Eternal Night (I) Chapter 35: Curiouser & Curiouser, a van helsing fanfic

Thank you to Scarlet Empress, Riona Winters, and She-Devil Red for reviewing over the weekend.

CW: dubious consent (sorta? kinda? ish? not really tho?) and some sexual content

Chapter 35
Curiouser and Curiouser

The journey back to the werewolf territory was, for all intents and purposes, a relatively quiet and uneventful affair. When they finally emerged from the tunnels beneath the ground, Frankie was pleased to find that the car she and Mr. Leinhart had parked in an abandoned garage had remained undisturbed. The woman hadn't said much of anything for the last half-hour and as they drove into the southern district to return Vivian to her family, she remained quiet still.

The tension between her and a clearly anxious Jacob did not go unnoticed by Vladislaus, who continued to slyly glance back and forth between the woman in the driver's seat and her brother-in-law in shotgun.

"How much further?" Vivian inquired weakly, slightly propped up against the man at her side, though she proudly struggled to keep her head upright on its own. She looked exhausted and Dracula silently wondered what she had endured at the hand of his half-brother.

"A few minutes more," Frankie assured her, pressing down on the gas so the car would go a little faster. "And I fear you won't have much time once we arrive. We need to get you out of the city before sunrise."

"I understand," the she-wolf answered. "I'll be grateful for even just an hour with my family."

"We'll make sure you have a little more time than that," Dracula chimed in, although his attention remained fixed on Frankie's face through the rear-view mirror. "It is barely after midnight and the sun won't rise for some time."

"I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me," the princess continued, suddenly emotional. "I was certain I would die in that dungeon."

"I know the feeling," Frankie replied soberly, the comment a curious one that seemed to intrigue only Vlad, especially when he noted the looks of understanding from not only Vivian, but Jacob as well.

"That man is a monster."

The words were whispered in a trembling voice and Dracula watched as Frankie, still driving, reached into the back seat with her right hand so she could hold Vivian's in reassurance.

"It's over now, Vi. It's over. That man will never touch you again."

Vivian nodded, squeezing the female vampire's hand in gratitude as brave, yet silent tears tumbled down her cheeks.

They arrived at their destination shortly thereafter.

Although the Urmen festival was still in full swing in the more central part of the city, the streets of the south district closest to the den were lined with tens of thousands of werewolves, all standing quietly on the edge of the road as if they had been waiting for the arrival of their long-lost princess all night.

Frankie's driving decelerated to a more manageable speed as they continued to move through the winding road.

As they travelled deeper into the territory, the streets became more congested as a number of the lycans came forward to move alongside the vehicle, some touching the car that held their beloved queen's sister, forcing Frankie to slow even more.

Although scarred by her experience, the sight of familiar faces seemed to provide Vivian with a kind of renewed energy she hadn't felt since the time before her captivity and as she sat up in her seat to move closer to the window, she pressed her hand against the glass and peered into the faces of her kind… her people.

The car eventually crawled into a large square that was covered in werewolves, all standing about in anticipation as the sleek machine pulled into the center of the opening, until there was little to no space left to drive. When at last they stopped, all within the vehicle sat in silence for a moment to take in the sight surrounding them. Despite the size of the crowd, the air was quiet and tense, as if all those in attendance were waiting with baited breath.

Frankie turned around in her seat after unbuckling, still holding Vivian's hand in hers as she looked into the princess' eyes.

"Are you ready?" she inquired gently.

The she-wolf nodded once before she began to fidget a little, trying to smooth out her unruly curls and make herself a little more presentable. As she did so, the female vampire caught the eye of Vlad. The two nodded to each other once before climbing out of the car.

With an offered hand, Dracula assisted Vivian out of the back seat with the kind of patience and care befitting of the humblest of kings. Frankie observed the two with a strange kind of curiosity, watching as the man gently linked the she-wolf's arm around his before leading her through the crowd to a small platform where Isabella, Tristan, and the royal entourage were all waiting eagerly. The werewolves surrounding cleared a path for the newcomers, all eyes on the three vampires who were escorting their princess – Dracula at Vivian's side and Frankie and Jacob taking up the rear.

When they reached the royal siblings, Vlad bowed his head in acknowledgment of Isabella's authority as queen, but she hardly took notice of him. Her eyes had welled with tears as she took in the sight of her sister and in an instant the strain in the air was relieved as the queen of the werewolves momentarily abandoned her sense of decorum. A soft cry escaped her as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Vivian's neck, pulling the woman close.

The two females openly wept as the crowd cheered in approval, many howling at the moon above. The chorus of elation sent chills through Frankie's body and it was difficult to appear unmoved by the spectacle, especially when the returned princess was embraced next by her brother. Tristan's eyes were brimming with emotion, a tenderness in his expression that was all too familiar to the vampire and it made her heart ache as she watched the strong and powerful man wrap his arms around his baby sister. His gaze met Frankie's for an extended moment as he held both of his sisters close to him, their little family reunited at last as he mouthed the words "thank you".

Frankie only smiled, nodding once before taking a step back as Isabella moved forward to thank Leinhart with all the energy of her soul. The queen fell at the Vlad's feet in gratitude, all tears and humility.

As Dracula brought her majesty back to her feet, assuring her that no thanks were needed, Jacob moved a bit closer to Frankie, speaking low so they would not be overheard.

"So what happens now?"

"Vivian will spend what is left of the evening with her family and then she'll have to leave the city. Armand has contacts with the pack in Geneva that will take care of her until Budapest is safe again."

"How long will that be?"

"I don't know," Frankie admitted. "Rémy is hoping we can neutralize the Spider so we can get close enough to Augustine to take him out, though between the two of us, I have little faith in that plan."

"How is Rémy?" Jacob asked, the care in his voice genuine.

"He's alright," she answered, finally looking over at him. "Willfully drowning in alliance work, as always. He still has trouble balancing between that and his personal life."

"Have he and Carmen finally…?"

"No. He's still oblivious."

"Idiot."

Frankie smirked.

"Tell me about it."

Jacob moved a bit closer, lowering his voice a little more.

"So last we saw each other, you and Tristan were still a thing. How does he feel about this Vlad Leinhart of yours?"

"There's nothing going on between Leinhart and I," she insisted. "And even if there was, Tristan and I haven't been together in almost six years."

"Really? What happened?"

"What do you think?"

Jacob sighed heavily.

"You should have told him sooner."

"I couldn't bring myself to," she admitted.

"You seem to be taking the separation well. That's always a good sign."

Frankie laughed, though her heart wasn't in it and Jacob immediately noted the sadness in her eyes as she continued to watch Tristan from a distance.

"Oh Jake, you have no idea what losing him did to me," she whispered, her voice full of regret. "I made so many terrible mistakes trying to fill the void he left me with."

Jacob entwined his arm with hers, patting her hand reassuringly.

"Hopefully you didn't do anything too stupid," he answered with a hint of teasing that had been intended to lighten the air but it only seemed to deepen the grief in her expression.

"I slept with Derek."

"You did what?" he whispered in shock, suddenly pulling her away a bit more from the crowd so they could speak in private. "Frankie, are you insane? You know how he feels about you!"

"Felt," she corrected. "And it was only once… we only had the one night."

"What do you mean felt? I've known Derek for years and what he feels for you isn't something that just magically goes away."

"Derek is dead," the woman whispered quietly and the astonishment on her brother-in-law's face was acute.

"What?"

"It was an accident."

"What happened? When did it happen? Jesus Christ, I didn't realize how totally out of the loop I was. Why didn't Lyra tell me?"

"I begged her not to because if she told you about Derek, she'd also have to tell you about Aunt Cece."

Jacob looked at her with an expression of utter disbelief.

"Oh my God, no…"

Frankie nodded.

"She was in the city for a time, and when we tried to get her out so she could return home, we were caught and she was killed by one of the guards near the border. I lost control and Derek got in the way and…"

There was no need to finish the sentence.

Jacob swore under his breath after releasing Frankie's arm so he could step away for a brief instant to collect himself. The shock was almost too much as his hand hovered over his mouth, his eyes full of disbelief and regret.

"I should have been there," he insisted, voice breaking with emotion. "If I had been there, I could have stopped the soldiers, could have gotten her out of the city… If I hadn't been so stupid, none of this would have happened."

"None of this is your fault," Frankie assured him, taking his face in her hands so he would stop pacing and look at her. "The fault is entirely mine and I have learned to accept that. We've all made mistakes…"

"Yes, but at least Rémy forgave you for yours. He won't even speak to me after what I did."

She released him from her hold when he said that, her hands falling down to her sides, attention soon diverting back to the platform where Leinhart was still standing, conversing with Isabella. Their eyes met for a moment and Frankie felt a small shiver run down her spine. It was so strange how a single look from that man could make her so easily forget her past, how his presence both soothed and calmed, and yet left her oddly anxious at the same time.

Jacob must have noticed the exchange because his expression shifted to one of knowing.

"How long have you known him?"

"Who?"

"Vlad Leinhart."

Her eyes finally left the man's as she returned her attention to her brother-in-law.

"Only a few months," was her answer. "He's a close friend of Rémy's and is already one of his greatest confidants. He's proven a very profitable ally and his way with Isabella is something I wish Rémy would pick up."

Jacob chuckled.

"Yes, well, he has experience in diplomatic affairs, I suppose."

"What do you mean?" Frankie asked him, brows furrowing in suspicion. "Do you know him?"

"More like know of him," he corrected mischievously. "How are the two of you getting along? I noticed you work well together – which is shocking because you've always been a bit too dominant, Madame I Must Wear the Pants in Every Relationship I'm In."

"That's not true," she insisted, shoving him a little when she noticed the way he was smirking at her, a pointed look in his eyes. "I have no problem submitting or being led when it's the right kind of man."

"And is he? The right kind of man?"

Frankie thought about it for a moment, studying Leinhart once again before answering.

"I haven't decided yet."

"I suppose there's still time for that," Jacob replied. "Well, I'm going to go offer my services to her majesty so you and Mr. Leinhart can get out of here. I'm sure your brother will want a full-report and all that nonsense."

"True. You should offer to escort Vivian to France. She could use the company and you should probably get out of town for a while – while you can, anyway."

"I have nowhere else to go for the time being," he admitted. "And although your brother hates my guts, Armand, thankfully, does not."

"Rémy doesn't hate you," Frankie assured him. "He just needs time."

"You tell yourself that, Frank – if it gives you comfort," and he kissed her cheek affectionately. "It was good to see you. And though we've had our differences… thank you for not leaving me behind back there. I know after the things I've done, you could have and I wouldn't have blamed you."

"You're family, Jacob. De Chaciers don't leave family behind."

Jacob smiled.

"And you have no idea how grateful I am for that," he said.

With that, he excused himself after bidding her farewell. Frankie returned to the car where Leinhart soon joined her, and the two then made their quiet retreat as Jacob distracted the queen.

The car ride back to Carmen's was a quiet one, Frankie strategically turning on music so they wouldn't have to talk. She wasn't even sure what to say to the man seated beside her. There had been a certain intensity about him since that moment in the tunnels where she had been certain he would kiss her and the long and silent conversations of looks they had shared since had left her a little unnerved to say the least. So when they found Carmen's filled to the brim with alliance supporters and friends, all celebrating the evening's victory, she was relieved by the sudden barrage of chaos and noise.

The heroic pair were greeted by a roaring cheer and thunderous applause as they entered the front room, Rémy ecstatic by the news of their success, and the others all eager to share what had transpired during the festival while they had been away. Unable to find a good enough excuse to stay at Frankie's side, Dracula was forced to join Rémy, Danny, and the others at their usual table where they all exchanged accounts about the events of the evening, leaving Frankie to take up her usual seat at the end of the bar where Carmen and Lyra were both waiting for her with a shot glass of whiskey and a flute of fresh blood.

The woman smiled in gratitude at her friends, hugging both before knocking back the shot and then nursing the crimson liquid after taking her seat, savoring the taste and the warmth that seemed to spread through her once it landed in her gut.

"So how was it?" Carmen asked, leaning forward on the bar as Lyra took the seat at Frankie's side.

"Definitely not according to plan, I can tell you that much," Frankie explained with a bemused grin. "But Vivian is home and safe and will be on the road by sunrise."

"How is she?" Lyra inquired next.

"She'll survive," the woman replied with a somberness both of her female companions understood immediately. "Though it will certainly take some time before she is herself again."

"I can't even imagine what she's been through," Carmen said with a heavy sigh. "Being Augustine's prisoner for so long."

"I can," Frankie answered before taking another sip from her glass. "And I wouldn't wish that on anyone." Lyra reached out to squeeze Frankie's knee, a sympathetic smile on her face as her friend patted her hand. "A pity she didn't have someone like you there to save her."

"No, but she had you," Lyra said, "and I can't think of a better person to pull her out of that hell. You know better than anyone what she's endured."

"I wish I could go to France with her, help her through this. Sending her away from her family only just after returning to them… it's terrible."

"But she's not safe here."

"I know that."

"I don't see why you can't go to France with her," Carmen chimed in after Frankie finished her glass of blood. "I'm sure a holiday from Budapest would do you good and Rémy could spare you if you asked him to."

"She's needed here," someone interrupted and the women turned to find Raul standing behind them. "You've done so much good already – saving Anna-Sophie, rescuing Vivian… I fear Budapest would languish and fall if its queen left."

Frankie blushed at Raul's gracious, though rather exaggerated compliment.

"I am no queen."

"No, but I hear you will be… someday."

"That is still to be decided," she answered, motioning for him to join them. He took a seat next to Lyra and the redhead kissed him affectionately on the cheek as Carmen offered him a drink.

As the conversation between the company continued, Raul leaned over to whisper in Frankie's ear, "He wants to see you."

"Who?"

"Tristan. He's in the back."

Frankie's brow furrowed a little as she glanced toward the back hallway for just a moment.

"He should be with his sisters," she began but Raul shrugged, smirking a little as he knocked back a shot.

"I told him that, but he said he wanted to thank you in person and you had left without saying goodbye, so…"

Frankie sighed a little impatiently as she rose from her seat.

"That man is ridiculous. Excuse me…"

"Where you going, hon?" Lyra called out as her friend began to make her way across the crowded bar.

"I'll be right back!" she assured her, not even realizing that her exit had captured someone else's attention… Dracula had noticed her departure soon after the arrival of the werewolf and unable to resist the demands of his curiosity, he had slipped away from Rémy's table casually as if to fetch another round of drinks for the others.

He could see Frankie entering the dimly lit corridor, a shadow of a figure lurking near the door that led out to the alley. He attuned his ears to the sound of the woman's voice when she spoke, surprised by who she had found waiting for her.

"Tristan, what are you even doing here? You should be with Vivian," she began as she made her way over to the man.

From what Vlad could see at this vantage point, the werewolf appeared a little agitated about something, his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he started to approach her.

Dracula started to make his way over to the hall to join them, wondering if something had gone amiss. Perhaps he could help?

"I know, but I had to see you. You left…" Tristan explained to Frankie.

"Yes, because I didn't want to intrude on the few precious hours you have with your sister. Go… you should be with her, not h…" but before she could finish the thought, he had reached her in a matter of two strides, eyes full of purpose as he took her face in both hands and leaned forward abruptly.

Dracula never had a moment to brace himself as he watched Tristan bring Frankie's lips to his own in an ardent kiss.

His chest seized for a moment as he witnessed the scene, stomach already twisting into knots that left him surprisingly wounded and even a little queasy.

What was that dog doing?

They were over – he and Francesca.

Why had he returned?

Why was he kissing this woman that he no longer had any claim over?

Dracula waited with baited breath for Frankie to push the lycan away, to put an end to that man's presumptuousness, to chastise him for the assault… but she never did and Vlad found himself far more disappointed by that than he had anticipated.

If anything, though clearly stunned, Francesca was quick to melt the moment the werewolf pinned her up against the nearest wall with his body, tongue sliding into her mouth with sureness and ease – as if he knew he still owned her.

And then the woman moaned softly.

Her body undulated, rising up to meet the wall of the lycan prince's solid front, even as his hands smoothed over her.

The sound of her pleasure left Vladislaus' sense of confidence ravaged by feelings of uncharacteristic insecurity. An instinctual sense of territorial need that he knew was complete bullshit started to leak from his brain, and then it was poisoning his blood as he continued to stand there, dumbfounded, wounded – watching undetected as his future wife not only allowed another man to kiss her, but she was kissing him back.

The way her fingers dug into his hair and gripped at muscle – the way that perfect mouth parted breathlessly as her tongue came out to meet his in a sensuous, erotic slide.

It made him ache.

It wasn't fair.

Unable to endure the scene for one second longer, Dracula retreated, returning to the table as he then privately struggled to contend with the blow that left him feeling sick and dangerously bitter.

Tristan's kiss had shocked Frankie.

Her eyes had gone wide for a moment or two as her brain struggled to grapple with the surprise, but then a wave of warmth had washed over her as her mind recalled – I remember this… yes, she thought numbly. Yes… but no. No, this is wrong. You can't do this… Frankie, stop!

But she couldn't stop.

Not when he had pinned her roughly against the nearest wall, the virility and strength of him drawing out a feminine moan of delight from her. And then his tongue was in her mouth.

Tristan was so familiar, so comforting, and as their kisses graduated into something more urgent when the werewolf had pressed her more firmly against the wall with his body, Frankie's entire being ached and sang in remembrance. She was already moving on instinct, old habits effortlessly sliding and clicking into gear as she gripped at his hair, at the muscles in his shoulders.

She had forgotten how good he felt, how wonderful he smelled – fur and leather and spice, a musky, almost smoky kind of decadence. Something primal. She had missed the warmth of his strong but gentle hands, the rough callouses scratching her skin, the hardness of his body against her own, the taste of his tongue in her mouth - clean, with just a touch of sweetness.

Frankie knew she should stop him before it went too far, but it had been so long since she had been properly kissed – or touched, for that matter. Her hands glided along the sides of his neck and back into his hair on instinct, pulling him closer as she momentarily forgot who she was and all that had transpired between them.

That is, until a few moments later when it all came crashing back abruptly through the haze of her lust in an unforgiving wave of shame and pain and she gently started to push him away, hands on his shoulders. She gasped for breath.

"No," she whispered. "No, wait… we can't do this…"

Her name was uttered in a soft rumble of barely restrained desire, his hands still holding her face as he gave her a look she knew so well. It was a look she had always had trouble saying "no" to.

"Tristan…" she tried again, but those eyes of his weakened her resolve as he began to lean in close again.

"I never should have let you go," he breathed against her pulsating lips. "I was a fool, Frankie… such a complete and utter fool."

She tried to speak, but he silenced her with another mind-numbing kiss, mouth consuming hers until his tongue swept out against her lips in familiarity and she couldn't help but let him in. She could hardly even hold back the moans and whimpers that escaped as his mouth slanted over hers. Her body arched into him, bringing her breasts in contact with his chest, and soon she felt the low vibrations of a soft growl reverberating in his chest.

He was getting hard already.

But that realization, which once would have stoked her own fires, had reason breaking through the surface of her lust once more. She shook her head and broke the kiss again, only this time when he paused to look at her, he noticed the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. Frankie's brow was creased in a look of agony and all at once, that instant of mad indulgence skidded to a halt as the werewolf suddenly recognized what he had done.

In a moment of weakness, he had come to the one person he wanted more than anyone in the world in some vain hope that he could have her again, that they could return to what they once were. But Tristan realized as he beheld the pain in her eyes that they couldn't go back. His selfishness had only served to reopen old wounds.

"Frankie, I…"

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, covering her mouth as she attempted to suppress the small sob that was building in her throat. "I'm sorry, but I can't, Tristan… I can't…"

The man understood immediately, and the guilt that flashed across his features only made the aching in her heart worse.

"I know," he said at last, though he made no attempt to hide the disappointment in his eyes. "I know."

He took her into his arms as she cried softly into his chest, both silently mourning what they realized in that moment they could never share again.

"I shouldn't have come here like this," he said after a while. "It was selfish and completely asinine of me," but Frankie, unwilling to let him go just yet, held fast to the front of his shirt, her face still buried in his warmth.

"Don't apologize," she insisted.

"It's just… I never imagined how hard it would be, being away from you like this. I thought I was doing the right thing when I pushed you away, and for a short time, I had convinced myself that we'd be fine apart, that I could live with you being destined for another – for Dracula of all people. But seeing you these last weeks reminded me that no matter what I tell myself, nothing can change what I felt for you… what I still feel for you."

Frankie, still swallowed up in the werewolf prince's embrace, looked up at him after his little confession. Her expression was that of understanding as she found herself getting swept away in the endearing gaze of a man she had once loved so thoroughly, so passionately.

On the surface, Tristan had always been an intimidating looking man – tall and dark with a piercing gaze and intense features; that scar over his eye lending him a distinct look of danger. And yet, despite appearances, she knew that this hardened alpha before her could also be the sweetest, gentlest, and most tender of men she had ever known. Even with the blazing passion in his gaze as he looked at her, he was cradling either side of her face in his hands as if she were this delicate, fragile thing, precious and dear.

But for all his virtues, that still didn't erase the fact that he had broken her heart.

He had pushed her away because fate had branded her as another's and their separation, though painful, had been one of mutual understanding, not to mention his idea. Frankie had worked so hard and had lost so much in her effort to get over him, to move passed the disappointment and the loss; and yet, here he was, professing his undying devotion to her once more.

It wasn't fair.

She knew it, and from the look in his eyes, so did he.

Which is why when she finally let him go, he did not fight to stay in her hold, though they both privately mourned the loss of no longer being in each other's arms.

"I sometimes find myself wishing we could just go back to the way things were before," she confessed. "But I know deep down that we can't. Not after everything."

"I know," he answered. "Can you ever forgive me? You have no idea how wretched I've felt, knowing how much pain I've caused you since that night… how responsible I've felt for everything that happened after. I never intended…"

"I don't blame you," she assured him sweetly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I never blamed you. You did what you felt was the right thing to do and what happened after is not your burden to bear. Aunt Cece's death, and Derek's – that is not on you."

The worry in his eyes softened some at the sound of her absolution and he smiled, hand still in hers as he pulled her back to him to hold her one last time. He rested his chin atop her head for an extended moment before pressing one last kiss to her crown in a sign of affection and she sighed deeply as if his very presence soothed some aching, unknown part of her soul.

"You know, it's strange. I hadn't realized how much I had missed you until tonight..."

"I miss you, too," she whispered for only him to hear.

Their quiet moment of intimacy was suddenly interrupted by a loud burst of excitement from the main room out front at the other end of the hall, the cheers disrupting the moment they had been sharing and both Tristan and Frankie, recalling where they were and that they were not alone, distanced themselves from one another.

"You should probably get back home and spend some time with your sister," Frankie encouraged in an effort to dispel the tension between them. He nodded, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

"Yeah, that may be best. Bella doesn't even know I'm gone," and he started to make his retreat toward the back door. Frankie prepared to depart in the opposite direction when Tristan called her name and she turned to look back at him. "Thank you," he said, "for everything you've done for my family… for my people… and for me. You are an amazing woman, Francesca Chase, and between the two of us – Dracula will never deserve you."

Touched by the sentiment and even a little amused by his proclamation, Frankie managed one of her arched smiles.

"And don't I know it," she teased, earning a laugh from the man before he bid her good evening and then vanished into the night.

But that amusement in her countenance immediately vanished the moment he was gone and with a heavy sigh, she trudged over to a door about halfway down the hall that led to the booze cellar.

Not exactly eager to return to her friends and the company out front, she slipped into the poorly lit room, in search of a dark, private corner and perhaps a bottle of venom-laced alcohol to help numb all the unpleasant emotions now churning in her brain.

Dracula's eyes remained fixed on the entry to the back corridor where he had seen Frankie and her ex werewolf lover tangled in a passionate kiss. Although he had been unable to attune his ears to any conversation they may have been sharing, what he had seen had been more than enough and it had left him feeling sick.

The longer he sat here, waiting for Frankie's return, the more his inherent and long-suppressed sense of possessiveness began to rear its ugly head.

For the briefest of moments, the man considered rising from the table to announce to all in attendance that they were in the presence of their king. He wanted to lay claim to Frankie now before some ruggedly handsome lycan prince snatched her away from him, but such rash actions would have been unwise – not to mention incredibly petty, immature, and even borderline misogynistic. He knew this, and so Vlad remained firmly planted in his seat, even though those feelings of private torment persisted.

It was agony, desiring a woman he found himself so desperately wanting and yet his hands continued to feel tied. He had once thought that perhaps anonymity or his alias would aid him in pursuing the female prophesied to be his undying bride, but in that moment, they seemed to only be hindering him. Despite the successes of the evening, Dracula could not be any more annoyed than he was in that moment, displeased that Frankie continued to hold him at arm's length, that her brother always seemed to have a watchful eye on her, that that infuriatingly presumptuous werewolf had shown up out of the blue only to openly snog his future wife.

Dracula was tired of the secrets, of the unresolved tension… and even more so, he had grown abundantly weary of Morene Khiliani who was at present drunkenly pressed against his arm like some kind of lecherous parasite.

Since the moment of his arrival, she had attached herself to him for some inexplicable reason, and what he had once found amusing was now, on the whole, entirely grating. Even more so was the degradation of how despite the woman's undeniable beauty, he couldn't even enjoy her in the carnal sense had he wanted her in the first place – which he did not.

No… the only creature he truly desired was the one he could not have and the vision of Frankie in Tristan's arms in the back hallway now seared forever in his brain reminded him of that.

Which is why when Morene's behavior became more unapologetically audacious and borderline assault-like, Vladislaus finally snapped.

If Miss Chase could parade about with a lover, by God, he'd show her how that felt by doing the exact same.

It was petty to be sure, and he recognized that, but in that moment he did not care. He wanted Morene out of his life, the suspicions regarding his present state of abstinence silenced, and if he couldn't show them all what he was capable of, he'd at least have them listen to it.

Dracula rose abruptly from his chair and he snatched Morene by the wrist, halting the progress of the hand that had been not-so-sneakily sliding up his thigh.

"Come with me," he commanded her, pulling her roughly out of her seat.

Though a bit taken aback by his sudden and supposed eagerness, the female complied, a giddy smile on her face as he led her toward the back hallway, even as the others at the table cheered them on drunkenly. He steered her toward the cellar where Carmen kept her supply of booze and with an impatient shove he pushed the woman into the poorly lit room before following after her, slamming the door shut behind them.

Morene reached for him with greedy hands, ready to kiss him, but he swatted her away.

"You will stay your distance, or I will assist you!"

"What's wrong?" the woman asked, confused by his sudden vexation.

"I have borne this long enough and I refuse to do so for a moment longer."

"I… I don't understand."

"Madam, I have tried to be patient and forbearing – the devil knows that those are virtues I have never really possessed – but your insistence, your lack of basic dignity in the face of gentle rejection… I can't do this anymore. You have forced my hand."

"But I…."

"On your knees," he ordered her.

The woman paused, clearly surprised by the instruction, and when she didn't move, Dracula took a step forward, towering over her.

"Don't make me say it again."

Morene trembled when he spoke, immediately falling at his feet with lust and even a lingering degree of apprehension in her eyes.

"Good girl."

"What are you going to do to me, Vlad?" she started to ask, but he interrupted her with a single snap of his fingers, the sound so loud, it visibly startled her.

"From this moment forth you shall never utter that name ever again. Do you understand?"

"Then what am I supposed to call you?"

Dracula bent down a little so he could look into her eyes.

Ensnaring her will proved abominably easy, and when she was under his control, his smile became a little sinister.

"What do you think you should call me?"

"Master?"

His expression darkened considerably as he nodded once in approval before straightening his posture. Mistaking his sanction for a twisted form of pleasure, Morene watched as he proceeded to remove his jacket from his body.

"What are you going to do to me, master?" she repeated once more. "Let me please you."

"Unfortunately, Miss Khiliani, you are incapable of pleasing me, save in one thing and one thing only," he announced, draping the removed article of clothing over an empty wooden chair by the door.

"What's that?"

"Here is what's going to happen," and he grabbed the chair and dragged it over so he could sit in front of her. "For the… services you have rendered to me these last few months, I am going to make you come without laying a single finger on your person, though when you walk through that door you will believe the contrary," and he started to roll up the sleeves of his shirt to the elbow. "When it is over, you will depart from this establishment and never return. You will not contact me, you will not follow me. You shall forget me entirely, and should we happen to cross paths in the future, you shall not address me unless spoken to – do I made myself clear?"

Morene, though her will had been almost entirely overrun by his own, nodded of her own volition and watched with evident eagerness as Dracula then leaned back in his seat, hands neatly folded in his lap.

The pair sat motionless in that uncomfortable silence for nearly a full minute, unblinking, even as Vlad's eyes slowly began to glow that eerie electric blue in the darkness. Her pupils dilated as his control over her deepened. He then raised his right hand into the air and with a snap of his fingers, something suddenly ignited in the woman's womb.

Morene gasped audibly, hands gripping her knees as an inordinate amount of pleasure rippled through her body from her pelvis outward.

The pulsation happened a second time, only it was far stronger than the first and she whimpered at the sensation, struggling to keep eye contact with the gentleman seated indifferently before her. When the third hit, she visibly quaked before him, moaning loudly as her head fell back, fangs lengthening in her arousal.

As Vlad concentrated on manipulating the woman's mind and body with the mere of exertion of his will, he remained utterly oblivious of the fact that they were not at all alone as he had assumed.

He had intended for Morene's outstanding vocal response to his mental manipulation to be evidence for all within earshot that he had at last "sealed the deal" with the woman in the hopes that perhaps it would inspire a bit of jealousy in Frankie. What he did not plan, however, was for the very object of his desire to be in the room with them, hidden away in the shadows behind one of the shelves of booze, witnessing the entire ordeal.

Frankie looked on in a peculiar mix of fascination, mortification, and profound interest – not entirely sure what to think, let alone how to feel.

To see Leinhart act so openly dominant, and in such a blatantly sexual way, evidently comfortable in commanding Morene about – it was a side of him she had never witnessed before… and yet, it suited him perfectly. She had always assumed he had been hiding who he truly was, but never could she have predicted something like this. Frankie had grown so used to him being accommodating and relatively patient for the most part… but as he sat in that chair before Morene, cool in his observation of the female as she writhed wantonly about on the floor, his countenance one of complete and utter control…

Frankie couldn't help but wonder if Vlad Leinhart was at all who he said he was.

The way he had so effortlessly taken command of Morene's will, controlling her conscious mind to the point where she was now wriggling about on the ground before him as if she were having the very life ravished out of her…

The woman's cries were genuine and even a little moving to the point where Frankie found herself blushing at the sound of her exclamations of carnal delight. She could even smell her – that unmistakable scent of sexual arousal.

And was that a wet mark on the ground beneath her?

Damn.

Yet, while all of this took place, the man remained seated, hands folded in his lap, unmoved by what lied before him. Any other man would have leapt at the opportunity for a mere ten minutes with a creature as beautiful as Morene Khiliani, but he had not and it made Frankie wonder.

She was positive he wasn't a homosexual, so what was his deal? Was he truly so picky about who he was intimate with, and if so, what was it about Morene that had him resorting to this?

Also – and more importantly – how was he doing this?

Frankie couldn't even begin to make sense of it all, nor was she really given a chance to. Morene was clearly on the brink of what promised to be an earth-shattering orgasm, but it was as if he was keeping her there right on the edge, prolonging the anticipation of release for his own amusement. Minutes passed, one after the other in slow succession. And every time Morene neared the precipice, something dragged her back, keeping her from tumbling over the edge.

"Oh God…" the woman sobbed after being denied her release once again.

"Do you want to come?" Vlad taunted her maliciously and she shivered.

"Yes."

"I can't hear you."

"YES!"

"Beg me."

"Please… please… oh fuck! How are you doing this?"

"Never mind that."

"Oh God… please… please let me…"

"We both know you can do better than that," he stated with indifference, rising from his chair before lifting up his jacket and draping it casually over his shoulder. "I haven't got all evening, Miss Khiliani."

"You're cruel… you're so cruel," she moaned, her thighs already twitching, and he smiled a little sadistically.

"And you love it," he seethed. "Now then… don't keep me waiting…"

"Please… please let me come, master. Please…"

He waited a good long moment as she begged him without dignity or care until at last, with a wave of his hand, as if the motion alone was enough to grant her permission, the woman was finally able to tumble over the edge as she fell into a warm sea of sexual bliss and she screamed. After the climax tore through her, she lied there on the ground for nearly three whole minutes, shuddering involuntarily from the aftershocks.

Frankie watched as Leinhart stood over the female, examining his handiwork with absent curiosity.

"Now then, my dear, how was that?" he asked.

Morene was all drunken smiles as she listened to the sounds of the others out in the front room applauding what they had assumed was some genuinely mind-blowing sex.

Frankie grimaced a little in second-hand embarrassment.

Those fools had no idea…

"That was amazing," Morene panted as Vlad offered her a hand, helping her off the ground before steering her toward the door with a little shove.

"Yes, well… you know what to do."

Frankie had almost expected the female to be offended or downcast by her dismissal, but she was anything but, for she emerged from the cellar with Mr. Leinhart at her side, all delighted smiles and maiden blushing, her knees wobbling a little like a newborn fawn as she walked. With a single look from her false lover, she kissed him on the cheek as a sign of her gratitude before excusing herself, stating that she was going to head home.

By this point, Frankie had already slipped out of the darkened room to linger unnoticed in the back hall, watching as Miss Khiliani made her grand and final exit, never to be seen again – though given quite the parting gift in exchange for her departure.

What Francesca found peculiar, however, was the expression on the face of her brother's friend after he returned to his seat at the table. He was clearly amused by the attention of the others, but was in no way affected by them.

It made no sense.

Why would he pretend to have sex with Morene?

Why would he order her to leave and never come back?

What game was he playing?

When Frankie reentered the main room, the man's eyes immediately gravitated toward her and though try as she might, she could not shed her look of suspicion as she studied him from afar. He was up to something…

Evidently, there was far more to Mr. Vlad Leinhart than what initially met the eye and, heaven help her, her curiosity had been piqued.

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