Eternal Night (I) Chapter 28: Clarity, a van helsing fanfic

I can't believe we're something like 12 chapters away from finishing book 1... That's insane! Where did the time go?

Well, before I let a good panic set in, let's do our regular shout-out of gratitude to the lovely people who reviewed this week! You guys are the absolute best! - Scarlet Empress, Gerhiel, She-Devil Red, Riona Winters, Arwen17evenstar, DreamBubbles (Guest), and cneajna.

Not much to share as far was content warnings go... just some more shameless flirting. Although, a certain Italian shows up near the end to level the playing field a bit ;) Signore Bernardini, you are a joy.

Chapter 28
Clarity

Something had changed in Francesca.

The problem was Rémy couldn't figure out what had caused it.

His sister had always been a healthy balance of exuberant spirit and graceful self-mastery – the former aspect of her personality having been nurtured over the centuries by her sire and mentor –Señor Eduardo de Meirás – whom they hadn't seen in some years. The latter, however, was owed to her upbringing as the daughter of a duke and the overall influence of her aunt and uncle in the last couple of decades.

The Frankie he was most accustomed to was the embodiment of self-discipline with an an ever-simmering undercurrent of passion, always in control of herself and never to be governed... unless he was crossed. Then all bets were off. But something about her person at present was blatantly off. It was as if she was undergoing a sort of taming or transformation, something Rémy had been absently noticing over the last few days, but never had it been more obvious than last night.

After she had disappeared into the kitchen with her laptop later in the evening, she had emerged a short time later only to inform her brother that she was heading home early. He had asked if she was all right but she couldn't even hold his gaze for more than two seconds – another strange occurrence.

"I'm alright," she had assured him. "Just tired."

"Are you feeding regularly?" he then asked, his concern genuine. "Carmen's been telling me that you still aren't feeding as often as you should and that you're still drinking mostly cloned human blood – not enough of the real stuff. Too much cloned hemo isn't good for you, Frank."

But she had shut him down immediately.

"I'm fine," she had insisted, and then with an awkward pat on his shoulder, she had disappeared into the night.

Rémy had been certain that his sister would return the following evening her usual on-the-mend self, but to his surprise, she dropped by Carmen's just as quiet and unnerved as she had been the night previous – if not worse. She had eyed the place carefully upon entry before immediately bee-lining for the kitchen. She then picked up something she had left behind yesterday, was gone once again without a word.

Rémy would have dismissed it. He had learned ages ago that any attempts in understanding the strange moods of the fairer sex were futile, particularly where his sister was concerned. Based on personal experience, she rarely talked to anyone about what was going on in her life in great detail – his last discussion with Carmen had proved that that much was still the case. Not even Lyra had gotten anything of importance out of her recently. His automatic assumption was that she only did this because they were approaching the anniversary of the deaths of their mutual friend, Derek Mikelson, and their Aunt Cece.

Unknown to Rémy, however, the dearly departed were the last persons on Frankie's mind. In fact, her thoughts and energy had been entirely overrun by none other than Vlad Leinhart.

The man's forward actions the night previous, coupled with the dreams Frankie was now having of the man any time she closed her eyes for any extended period of time, had forced the woman to mentally acknowledge not only her deepening regard for him, but to also reevaluate the entirety of her situation. She had always assumed Leinhart's teasing and playful harassment were borne out of a need for dominance, but never could she have dreamed they'd be out of sincerity and earnest. Never could she have imagined that that particular man would ever take such a seemingly genuine interest in her, and certainly not with the level of intensity he had displayed when worshipping her hand.

The last handful of Frankie's previous relationships had all taken years to develop and it was usually friendship that gave way to physical attraction and the subsequent sexual tension. With Leinhart, however, it was proving the reverse. They were no great friends by any stretch of the imagination. Sure, she had known him now for a couple of months, but she could not dismiss his earlier treatment of her – the way he had insulted her upon their first acquaintance, how he continued to question and push and pry and tease.

Perhaps this was the behavior of a man who was also struggling to talk himself out of an inexplicable attraction that he initially did not desire? It was such a juvenile way of dealing with the situation, but even then, she knew she had no room to judge him if that was indeed the case.

Frankie had always assumed that anything between them was little more than a game, a battle of centuries-old egos and stubborn wills, as she was the only person in their mutual acquaintance who dared to question or push or mock him in return.

But last night…. last night had changed things.

Either his behavior was a silent revelation of a genuine growing regard on his part, or he had inadvertently upped the stakes of this merry little war between them. So which was it? Was he trying to merely seduce her now as a means of asserting his dominance, or was their game just a ruse to hide his true feelings from unwanted eyes?

Frankie walked briskly down the busy streets of the north district where her office in the VNN building was located. After her and Leinhart's first brainstorming session, they had agreed to meet on this day an hour after sunset. At the time, Frankie had thought nothing of it, but now, in this moment, she wasn't entirely sure it would be prudent of her to be alone with the man.

The events from last night remained on eternal repeat in her brain. She could still feel the raw power from his firm yet gentle grip on her wrist, the unadulterated passion that had poured from his mouth as he had reverently adored her hand in wordless confessions and promises. But what had haunted her most during the light hours was that delicious Romanian he had whispered near the end:

That wasn't a threat or a warning, Francesca, he had said. It was a promise; one that I have every intention of keeping.

What he had promised left her cheeks to flush is maiden-like embarrassment even now as she continued to walk. Frankie let out a rush of air from between her lips in an effort to calm herself, but it was useless. Even attempting to sleep the whole thing off had been a pointless endeavor.

The man had not only found his way into her day-dreams, but her actual dreams. Leinhart, with his deep, sultry voice, his wicked fingers, and now his tongue… the lust and authority in his eyes made her melt every time.

Lord, did she want to beat herself for even entertaining such thoughts, but she couldn't help it. The attraction was getting harder to ignore. Before last night, it had been so much easier to disregard her growing attachment to him, to push those irrational feelings away with excuses of "he doesn't feel the same," "this is only a game to him," "we can't get involved with each other," et cetera, et cetera, ad nauseam.

Now she wasn't so sure such defenses would hold for much longer.

Arriving at her destination, she paused to look up at the large gold letters that read VNN over the lobby entrance. She sighed a little in relief. Ah, the familiar... the predictable. If she could just keep things predictable and focused tonight, she would survive. But the wind in her already fraying sails died quickly when someone unfamiliar began to approach her – a young receptionist bee-lining across the lobby to get to Frankie before she could reach the elevator.

"Miss Chase!" she was calling out, attempting to run in her skin-tight pencil skirt and five inch stilettos, movements clearly inhibited by her wardrobe.

"Yes, what is it?"

"I just wanted to let know you, there's a gentleman upstairs in your office. I told him to wait down here for you, but he wouldn't listen to me."

"Tall man? Long dark hair?"

"And utterly gorgeous? Yes, that's the one."

Mr. Leinhart was early. That couldn't be a good sign.

Frankie thanked the woman for the message and turned to leave when she was stopped once again.

"Oh! And before I forget… this came for you as well. A gentleman dropped it off around mid-day. Said I was supposed to give it to you directly." She revealed a small envelope.

"The same one upstairs?" Frankie inquired curiously until she noticed the penmanship on the front.

"No, a different one. Younger looking with dark blonde hair. I thought he looked a little familiar, but I couldn't place his face."

And for good reason.

The handwriting Frankie instantly recognized as Jack Belinskaya's.

The receptionist soon excused herself, leaving Frankie to open the envelope, wherein she discovered a small business card with her name, office line, and professional email on the front. On the back was a message written code, their translation: middle elevator. Shrugging, she obeyed the instructions and walked inside, ensuring no one else wanted to join her before pressing the button leading to her floor. As the lift began to move, she heard a whispering noise coming from above.

"Pst!"

Moving to look up, she stopped when the voice spoke a little louder.

"No, don't look up. Keep looking straight ahead. Pretend you're talking on the phone or something."

"Why?" she asked the empty elevator that appeared to possess Jack's voice.

"Cameras. The council has people that check these things on a regular basis. Can't be too cautious." Frankie removed her phone and placed it beside her ear.

"You couldn't send me another note?"

"No…a bit too risky; that, and I kind of wanted to see you again; although, I regret it is not in person."

"Then if you're not above my head, where are you?"

"I had a close friend place a speaker in the elevator while I distracted the receptionist – all incognito, of course. Was able to crack the security system, too, so I have a visual of your lovely self in front of me."

"Now you're making me self-conscious," she replied, nervously smoothing out her skirt.

"Don't be. No one can hear you but me, and I'm certain anyone else who reviews the footage will enjoy the view."

"You're lucky you're just a cheeky disembodied voice right now," she teased.

"Come now, Francesca, admit it… you've missed me."

"We are ten floors away from my stop. Better make this quick, Jack."

"Very well. Your next interview is with Louise in two days."

"I'm booked two nights from today."

"So? Reschedule."

"I'm not sure I can do that without raising suspicion."

"You're a clever woman. I'm sure you'll manage."

"Yes, well, he's not exactly the kind of man that's easily discouraged."

"Wait, he? You're not seeing someone, are you?" She forced out a hollow laugh.

"Trust me, this is not a date. Actually, one of my brother's friends and I have an obligation to fulfill."

"And that would be?"

"Highly classified."

"You're no fun."

"And you're rapidly running out of floors," she reminded him.

"Well, I can't change the date with Louise. It's the only day she's willing to come into Budapest."

"The only day she's willing? Since when did the world revolve around her?"

"It's delicate and unnecessarily complicated. I'll explain later. Can you at least try to change the date of your not-date?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Good. I'll contact you later."

The elevator finally stopped and a quiet ding rang out, announcing her arrival.

"And Jack?" she whispered behind her as she placed her phone back into her jacket pocket. "Stop playing in the elevator shaft. Your father would never approve," and with a smile she exited into the hall, the doors shutting behind her.

Almost immediately, her phone began to buzz and she removed it from her pocket to find a text message from a number she did not recognize.

Says you, was Jack's response to her comment.

"How did you get this number?" she asked the phone aloud, in the middle of texting the query when another reply appeared on the screen.

I have connections. We'll talk soon.

She rolled her eyes with a smile and made her way down the hall to her office where she discovered the door unlocked. Furrowing her brow and wondering how on earth Leinhart could have gotten hold of a spare key, she entered to find said man sitting in her chair, behind her desk with his feet propped up. Upon her arrival, he immediately stood, bowing his head in acknowledgement.

"Miss Chase."

"No, please. Don't get up on my account."

Shutting the door behind her, she then began to make her way over to the desk.

"Your brother just called," he informed her, moving behind her to help her out of her jacket. Though the attention was a little unexpected, she remained silent. "He claims that there is something – oh how did he put it? That there is something amiss about you today."

"I wasn't aware that Rémy's vocabulary expanded beyond its usual vulgarity."

"It doesn't, unfortunately," was the nonchalant reply. "Though I am currently working to remedy that, but returning to the point. He feels there is something off about you and believes that it has something to do with last night, though he's presently ignorant to the particulars. He has asked me to pry the truth out of you if necessary."

At these words, the back of his knuckles lightly caressed the length of her arms as he removed them from the sleeves of her coat, his tone harmless enough, yet the nearness of him sent the faintest tremor through her sex. Frankie privately – albeit briefly – entertained the idea of him forcing information out of her; a sordid fantasy that involved him tying her down onto her desk and coaxing the truth out of her with at least two fingers, preferably three – but she quickly banished the thought before it could take proper root, turning to face him. She removed the garment from his hold and draped it over a chair, only to immediately distract herself with the busy work of setting up her computer and rummaging through files and papers.

"Well then, when you report back to my brother, do inform him that I am quite alright. Just momentarily distracted."

"And what should I tell him if he asks what is distracting you?" Dracula inquired innocently, though his gaze was anything but. "Perhaps I should inform him of the promise I made you."

The woman hesitated for only a half-beat before responding,

"If you wished to remain a man in the physical sense, I would highly suggest you didn't. I've tried very hard not to make it a habit of accidentally killing my brother's friends, but if you keep this up, you'll end as my next victim, as Morene would say."

"The black widow comment. I remember. Will you ever acquaint me with the details of the demise of these unfortunate lovers of yours?" he asked heartlessly.

"Probably not."

"What about the circumstances?" he continued to pry.

"They are none of your concern."

"Nor are they technically the concern of Carmen, or Danny, or even Lyra, yet they know. Everyone seems to know except me."

"That must be very frustrating for you."

This clearly irritated him as his tone turned a bit frosty.

"Still determined to lie to everyone then?" he asked her. When she blatantly ignored his query, he persisted. "Why the secrecy?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"I have no secrets," he declared with convincing ardor. "Everything that I am, my connections, any valuable information I have to offer is at the feet of your brother, and the alliance. I am keeping nothing from you."

In spite of his protestations, however, Frankie held fast to her suspicions. She couldn't help it. It was true, the man had proven himself on numerous occasions, yet something in his eyes continued to suggest that there was more he wasn't saying – something important.

"I appreciate your loyalty to our cause, Mr. Leinhart – truly – and I say this not only on behalf of Rémy and the alliance, but for myself also," she conceded. "But I still do not feel comfortable in sharing the details of my personal life with you."

His dramatic exhale spoke of his irritation, though he offered no further reply. To his surprise, and even her own, Frankie continued.

"I rarely share my thoughts and experiences with anyone, as you so astutely pointed out the other evening, so don't delude yourself into thinking that you're on the receiving end of some sort of preferential treatment," she added. "All you need to know is that the last vampire I formally dated about three decades ago died at my hands – even though it was accidental, it was still my fault and I own that. As for Derek… well, Derek was Rémy's best friend for a very long time, and he and I had always been… rather close. And because of that bond we shared, a bond I foolishly encouraged and even admittedly took advantage of on occasion, he tried to interfere in something he should have stayed out of and ended up dying, also at my hand," she concluded. "Those are the basics, and that's all you need to know for the present."

Vlad remained silent for a moment as her admission hung in the air, and while he was clearly processing all she had said, his eyes never ceased in their scrutiny.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" he asked her after a while, the tension between them shifting.

"I am not afraid of any man," she answered. His expression narrowed a little.

"But I can sense the fear in you, this… uncertainty you feel when we're alone."

He started to move towards her, attention fixed, brows furrowing for a moment as if he were trying to make sense of a puzzle. When he had evidently come to some sort of conclusion, he said,

"No, perhaps you are right. You aren't afraid of me, but there is something troubling you…" and he paused to stand next to her.

Frankie looked away from him, but otherwise remained perfectly still as he leaned in a little, the tip of his nose soon trailing lightly about in her hair as if he were an animal, searching for some particular scent. His sudden nearness nearly had her unravelling.

"You're trembling, Francesca," he pointed out softly, now from behind.

With the back of his finger, he caressed her arm slowly, their bodies a mere hairs breadth apart. All it would take is a small sway backwards, and she could have leaned into him – and she wanted to. Heaven forgive her, she did. While her pride hated how he always seemed to push and poke and challenge her, how effective he was at it no less, a growing part of her admired him for it as well, taking pleasure in very real possibility that he considered her worth the effort, that some unspoken part of him genuinely longed to understand her. She shouldn't have cared, shouldn't have yearned for him to continue, and yet she did.

Still, she whispered, "You shouldn't be so close," uttering the words for her own sake as much as his, though she didn't mean them as much as she should have. To her secret delight, he paid her half-hearted rebuff no heed.

"Why? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of you," she insisted, her voice nearly breathless. "I'm afraid of what you're capable of. Of what I'm capable of when I'm with you."

The correction, coupled with her succinct moment of naked honesty, spoke volumes to him and his thoughtful expression grew suggestive. She didn't have to turn around to see the change - she could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin.

She was attracted to him, but she was also much too fearful of the consequences of admitting to or indulging in that attraction openly. And yet, in spite of that fear, the desire remained, undaunted, unwavering. It was sometimes quite difficult to perceive behind her carefully constructed walls, but for a brief instant, Dracula could smell the lust deeply embedded in her skin. It made him smile.

The impenetrable Miss Francesca Chase was seducible after all.

He took his index finger and ran it slowly along her spine, tracing the ridges through her blouse as he whispered in her ear.

"Though this inexplicable pattern of dying mysteriously at your hands is certainly not something to take lightly," he husked, voice graveled with desire, "I don't know – I think the risk of true-death would be worth a single evening with you… willing and responsive."

Frankie's eyes fluttered shut as she struggled to keep herself under control.

She knew that tone, knew what followed every time he used it; and while the temptation was almost too great to resist, she somehow managed to find the inner strength to step away from him. The separation was tangible and she found a growing part of herself mourning the distance, yet she kept her expression as neutral as possible, desperate to appear unmoved.

"And this coming from the man who upon first acquaintance claimed that I was pretty much the last woman he would ever wish to be with?" she responded as lightly as she could, one hand on her hip, the other gripping the edge of the desk firmly. "That's rather inconsistent of you."

"What? Am I not allowed to change my mind?" he teased, taking another step toward her. Her whole body ached at the renewed nearness, and yet he wasn't close enough...

"I'm fairly certain that's a prerogative of my sex, not yours."

He hummed his amusement, a low rumbling sound. She'd never get enough of his voice – the low timbre, the constantly suggestive undertones. The sound was warm and dark like smoke and always left her feeling a little heady.

"We are so pert this evening."

"And you're in an unusually fair mood, as well," she pointed out. "Nothing but smiles since I arrived."

"The thrill of the chase, I suppose," he said. His joke dispelled some of the tension between them and Frankie even allowed herself to chuckle a little.

"Ooh! No puns, please…"

"What! I spent the entire day thinking of it," he lied. She laughed a little more openly.

"So these witty comebacks of yours do not originate from the spur of the moment? I'm flattered that you consider me worth the determination." And that was the god's honest truth.

"You intrigue me," he answered with sudden earnestness, his own sudden burst of honesty threatening to soften her.

"I'm sure," was her arched reply.

"Is sarcasm your primary language?"

"French, actually. Sarcasm is merely a subset. I'm afraid the true native speaker would be Lyra," and she finally managed to break free from his gravitational pull, taking her seat behind the desk as he silently accepted her retreat, impressed that she had been able to distance herself from him with such evident ease after the intensity of earlier.

"I find Miss Kennedy's version of wit to be more like brusque insolence."

"Just as your version of flirting could be easily mistaken for sexual harassment?" she replied innocently.

"It's only harassment if it is unwanted," he sated with a knowing look before taking his seat, that smile ever broadening.

"And how are you so sure that I desire such attention?"

"Testing boundaries and reading the body language of others – no matter now subtle or nuanced – is a gift."

"You keep telling yourself that – if it helps to ease your conscience," she lilted.

"Now then, as much as I'd prefer to continue in this particular course of discussion, I do believe there are greater matters at hand, like how we are going to rescue Vivian."

She'd never admit it, but she was grateful for the sudden change in topic. If he kept flirting with her like this, she'd melt in no time.

"Yes, of course," and the two then went to work, soon pouring over old blueprints and maps of Budapest, reviewing a number of the strategic plans Frankie had previously drawn out before eventually agreeing on a mutual preference.

They spent the next several hours expanding on the plot, working out the kinks by running it through a number of scenarios so they could create back-ups in case they were needed, each timed down to the second. Both were rather surprised at how efficiently they had worked together, though they remained silent on the subject, eventually agreeing to put an end to their scheming for the evening.

After cleaning up, the pair left Frankie's office well after midnight, continuing to bounce various ideas off of one another as a distraction. The conversation flowed effortlessly as they found a natural rhythm that suited them both, but it was Dracula who first noticed the ease of discourse between them. He made sure not to point it out, of course, not wishing to ruin the moment, but in little time at all, he caught himself admiring the woman again.

For all of Francesca Chase's faults, she was easy to talk to – clever, an active listener, and a surprisingly natural strategist. In truth, after a while he began to wonder why it was her brother and not the female at his side leading their little band of revolutionaries.

It didn't take them long to reach the district where the alliance HQ was located, and just as they began to turn a corner, the two of them ran into the last person Dracula ever would have imagined seeing out and about in this part of town. The mutual surprise was evident.

"Antón?"

The Italian smiled at the sound of his name and his eyes lit up in recognition.

"Well! Fancy meeting you here," Bernardini exclaimed. He glanced briefly between Vladislaus and Frankie before formally bowing in a habitual greeting towards the man.

Dracula would have thought nothing of it until he noticed Frankie's arched brow. Quickly remembering that she still did not know who he truly was, he felt a well of panic churn inside of him. He wasn't ready to reveal himself to her just yet… not when they were finally getting on so well.

"What ever happened to you never leaving the house?" he tried to laugh – the attempt entirely pitiful.

"Since when have I ever claimed to be a total recluse?" his old friend asked with a playful gleam in his eye, unable to help himself from looking over at Frankie who appeared a little confused. "But who cares about me? Aren't you going to introduce me to this enchanting creature?"

Still struggling to figure out how best to act without giving rise to any suspicion, Dracula placed his hand on the small of the woman's back in encouragement, gently guiding her toward his old friend.

"But of course. Excuse me. Miss Chase, this is one of my oldest friends – Signore Antón Bernardini."

The Signore bowed slightly while holding her gaze.

"Signorina Chase, io sono incantato." ( * )

The man's eyes were aglow with recognition and his grin widened considerably at the sound of her name. Frankie normally would have been suspicious, but found that something about the man put her immediately at ease.

"Signore, it is a pleasure to meet you," she answered respectfully, the beginning of a genuine smile curving her lips, blissfully unaware of the way Vlad's eyes darted warily between her and the Italian.

"My friend, you had mentioned how beautiful she was, but I'm beginning to see your report did not do her justice in the slightest!" Bernardini declared before returning his attentions to the lady before him. "Stunning. My dear, I don't know how he functions around you."

Frankie's smile grew just a little more mischievous at the compliment, her amusement heightening.

"Sir, you are much too kind. I'm flattered, truly, but you mustn't put words into Mr. Leinhart's mouth. I'm sure you received such a favorable report from some other source," she replied.

"First of all, it's Antón, my dear. I will have none of this Signore, Mr. Bernardini, or sir business. Any friend of Vlad's is a friend of mine."

"We're not friends," the two answered in unison, only to glance at one another a little awkwardly before quickly looking away.

"No? But I was certain you were from the way he talks about you."

"You talk about me?" Frankie asked, sending Vlad a peculiar look. He opened his mouth to deny it when the other vampire spoke first.

"Yes, and quite often," Bernardini continued. "It's always, 'Miss Chase' this and 'Francesca' that. Why on his last visit, I swear the man went on about you for a good hour or so straight and I could barely get a word in edgewise…" and while he spoke, Dracula moved to stand behind the woman so he could violently signal for his friend to shut up. The only response he got from Antón, however, was a devious smirk.

"Is that true?" Frankie asked, turning to look at Vlad, who ceased his gesturing immediately, struggling to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"No, of course not," he lied. "The man is senile."

"If I'm senile, I would hate to think what that would make you, Leinhart," the Italian retorted pointedly. "You are how many decades older than I?"

"Age has nothing to do with it," Dracula muttered bitterly, a foreign kind of humiliation starting to sink in.

"You must forgive him, my dear," Antón sympathized with Frankie, taking her by the arm before patting her hand as they fell into step beside one another, both ignorant of the glare of promised retribution that Dracula was sending the back of Bernardini's head. "The man is in a constant state of denial. Too proud for his own good."

"And for some reason, this information doesn't surprise me at all," Frankie announced. The Italian laughed.

"I like this one, Vlad! Why didn't you introduce us sooner?"

"Believe me, this was never part of the plan," he grumbled as he caught up with them. "Although I'm still struggling with the fact that you're actually outside, Signore Lives-In-His-Study."

"Just because I haven't gotten out much in the last few years doesn't mean I don't enjoy rubbing elbows with the populace. It was you who was always the introvert, not I. Oh, the stories I could tell you, Miss Chase..."

"Absolutely not! There will be no stories… I forbid it," Dracula insisted and though Bernardini's amusement only deepened, he adhered to his sire's command and changed the subject.

"So, I've heard that you are a bit of a writer, Francesca – or should I say Madame Nemo of Veritas. I've always been a great admirer of your work. Your column has been a personal favorite of mine from the very beginning. Your fearlessness is one thing, but your eloquence, the personal confessions you manage to get out of people – I do declare, there are times when I'm rereading an old interview of yours and I feel as though I am a fly on the wall, sitting in on one of your assignments."

"You flatter me," she began as a becoming flush started to redden the apples of her cheeks.

"It is nothing but the truth, I assure you. Your writing is so… so rich and passionate, much like you are, I'm sure."

"Not as of late, I fear," she corrected, her eyes diverting to the ground. "While I did manage to publish that return piece after the untimely passing of Councilman Bartos, my pen and my brain have had trouble connecting for some time. Personal concerns have been taking precedence."

"Ah, yes, yes… I completely sympathize with your plight, my dear. Vlad here had mentioned that your brother, Rémy – God bless that man – talks a great deal of that." Frankie sent Vladislaus a pointed look. Her personal life was definitely something she did not want complete strangers knowing about. "But I sincerely hope that you will start writing more consistently again one day soon. I miss the regularity of your articles and we need more voices of authority and candor like your own in these dark days. The people listen to you, I think, more so than they ever did to the council's puppets in the media. Change is coming, and you strike me as the sort of person to be at the forefront of all of that."

"Well, I am currently working on a number of pieces that I hope will sate you," she assured him. "But research is a cruel mistress."

"Yes, she must be completely satisfied before anything else takes place. I understand that all too well. I suppose I must rein in my impatience and wait with baited breath. And clearly Mr. Leinhart wishes to whisk you away from me," Antón exclaimed, noting how Dracula had attempted on several occasions to separate the pair.

"A pity, really. I would have loved to talk with you some more," she insisted, sending a pointed look in the direction of her brother's friend, but he ignored her disapproval and used the break in conversation to gently grab hold of her arm, steering her in the opposite direction that Antón was headed.

"You two will have to plan a date for some other time," Dracula replied through gritted teeth. "Good day, Signore," and he began to lead Frankie away. Antón chuckled, calling after them:

"Aww, come now Leinhart; don't be cross with me!"

Frankie continued to walk, keeping up with the man's brisk retreat when she stopped dead in her tracks suddenly and turned around, calling after the Italian before he could leave.

"Wait a moment. Bernardini? Antón Bernardini? As in the intimate friend of Vladislaus Drăculea?"

The two gentleman exchanged glances and his majesty in particular felt his stomach plummet to the sidewalk beneath his feet.

Oh, it was over now! The jig was up! She knows!

Dracula watched his old friend closely as Antón made his way over to the two of them, his posture straightening as he nodded his head in confirmation of Frankie's suspicion.

"Yes, Miss Chase. I am the same man," he replied carefully, sending his worried friend a reassuring look before returning his attention to the woman before him. She was a mélange of conflicting emotions – recognition with a faint furrowing in her brow as though she were troubled by something. It was the latter emotion that caught the Italian's attention, but he made no comment, silently observing as the flick of remorse vanished, her expression shifting to something more neutral.

Both men waited for her to put two and two together, but instead of assuming the worst, she only said:

"Of course. Forgive me, sir, I did not realize… I thought you had managed to flee the city after what happened to your wife."

"I wanted to, but my place is here."

"But it's true then that you're not only friends with our king, but with this man as well?" she inquired, motioning to Vlad.

"I like to think so," Antón answered with a smug grin. "Although I think after tonight, he may be calling our centuries of friendship into question." Dracula rolled his eyes behind Frankie's back.

"Then allow me to offer my most sincere condolences," she continued sympathetically, her words puzzling her present company.

"Whatever for?"

"It must be quite a trial, dealing with both of those men – Leinhart and Dracula."

Bernardini had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but ended up failing.

"It keeps one entertained," he confessed. Vlad, however, would stand for this no longer.

"Antón, don't you have somewhere else to be? Or someone else to humiliate?"

"I'm in no rush to leave. Are you Miss Chase?"

"Certainly not," she exclaimed. "We have no further plans this evening that I am aware of, anyway."

"I texted Rémy before we left your office. If we do not arrive on time, he will become suspicious," Vlad explained to her.

"Suspicious of what?" Antón questioned.

"Suspicious that Mr. Leinhart has probably left me for dead in a ditch somewhere," Frankie teased.

"I sincerely doubt he would ever do such a thing," Antón defended, not picking up on the joke. "Not with the way he goes on and on about you."

"And I have endured this long enough. Bernardini, go home before I personally see to it that you never leave the threshold of your house again. Miss Chase, your brother is expecting us," and Vlad began to steer Frankie away, even as she struggled to turn and wave goodbye to the Italian.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Signore."

"The pleasure was all mine, my dear. I assure you," he called after her. "Perhaps I could extend an invitation for tea sometime in the future?"

"You will do nothing of the sort!" Dracula shouted over his shoulder.

"Oh, get over yourself," Frankie muttered before crying out, "Of course, I would love to!"

"Then we shall have to fix a date! I'll have someone send you my address. You are welcome at any hour – night or day!" Antón continued right before Frankie and Vlad turned the corner. "Until next time!"

Frankie was hardly able to extend her farewells before Dracula hauled her around the corner and continued to drag her along the sidewalk. She endured his manhandling for a moment or two until she could stand it no longer, finally freeing herself from his hold.

"Alright, that is quite enough!" she snapped at him. "For the love of God, what is the matter with you?"

The man opened his mouth to explain, but then thought better of it. Instead, he huffed in response, a hard look on his face as he buried his hands in his pockets while Frankie straightened the collar of her jacket.

"So, why didn't you mention that you were friends with Antón Bernardini?" came the inevitable query. "Mr. 'I have nothing to hide?'"

"I didn't feel that the information was necessary to disclose," was his lame excuse. "I should have seen this coming…" he then mumbled bitterly to himself before the two fell into step together once more.

They travelled in silence for several minutes, walking side-by-side, when Frankie suddenly did the most unexpected thing. She wrapped her arm around his so they were closer to one another. He looked down at her with a bewildered expression until he noticed the sly grin that was playing on her lips.

"What?"

"So I had no idea you talk about me," she replied. He exhaled in annoyance and freed himself from her hold, walking faster now, but she easily kept pace, chuckling to herself. "What? I think it's rather flattering! And it's all starting to make sense now."

"What is starting to make sense?"

"You like me, don't you?"

"Don't fish for compliments. It is unbecoming."

"Oh it's too late for deflection now," she replied with an almost cruel smile. "You constantly tease and harass me, you talk about me to your friend – and according to him you do that quite often…"

"Not anymore," he muttered under his breath.

"Admit it! You like me. You might even, I dare say, find me attractive. I've gotten under your skin, haven't I?" she asked with an almost fiendish delight.

Dracula immediately stopped walking and just stared at her as she moved a couple of paces in front of him before pausing to look back. She was smiling, and this wasn't the usual barely-there smile. This one had a distinct sparkle to it, the kind that had the power to render him damn-near stupid, leaving him warm and tingly all over. He openly scrutinized her for a moment, eyes lazily running up and down her figure as if he were trying to make a decision, and though his open observation made her a little self-conscious, she remained motionless, waiting for a verbal reply.

When she received none, her hands found their way to her hips as she took two very deliberate steps towards him, tilting her head back a bit so she could look directly into his eyes, not at all daunted by the height difference. In fact, she held his gaze as if it didn't even exist.

"Well?" she cued.

"You're all right, I guess," he finally conceded. To this, she rolled her eyes with annoyed groan.

"We really need to work on your people skills," she replied, evidently not offended by his answer, though certainly irritated by it.

She started to walk once more and eventually he began to follow after her, but he chose to lag behind for a spell, eyes lingering on her backside as she walked. A wolfish grin curved his lips as he secretly wondered what that perfect ass of hers looked like underneath her figure-fitting pencil skirt. All right was certainly not an apt description. Enticing or delectable would have been far more appropriate.

( * ) - io sono incantato is Italian for I am charmed, according to Google Translate... kind of like a "it's a pleasure to meet you" sort of greeting.

ANYWAYS - would love to hear your thoughts on the latest installment! Appreciate you guys stopping by and I hope you all have a fabulous weekend ahead! Tragically, I have to work (ugh... I would kill for a month-long vacation on a beach somewhere right about now. Complete with a stack of books, endless piña coladas... and (ahem) other activities that are clothing optional, but I'm going to stop while I'm ahead ;) Basically, your girl has discovered a new level of burnout and is fucking sick and tired of endless conference calls and having her youth / soul sucked out of her by corporate bullshit. Which is sad because I genuinely enjoy what I do, I just hate the crap I've been having to deal with for the last 2-3 years...).

ANY-ANYWAYS - (lol) reviews would be most appreciated! They keep me buoyed when life is being an ass.

Love you guys, and I'll see you with the next one on Monday!