Eternal Night (I) Chapter 30: House Call, a van helsing fanfic

Hi all! I almost forgot to update this morning (currently away from home visiting some family). As a courtesy FYI, Monday's chapter will be posted later than usual (as in late afternoon/early evening PST), so don't fret if you don't see the next installment up around the usual hour.

Many thanks to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, Arwen17evenstar, and cneajna for being so awesome with the consistent reviews. You four are straight-up superheroes.

I admittedly haven't combed through this chapter as thoroughly as normal (just haven't had the time this week), so my apologies in advance for any errors I overlooked. I am only human, after all.

We get a very small look into some of Frankie's trauma in this chapter. Or rather, Dracula does. So...

CW/TW: emotional manipulation, PTSD, brief conversations of past trauma involving murder, insinuations of torture, etc. This one gets a little heavy for a moment...

Chapter 30
House Call

The following evening found Frankie genuinely surprised when Leinhart hadn't shown at Carmen's, as had been his usual habit. It was already four hours past sunset and the anxiety had long-since settled in. Every time the front door to the tavern opened, her eyes immediately flew up in search of him and every time she realized that it wasn't he, she'd silently rebuke herself for caring in the first place.

At midnight, she finally cracked.

The recent gossip had told her that her brother had been kicked out of Lily's place the day before. While she knew Rémy was staying with someone, she had no idea with who or for how long. But since Rémy and Leinhart were friends, she assumed somehow tying the two topics together without being overly conspicuous would be a fairly simple task.

It had only been a handful of hours since she had last seen Vlad – having effectively turned the tables on him, after which he had wisely retreated. Now, it would seem, her victory was to be short-lived, as here she was, watching the front door like some kind of crazed stalker, privately anticipating his arrival.

"Frankie, where are you going?"

The woman turned around, not having realized that she was already making her way from the kitchen to the main area of the tavern. Vesper was seated in her usual spot next to the counter, a thick textbook entitled Vampire Anatomy: What to Expect During Your Transition, sprawled open in front of her, a peculiar expression on her face.

"I need to ask Rémy a question. I'll be right back. Keep reading," she encouraged as casually as she could.

"Is it about Lily kicking him out?" the girl questioned.

"No, it's more about where he's staying."

"You're not going to invite him to come back home, are you?"

"Of course I'm not," Frankie exclaimed from the doorway. "Why would I invite him back if I was the one that kicked him out in the first place?"

"Well, because he's your brother, and there's probably a small piece of that otherwise indifferent heart of yours that misses having him around."

The girl's voice was absolute deadpan.

Frankie narrowed her eyes a little.

"You've been talking to Leinhart again, haven't you?"

"Why would I talk to him when you specifically told me not to?" the teenager asked sweetly. She even batted her eyelashes for good measure.

It had no effect on the woman, who instead put her hands on her hips.

"Because you're a teenager and rebellion is hardwired into your DNA," Frankie replied before exiting from the room.

The instant she was gone, Vesper quietly closed the book in front of her while muttering to herself, "Damn right it is," and then she was on top of the counter, carefully pulling back the thick curtain that hung over the window space, just enough so she could take a peek.

Frankie had made her way over to her brother's usual table in the far corner of the bar where he and his close friends were playing another round of cards. Leinhart's designated seat on Rémy's left remained vacant and the teenager – still spying – found it amusing how Frankie just seemed to glide right into position.

"Evenin' Frank," Rémy sighed as his sister sat beside him.

"Rémy," and she nodded her head in response, fixating her attentions wholly on her brother.

"I'll take it you've heard," Rémy began, placing his bet before looking over at her. "Since I know that nothing else would have you coming over here, and sitting in Vlad's chair, no less. You still declaring war on him?"

"In that, my brother, little has changed," she replied, "and just because I'm not enamored with the man like the rest of you are doesn't mean I can't sit in his chair. In doing so, I publicly display my indifference."

"Or it was the only seat open and since you're itching for answers regarding my present living situation, you were willing to take the risk," he answered knowingly while patting her face. "You can be so obvious sometimes."

"We're related. You have an unfair advantage," she defended quietly.

"So, you want to know why I got kicked out and where I'm staying, do you? Very well, I suppose you have a right to hear the information, being the loving and caring sister that you are," he said pointedly as Danny gathered the winning chips and the cards were dealt out once more. "But only if you promise to play a round or two."

"You just want my money," she answered in kind. But instead of refusing him, she nodded once to Danny in consent as he handed her some cards and a pile of chips. "Very well, brother dear, I'll amuse you. But prepare to be thoroughly cleaned out."

"I don't care about whether or not I win," he whispered. "But Danny has been on a winning streak all night and it's getting very irritating." She chuckled lightly to herself before daring to lean back in her seat, making herself comfortable.

"Danny, I think you have the right to know that my brother is conspiring against you."

"Nothing new on that front," the man replied good-humoredly. "Although I was hoping you wouldn't play. You always manage to win."

"I may be profoundly unlucky in a lot of things, but cards has never been one of them," she declared. "Now then, Rémy. You have me playing. So spill it."

"As you wish," he laughed. "The short version of it is, Lily and I got in an argument early yesterday morning because I was spending more time with the alliance than I was with her."

"Well, you are its leader," Frankie interjected, "and she understood the sacrifices she'd have to make when she first started dating you."

"True, but she did have a point. I was being rather negligent but instead of addressing the problem with me in private as she should have, she blatantly announced it in front of everyone, demanding I choose between her and the alliance."

"Yes, I heard as much," was her answer, briefly recalling the many events of last night – Leinhart reading her like a book in her office, Leinhart introducing her to Bernardini, Leinhart constantly seducing her with his eyes.

"Well, I basically gave her an ultimatum. She either needs to grow up so we can work this thing out like adults because I'm not going to just abandon the alliance, or I walk. Don't get me wrong, I really like Lily. With her, I always have fun. It's just… when it comes to the serious stuff, she's such a… Lord, she reminds me of Alayna when she was younger. Dimwitted and a little whorish."

"Our cousin has never been a whore, Rémy, and I resent the comparison on her behalf," she reprimanded, but naturally her brother ignored it. "Alayna might have a staunch promiscuous streak, but just because she's open in her sexuality doesn't mean she's a slut; and I may have some reservations when it comes to Lily, but the same goes for her as well."

"Fine, whatever… the point is I need someone who can balance both – the perks and benefits of a relationship and the work aspect. But what's more, I need someone with similar priorities, someone who takes our cause seriously, someone I can depend on… and with Lily, as much as I care about her, the alliance has never been a priority for her. If anything, she romanticizes it. And I'm afraid that when things get even more serious than they already have… I can't rely on her to be there. I've never told you this, but there were many times while you were under when we would argue about the future – about how she wants to leave Budapest and run, whereas I… I want to stay and fight. These last few weeks, especially after everything that happened with the werewolves – it's made me realize that Lily and I both want very different things, things neither of us are really willing to compromise on. I had hoped that talking about it would help us find some middle ground, but she ended up kicking me out instead."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she answered with sincerity, squeezing his shoulder. He smiled and patted her knee after placing another bet.

"Thanks. I'm sure you've noticed the change in me since I started dating her. You know how I get – I see a pretty face and practically lose my goddamned mind! I guess I deserve to suffer for it, even if it means being homeless. You're so bloody patient with me, Frankie, I don't know what I did to deserve you as a sister."

The woman's eyes narrowed in suspicion as she removed her hand. His words reeked of disingenuous flattery.

"Bullshit," she replied to the astonishment of the entire table. "Reynaund Léon de Chacier, when did you get so bad at being manipulative? Are you even trying?"

The man laughed.

"I know. I almost had you going; I could see it in your expression."

"You're not moving back in," she answered flatly.

"Aww, come on, Frankie! I've got nowhere to go. I'm staying with Leinhart, for heaven's sake! The man lives in a fucking millionaire's penthouse and I'm almost afraid to touch anything!"

Her attention immediately whipped back in his direction.

"You're living where?"

"Vlad was nice enough to allow me to crash with him for a bit."

"Hold on… back up," she exclaimed, holding up her hand in a motion for him to be silent. "You're staying with Leinhart?"

"I just said that like three times! Honestly, you think I would make up something like that?"

"Um… yes?"

"Seriously, woman..."

"Alright, perhaps not, but… God, I can't even wrap my head around that idea."

"I know. I was surprised he said yes, too. I told him it wouldn't be permanent but after one day in that apartment, I could tell he preferred having the place to himself. You should see his space, Frankie. It's fucking decked out with some of the most expensive shit I've ever seen. The grand piano alone must have cost a fortune! That Steinway of his could easily rival Uncle Armand's Bösendorfer."

"He plays the piano?"

Of course he does, that conspirator's voice nagged in the back of her mind. You've seen the man's fingers.

"And the greatest view of Budapest I've ever seen on this side of the river," Rémy continued. "You can make out the old Parliament building next to the Danube and everything."

"But I thought he lived in that more sketchy part of the west district? And how on earth was he able to get a Steinway grand into his flat without raising suspicion? People with that kind of money don't just move into that area without it attracting the wrong kind of attention."

"I have no idea, but I seriously want his connections."

"Is that why he's staying home tonight? Because you moved in?"

"Actually, we talked for several hours about y…" Rémy began, but Frankie cut him off, throwing her cards down and ending the game with her full house, not caring about the money. She grabbed her brother by the arm and yanked him to his feet.

"You're coming with me," she declared, hauling him toward the back so she could grab her jacket.

"Aww, come on Frankie! I actually kind of like living there. The bed in his guest bedroom is so bloody comfortable. And the guest shower has these dual heads that just…"

"Rémy, this isn't up for discussion. You're moving back home, and that's final."

"Holy crap, you sounded exactly like Mom just then."

She grumbled something obscene in French as she marched into the kitchen and quickly threw her jacket on.

"Vesper, lessons are cancelled tonight."

"Yes!" the girl exclaimed, throwing a victorious fist up into the air just as Carmen entered the room to see what all the commotion was about.

"You can thank Rémy and his lack of manners for that."

"How does staying with Vlad make me discourteous?" Rémy defended.

"You're staying with Vlad?" Carmen inquired, a little confused.

"Lily kicked me out this morning," he explained, completely missing the most brilliant expression of shock on the woman's face.

"She what?"

"Yeah, I was kind of surprised too."

"Rémy, I… I'm so sorry," Carmen managed to push out though she literally had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

"I cannot believe you, Rémy," Frankie was still muttering, switching in and out of French and English.

"I still don't see why this is so horrible, Frank," he insisted as she practically dragged him out the backdoor and into the street, pushing him forward. "Just because you don't trust him doesn't mean I share your feelings on the…"

"Where does he live?"

"What?"

"Where does Leinhart live? We're getting your stuff and you're moving back in with me tonight." Rémy stopped on the street as his sister dug around in her pockets, searching for a cigarette. The moment she found one, she lit it immediately and inhaled, sighing heavily as the nicotine went to work.

"This is really stressing you out, isn't it?"

She sent him a disapproving look, but said nothing.

"You are aware of how utterly predictable you are, right?" he added, grabbing hold of her arm and curling it around his as he led her down the sidewalk while she gathered her senses.

"Yes. And it's becoming terribly inconvenient," she sighed, leaning against him somewhat.

"Are you really angry? About me living with Vlad?"

"Yes…" she began before flicking the cigarette away after only two puffs. "And no… I just… the jury's still out where he's concerned."

"Yeah, so I've noticed," he laughed. "The two of you absolutely despise each other."

"So he's mentioned that?" she asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"He used to talk about it, but I think he keeps most of that to himself now," was Rémy's contemplative response. "But you've got to let your differences go, Frankie," her brother then pleaded. "I know he can be blunt and a bit unforgiving in his criticisms and opinions, and I know he likes to tease you – devil knows you need it every now and again – but I truly believe that at his core he's a good man. Honest and true to the end."

"But how can you be sure and after so short an acquaintance?" was her immediate response. "The things he has done to prove his loyalty are rather simplistic in nature and not worth anyone's consideration."

"That's awfully harsh."

Instead of responding, she bit her lower lip.

"I couldn't explain it to you," he confessed. "I just feel it. The moment I met him, I felt I could trust him with my life."

"And his connections and information have nothing to do with how much you like him?" she inquired archly. Rémy smiled.

"Well, they certainly work in his favor."

Frankie couldn't help but roll her eyes a bit, but a faint curve appeared on her lips and Rémy noticed it.

"He's very good at bringing out the old you," he mentioned, "Something none of us would have been able to do in so short a time."

"I wouldn't go giving him all the credit," she replied.

"But you're so much like your old self when you're around him, even when you're arguing or glaring at one another. You aren't half as closed off as you used to be… you even smile more. And I'm not talking the fake crap you like to dish out either." She felt her brother grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

"What makes you think it's Leinhart who's bringing this out in me? Perhaps it's someone or something else?"

"I don't know – he's told me about some of your discussions."

Frankie went rigid, sending her brother a bewildered look. He only smirked.

"It's nothing bad, I promise." Frankie decided it was best not to respond to this. Doing so would only plant suspicions in her brother's head and she didn't need that right now. She hardly knew what to make of her own "feelings" on the subject. "Look, my point is that you should just give him a chance, for all of our sakes. Just make a more conscious effort to at least pretend you like him, to see the good he does. He's become one of my closest friends, kind of like an older brother – always keeping me in line, helping me focus on what's important."

"And what's important to you, Rémy?" she asked him, finally meeting his eyes.

"You are," he answered almost immediately. He then paused and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him as they walked. "And the alliance… but mostly you," and he placed an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "I've missed you, Frankie," he whispered, "and ever since Vlad stumbled into our lives, I feel like now, more than ever, is the time to really set our revolution in motion. I feel like with him, we actually have a chance of making a difference." He allowed the silence to sink in for a moment before continuing. "Just trust him, Frankie. You won't regret it. I promise."

What once had been the skeletal remains of the piece Dracula had deemed to become "Francesca's song" had matured and developed into a moving composition – arguably his favorite work to-date. He had insisted on staying behind this evening when Rémy was on his way out, claiming he had a bit of business to take care of. That business, of course, was privately losing himself to the serenity he found in a tune so fitting for the woman who consistently occupied his thoughts.

Vlad lingered comfortably in the shadows of the dimly lit living room, situated at the beautiful Steinway Concert Grand only half dressed. He had been in the process of changing for the evening when the lustrous ivory keys beckoned the caressing of his masterful fingers and he was more than happy to oblige. It wasn't as if he was expecting any visitors this evening.

With Rémy and Danny at Carmen's and Bernardini locked away in his study, Dracula was positive he would have the evening for himself.

But a familiar presence surprised him and upon noticing, he immediately ceased at the piano and stared at his front door, unwilling to believe the impossible. He heard her voice in the hall – Frankie's voice – and without even making the conscious decision, he had materialized to the front door before her knuckles could abuse the silence with a knock.

Just as he suspected – and quite gratefully too, for had it been an apparition of his own mind's making, he would have gone straight to Bernardini's to recover his sanity – the woman in question was on the other side of the door, her hand raised mid-air in a loosely constructed fist.

Upon seeing him, she lowered her hand and took a careful step back to put some space between the two of them. The first thing she noticed was his disheveled appearance. Accustomed to the clean-cut and put together visage he always put forth in public, seeing him with his hair loose and shirt halfway open was a bit of a shock and it took some effort to better conceal her surprise.

"Mr. Leinhart," was all that left her mouth.

The name of his alias seemed to snap him to attention, but instead of making himself more presentable, he rested against the frame of the door, opting to lean into this rather fortuitous situation.

"Miss Chase, this is a most unexpected pleasure," came the inevitable remark. Had she fed properly in a while, she surely would have blushed.

She offered no reply, struggling to keep her attention on his face and not the delicious bit of exposed flesh demanding attention from behind his open shirt – pale, taut skin stretched over exquisitely carved muscle. Did he have an eight pack? She swallowed once.

"I have to ask," said he with an arched smile, "how on earth did you learn where I live?"

The answer to that question appeared in the hall not a second too late and Dracula understood immediately as Rémy came jogging down the corridor only to wrap an arm around his sister's shoulders, leaning against her with a smile.

"The next time we race, you are not allowed to materialize at the front of the stair and push me down," he declared. "That fall could have killed anyone!"

"I did nothing of the sort," she replied defensively, though her mild embarrassment still had her speaking in soft tones.

"Did nothing of the sort?" Rémy repeated. "You tripped me!"

"Just because you stumbled over your own feet doesn't mean I tripped you," she insisted, managing a smile for him while desperately trying to avoid Vlad's penetrating gaze… or the distractingly naked flesh behind his open shirt.

"She's brutal, isn't she?" Rémy teased before turning to his friend, smacking his upper arm in greeting. "Vlad, my man, I have some news which I'm sure you'll be more than happy to hear," he began, entering without an invitation, leaving Frankie in the hall.

Dracula kept his mouth shut where Rémy was concerned and instead looked over at the man's sister. He motioned for her to enter, murmuring her name in invitation under his breath. She nodded in gratitude and crossed the threshold, stepping carefully inside. Pulling her jacket tighter around her body, she began to look about the apartment, attempting to discern what sort of element he thrived in.

From what she could tell, he had exceptional taste when it came to décor. The furnishings were expensive and stylish, everything quite refined, but still masculine and dark in color – lots of leather and fur and marble and dark woods. Everything seemed rather… sensuous. The large windows on the far side allowed the city and the half-moon to add a soft amount of light to the otherwise dimly lit space… that is, until Rémy switched on one of the lamps, absently ruining the ambience.

The actual layout was something she had not expected given the outside view of the building. The entryway led straight into a spacious main room equipped with a large sectional, two sofas, and several over-sized lounge chairs situated close to a beautiful gas fireplace against the wall framed with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The infamous grand piano she had heard so much about was located behind the seats nearest the windows.

To the right was a hall, which she assumed led toward the guest bed and bath where Rémy now resided. And to her left was a stairway leading to a second level where Frankie only assumed the man's bedroom was. Beneath that floor was a handsomely furnished kitchen fit for the finest of Michelin chefs and a terrace near the dining area that led out to one of the best views of Budapest she had ever seen this side of the river.

The scent in the air was distinctly him – clean, masculine – with notes of bourbon, oak, and vanilla.

"You know, in some circles it would be considered rude to root yourself in the doorway," the man replied from behind.

Miraculously, she had been able to keep herself from jumping at the sound of his voice. She could feel him leaning into her, enough so that he wasn't touching her directly, but close enough so that she could feel his breath on the skin of her neck when he spoke.

Frankie took his advice without a word and allowed him to steer her into the greater part of the room, his fingers gently guiding her as they pressed against her lower back in encouragement. He offered her a seat and some refreshment like any proper host would, and while she declined the latter she did agree to sit in one of the luxurious lounge chairs nearest to the piano.

"So what is this news that you have yet to tell me?" Dracula called to Rémy, who had made his way into the guest room without any need of guidance or invitation.

"Frankie has agreed to take me back," Rémy shouted from down the hall, his head momentarily peeping from the doorway to send him a wink, its meaning completely unknown to Frankie, though she dare not ask.

Vlad turned and sent his female guest a mischievous smile as he finally began to button his shirt closed, pulling his hair back.

"I bet I can guess her reason," he mused knowingly, leaving her for a moment as he entered the kitchen. "I confess, I am not surprised," Dracula continued a bit more loudly this time so Rémy could hear him. "You probably told her half-a-dozen lies just to get her to cede."

"Actually, all he did was tell me that he was staying with you," Frankie answered for herself, finding her seat so comfortable, she couldn't help but give in to the temptation of sinking back a little more.

"I suppose that was reason enough," was his reply as he silently offered her a wine glass of blood. "Although between the two of us, you're the one doing me the favor," he added teasingly and only for her to hear. Her eyes moved from his charismatic smile to the offered refreshment in his hand a little hesitantly, ready to decline the proposition, when she heard her brother curse violently from the other room.

"Ugh, that fucking hell-spawned bitch!" he barked as his phone started to ring. He peeked through the doorway again. "It's Lily. I may be a while. Vlad, do you mind keeping an eye on my sister?"

Without even waiting for a response, Rémy then shut the door and began shouting at the woman on the other end of the phone. Luckily the door and walls were thick enough to muffle what was being said, although Frankie couldn't help but be embarrassed on behalf of her brother.

"But of course. I might even keep two eyes on her," Dracula finally responded, mostly to himself before releasing a sigh, returning his attention to the woman before him. He placed the glass closer to her and she finally accepted it. "So," he began after she took the drink, "how was your day?"

She watched as he made his way over to the piano, the man taking a seat while waiting for her reply. It was only when he started to play that she offered a response.

"Tolerable, I suppose," she answered archly, and then she paused to take a sip from her glass, surprised by what met her tongue. "This blood is delicious. It isn't bottled, is it?"

"It is, but not the kind that is easy to come by," he answered. "It isn't cloned or processed or stolen, but given freely. A family of dhampirs who own and run their own business – albeit illegally, thanks to the current administration, but I find it's worth the risk."

Frankie sighed as the velvety liquid ran down her throat. It had been a long time since she had tasted dhampir. And while what was in her glass wasn't enough to completely restore or nourish her in the way that she still desperately needed, it was certainly more satiating than the cloned human blood she usually drank. She felt a delicious warmth spread through her body, the comfortable temperature allowing her to ease more into the chair.

"It's divine," she replied, licking her lips free of the bloody residue. She finally realized he was playing the piano and sent him a peculiar look. "You play after all, then. It's not just a show piece?"

"So perceptive," he said with that tantalizing lilt of his, changing the song as the two looked over at the guest bedroom door, hearing the muffled shouts of Rémy.

"Although I don't really approve of the situation," she continued, piquing his interest, "I want to thank you for taking Rémy in."

He offered her somewhat of a shrug before focusing his attention on the keys beneath his fingers, unable to look at her sitting in what was actually his favorite chair, and in his territory, no less. If her brother had not been here to chaperone, he would not have been able to resist the temptation to do what every instinct told him to do – seduce and claim.

Once a predator… his inner demon mocked.

"You're welcome," he managed to finally reply. "I've grown rather fond of your brother," he then added after a spell. "He has his faults, but he is a good man, very sincere and selfless." He dared to steal a glance at Frankie, only to discover her staring off blankly into the distance, a faraway look in her eyes.

"Yes, he is."

"He is very protective of you," he added carefully, watching her closely now. Something changed in her expression when he said that. A streak of pain furrowed in her brows as she placed the glass down on the side-table. "In fact, if he's not talking about the alliance, it's usually of you."

"Rémy mentioned to me that the two of you had talked during the daylight hours after you had offered to have him stay with you," she replied, looking over at him carefully.

"Ah, so you want to know what we discussed?" was the knowing answer.

"I already know it was about me. He told me as much."

"Yes, I suppose we did talk about you."

"What did he say exactly?"

"What? You don't want to know what I said?" he asked archly.

"I already know what you think of me."

"If you say so."

She paused for a minute, knowing perfectly well that he was baiting her, but she ceded far more quickly than she normally would have, rolling her eyes a little.

"Very well, then; what did you say?"

His playing stopped suddenly so he could give her his full and undivided attention before answering.

"He asked me what I thought of you."

"And your reply?"

"I told him that I found you to be disagreeable in nearly every regard. You are without a doubt the most headstrong, arrogant, disobliging female I have ever encountered."

Her reaction was exactly what he had hoped.

She was stunned into silence.

His behavior lately had proven he felt otherwise and then to hear him speak thus... But he wasn't finished and he continued before she could go on the defensive.

"However, that was only when I first met you," he clarified in gentler tones, keeping her gaze with his, even as he began to play once more. "My opinion of you, you'll be glad to learn, has significantly improved these last weeks. Where I once found you disagreeable in both character and person, I now find you… rather pleasing. That is, when you're not attempting to emotionally gut me for your own amusement or break my arm like you did last night," and he was gratified to find her smiling at this – even if she did try to hide it behind a delicately raised finger.

"So you don't hate me?"

"I've never hated you," he assured her. "Disliked you at times, yes – devil knows you have your moments."

"As do you."

"And while I'm admittedly not accustomed to being regularly challenged by someone I know so little… let's just say that if anyone was to be the exception, I'd prefer it'd be you."

"And why is that?"

He smiled a little, though his attention was fully on the instrument before him now.

"You keep me on my toes – a feat few could boast. In fact, it's been many, many years since someone has been able to do that with a consistent level of success. Everyone else is usually so predictable. You are not… even if the experience occasionally gives me whiplash."

She chuckled through her nose before replying,

"The feeling is mutual."

But she wasn't looking at him anymore. Her eyes had since closed as she continued to listen to him play and when he offered her no further conversation, not wishing to interrupt her moment of genuine contentment, he noticed her leaning farther back into the chair as she grew more comfortable, her countenance taking on a kind of serenity that hadn't been there previously.

"Mmm… Clara Schumann. I haven't listened to her in a good many years."

Dracula sent her a peculiar look. "You know this song?"

"Know it? It was written by one of my aunt's dearest friends back in the day. Trois Romances, Op. 11: Moderato."

His chuckle was low and deep.

She'd never get tired of that sound… not in a million years.

"I'm impressed."

"My uncle's family is very musical," she explained. "And I've always found there to be something quite soothing about classical music. Feelings and expressions without need of words. A single melody or chord can be the most moving piece of poetry."

He started to play a different piece and she immediately recognized it.

"Frédéric Chopin. One of my favorites. I used to love watching my uncle play this piece – how his fingers effortlessly flew about."

They went on like this for several long minutes, Dracula following Chopin with some Haydn and Rachmaninoff all the way to Beethoven and Mozart, watching Frankie out of the corner of his eye as she soaked in the music, the fingers of her left hand soon dancing about in the air as though she were playing some sort of instrument. After a time, he finally interrupted her silent reverie.

"Do you play?"

Her fingers stopped moving and slowly fell as she opened her eyes. There was an expression of pain now etched across her face, something deep, like an old wound she had momentarily forgotten.

"Not the piano," she replied. "That's Armand's instrument. I was my aunt's protégé."

"What did she play?"

"The violin. So beautifully too…"

There was something very regretful in her tone and it troubled him. He knew that her aunt had died the same night Derek had, which resulted in Frankie's subsequent hibernation for the five years following. A part of him knew better than to press for the particulars, yet he couldn't seem help himself. The music appeared to soothe her, as though his playing put her in a different place and time. Mozart was soon replaced with Chopin, as Frédéric's compositions seemed to subdue her most and as he played one of the Nocturnes from memory, adding his own spin on it as he did so, Vladislaus began to tread slowly.

"Remind me of your aunt's name?"

"Giovanna Cecilia de Chacier," she answered in a faraway tone. "Or Cece, as she was known by most of us. She was so beautiful – rich dark brown hair that would always curl near the tips," and she began to turn her finger about in the air as though she could see her aunt's hair in her mind. "Soft, romantic eyes… a brilliant smile, and the sweetest temperament." That faraway look in her expression grew deeper as she continued. "She was Italian born, but had spent nearly the whole of her life in France, which is where she met my uncle. Their union initially caused quite a scandal."

"How long had they been together?"

"It would have been four-hundred and thirty-two years this last summer."

"Francesca is an Italian name, I think. And yet you and your family are French nobility."

"My aunt had always wanted to be a Francesca, but she had been named after her grandmother – a terrible woman. Cece and my mother were always close – like sisters – so when I was born, instead of being called Françoise, as was the plan, I was named Francesca instead. Grand-mère Marie was furious when she found out, but it had already grown on Father and once he set his mind on something, nothing could dissuade him."

"So that's where you get it from," he replied with an affectionate smile that she missed entirely. "I'm glad they didn't name you Françoise. Francesca suits you better."

"I like to think so," she said softly.

"I recall your brother saying that your family has lived in France for centuries. Did you spend much of your time with your parents and aunt and uncle after your transition?"

"They're my family. We were almost always together," she explained, voice becoming rather dreamlike as he continued to play, as if the music was leaving her spellbound. "After my parents died, Rémy and I were separated for several years. Lyra was my only companion and she became dearer to me than any sister or friend ever could. When she and I were finally found, I was returned to my aunt and uncle. I lived with them at their estate in France for some years following."

"Do they have any children of their own or did they adopt you and your brother at that time?"

"I grew up with my cousins – Georgine, Marceau, and Alayna. Georgine is about Rémy's age, Marceau and Alayna are younger than I."

"With three children of their own, why did your aunt make you her protégé?"

"Because the two eldest already played the piano and Alayna was too headstrong to be bothered with things like music lessons," she said with an affectionate laugh. "I dabbled a bit half-heartedly for some centuries, but after the passing of my parents, Cece insisted I take it up more seriously."

"And we all know how much you enjoy being told what to do," he answered with a knowing look.

"It's true. I always preferred to listen to her play rather than playing myself, but I had a natural inclination for the instrument and she would not let that go to waste, no matter how much I fought her. Besides, in Cece's infinite wisdom, she knew how much I needed an outlet at that time in my life. Music helped me to heal in ways no other therapy or modern medicine could."

"How did your parents die?" he inquired most carefully, still continuing to play in hopes that his question would not break the spell. Fate was clearly on his side.

"They were murdered."

The way she said the words sent a chill through his body.

"You saw it happen, didn't you?"

"Rémy was off fighting the Nazis with Marceau when they came, and it all happened so quickly. My father had no time to hide us, let alone call for help. We knew they would come – after the threats I had received upon arriving home, it was inevitable. But we never expected them to come so soon. Not on the brink of sunrise."

"Who took you?" he continued.

Her voice started to have a distant feeling to it, as if she were reliving the moments in her mind.

A blackened expression had appeared on her face and he could see the tears welling in her eyes. Dracula didn't want to pain her, but his curiosity would not be quelled. He had waited so long for answers and had finally found a means of acquiring them.

"Men… monsters. Demons dressed in black robes, lined in red silk. My father recognized some of them, demanded that they spare me, but they would not be swayed. He fought to defend my mother and I, but he was beaten and then beheaded. My mother tried to keep them from me, but she was too broken by my father's loss. The severed blood-bond nearly drove her to madness. She couldn't stop screaming. She told me to run, but there were too many of them… we couldn't get out…"

Frankie covered her mouth in horror as memories long suppressed began to unfold before her mind's eye, the sound of her mother's tormented cries echoing faintly in her ears. In the hopes that he could perhaps soothe her fear, he began to play another piece – a transcription for the piano of Tchaikovsky's Serenade for Strings – but it seemed to have the opposite of his intended effect.

A tangible chill came over the room the moment he started to play those first few chords and the fear that immediately radiated from her – he could taste it in the air.

Acidic and sweet like poison.

"No… please, don't play that song. Stop…" she begged him. When he didn't cease right away, she suddenly materialized over to the piano, violently slamming the fallboard down and nearly catching his fingers as she shouted, "I said stop!"

The stillness that followed was oppressive.

Silent tears were tumbling down Frankie's ghostly pale cheeks and the woman was quivering like a leaf as she towered over him. The desperation in her countenance gradually began to ease away as they stared at one another, Dracula remaining absolutely still. She wasn't angry with him – he could see it in her eyes – but what he did see shook him to his core.

She was looking right at him, and yet she wasn't there with him. She was far away in another place and time and her face, stained with tears, was twisted with a fear he had never seen in her before. In that moment she looked lost, so terribly lost and small and afraid. He was about to reach for her hand in an attempt to comfort her, to soothe the horror in her countenance, to bring her back to him, but Rémy's voice shattered the moment as he shouted from the guest room:

"Is everything alright out there?"

His voice seemed to jolt her back to the present, pulling her out of whatever memory those C-major chords had resurrected. She blinked twice, fresh tears tumbling down her cheeks, hands still trembling.

"I'm fine," Frankie called shakily before repeating the phrase softly to herself, moving away from the piano and towards the small balcony. She stepped outside into the fresh evening hair, gripping the railing with both hands as she struggled to calm herself down.

How little Vlad understood in that moment, and yet he couldn't shake the knot in his stomach at what he had seen in her face.

He started to play Chopin again, tuning himself to the energy that surrounded her and he was relieved to find that the nocturne soothed her. He stole a glance back at her through his periphery to find that she had visibly relaxed. When he turned to focus on the instrument before him once more, he felt her attention turn to him. Not wishing to interrupt her study, he closed his eyes and continued to play in silence.

Frankie waited until Chopin changed to something else before she reentered the flat, her movements utterly soundless.

It was so strange. In that moment, she hardly knew herself – moving from horror and fury at his subtle manipulations to a kind of helplessness that only swelled the longer she watched him, moving back to the piano to stand just behind him like a ghost unseen.

Something about his presence soothed her, steadied her; that look that had been in his eyes the moment she had snapped the fallboard shut, the way his hand had momentarily reached for hers before her brother had interrupted. What she wouldn't give to have this man take her in his arms, to make the nightmares and black memories of her past go away, to make her feel safe again. Untouchable by all, except him. Her skin ached to be stroked by those dexterous, masterful fingers that were now caressing the ivory keys of the piano, playing a song Frankie did not recognize. But its tune pulled her in.

He was almost picturesque, seated at the magnificent instrument, leaning over the keys, his countenance full of a deep sort of concentration.

She contented herself in watching his hands with peculiar fascination as he played. They were not at all like her uncle's – the ones she had always been so fond of observing. No, Leinhart's fingers were a tad longer, his hands strong, but his movements were so gentle, confident… soft caresses that made her skin ache with envy.

Vlad's eyes remained closed, but his senses were fixed, the man aware of her every movement, of just how near she was.

He had sensed her progress when she had silently reentered the flat and he had half expected her to keep her distance after his thoughtless misstep with that Tchaikovsky piece. But then she had surprised him, moving even closer to him, and without even meaning to, his playing took on a kind of passion that hadn't been there previously.

Vladislaus could sense the heat, the electricity radiating off of her and he longed to respond to it. That scent that was distinctly hers was soon filling his flared nostrils, sliding down his throat, and saturating his lungs. Her being this near to him, reaching for him without even meaning to – it was like something out of a dream.

He could feel the presence of her hand hovering now near his cheek – as if she wanted to touch him. In an attempt to keep the moment from passing he continued to play and kept his eyes closed.

The gentle heat from her hand was a breath away from his face and she would have caressed him then, but the door opening to the guest bedroom put an end to the intimate moment and Frankie quickly recoiled and stepped back as Dracula opened his eyes.

Rémy was in the hall, carrying a small stack of boxes with a large duffle bag swung over his shoulder, the Bluetooth earpiece blinking as he continued to talk to Lily.

"Yeah, I get that you're sorry, but it's a little late for that. What's said is said," he spoke into the phone, mouthing to Frankie that he was sorry and was almost done. "I know, you've said that at least two hundred times in the last forty minutes!"

Both Frankie and Vlad glanced at one another, struggling to find something to say.

"Do you need a ride to your place?" he asked rather lamely.

"No, thank you. I called a cab before we got here and told them to wait outside for us."

"Oh."

"But thank you for the offer."

"Of course."

"Yeah, whatever, I'll think about it," Rémy continued, ignorant to what had just passed between his sister and best friend. "But in the meantime, you don't get to call me, got it?" He rolled his eyes and after a harsh goodbye, he hung up and removed the earpiece and placed it in his pocket. "Sorry that took forever," he explained. "I got a text from the cab about five minutes ago. He's still waiting downstairs for us."

"Okay… well then, we better get going," and she quickly moved over to her brother to help him carry a couple of the boxes.

Dracula immediately offered to take them from her, but she respectfully declined and he thought it best not to press, for which she was grateful.

"Thanks again Vlad for letting me bunk here and keeping my sister out of trouble. I hope the two of you got along alright without me having to play referee?" Rémy teased. The pair looked at one another with unreadable expressions.

"We managed," was Dracula's response. "As always, she's been extremely gracious and patient in putting up with me," he added with a smile.

"Lots of practice, I suppose," was her slightly timid answer.

"Well then, let's get me moved back in!" Rémy announced as Dracula opened the door and watched them leave. "God I've missed my bed. Thanks again, Vlad!"

"You're welcome." He managed to catch Frankie's eye and he bowed his head to her in respect. "Miss Chase, I'm sorry if I upset you. That was not my intention."

"I know."

"I hope you are not angry with me?"

"I am not," she answered truthfully, much to his secret relief.

"So no Tchaikovsky then?"

"Oh, Tchaikovsky is fine – just not that song." She tried to laugh, but there were remnants of an old horror in her eyes and it pained him to see it.

"I can't even begin to tell you how sorry…"

"It's okay," she assured him, gently interrupting. "You didn't know."

The silence between them was pregnant. He longed to ask her why, what it was about that particular serenade that impacted her the way it had – it had been such a visceral, immediate reaction; as if those specific chords had unveiled the deep scars of an old but still very real trauma. But he didn't have the heart to press.

"Although fair warning," she continued, evidently as eager as he to dispel the tension between them, "if you use your handy music skills to manipulate me for information again, next time I will throttle you," she added playfully, and he managed a quiet laugh.

"I've been warned," he replied.

"Goodnight, Mr. Leinhart,"

"Goodnight… Francesca," and he watched her until she disappeared from sight, and then he shut the door.

I love watching these two soften towards each other. Almost as much as I love interrupting them before either of them can deepen their emotional intimacy. I'm cruel, I know. But it all serves a point, so relax and trust me. I know what I'm doing.

Reviews would be most appreciated! And remember, Monday's chapter will be late, but it will get posted - so don't panic! Just turn your alerts on if you haven't already! :)