So what do I do with this?"

"The moment I absorb your memories, you will be consumed by a light, freeing feeling – a transferring of an invisible burden or weight. Everyone has one."

"Ah, so this is the orgasmic-like release that Jack and Niklaus were talking about."

She laughed.

"Yes. The moment you feel that, I need you to stick me with that, as close to my heart as you can, if not directly into it. Can you do that?"

He nodded and finally took the syringe from her hand.

"Alright," she exhaled, steadying herself before raising her hands to his head and pressing her fingers lightly against his temples.

They looked into each other's eyes for a couple of moments as the energy in the room began to shift.

"You know what to do?" she whispered. "Because if you're not quick, things could get ugly really fast. I'm doing this on an empty stomach."

He nodded once and then visibly relaxed before her as she began to concentrate. It took nearly a minute of tense silence for it to happen, but soon enough, that familiar jolt of energy shot through her body and she felt the force of another life slamming into her as their conscious and unconscious minds connected, his memories quickly overpowering her in stormy waves.

She couldn't remember closing her eyes, but she could no longer see Ezekiel – only his life flashing inside her mind, blinding images and deafening sounds, overwhelming floods of emotions.

Frankie watched him as a child being sold away; looked on in horror as he was sexually abused as an adolescent, could feel the pain and sense of imprisonment and couldn't help but notice how familiar it all felt. The black, foreboding figure in his memory she knew immediately was Dracula, but he was blurred once again and without distinction – like a shadow passing over a wall. And yet the freedom his counsel offered, the joy and release felt in the presence of this man made Frankie's heart soar straight out of her body.

When Ezekiel was in the presence of Dracula, he felt free and whole and strong, and soon Frankie found herself feeling very much the same, anxiously anticipating his next appearance in every memory that passed before her eyes.

The remainder of the man's life – almost seven-centuries – flashed before her eyes in a chaotic whirlwind of images and emotions. They moved faster and faster still, and with every year that passed, the pressure in her brain began to intensify until she could have sworn she could feel her skull compressing, ready to crack and crush her brain. That last thirty years of his life were a blur and in the blink of an eye, everything came crashing to a halt as the memories reached the present.

The rapid-fire motion then froze as the world seemed to stop spinning and with the abrupt halt of movement, Frankie could feel herself falling as gravity latched onto her weaker form and she was slammed into the ground, head bouncing once from the impact before she was rendered unconscious.

And there's another chapter in. Hope you enjoyed! These interview chapters are so challenging to write because the temptation to just exposition dump is strong, but I also want to use these as platforms for furthering Frankie's development as a character and her general softening towards Dracula (though not necessarily Lienhart ;) Vlad's still got his work cut out for him). Hopefully I succeeded in your eyes, but regardless - I'm satisfied :)

Vlad and Frankie will clash again in the next chapter.

With the way things were left between them and considering their equally stubborn/dominating personalities, I must confess, I have WAY too much fun writing the encounters between those two - the push and pull, the melting, the internal panic. It's a blast. :)

Until next time!

And in the meantime - REVIEW, MY DARLINGS! REVIEWWWWWWW!