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Chapter 37
Calling His Bluff
It was one of Vladislaus' favorite pieces to play – Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 – a technical nightmare musically speaking, and yet his fingers flew across the cool ivory with an inherent degree of elegance and delicacy that made the playing of it seem almost effortless.
Although momentarily engrossed in his own private concert, Dracula remained ever conscious of the hour. It was almost seven o'clock – just a few minutes more before Miss Chase was expected to arrive, but he was convinced she had not taken his invitation seriously. Which is why, despite the very slim possibility of her presence in his home this evening, the man showed no sign of anticipation, nor had he taken any additional efforts in making himself or his surroundings more presentable.
He was seated comfortably at his gorgeous Steinway grand on the far side of the room by the windows, dressed comfortably, though certainly not to impress; hair loosely pulled back just to keep it out of his face. His body absently swayed with the music as he played with a noted degree of ferocity, eyes utterly focused on his hands as he struck every white and black key with surgical precision.
The music, as it often did, pulled him in farther and deeper with every note and measure until the flat around him seemed to melt away. For a private moment of lilting ecstasy, he lost consciousness of place and time, to the point where he never did hear the lock of his front door click, the silent footfall of a familiar female entering his domain, the door shutting soundlessly behind her about two-thirds of the way through the number.
In retrospect, Dracula would realize that he should have noticed Francesca's sudden presence, for it was at that point in the song that a strange burst of fantastical energy had rushed through him – excitement, passion. Her company, combined with the intensity of the complicated composition, had him feeling for just a single moment strangely alive.
When the last notes were pounded out with dramatic gusto, the anticipated silence at the end of the piece was interrupted by the solo applause of his guest and Dracula turned his head around quickly to find Frankie emerging from the shadows of the entryway. Her expression was one of amusement – whether at his own surprise or in response to his performance he had no idea, but when she stopped about half way into the main room, her hands fell back to her sides.
"Well, I'm glad I took the trouble of dressing for a show," she announced as she slipped out of her coat, draping it over the back of the sofa at her side before turning to head into his kitchen.
Unlike him, she was dressed to perfection, donning an exquisitely tailored navy pencil dress, the heels of her black pumps clicking against the hardwood floor. He had turned to watch her momentarily, still astonished that she had arrived at all, but that surprise was short-lived as he became distracted by the way those mahogany waves bounced a little as she walked.
"Where do you keep the blood?" she called after removing a glass from his cupboard, the presumptive nature of her actions amusing him more than anything else.
Dracula returned his attention to the instrument before him, starting to play a Godowsky transcription of one of Chopin's Etudes after calling out, "There's an opened bottle already in the refrigerator. Help yourself."
"Would you like some?"
"I've fed already, thank you."
Although performing another monstrously complex and intricate piece again, Dracula's movements while playing seemed a bit more rigid than they had been previously, his back perfectly straight and face relatively expressionless as he attuned himself to the woman's movements. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she took a seat in one of the plush leather chairs near the piano, legs crossed one over the other before leaning back in order to get comfortable. Then she took a sip from her glass.
When the blood touched her tongue, she sighed softly, the faintest hum vibrating behind closed lips as she smiled a little in evident satisfaction.
"Well?" he asked as if there were something special about what she was drinking.
"Mmm… definitely dhampir. Twenty-eight years old, female, pescatarian…" Frankie paused to take another sip, swirling the liquid about in her mouth for a moment as if searching for something.
"I'm impressed," Vlad commented. "Do you notice anything else?"
"Yes… the subtlest hint of cinnamon, and…" she took another drink, deeper this time, resting her head on the back of her seat after she swallowed, the life-giving substance sliding down her throat and igniting her insides until she felt a flush of warmth spread beneath her skin. "Is that blood orange? It's less acidic than navels and there's just the faintest overtone of raspberry…" and she licked the excess crimson from her lips.
Turning her head to look at the man, she noticed the faint rumble of a suppressed chuckle coming from him as his masterful fingers continued to tickle the ivories.
"I adore your palate," he proclaimed. "I gave your brother a similar glass when he was last here and the notes were completely lost to him."
"Rémy has many talents, but the nuances of flavor in blood have never been a specialty of his. Although speaking of things that we adore…" and she positioned herself in the chair in such a way that allowed her to face him a bit better, "How did you know Chopin was my favorite?"
She was teasing of course, her flirting shameless, but he smiled as he finished the song.
"A happy coincidence, I suppose," was his answer. "Is there one in particular that holds your preference?"
"I'm fond of nearly everything that man ever composed. Do you take requests?"
"Not usually, but for you, I'll gladly make an exception."
There was a knowing look of pleasure shared by both before Frankie suggested a piece – a purposefully obscure composition – but she was soon left to watch in quiet astonishment as he not only recognized the song, but then proceeded to play it from memory, and in a manner that could only be described as masterful. Not a single wrong note marred the air and by the sixth requested number, the woman had contented herself in sinking comfortably into the plush leather chair in which she sat, her glass empty, a look of tranquility spread across her features.
When the performance was done and another round of poignant silence momentarily filled the room, she spoke.
"This is so frustrating," she confessed, and the lack of context had him turning his head to look at her. Without a need for verbal prompting, she elaborated, "I don't understand you at all, Vlad Leinhart, and normally at this point in the game, I'd have a better grapple on what it is I'm dealing with."
Frankie then rose from her seat, making her way over to the piano where he was still situated.
"So we're still playing, then?" he inquired as he began to idly run his fingers over the keys as if composing haphazardly, perhaps to distract her, but the woman seemed oddly determined as she sat down next to him at the instrument, her gaze – scrutinizing.
"There are instances when I am certain we are, and then there are times when I'm not sure. You say things that I often find myself believing are said in earnest, despite your visage of casual indifference. Yet, that seems to be the problem with you. Your actions, from the brazen to the subtle, are often contradictory."
He paused for a moment to finally return her gaze, his expression difficult for her to read.
"Are you implying that there are inconsistences in my character?"
"No. Just that I can't make you out. I can't quite get at you – hard as I try – and every time I think I'm close to understanding you, you do something or say something that throws everything to the wind. I get the distinct impression that you're hiding, that something unseen keeps throwing me off your scent."
His hands fell from the keys that time, landing in his lap as he turned a little to face her more fully on the bench.
"We all have our secrets. Even you. Am I not entitled to mine just as you are to yours? There is so much about you that I do not know. Not just your history, but who you are at your core – it all remains shrouded in mystery, and yet I do not constantly badger or harass you for an explanation. And don't insult me by saying that it's all on behalf of your brother. We both know better."
The woman huffed a little in evident irritation as she turned to look away from him and for a moment he was ready to brace himself for another battle to take place, but then she started to smile a little, as if in defeat.
"I hate it when you're right," she confessed.
He shrugged, returning his attention to the instrument before them.
"I often am."
"I suppose then that your advice would be for me to acclimate to the sensation?"
"If you were anyone else, yes, I would probably say that."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"What do you think it means?" and he started to play again.
She pondered his query for a few moments in silence while watching his fingers as they gracefully danced about the keys, a thoughtfulness in her expression. She dare not believe that this man had developed feelings for her. And yet…
While Vlad continued to play a composition of his own devising in contented silence, Frankie observed him closely and without any effort to at least appear subtle about it. Her open scrutiny of his every movement was not lost to him and though pleased to be so near to her, grateful for the time alone, Dracula was no fool. He knew what she was doing.
She was trying to make him out, attempting to solve the riddle that was their inherently complex relationship. Had she finally started to sense who he truly was, he wondered? Was she aware that the familiar pull between them was the same kind that had been present that night at a masquerade ball almost four-hundred years ago? Did she remember Venice like he did? That kiss they had shared in another place and time had marked him long before Mariella and her prophecy had burned the de Chacier family lion upon his breast or his dragon insignia upon hers.
Her attention to his profile at her side finally broke when her gaze moved down to his hands, a look of recognition in her countenance.
"What is this song?" she asked him. "You've played it before – the last time I was here, I believe."
"It's one of my own compositions."
"It's beautiful."
He smiled a little and thanked her, but said nothing else. The lack of conversation only lingered for a few seconds before Frankie then interjected once more.
"How did you become a vampire?"
"The same way you did, I'd assume. A bite to the neck, the taste of blood, the pain that comes with dying and rebirth," he lied with ease, but he knew the instant the words left his mouth that they would not be enough for her. So after a beat or two of silence, he appeased her tenacious curiosity by continuing, "I was a soldier…. wounded on the battlefield and granted a choice between life and death. Naturally, I chose life."
"Did you know the cost?"
"I didn't care enough at the time to ask. My country was at war and I felt that there was so much I had left to do – for my people and what was left of my family."
"Were you ever married?"
"Twice when I was human, though never again since. Both marriages were politically motivated and after I became nosferatu, I grew more particular in my choice of female companionship and, even more so, a great deal less inclined toward the concept of monogamy."
"I think I remember you saying you didn't have a say in either of your marriages?"
"Not as much as I would have preferred. The first was a betrothal that had been in place since my infancy. The second formed an alliance between myself and the ruler of the land in which I resided. It was my way of proving my subservience to his authority."
"Did you have to marry a relative of his or something?"
"His cousin. We were both pawns in a greater game, but where I fought to be free of him, she remained loyal to her king."
"What was she like? Did the two of you get along at all?"
"She was kind, very timid and beautiful, but I could never fully trust her. When I was turned, I allowed her to live on thinking I was dead so she could move forward with what was left of her life. Her heart belonged to another anyway."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"When it comes to any relationship, one gets what they put into it. I suppose I was always more concerned with other things at that time of my life. Romance and marital fulfillment had never been of much importance. But one's priorities have a tendency to shift over the years."
"A consequence of immortality."
"What about you? Were you ever married?"
"Once – also when I was still mortal. Like your first, it was a betrothal, but mine was arranged by my grandmother and eventually sanctioned by my father."
"And what was your dear husband like?"
"Not at all what he had lead us to believe," she confessed with a sigh that said more than her words did. "He was handsome and worldly, and I was young and naïve. My mother did not particularly care for my grandmother's choice for me and I should have heeded her counsel, but I was smitten and eager to please my grandmother and father, which proved to be to the detriment of all."
Dracula stopped playing at that, shifting a bit on the piano bench so he could look at her better.
He never requested more information, but his sudden attentiveness were indicative enough. Frankie had never been particularly fond of revisiting certain chapters of her life, especially this one, but his presence made her feel oddly safe despite their lingering differences. So in a leap of faith, she continued in her tale, though she kept her eyes fixed on the keys before her and the details to a minimum where she could.
"I was married to one Alphonse de Châlon, the Duke of Nivernais – well, before his cousins, the Mancinis, assumed the title and wrote him and his family out of history, but that's a story for another day. I met Alphonse when I was a teenager and our union was naturally advantageous for both parties involved. But I didn't care about the politics because he had successfully seduced me before our engagement was even declared official. I was convinced he was the one for me, despite the warning signs of his duplicitous nature. I should have realized from the beginning that he only cared about having an heir. He was the last surviving male of his family and if I could not give him a son, his legacy would die with him and his cousins would retake the title that the king had granted to him out of spite. I was about six months along when I miscarried our son. My younger sister, Marguerite – Jacob's wife, you remember him from a couple weeks ago?"
"Yes."
"They had only been married a year before she passed unexpectedly due to a sudden illness and the news of her death and the grief that followed sent me into premature labor and I lost the baby."
"How old were you?"
"Barely seventeen," she replied. "Alphonse and I were never the same after that. For nearly two years after, we tried to conceive another child, but I was unable to. I felt defective and he did nothing to convince me otherwise."
"That's terrible."
"That's how things were back then, I suppose – the value of a woman was based off of her father's name, her husband's fortune, and how many sons she could produce. I was soon declared infertile and he resented me for it, but I won't bore you with the details of our marital woes. Suffice it to say we were both miserable in our own way and when I met Eduardo, I saw him as my way out."
"Ah yes – the infamous Satanas. So the duchess died and la sirène emerged from her ashes," he assumed aloud with a lightness in his tone that was meant to dispel the tension in her. She chuckled a little at his innocent jest, but the sadness in her eyes remained.
"If only it had been so simple," she said. "I fear la sirène was born out of rebellion and a desperate reclaiming of control over not just my life, but my body, my sexuality – all things that had been taken from me during my marriage."
"I've always found a little rebellion now and then to be rather healthy, though."
"I guess it is for most. But in my experience, it often ends in disaster. As fond as I still am of Señor Meirás, he wasn't exactly the best of influences."
"His nickname is quite the giveaway, isn't it?" Dracula quipped.
"Yes – and I knew better, but at that time in my life, I didn't care and have since had to live with the repercussions of my apathy. Eduardo's methods of dealing with problems didn't always involve actually dealing with them – for lack of a better explanation."
"Given his reputation, I completely believe it."
"Don't get me wrong, he's always meant well – still does, actually, but even after all these centuries, the poor man still hasn't figured out that sex doesn't solve everything."
"True, but I would argue that it at the very least puts some things into perspective," he answered with a sly look in her direction. His underlying meaning was clear, and she smirked knowingly with a light shaking of her head. "So how do the others fit into all of this?" he then asked, eager to keep the conversation going. "Like Tristan, for instance? Or even Derek. Your brother said you two were extremely close and I assume they were both acts of rebellion that didn't necessarily work out in the way you had hoped?"
"Derek more so than Tristan. Tristan was… he was something else."
"It seems there's still something between the two of you," he pointed out, though he couldn't bear to look at her when he said it. Admitting that he had competition at all was challenging enough, but the layers of meaning hidden in his seemingly casual tone brought Frankie's attention to his face.
"He was the closest I have ever gotten to feeling truly one with another human being," she explained, suddenly waxing nostalgic. "Not just physically, but emotionally as well, even on spiritual level. We were never a perfect match; that much was clear from the start. There was always this underlying struggle for dominance between us, and not all of it was sexual. I was certainly more willing to acquiesce than he was, and I think a part of me always kind of resented him for that. In my experience, when neither party are truly willing to compromise at least some of the time … without that sense of balance, instead you get this tension that is never really resolved. I was able to be open with him in ways I hadn't been able to before, but it was never in full."
"But you felt safe with him," he translated and she nodded, confirming his suspicion.
"It had been centuries since I had felt that safe with someone. I still have a ways to go, but despite our differences, he was very good for me. Tristan was what I needed… at the time, anyway."
Though he didn't show it, Dracula envied this werewolf, even begrudged him a little for his wasted chance to get so close to this well-protected version of Francesca Chase that he knew existed but had yet to witness for himself. He had seen glimpses of it. He was even getting hints of it now. But, as she always did, Frankie was still protecting herself, keeping him at arm's length.
"So what made you end it?"
"We recognized that inevitably what we had would never work out in the long-term with his responsibilities to the pack and my betrothal to another man. When he and I separated, I'll admit it – I was devastated. I felt… trapped, like I had no control over my life."
"Until Derek came into the picture."
Frankie offered no verbal response, her gaze still fixed on the instrument in front of her, as if she couldn't bear to look this man in the eye all of a sudden, let alone confess out loud what had happened. But Dracula was no fool and it was easy to put the pieces together.
"You slept with him, didn't you?"
The words were not uttered in judgment or condemnation, but with a degree of understanding that genuinely surprised her.
"Naturally, I've heard the others talk," he confessed. "How Derek had been very close with you and Rémy for decades – he even held a torch for you at one time, I understand, even if he knew you were 'off-limits', as your brother puts it."
"And with good reason. That's why I have such a difficult time forgiving myself for what happened to him. I gave him hope in exchange for the comfort and validation he offered me that night, and it was that hope that got him killed. He thought he could save me from myself, but only managed to get caught in the line of fire instead."
"So why him? Why did you choose him?"
Vlad watched as she pondered his question for a moment, the sorrow in her eyes still lingering, brow furrowed as if she were silently battling the welling emotions inside of her. What he didn't know was that up until this moment, Frankie had never talked to a single soul about Derek or what had happened five years ago. For reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom, let alone fully appreciate, Francesca was suddenly unburdening herself in ways she hadn't for a long time.
"While I will be the first to admit that I genuinely enjoy sex – well, good sex anyway – over the centuries I've come to realize that I've often used it as a means of exerting control over my own often uncontrollable existence. When it came to Derek, that's exactly what it was – me desperately grasping at threads, in dire need of an ego boost and just the touch of another person. What makes it so disappointing is that I knew better… I knew sleeping with him wouldn't solve my problems; that he wouldn't be able to fill this void I've had in me since the night I was turned. What happened with my marriage to Alphonse, and, quite frankly, with nearly every other major relationship I've been in, they've all ended with me feeling not just disappointed, but cripplingly lonely – like I have this hole inside of me. Physical intimacy – even if it was contrived or artificial – it may have helped to distract me from the pain of that void, but it was only ever temporary – a fleeting moment of belonging, of safety…"
"Of control," he finished, knowingly.
"And like clockwork, when the passion burns out or the lust has ebbed away, the hole remains. If anything, it just gets bigger – like these people I've loved and lost take more of me with them than I ever intended them to."
"Between the two of us, I have experienced something similar in my time."
She finally returned his gaze.
"Really?"
"Yes. I have a habit of turning to certain vices to ease that emptiness you speak of. Bernardini once told me that when we try to fill that void with the superficial, the fleeting – violence, sex, substance abuse, whatever it is – all it serves to do is temporarily distract. An easy fix. A way to cope. But it never solves or addresses the underlying issue. I suppose that's our lingering humanity still at work."
"The Signore is absolutely right."
Dracula smiled a little.
"He's probably the only vampire I know who has used his immortality to evolve into something better than what he was at the offset – and he's always been the absolute best of men. A pity the majority of our kind hasn't caught on to the concept. Perhaps if we had, recent history would have turned out a little different."
"True – but that growth is a choice, and by no means an easy one. Despite the unnatural longevity of our existence and our affinity for darkness, at the end of the day, we're no different than the mortals. We still have the same decision to either be agents of our own destiny or objects that the world and even our own emotions can act upon. Overcoming the trials we face, the tragedies that befall us and the ones we love – we always have the choice to rise above or to surrender to what is easy, what is familiar… even when we know it's not what is best."
"So by that logic, it's probably safe to say that in your case, you've been choosing to hold onto what happened with Tristan and Derek… and even your aunt, instead of…"
"Forgiving myself for what happened to them because it's easier to do so than to offer myself the forgiveness I need," she finished with a sigh as she straightened her posture a little. "Yes – I acknowledge that. But just because I recognize the problem and solution before me doesn't mean I'm actually good at self-application."
"I can't fault you for that," he said with a half-hearted laugh. "There are things I've done… people I've lost over the centuries, and to this day, I still struggle with forgiving myself."
"How do you cope with the past?" she inquired with genuine curiosity before tacking on with a teasing arch in her brow, "Surely it's not all sex and liquor for you."
"Once upon a time, it certainly was," he admitted upon standing. "And though they're certainly not the crutches they once were, that doesn't mean I still don't enjoy my favorite vices from time to time," and after entering the kitchen, he revealed a bottle of whiskey, motioning it towards her. She nodded in acceptance of his offer, halfway turned about on the bench so she could watch as he poured two glasses before making his way back to the piano.
"That sounds like some fantastic rationalization to me," she teased as he straddled the bench, reclaiming his seat at her side.
"Now, now, stop trying to spoil the lies I tell myself with your truth and logic."
"My apologies," Frankie chuckled as she took the glass in his extended left hand, the amusement in her voice soon fading away when their fingers touched and her attention fell for just a moment as she focused on the amber liquid. "What shall we toast to?"
"To your courage – for not only calling my bluff by showing up this evening, but for also telling me the truth instead of shying away from it," and he lifted his glass to her before taking a drink. When the whiskey in his glass was gone, he placed the empty tumbler on the music shelf on the left side of the piano. "Now then… next song?" and he turned in his seat so he could fully face the instrument again.
"The one you were playing before… that personal composition. Play that again."
Intrigued, yet uncharacteristically acquiescent, he began to play the song she had been referring to – the one he had long since deemed as her song. As Frankie silently nursed her glass, she observed his hands with profound interest – that effortless grace and feeling in his every movement and note played, as if the music had been a part of him for centuries and had only just recently been given a voice.
She couldn't explain why, but this song of his moved her. It was filled with such longing, a controlled yet poignant sense of passion, an underlying darkness that added richness and depth to the nocturne. And yet…
"There's something missing," she interjected after a minute or so, interrupting his playing.
"What do you mean?" he asked, trying not to sound too offended.
"Don't mistake me; it's beautiful on its own, but I feel like what you have could be enhanced by some accompaniment. A counter-melody or something."
"I don't mean to be rude, but this is my composition and I say it's fine as it is…"
"Play that first part again."
"What?"
"Just… do it. I want to try something."
Dracula's gaze narrowed a little.
"Are you always this bossy?"
"If you think this is bad, you should see me in the bedroom," she said with a smirk.
Had it been any other woman, Vlad probably would have had her over his knee in two seconds flat, showing her exactly who was in charge here, but this was Francesca – his Francesca – and she was smiling at him and flirting with him, arm brushing against his, eager to make music with him.
How could he resist?
He shrugged a little before putting his hands into position and then he started to play, watching out of the corner of his eye as he waited for her to join in on the higher octaves.
She only played with her right hand, single notes at a time – holding some for long moments, others played in fluid succession. Her left hand casually held the rear side of the bench between their bodies so she could lean back a little. Her impromptu descant started out simple, echoing notes in the melody he had created before her fingers elegantly danced to a separate yet complementary counter-melody that added a new level of richness to the piece.
"This song would suit a violin very well, don't you think?"
Dracula didn't need to answer.
His faint smile was all the agreement she required and when it was done the pair turned to look at one another.
"Well?" she asked him.
"I hate it when you're right," he said, using her words from earlier and that brilliant grin of hers returned, brightening her eyes.
"I often am," she replied, echoing him now.
Then it happened.
That electricity, that inexplicable pull, and the longer they stared into one another's eyes, the more it intensified.
Dracula recognized the feeling immediately. This was not the first time he had felt thus in this woman's presence. He had felt this way before, that night in Venice, after they had danced the allemande… moments before she had vanished from the ballroom.
It was Frankie who was struggling to make sense of this bewilderingly strange, yet familiar sensation that was now flooding through her. She found herself instinctually leaning in closer to him, as if the space between them was agonizing.
Who was this man and why was she suddenly getting the distinct impression that she knew him from somewhere?
Vlad carefully lifted his hand from his lap before reaching for her, the pads of his fingers lightly caressing her cheek before slowly sliding down the side of her neck, thumb lightly brushing over the front of her throat.
His touch ignited a delightful warmth in the center of her womb, sending small tremors through her sex, down her thighs a little. That single caress resurrected desperately buried memories of the dream she had had of him a while back – the passionate kisses, his fingers between her legs, their naked flesh consumed in fire. For a moment, Frankie wondered if he too had had similar visions in the day, for his pupils suddenly dilated, the brilliant hue of his irises brightening just slightly.
"Francesca…"
Her name was uttered with the kind of reverence worthy of a prayer and the soft rush of his cool breath against her face had her leaning in a little closer.
"I'm not sure why," she said, "but I'm getting the strangest sense of déjà vu, like…"
"Like we've been here before?" he finished with a tone of hope she did not understand and he watched as her brows knitted slightly in confusion. But she never tried to pull away.
"Yes," she breathed, falling deeper into his penetrating gaze until she felt herself almost swallowed up in him. "I feel like… like I know you. Like I've seen you before… but I can't place where."
"That's probably the whiskey talking," he answered softly.
"Maybe…"
"And the music."
"Perhaps…"
The tips of their noses brushed, lips inching forward…
But before they could meet, there was an abrupt knock at the door and the pair both jumped, startled by the brusque interruption.
They sat there, frozen on the piano bench, faces barely an inch apart as they waited to see if the person intruding would depart. But fate, it would seem, had other plans, for there was a second knock at the door – harder this time – and a familiar voice accompanied it.
"Vlad? Vlad its Rémy."
The sound of her brother's voice had Frankie quickly retreating from the piano and out of the man's hold before he could even reach out to stop her. Her cheeks were lightly flushed in embarrassment and Dracula caught himself swearing in his native tongue under his breath as he stood.
He continued to mutter incoherently as he made his way to the door, very aware of how desperately Frankie was struggling to shake off whatever that had been and it killed him to think that they had been so close…
But when he opened the door to greet the woman's brother, he was all charm and smiles, never revealing just how much he wanted to smack Rémy upside the head for ruining the moment, let alone not calling ahead to offer him warning. There were few things he hated more than surprise callers.
"Rémy, what an unexpected surprise!" Dracula exclaimed, opening the door just slightly as if doing so would deter his unwanted guest. Perhaps he could get him to leave so he could salvage the moment he had just had with Frankie.
"Hey! Sorry for barging in unannounced, but I had to tell you this in person," and Rémy stepped forward to enter, despite the lack of invitation and the instant he was over the threshold, it was clear that Vlad's precious alone-time with this man's sister was over.
"Must be important for you to have come all this way," Dracula relented as he shut the door, following.
"Oh you have no idea… oh. Hey Frank. What are you doing here?"
When Dracula re-entered the main room where he had left his female guest, he was surprised to find Frankie utterly composed as if nothing had happened at all.
Well, color me impressed, he mused silently.
"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by and say hello," Frankie lied effortlessly.
"That's awfully uncharacteristic of you, given how you two only seem to get along when you're working. How long have you been here?"
"Just a few minutes," she continued to fib.
"And nothing appears to be broken. I'm impressed! I hope my baby sister has been behaving herself, Vlad," Rémy teased, looking back at his friend.
"She has been the most gracious guest," Dracula announced. "Actually, she was telling me a bit about your family history before you arrived. You never told me you had another sister."
"That was a long time ago," he said with a bit of a sigh before shaking off the shadows of a familiar sadness. "But I'm glad you two are actually playing nice. Gives me one less thing to worry about. But that's not why I'm here. I have great news. It's probably good that you're here, Frank, because you're going to want to hear this."
"I'm aquiver with anticipation," she said, her mirth not at all lost to her brother's friend as they both watched Rémy take a seat on the sofa while the two of them now stood side by side, awaiting his report.
"I managed to get an audience with Aldrick Meino. He's agreed to meet with me tomorrow night to discuss the possibility of a coalition between his organization and the alliance. And – pending on how well the meeting goes – he also said he'd be willing to get me a meeting with the Spider, though he said that may take a while to arrange."
Dracula glanced briefly at Frankie to catch her reaction and though she hid it well, he could sense her disapproval of this recent development.
"Where is this meeting to take place?" he inquired in an effort to give the woman a moment to fully gather her thoughts.
"At his establishment on the border between the north and west districts – the club Scarlet."
"What are his terms?" Frankie asked.
"He said I can bring whomever I want with me, but I can only have one other person in the room."
"Then I'm going with you."
"Frank…"
"I'm not going to let you do something stupid, Rémy. This is dangerous enough as it is."
"Which is exactly why I don't want you in the room," he insisted. "I've already decided to take Danny in with me. I want you, Vlad, and Carmen to keep an eye on things and I've asked Lyra to see if we can have some support from the pack just to be safe."
"I don't like this, Rémy…"
"I've been working for months to get this meeting, Frankie. The least you can do is pretend to be happy for me."
She sighed in evident irritation.
"I know this is important to you, but I still think that associating with known criminals is a bad idea. It could ruin the image of the alliance and could jeopardize our safety if they decided to turn on us. These bastards may not be loyal to Augustine outright, but you know that doesn't mean their loyalties won't shift if push comes to shove. They can't be trusted."
"Well what do you want me to do?" her brother shot all of a sudden, standing. "We've been trying to gain traction for months now and though the people are generically supportive, we have nothing to offer them in ways of protection in the face of retaliation. Not to mention the intel these guys have on the council, the government… Augustine in general…"
"But we need someone we can rely on."
"Like who? The werewolves?"
"You know they outnumber our species two to one here in the city. We should be focusing on strengthening our bond with Isabella; not jumping into bed with a bunch of treacherous snakes."
"Isabella is just as unreliable! One minute she says she'll fight with us and the next she has cold feet. How do you expect me to trust someone that wishy-washy?"
"Alright, that's enough," Dracula interjected at last, deciding to put an end to the rapidly heating debate between the two siblings. "Although I agree that we should not abandon our footing with the lycans, I also see your point here, Rémy. The Spider runs much of the inner-city and if what you say is true – that Augustine is looking to pick him up as a piece on his board – we're going to need to get there first."
"Thank you, Vlad. Glad someone is seeing reason here," and he sent a pointed look at his sister.
Frankie huffed her displeasure and would have continued to argue, but she knew that doing so would have been a moot point. Her brother had clearly already made up his mind and it wasn't her consent that he desired. He wanted her support. She still absolutely loathed this plan and the risk it involved, but in the end, she relented.
"What time do you need us ready for tomorrow?"
"The meeting is a half-hour after midnight. I'd like to get there early if we can so we can scope out the place."
"I would suggest doing some of that tonight so we can be prepared in case things go south," Dracula recommended.
"I can call Danny and have him meet us over there in thirty minutes if you're up for it," Rémy said.
Though he would have preferred to decline, it was evident that his time alone with Frankie had passed and there was no getting it back. Not tonight, anyway.
"I can be ready in five minutes. Let me change into something more suitable."
"And I should get going," Frankie added. "I'll go stop by Carmen's and talk to her and Lyra about what we'll need for tomorrow."
She turned to grab her coat to leave but Rémy gently caught her by the arm before she could move past him and he pulled her into his arms.
"Thank you, Frank," he said softly after his friend excused himself. "I know how much you hate this, but trust me… this is the right thing to do."
Frankie hugged her brother back, but said nothing, her eyes fixed on Vlad who was making his way up the stairs to his bedroom above the kitchen and dining room. Their eyes caught for just a moment before he disappeared beyond the door and when he was gone, she released her brother and offered him a sympathetic smile.
"I'll see you later," she assured him and then she left.
*sigh*
Nurturing the tension between those two was so much freaking fun to write. But that UST has to snap eventually, though... perhaps even in the next chapter? Maybe?
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