Well... that second Moderna shot is no freaking joke. Had every intention of reading through this one more time over the weekend before posting for some last-minute edits and fine-tuning, but that sure as hell didn't happen Oh well. My apologies for any errors I missed in my earlier comb-throughs!
All the thanks to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, Arwen17evenstar, and inkmagpie for the reviews over the weekend!
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 33
Healing
When Lyra was gone, Dracula turned to Vesper, calling her name. She came to him without question, responding to his authority as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He bent down a bit so his face could be more level with hers.
"I'm going to need your help," he explained and she nodded bravely.
"Tell me what to do."
"I need you to find me some towels that we can use to clean Miss Chase while I get some hot water."
"Carmen has some upstairs in the linen closet."
"Then go fetch them. Once you do, you'll need to go to the cellar. There is a small tin box behind the door."
"The first aid kit?"
"Yes – but what I need is in two different vials on that same shelf. One is aloe sap; the other will say inferí on it."
Frankie perked up when she heard the name of the second item and she swallowed hard.
"I'm on it!" and then the girl disappeared.
When she was gone, Dracula straightened and turned to look at Frankie who was watching him closely. She looked like hell.
"Well, this is familiar," he said.
"The latex gloves are in the drawer next to the sink," she instructed, trying to sit up so she could remove her jacket.
"I don't need gloves," he began but she interrupted him.
"Yes, you do. Get them now or you don't get to lay a finger on me," she snapped.
A bit affronted, but unwilling to argue, he obeyed and began to put on the gloves just as Vesper returned with the items he had requested. After giving the teenager further instructions to stand watch in the hall, he put on a plastic apron to protect his clothing before prepping the rags in silence, soaking them in the hot water and aloe sap.
Dracula finally made his way over to the island on which the woman sat, Frankie trying to brace herself for the inevitable.
"So… do I get to find out what happened or will I have to make my own inquiries?" he asked lightly, quickly assessing damage she had managed to sustain, trying to figure out where to start first.
"You mean you want to know why I look like I just got my ass handed to me by a gang of vampires?" she clarified.
He pressed one of the treated rags against the wound in her shoulder and she hissed before letting out a whine, gripping the edge of the counter.
"That would probably be a good place to start."
"I was walking home from a meeting when I was attacked."
"By whom?"
He wrapped the cloth around his finger and dug the digit into the hole in her shoulder to clean it out, trying to appear unaffected by the whimpers coming from her. He examined the injury carefully before releasing a sigh.
"I was afraid of that."
He stood.
"What are you doing?"
He returned to her side, this time with the bottle labeled inferí in his hand, and though she tried to appear brave, he could sense her anxiety in the air.
"You're not healing on your own and we don't have time to wait for Lyra to get back."
"I don't need that stuff," she answered defiantly.
Ignoring her protests, he went ahead and poured a few drops of the liquid straight into the wound in her shoulder.
She let out an awful shriek of pain and Vesper ran into the room, asking what was going on, but she never got her answer. Vlad kept his eyes on the woman before him, attention fixed as he held her hands down to keep her from touching the injury as the liquid did its job. It thoroughly cleaned out every inch of that bullet hole in her shoulder, any impurities bubbling and sizzling with her skin as the muscle and flesh miraculously stitched itself back together before his eyes.
It took every ounce of strength in him to remain focused, the sound of her cries tearing him apart rather unexpectedly. As the small hole continued to close, her pain soon ebbed away and Frankie's sobs turned into soft whimpers as tears streamed helplessly down her cheeks. He released her hands before examining her shoulder, rubbing his gloved thumb over the freshly healed skin.
"What the hell did you do?" Vesper asked.
"Inferí – it's a liquid compound that forces the flesh of the undead to heal," Dracula explained, his attention briefly moving to the girl.
"Inferí?"
"It is Latin for hellfire."
"And a fucking appropriate name," Frankie managed through gritted teeth.
"Like a fire that cauterizes a wound, this forces the breaks in flesh and muscle to seal back together."
"That sounds terrible!" Vesper exclaimed and Dracula smiled a bit sadly.
"Yes, but a necessity – and I fear we've only just begun," and he looked up into Frankie's eyes. "Forgive me, but it's the only way to stop the major areas of bleeding."
The woman nodded once in resignation and their eyes moved together down to the soaked bloodstain on her skirt over her thigh. His fingers rested on the edge of her dress before he paused.
"Do I have your permission?" he asked her cordially.
She nodded once and watched as he delicately lifted up the end of her skirt, stopping right above the injury and a dangerous inch and a half from where her leg met her hip. His hold on her thigh was careful as the three of them all examined the open wound.
"It looks like the bullet is still in there," Vesper pointed out, not in the least bit disturbed by the gory spectacle before her.
"Can you push it out?" Dracula asked and Frankie shook her head.
"I've tried a couple of times, but it won't budge."
"Try again. I am certain you do not want my fingers in your leg."
She most certainly did not want that, so Frankie stared down the glistening bullet buried in the muscle of her thigh and concentrated. It took a few moments for anything to happen because she was so exhausted and famished, but she managed to get her body to squeeze the bullet up at least half way, though not out completely.
Frankie panted for air after giving up, a cold sweat causing her flesh to glisten. She swore under her breath in her native tongue.
"Vesper, your fingers are smaller. Think you can reach it?" Dracula asked.
The girl was already ahead of him, pulling on a pair of gloves as the man offered Francesca his hand in support. With a silent nod from the woman, the young dhampir dug out the silver bullet with her fingers as Frankie squeezed Dracula's hand, biting down on her tongue to keep from crying out too loudly. When the precious metal was free, Vlad carefully wiped the excess blood away from her thigh, though the hole in her flesh remained open. Once her skin had been cleaned, Vesper looked up expectantly.
"What now?" she asked.
Dracula handed the vial to the girl.
"Take the stopper and pour three drops directly into the wound," he instructed her. He then took Frankie's hands in one of his before cradling the back of her head in his other palm, forcing her to keep eye-contact with him. "Just look at me," he encouraged her gently. "No matter how much it hurts, look at me."
When she was ready, Dracula gave the nod to proceed and Vesper did as she was told.
The pain was unreal and although Frankie didn't scream quite as loudly this time, she whined behind tightly closed lips, more tears streaming down her cheeks as her eyes remained locked on the man before her. His intense gaze may not have eased her pain, but his presence calmed her considerably. When the skin had stitched itself back together and Vesper had cleaned the excess blood from her flesh with a cloth, he released Frankie's hands and carefully removed his glove with his teeth so he could rub the soreness from the spot on her thigh with his fingers.
With a single look, he then instructed Vesper to take care of the cut on Frankie's hand, the bite in her wrist, and the handful of unsavory lacerations on her arms. As the girl followed through with the instruction she was given, cleaning away excess blood as she went, the woman leaned forward so her sweat-laced brow could rest on Vlad's shoulder as she tried and failed to fight back the tears. With every wound that was cleansed and then healed, he would sooth the ache with his touch, whispering words of reassurance and apologies in murmured Romanian.
After Vesper finished, pausing for a moment to wait for Dracula's next instruction, she watched as Frankie continued to linger there, leaning against the man as he went back to massaging the spot on her thigh. Something passed between them as both finally pulled back to look at one another, and even the young Vesper could sense it, though she did not quite understand what it was.
"Where next?" he asked softly, his hand still resting on her leg.
"My back."
Stepping out of her hold, but allowing his hand to linger – whether to ground himself or her, he had no idea – he went to stand behind her so he could get a better look at what she was referring to. Vesper studied the damage alongside him, both examining the ghastly gashes that marred her back and Dracula sighed.
"You'll need to lie down. Vesper, soak a clean rag with hot water and several drops of the inferí." He then looked back at Francesca. "I'm going to open the back of your dress."
Both females obeyed his commands in silence, Frankie managing lie down on her stomach, struggling to ignore how vulnerable and awkward she was starting to feel.
Dracula changed out his gloves before gingerly unzipping the back of her dress, carefully peeling the cloth away from the open wounds before he and Vesper rinsed and purified them as gently as they could with aloe water first.
"Alright Vesper, this might be easier if you climb up onto the counter with her. Francesca, you're going to need to hold onto something," he warned sympathetically, standing in front of her now.
The woman reached for his hands and he immediately fell to his knees in front of her, squeezing them reassuringly before he then cradled the back of her head, encouraging her with his eyes to grab onto him. She obeyed, maintaining his gaze with a look of absolute trust before nodding once, telling him that she was ready. At the word, Dracula gave the signal and Vesper took the treated rag that she had soaked in inferí and she pressed it down onto the woman's back.
Frankie's entire body went rigid at the contact, eyes wide with the breathtaking pain as a terrible sob caught in her throat. Though she struggled to stay still, the task proved difficult and Dracula had to tighten his grip on her in an effort to help.
"I'm so sorry, dragă," he whispered in his native tongue, his brow pressed against hers as she held his shoulders fiercely in her hands, digging her nails into the muscle. "It's almost done… you're almost done."
His genuine tenderness moved her, even as the pain persisted, her flesh burning and fizzling as the alchemic concoction forced the damaged skin and muscle to stich itself back together. When at last it was done, Vesper slid off the counter to clean the rag, which left Dracula to stand so he could examine the state of the woman's back.
"How does it look?" Frankie asked him, trying to keep him in her periphery.
Vlad made his way over to inspect it for her more closely, relieved when he found her to be completely healed. Her skin was soft, creamy, and utterly flawless – flesh pulled over beautifully sculpted muscle that beckoned his fingertips. He surrendered to temptation for just a moment, allowing his digits to softly caress the place where the vicious claw-marks had previously been and a silent sigh escaped him.
He couldn't imagine what would possess anyone to want to mar such beauty, such perfection; and the fact that someone had – it left a flicker of rage to burn deep in his gut. The only thing that seemed to keep his anger in check was the feel of her beneath his fingers. Though cool to the touch, her skin reminded him of butter – supple, smooth. He longed to indulge a bit more, but resisted as he carefully zipped up her dress again with his one remaining gloved hand. When he was done, she rolled over and sat up.
"Good as new," he announced, careful to keep his voice even.
Even soaked in blood, she still managed to look like sin itself sitting on top of the island counter, one of the sleeves of her dress hanging idly off her shoulder. He felt the sudden urge to hold her, to take her in his arms and feel her against him, to kiss her brow, her lips, and then all the places she had been injured.
He didn't even realize he had been staring, his unguarded expression speaking volumes of his inner longing as Frankie finished cleaning herself off with the rag Vesper had handed her.
The woman made no attempts to interrupt his study, however.
Dracula finally returned to himself when he remembered the teenager was still present, the girl watching the two vampires closely.
"Thank you, Vesper, for your assistance," he said after a moment, glancing over at the dhampir. "Why don't you go get cleaned up? I'll stay here with Miss Chase while we wait for Lyra to return."
Vesper nodded obediently and exited from the room, leaving the two adults alone to dwell in that spell of tense silence for a moment or two until Frankie could bear it no longer.
"Thank you, for all that you've done," she began, but he interrupted her suddenly.
"Francesca, I believe I owe you an apology," the uttered words openly surprising her.
"You do?"
"Yes," he said. "I have not always treated you with the level of courtesy and respect I should have, and though we have discussed the topic at length, I acknowledge that I have never formally… sincerely apologized, and I hope to do so now."
"Truly – there's no need," she insisted, but he continued all the same, taking a careful step toward her.
"But there is a need. I cannot in good conscience continue without seeking pardon for my previous actions."
"Please stop shuffling about and just look at me."
Dracula, who had been tidying up distractedly while the conversation had progressed, stopped upon command and looked directly into her eyes as instructed.
"Mr. Leinhart… Vlad. I will not pretend to comprehend whatever this is between us," and she waved her hand about in the air absently. "In truth, I don't understand it at all. But there is one thing that I do know – and that is that I have no real wish to quarrel with you. I may not know the whole of your history, or any of it, really, but you have proven yourself to be a true and loyal friend to my brother. You are an invaluable asset to him and to the alliance… and to me," and her eyes diverted down to the ground momentarily at the confession.
"Do you mean that, or are you merely saying this for my benefit?"
"I do mean it," she answered timidly. "I may not like you all of the time, and given our conversation the other evening, I know that feeling is mutual," and they both smiled at that truth, "but I want you to know that I trust you; or rather – I trust you more now than I did before. I forgive you for your past offenses, and I hope you can grant me the same courtesy. I know that my behavior has given you violent whiplash on more than one occasion, but you've been very generous with me – allowing me to work through things at my own pace and forgiving me when I've treated you abominably."
Dracula, privately grateful for the sudden white flags that had been raised between them, offered a genuine smile as he nodded his head in her direction.
"There is nothing to forgive," he assured her. "Your moments of retaliation and frustration with me have been wholly justified, but I pardon you all the same."
"Thank you. Truce?" and she extended her hand to him.
He took her offer of peace and shook her hand firmly.
"Truce – though I should warn you, I have no intention of putting an end to this little game between us," he mentioned with a cheeky grin and Frankie rolled her eyes, laughing.
"Tread carefully, then, sir. I'm about to be at full-strength again. You won't stand a chance."
"Oh, dragă, I've been merciful with you from the very beginning. You at full-strength only means that I won't have to play fair anymore. Although, speaking of playing fair," and he watched as Frankie managed to slide carefully off the island counter, "I think now may be a good time, as we're still alone, to properly address this game of ours. What exactly are we playing for?"
"What? Isn't it obvious?" she replied meekly, though that flirtatiousness in her eyes was unmistakable. "I desire your complete and utter submission, Vlad Leinhart; acknowledgement that I am your superior in every sense of the word."
Dracula laughed.
"Then we are on the same page after all," he declared. "A pity you will never obtain such an admission from me."
"Oh I don't know," she mused, taking a seat on the barstool closest to her, wincing a little as some of her minor scrapes and bruises had yet to heal. "I don't think I've ever seen you so gentle or attentive before this evening; and while part of you insists on calling me dragă for the sheer purpose of vexing me, I'm starting to wonder if some other less nefarious part of you does so out of genuine affection."
Dracula did not look at her this time, his back to her so she would not see the faintest of smiles curving his lips.
Oh, that woman was clever.
Clever, observant, and absolutely correct.
He most certainly felt a kind of affection toward her, had for a while now. Their present cordiality did not make their lingering differences vanish, but even with that consideration, it hadn't stopped the steady ascent of his care for her. He had noticed it, and now, so it seemed, she had as well.
Disposing of the soiled rags and water, Dracula checked his clothes for blood before removing his gloves and apron.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he replied, tossing the items away in the nearest trashcan. "Would make your domination of me much easier if I was partial to you in that way."
"You mean you're not?" she asked, clearly unconvinced.
"You have said it many times before," and he openly examined her, then, the look in his eyes causing her to smile rather bashfully. "You're woefully off-limits. A waste, really."
"I get the feeling that in similar instances that has never stopped you before."
"Perhaps, but you've been so adamant," he replied dramatically. "What? Have your sudden injuries caused you to rethink your earlier assertions? Have I gained so much ground and with so little effort?"
"You most certainly have not," she declared, pretending to be affronted.
"Good – I'd lose all of my respect for you if you turned out to be such an easy conquest."
"Well, fear not, for I am no such thing."
"I would not have you so," he said in low tones and before they could continue on in this manner, they were interrupted by the sound of Rémy rushing into the building through the front door, shouting his sister's name.
"Frankie! Frankie, where are you?"
The woman sighed rather heavily and Vlad sent her a questioning look.
"I wish he wouldn't fret so much," she admitted quietly and the man smiled in understanding, patting her knee before turning to face the door where Rémy, Carmen, Danny, and Vesper all emerged.
"Jesus Christ, Frank! What the hell happened?"
"I'm fine," she began but her brother wouldn't even let her finish.
"You most certainly are not fine!" he exclaimed. "Carmen said you were attacked and couldn't heal yourself."
"Which is how I was earlier, yes – but as soon as Lyra gets back, I'll be good as new."
"Why the fuck wasn't Kennedy with you? She was supposed to keep an eye on you."
"And she would have done so had I stuck to the original schedule, but things changed. She got to me when she could."
"Don't defend her, Frankie – you could have died!"
"You and I both know that that isn't physically possible for me," she answered calmly, hoping her more controlled tone would help soothe him. It thankfully worked as his pacing became less frantic.
"Well, you look terrible," he stated and she managed a weak laugh.
"I looked a lot worse before you arrived. Carmen can attest to that."
"It's true," Vesper interjected. "Vlad and I helped clean her up so we could at least stop the bleeding."
Rémy send an inquisitive look to his friend who elaborated with a single-worded answer of "inferí" and that seemed to be enough of an explanation.
"Thank you, Vlad," Frankie's brother said with a sigh. "I don't want to imagine how things would be if you hadn't been here to help."
"I'm just happy I was able to be of some use; and Vesper here proved a very steady-handed assistant."
"Yes," Frankie added encouragingly, grateful that this line of conversation was pulling the attention away from her and she sent Dracula an appreciative look. "She was very brave," and the company all watched as Carmen pulled the girl into her arms.
"So where's Lyra?" Danny asked.
"I'm right here!" a voice called from the front of the tavern and within moments, Lyra and Raul entered the already crowded kitchen with two bound and gagged men, both of which Frankie recognized as her remaining attackers from earlier.
Surprised they were still even alive, she sent a questioning look to her friend who quickly explained herself.
"I was going to interrogate them after making sure you were okay," Lyra said. "But considering the circumstances, I figured you'd like to do the honors, as it was your blood they spilled," and she took the man in her possession and shoved him to the ground at Frankie's feet. The one in Raul's custody was also placed before her and Frankie studied the newcomers closely.
It was strange – prior to her time alone in Leinhart's distracting presence, she had been starving, fully prepared to gorge herself on whatever unfortunate souls she could get her hands on. But now that the prospect of feeding on those of her kind was before her, despite her ravenous hunger and desire for revenge, that familiar hesitance was making itself known once again – the queasy hesitation.
Frankie met Vlad's eyes for a solitary moment, and in that instant of residing under his gaze, the truth of the situation became abundantly clear.
Whether she wanted to or not, she needed to feed and she needed to do so properly.
She had put this off for long enough.
No more excuses.
No more fear.
No more giving way to debilitating trauma.
She needed to allow herself to heal from the harrowing events of her recent past and the only way she could do so would be to face her demons.
"I'd like to do this in private, if you don't mind," Frankie said at last and as her friends began to depart from the room, she quietly examined the bound and gagged men left at her disposal.
When at last they were all alone, she slid off the barstool and allowed gravity to bring her down to the floor, falling to her knees when her legs gave out. She closed her eyes, struggling to suppress the nausea that often accompanied the distressing memories of the last time she had fed on a vampire. It took her nearly two minutes of tense silence to come to herself, and oddly enough, it was the thought of Leinhart in the other room that brought her to a more manageable state of calm.
At last she opened her eyes, irises glowing violet in her bloodlust.
"My friend thinks I'm going to question you about why you attacked the man and woman I was with earlier this evening, but she is mistaken," Frankie said in low tones. "The fact of the matter is, gentlemen, I don't care why you did it… I don't care who sent you, how much they paid you, or what they hoped to gain."
On all fours she crawled across the floor and over to the man closest to her, his eyes struggling to stay fixed on her face instead of on the sight of her bloodstained bosom from behind her tattered neckline. Frankie situated herself in his lap, straddling him with her knees as she leaned against him slightly in order to stay upright. With trembling fingers, she removed his gag, tossing the flimsy cloth aside so she could study his mouth.
"I know what you are, and if your kind is good at one thing, it is being discrete," and she brushed her fingers against the man's bottom lip thoughtfully.
"Then why are we here if you know we won't talk?"
Frankie smiled weakly.
"Because I'm starving," she groaned, the sound overtly sexual as she scooted up a little closer on his lap and she felt his body's instinctual reaction to the friction she created, "and I've always had a weakness for bad boys."
Before the man beneath her could offer a verbal reply, she kissed him, the action both confusing and arousing for not only her prey, but to his counterpart who looked on with curiosity. Though unnerved by her forwardness, the nameless mercenary began to react to her sensuous attentions, kissing her back and even moaning a little when her body moved against his, her lips sliding down from his mouth to the side of his neck.
"Blood is life," she whispered into his skin, "and yours is mine."
Without warning, she bit down into his throat, and as he fell back onto the floor in a mixture of erotic delight and agony, Frankie followed after him, feeding greedily from the fountain of his severed jugular, drinking deep as the sweet crimson brought new life into her body.
She could feel her wounds – old and new – healing as her muscles hardened, flesh smoothing over, the color of her hair deepening, breasts and ass returning to a more firm and youthful state as her body was re-perfected.
When memories of Derek threatened to destroy her state of gratuitous bliss, she banished the guilt from her mind.
Derek was an accident, she told herself. A mistake that will never happen again. You are stronger than this, Francesca. Now is the time to prove it.
Frankie had told herself similar things in the past, but for the first time in years, she believed the affirmations of her mending conscience as a newfound strength devoured old insecurities and fears, replacing them with a confidence she had thought lost.
With the draining of her victim's last drop of lifeblood, he met the true death, and as soon as she rolled off of his corpse, he dissolved into little more than ash and a skeletal husk. With his demise, Frankie breathed deeply of the air surrounding, relishing in the way her body seemed to spark to life. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so good, so whole, so alive. But she was still hungry and when she recalled the final victim still tied up and off to the side, an expression of devious delight darkened her features. She licked her lips wantonly before crawling over to him, even as he tried most helplessly to escape.
With a single look into the depths of his eyes, Frankie ensnared his weaker will, taking advantage of his fear before masterfully turning it into calm, then trust, and finally desire. When she was certain he was now a slave to her will, the woman removed his gag before climbing on top of him and kissing him fully, allowing him to taste of the blood of his fallen comrade, forcing him to relish in its flavor as a means of punishment for what he and his now deceased friends had set out to do to Jack and Louise.
Had her dress not been soaked in her own blood, she would have freed his hands so he could touch her.
How she missed the feel of another person on her skin.
But she needed him preserved so she could feed from him, so she sated herself instead with the kisses of a stranger and the awakening arousal between his legs that she continued to inspire with the constant gyration of her hips. The intoxicating swirl of bloodlust and sexual pleasure made her feel like a god, and when she could deny herself of his blood no longer, she bit down into his neck and gorged herself.
The blood of this man was even sweeter than the first and she drank greedily, careful not to waste a single drop.
The frenzy ended far too quick as it often did, her second victim soon bled dry. Frankie lied down on the kitchen floor afterward for several long moments as his dissolving husk disintegrated into ash. As she caught her breath, she stared up at the ceiling and for a moment she could have sworn she could feel the earth moving beneath her as the blood of her victims coursed through her veins, saturating her organs and muscles, giving her the new life she had so desperately needed.
When the bloodlust ebbed away, she finally stood, rising from the floor with a noted degree of elegance, wiping the excess blood from her face before licking her hand clean like some kind of feline. Though the memories of Derek's death continued to struggle to the surface of her conscious mind, even as she savored the decadent taste of vampire blood, with renewed strength she faced her shame and transformed it into a fresh sense of resolve.
She would be the victim of her past no longer.
She was better than that, stronger, and capable of so much more.
More in control of herself than she had been in years, Francesca Chase emerged from the kitchen still donning her ruined outfit, but her spoiled dress made little difference. She wore grace and confidence like a second skin, owning her state of filth and disarray and wearing it like an exquisite set of jewels.
The woman entered the main area of the establishment to find her brother and friends all seated about in nervous anticipation, as if they were all unsure of what version of Frankie would come forth.
Rémy was the first to see her, the man openly sighing in relief as he took in her new and improved state. Though in desperate need of a shower and a fresh change of clothes, she looked better than she had in over half a decade.
Her eyes were clear, cheeks blooming with a healthy flush, her hair lush and shiny.
But it was not the reactions of her brother, nor her friends that she had been eager to see.
Even as the others commented on her improved appearance, how she was finally looking more like her old, healthy self again, Frankie watched Vlad with guarded attention, curious to see what he would make of her now that she was renewed. His expression was one of genuine surprise, and yet how little did she know just how deeply his approval ran.
In that moment, Vladislaus Drăculea was utterly smitten.
Francesca Chase – his Francesca Chase – looked like some otherworldly goddess, all decadent flesh and covered in blood. She looked good enough to eat and it took every ounce of his self-control to maintain an appearance of relative indifference for the sake of their present company.
But this creature standing before him…
This was the Frankie of his dreams, the enchanting female who had once so effortlessly captured his interest all those years ago in Venice.
He didn't care if her garments were soiled in crimson and dirt – he'd happily take her as she was, without question or complaint if he had been able to. Not only had properly feeding miraculously improved her overall figure and appearance, more importantly there was that familiar spark in her eyes that he hadn't seen in almost four hundred years.
This was the Francesca he had been waiting for, and as he had been that night at the Venetian masquerade ball, he was once again utterly spellbound.
"You know, I suppose the timing of all of this is rather fortuitous," Rémy continued, Dracula having remained deaf to his friend's voice until that moment. "Now that you're at full strength, there's no better time for you to break out Vivian than tomorrow night."
"And the last night of the festival, too," Danny agreed. "So what's the plan for that, anyway? Are we all meeting up before hand, or…?"
"I was thinking we could meet here, Carmen, if that's okay," Frankie explained, glancing over at Vlad who still hadn't uttered a word. "That way Mr. Leinhart and I can go over the plan one more time, make sure we're synched up with the rest of you…"
"And then we divide and conquer," Lyra finished. "I like it."
"Did you ever get a hold of Armand?" Rémy asked his sister and the woman nodded once.
"He wasn't at the house when I called, but I spoke to Alayna and she assured me she'd inform Alastair, so the pack in Geneva will be expecting Vivian. Raul, could you remind Isabella that she'll need to have transportation finalized before sunset tomorrow? We're going to need to get the princess out of the city as soon as possible before Augustine realizes what happened."
"Of course," the werewolf assured her. "She's put Tristan in charge of that. I'll be sure to have him send you a status update."
"Excellent. Well then, my friends, I pray you'll excuse me. As I'm sure you've noticed, I'm in dire need of a shower and some clean clothes," she announced to the amusement of the others.
Rémy stood, ready to walk her home. Before they could leave, however, Frankie turned to Dracula one last time, a little curious as to why the man still hadn't said anything, though it wasn't hard to imagine what had rendered him so speechless.
"Well, Mr. Leinhart – we have quite the evening ahead of us tomorrow," she said, her address snapping him out of his stupor.
"Yes, I suppose we do."
"I hope you have a relaxing day… and thank you again for everything. I won't forget your kindness."
"It was my pleasure," he assured her with sincerity and assumed that would be the end of it until she offered him her hand when no one was looking.
"Until tomorrow evening, then."
Dracula, still swept up in the beauty and charm that seemed to now ooze from her every pore, accepted her hand but instead of shaking it, he carefully brought it up to his mouth, lightly brushing his lips against her knuckles.
"Until tomorrow evening."
Something electric pulsated between them, even as their hands slipped from one another and Frankie turned to depart on the arm of her brother. But it was when the woman paused to look back at him before exiting through the door that something delightfully foreign swelled in Dracula's chest.
His whole way home, he recalled that look in her eyes, the softness, the unspoken tenderness, the hints of desire… and suddenly he was in the middle before he knew it had even begun.
Frankie had been mistaken when she had playfully accused him that evening of feeling affection towards her.
What he felt in that moment was something he had not experienced in centuries and it was far more profound than mere fondness.
He dare not put a label on it, for fear of jinxing the progress they had made in that single evening, but one thing was for certain. Dracula had become a man possessed, consumed in thoughts of nothing except Francesca Chase, and this time, when he met her in his dreams, instead of questioning the passion he felt in her presence, he embraced it whole-heartedly.
In truth, there was no need for any further games between Frankie and his majesty, for Dracula had already lost the battle. His subconscious had already resigned itself to the fact that he belonged to this extraordinary woman, and he had no desire or intention of ever changing that.
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