Many thanks to mystery of NC, Scarlet Empress, TenebrisSagittarius, MsIndulgence, inkmagpie, She-Devil Red, Riona Winters, and cneajna for reviewing this week! Once more, you darling people have carried me through another crazy work-week with your feedback and continued support and I cannot thank you enough!
Now let's go crush some hearts, shall we? *blares the Ursine Vulpine & Annaca version of Wicked Game at full volume*
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 40
Wicked Game
With the remnants of the day sinking behind the horizon, the city slowly began to come to life as another night approached. The normal hustle and bustle of the population of Budapest was quick to disrupt the quiet of the day as the mortals went home for the evening and the undead left the safety of their households to go about their business. By the time the light of the sun passed into memory, the underground metro was alive with swarms of people coming and going, making it near impossible to move without getting repeatedly bumped into.
Yet Frankie hardly noticed the constant intrusion of her personal space as she stood motionless in the center of the moving crowd. She was hopelessly lost in the mire of her thoughts, each one conflicting in nature.
Though she had just received a call from Rémy informing her that he was out and about and would meet her before the next train so they could travel back to Carmen's together, all she could think about was Leinhart – or rather, Dracula. What would she say to him when their paths inevitably crossed again? How would she act? What was she to do?
The truth of it was, Frankie had already made up her mind regarding what had to be done.
She couldn't bear the thought of leading him on only to break both of their hearts when it came time to tell him the truth – that they could never be, that it would never work. She was too damaged, too afraid, and too skeptical when it came to the prophecy. She had so many questions, so many doubts, and the fear of being wrong, of making a mistake had all but paralyzed her.
Frankie had often prided herself on being brave and strong-willed, but in that moment she felt anything but. She knew in her gut that this course of action was cowardly, but she wasn't ready to let her armor down, to indulge in the kind of vulnerability that such a relationship required, that it deserved. Besides, despite her intense physical attraction to Vlad Leinhart – no, Dracula, she internally corrected again – despite that attraction, there was nothing else to their present relationship that warranted the risk.
His virtues aside, he was still who he was. He had done monstrous things with far-reaching consequences that had all but destroyed her life; and while a part of her was already well on its way to forgiving him, there was another part that feared to let go of her long-held spite. It had been a part of who she was for so much of her life – what was she without it?
The pain of introspection had her hardening her heart as she pushed all of those tender feelings down, down, down.
No, she resolved silently. If he wanted his throne back and his half-brother dead, he'd have to find another way or just do it himself. She would have no part in it.
Frankie was weary of losing loved ones, of sacrificing her own sanity for the sake of a man she wasn't even sure could ever love her anyway. She was tired of hurting and a relationship with Dracula surely had pain and suffering written all over it. So the woman clung to her weak rationalizations, ignoring their crumbling foundations as she willed her heart to turn to ice.
She would not be moved, she would not be manipulated, and she would not be controlled.
Francesca Elisabeth de Chacier belonged to no man – nor would she ever; and if she had to hurt him in order to effectively push him away, to keep him safe from her, she would do it.
Then all of a sudden, as if the very universe had openly balked in response to her resolution, she felt him somewhere behind her – that electrifying of the air that sent shivers through her entire body from the crown of her head to the tips of her fingers, toes, and breasts. Despite her inner protests, Frankie could not ignore the profound ache in the center of her chest where her silent heart resided. It was as if he was reaching for her and her traitorous soul was reaching back and she could have died in that moment from the agony that tore cruelly through her.
She couldn't hate him, she realized in that moment.
Frankie wanted to hate him. Hating him would be so much easier… but in that instant, she found she didn't even know how to anymore. The last few months had seen to that. What she had disliked and mistrusted was based entirely on rumor and assumption. And the man she had come to know… she had wanted him almost the moment her eyes had fallen upon him that fateful evening at Carmen's. The connection that had only strengthened in the last few days especially was something she was now questioning if she could even go without.
No, her stubborn mind insisted once more. No, Frankie, you have to do this. You must. It's not safe. If you can't do this for yourself, do it for him… spare him.
The woman briefly closed her eyes as if to collect herself, brow knitted in conflict before she turned at last to look behind her. He was only a couple of yards away, standing tall like some kind of dark god in a sea of faceless souls. His eyes had found hers straightaway and that deep blue felt like glacial ice and hellfire on her skin in a single instant. He was dressed impeccably, the end of his long coat moving behind him like the billowing of a cloak in motion. He was every bit of the dark prince she had oft imagined him to be – both divine and utterly sinful in one fell swoop. Frankie's knees nearly buckled beneath her.
The energy between them was immediate and unmistakable – a sweet tension of longing and desire and for a single moment, she dared to imagine what it would be like to have him gather her in his arms before driving his fangs into her neck. It was a beautiful and erotic fantasy, but she also knew how it would end, and that stark reminder is what salvaged her otherwise crumbling resolve when he approached.
"Miss Chase," he said, voice low.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I didn't," and though he said the words with conviction, there was a slyness in his expression that had her doubting him. "I'm pleased to have run into you. How as your day? Restful, I hope?"
"Quite the opposite, actually," she replied and he smiled in approval of her answer, mistaking her meaning.
"Mine as well." Dracula moved in closer so he could lean in a bit, his voice coming out in a soft rush of air that nearly had her swooning. "Every time I closed my eyes, you were the only thing I saw."
"That sounds an awful lot like a line, Mr. Leinhart. No doubt you've told such a thing to every woman you've kissed," she said, having meant for her words to sound a bit more serious and a lot less flirtatious than they had come out. He smirked at her comment, fingers brushing against the back of her hand as if he wanted to take it but was waiting for her to reach back.
"Not at all, I assure you. Few have ever managed to capture my attention with such little effort as you have, dragă," and he leaned in as though to kiss her, but she immediately moved herself out of the way, much to his disappointment.
"A feat that I'd consider a compliment, were I some simple female easily taken in by strategically nurtured lust."
His brow furrowed a little as he took note of the bite in her tone.
"I'm sorry?"
"You have no need to apologize, Mr. Leinhart, for it is I that owe you an admission of regret. I fear I have given you a false impression of my feelings, and I am compelled to rectify that at once."
"Francesca, don't tease me…"
"I am not teasing you. What happened between us last night was merely a… a release of the sexual tension built up by the game we have been playing – a diversion which, though initially amusing, has now grown quite dull."
This time he took a step back, the astonishment and skepticism in his expression evident, but as he hadn't said anything yet, Frankie continued, willing herself to be the embodiment of cold indifference.
"It was just a kiss – nothing more."
"I don't believe you," he stated. "I know how much you enjoy pretending you have no interest in me, but I'm not a fool…"
For a brief moment, a terrible concern that he could see right through her façade threatened to reveal itself in her eyes, but she held herself together remarkably well.
"Tell yourself whatever you want. That is your choice, but it doesn't change the facts. There is nothing between us. There has never been, nor can there ever be anything between us of that nature."
But he remained unconvinced.
"Why are you saying this?"
She ignored his question, charging through her semi-rehearsed rejection like a runaway freight train instead, afraid that if she diverted from her present course, he'd derail her completely and there would be no hope of recovery.
"Furthermore, I must insist – in the strongest possible terms – that you stay your distance from my brother, my friends, and – more importantly – from myself for the foreseeable future. I recognize and appreciate the contributions you have made to the alliance and for that you will always have my gratitude, but I cannot..."
"Francesca…"
"You don't belong with us, Mr. Leinhart," she snapped suddenly when he tried to interrupt her again and the harshness of her words were like a cold slap against his face, only this time there were no mind-numbing kisses to counteract the sting. "You have been a servant of Dracula for the whole of your undead life. You have never wanted for anything. You couldn't possibly know what it is like for us on the other side, outside of your glittering court with your inherent sense of superiority."
"Do not presume to know me, madam. You have no idea what things I have seen in my life, what I have endured, what I have done…"
"And I don't care," she interjected coldly. "Just… stay away," and she turned to leave but the moment her back was to him, he suddenly materialized before her very eyes, blocking her escape.
"I will do nothing of the sort," Dracula stated boldly. "If you want nothing to do with me, so be it. That is your decision and I will respect it, as spineless as I think your actions may be." His words hit their mark and her eyes narrowed in response, not taking kindly to having her sense of honor challenged – even if he was wholly in the right. "But you do not get to banish me from the alliance, nor do you have the authority to demand I stay away from your brother – who, you forget, is my friend. This fight against Augustine is not only your own."
"I will not repeat myself."
"What is the true reason for your sudden lack of feeling?" he demanded abruptly, as if he had suddenly seen behind her façade of indifference. His question unnerved her, but she hid it as best she could. "Just last night, you wanted me – it was as plain and undeniable as the light of day. I've wanted you from the moment I met you, I still do, and I know… I know you feel the same. Why are you pushing me away?"
"I have never desired you," she lied with convincing vigor although uttering the words proved a private torment. "It was only ever a game. I do not want you. I could never want you. My motive has only ever been to subjugate, to prove to you that you are not so high and mighty, so impenetrable as you think you are."
Her words visibly gutted him. A part of the man clearly refused to believe her entirely, but she appeared so unsympathetic in that moment, so sure, so… so heartless, and it had him suddenly questioning everything.
"Remember, sir, that I did not earn the name la siréne all those centuries ago for nothing," she hissed, getting in his face. "I assure you, at my very core I am just as black and as unfeeling as your precious Dracula. Consider yourself fortunate that instead of lingering in this charade, I respect you enough to let you leave unscathed and with a shred of dignity intact. But if you test my generosity further, sir, you will discover just how merciless I can be. So for the sake of what lingers of your male pride, you will stay away."
Frankie delivered the speech with all of the ferocity she could muster, but in her desperate attempt to appear hard, she never realized that a single silent tear had tumbled down her cheek, revealing the truth behind her otherwise convincing lie.
She didn't want him to go. But it was clear that her armor was up and the walls surrounding her heart had been refortified. Dracula was quick to realize that she wasn't pushing him away because she didn't care about him. Something had changed.
She was afraid.
Of what, he couldn't even begin to comprehend, but this was not done in malice. If she had been truly angry, he would have felt it radiating off of her. The only thing he could sense in her was a tremendous sadness that he did not understand.
Vladislaus was never given a chance to get at the truth, however, as they were soon interrupted. Rémy had appeared, calling their names a couple of yards off in the crowd.
The approach of her brother seemed to snap Frankie back into the present as she realized that she had been crying and with a careful bit of maneuvering, she was able to wipe the remnants of her tears away before turning to face her unsuspecting brother. He looked a little off-color to be out and about after his close call the evening before, but Frankie was, for once, grateful for his unexpected interruption and she began to make her way through the throng of people to greet him.
"Rémy! At last – I was starting to get worried. I still can't believe Carmen let you out by yourself," and she kissed his cheek when they reached each other.
"She sort of doesn't know that I left so we should probably get back before she gets into one of her rages again," the man laughed before turning his attention to Vlad, who was still a couple of feet away looking as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Vlad! What luck! I wanted to talk to you about the meeting with Aldrick last night before we start diving into the next phase of the plan. Come! We'll all get on the next train and head over to Carmen's together."
"I'm afraid I won't be able to join you at this time," Dracula began, trying not to look at Frankie though heaven help him, the task was damn near impossible.
"That's okay – we can meet up later tonight when you're free…"
"I fear that won't be possible."
That got Rémy's attention and he turned to face his friend more fully.
"Why not?"
"Something has come up," Dracula lied quickly. "A personal matter that I am unable to ignore."
"I hope it's not too serious," Frankie's brother said with genuine concern.
"It's nothing you need to worry about – the devil knows you have enough on your plate as it is."
"Will you be gone for a couple days, or…?"
"I'm not sure," he answered honestly, unable to keep his gaze away from the woman before him any longer, and when their eyes met, his chest cracked at what he saw in her face. "The length of my absence is dependent on a number of factors – most of which are presently out of my control."
"I'm sorry to hear it. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No, unfortunately there is nothing anyone can do."
"Well, if that changes, please let me know how I can help. You know how much we need you," Rémy insisted.
"I am grateful to you. You have been nothing but kind and accommodating to me these last few months and I've come to value your friendship immensely – more than you know. If you ever need anything, anything at all – especially when it comes to your efforts – you know how to find me."
"You're a good man, Vlad Leinhart," he said as they shook hands. "I hope whatever has come up will resolve itself soon – for your sake as well as ours. We won't be the same without you."
Dracula's smile was small and clearly mournful, but he held himself together with impressive self-mastery considering the turmoil he was in beneath the surface. As the automated announcement over the loudspeaker in the metro tunnel announced the arrival of the next train, his eyes met Frankie's one last time. A part of him wanted to resent her for what she had done, yet he could not.
So in a sign to prove to her that he harbored no ill will, he extended his hand to her. The hesitation that crossed her features was stark, her inner conflict clear as she studied his upturned palm for just a moment. Though the woman suspected that she'd regret this later, she accepted his offer and placed her hand in his, shaking it once until he brought her knuckles to his lips where he kissed them lightly, holding her gaze firmly.
Frankie became aware of how her heart swelled at the feel of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss, the way he held her hand with a gentle ardor that brought to mind the events of the evening prior – the kisses they had shared, his hands on her body, the wordless sighs of his pleasure and her own.
"Goodbye, Miss Chase," he whispered and then he released her hand, turned, and disappeared into the sea of strangers that surrounded them.
The moment he was out of sight, Frankie felt all breath leave her body as her chest tightened and her whole soul seemed to ache at his sudden absence. But she could not call him back to her and with quiet reluctance, she took her brother's arm and departed onto the train.
As it slowly began to move away, she watched through the window the faces of the people as they passed. Right before they could vanish into the shadows of the darkened tunnel ahead of them, she caught one last look at Vlad, his eyes finding hers in a way that was instinctual, effortless.
And then in a flash of light and oncoming darkness, he was gone.
Dracula lingered behind for some time after the Chase siblings had departed. He was seated now on one of the benches, watching the people around him as they came and went, though his mind was elsewhere. When the early evening chaos had died down and another train full of people departed into the black tunnel once more, he found himself quite alone on the platform, that familiar hollow feeling in his chest slowly expanding the longer he lingered in this state.
"What happened, Vladislaus?" he heard a familiar voice inquire from behind him. He didn't need to turn around to know who had joined him at this now both literal and metaphorical crossroads. Antón Bernardini waited for an answer and when he received none, he took a seat on the bench beside his unusually silent friend.
"I feel like I'm in Venice," Dracula stated with an unusually honest air of contemplation, staring blankly ahead. "It's like I'm watching myself losing her all over again, only this time I know what it is that I'm losing… but I can't move."
"What happened?"
"She knows."
This naturally didn't come as a shock to Bernardini and Dracula sensed that instantly.
"And you're certain?"
"There's no other explanation," Vlad insisted, his tone a mix of bitterness and defeat. "For her to go from one end of the spectrum to the complete opposite in a matter of hours is completely illogical otherwise. She knows who I am and she… she hates me for it. She fears me."
"She visited me this afternoon," Antón confessed and at last Dracula turned his head to look at the man beside him, expression full of inquiry. "Something started her on the path and then before I knew it, she had put the pieces together – without me even needing to help."
"Did you confirm her suspicions?"
"I said nothing, if that's what you're wondering – but she's not a fool, Vladislaus."
"No wonder she all but banished me," and he sighed. "I never thought she'd pass judgment on me like that. I feared it and I braced myself for it, but I never could have imagined…"
"She doesn't hate you, my friend. She's just afraid."
"Of me, you mean." His words were filled with indignation.
"No – although your reputation does present some need for concern, but it's miniscule. Who you are is not why she did what she did."
"How can you be certain? You did not hear the words she spoke to me, Antón. It's like she was trying to wound me."
"Because she knew it was the only way to make a clean break without you turning around and going after her. If she could convince you that she hated you, you would not persist."
"But why? If she does not despise me as you say, and if she does not fear me, then what is her motive?"
"That is not for me to say," Bernardini replied and Dracula growled his irritation as he stood.
"Rahat (*), old man!" he swore angrily. "You know and I insist you tell me at once. I do not want to invoke the right of sire over you, but I will if I must!"
But despite Dracula's dangerous temper, Bernardini remained seated and silent, a picturesque visage of calm and sobriety as he visibly considered his options.
"Vladislaus, do you recall a conversation we had many centuries ago shortly after you turned me? We had discussed how all actions – no matter how seemingly inconsequential – can have far-reaching ripples that extend beyond what we can presently see?"
Dracula did not like where this was going. He felt his insides begin to knot.
He only nodded in reply as Bernardini continued.
"That evening when you avenged Alessia's murder by taking Mathis from Marcus, the night he had all but declared war on you before vanishing for nearly half a century… I fear he remained true to his word in more ways than we may have realized. He has never been repentant. Not for a single instant. That much is clearer now than it has ever been."
Dracula's undead heart plummeted to the floor as the horrible, unspoken suspicions he had harbored for some time now had a very real chance of actually being confirmed. He shook his head as if in protest.
"No," was all he could think to say, but the sorrow on his friend's face was confirmation enough.
"I still don't know how he found out the specifics about Miss Chase's true identity or how he was even able to discover her whereabouts when it had taken Mariella nearly half a century to find her on her own – and that was with the aid of magic."
"What did he do, Antón?"
"Far more than what she explained herself, of that I am certain."
"Spare me your vagueness and speak plainly! Tell me what he did, at once."
Bernardini's eyes fell to the ghastly looking scab on his hand where his flesh was still healing from the damage Frankie's blood had done to him and his shoulders fell forward a little.
"Oh Vladislaus… I am so sorry," he said after some deliberation. "Even if you could somehow win the heart of Francesca Chase, you will never be together. Not truly. Not in the way the prophecy demands or in the way you both deserve."
"What are you saying?"
The Italian finally looked up, the sorrow in his expression sending a visible shudder through his old friend.
"You two can never be blood-bound. What runs in her veins has been tainted, turned to poison. If you were to consume it, or even touch it… it would destroy you, and with you, the whole of our kind. I fear no matter what you or the alliance does now, Marcus has already won."
Frankie was situated in her usual seat at Carmen's, head hanging in evident distress as she stared at her shot glass of untouched whiskey. She had been glaring at it for nearly twenty minutes without uttering so much as a word as she half-listened to her brother recount the details of his meeting with Aldrick Meino from the evening before, their friends all eagerly attentive as he spoke.
But there was one voice of participation that was not present and though she knew in her head that he was gone and would remain thus, she continued to catch herself searching for him as if in some vain hope that he would miraculously appear and all would be as it had been before.
What have I done? she wondered to herself with a suddenly mournful expression.
Had she done the right thing or had she made some terrible mistake that she would never be able to rectify?
The thought terrified her, but what hurt even more was the image of Vlad's face when she had taken his heart and mercilessly crushed it in his face. The confusion and anger in his countenance had been one thing, but the sorrow hidden within the depths of his eyes as they had parted ways would surely haunt her for the rest of her long and miserable life.
I had to do it, she reminded herself as she leaned forward a little, absently caressing the smooth glass before her. It was better that you broke things off now rather than later down the road when both of your hearts would be at stake. You've saved him from you, Francesca… you've saved his life.
But what about my life? the other half of her conscience asked in a pitiful voice. If I've done the right thing, why do I feel so wretched?
She knew the answer the moment the question crossed her mind and the realization sent tears to burn in her eyes, even as she fought them.
Prophecy or no prophecy – that didn't change the way she felt; and though a part of her wondered if it was even her at all, in her heart she knew the truth, even if her mind was presently unwilling to acknowledge it.
Frankie wouldn't go as far to say that she loved him or anything. It was far too early for such an admission and the fact of the matter was she barely knew the man – the true him, anyway. But the magnetism was real, their budding friendship, the affection, the connection – all of it had been real. It would have been so easy to love him, if only things had been different, if only she wasn't so broken, so defective, so… so dangerous.
"Hey, sweetie… are you okay?" Carmen asked and Frankie looked up to find that her friend was standing in front of her on the other side of the bar, watching her closely.
"Yeah – just… I had an awful dream during the day and I'm afraid it's shaken me up a bit," she explained, now aware of the tears she hadn't been conscious of shedding and she wiped them away briskly, forcing a smile.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No… it was just a dream. I'll be fine, I promise," she said, standing now. "I just remembered, I need to call Armand. If Rémy asks for me, can you let him know I'll be outside in the back?"
"Sure thing, hon, but are you sure you're…?"
"I'm fine. I promise," the woman insisted as if she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince her friend. Before Carmen could persist, Frankie had quickly pulled out her phone as she walked in the direction of the back hallway, desperate to get away from prying eyes before she broke down completely.
When she emerged out into the frigid night air, it was snowing. A sob broke free from her throat even as she covered her mouth to stifle it, fighting to keep her emotions in check as she held her mobile up in her free hand, a quiet ringing coming from the speaker. When her uncle, Armand, picked up on the other line, Frankie felt all resistance crumble as the tears flowed freely, their invisible trails freezing to her cheeks.
"Francesca? Francesca? Is that you?" he called out. "Are you there?"
Frankie pressed her back against the metal door of the building before sliding down onto the snow-laden step beneath her feet.
"Oh Uncle," she wept softly. "Why did I run from him that night? I should have stayed… I should have stayed."
End of Part I
(*) Rahat is evidently the Romanian equivalent of bullshit, according to our lord and savior, Google Translate.
And now for that author's note:
First: I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY, I'M SO, SO SORRY... but also, not really, because...
Second: All of this has been the plan from the very beginning. I know what I'm doing; I just need you to trust me. I promised you a HEA by the end of this journey and swear to you, I will deliver, but it's going to take time.
Third: (Q) I hate when author's use miscommunication or lack of communication as a means of conflict, it's so lazy and frustrating! Why couldn't Frankie just explain the situation to Vlad? (A) If you think a person with complex trauma compounded over literal decades reacting this way is somehow a trope or unrealistic... umm, wow. What kind of non-damaged, perfect-at-communicating humans are you hanging out with? ;)
Fourth: I did warn you multiple times that this was a slow-burn romance. It's not my fault you chose not to take those warnings seriously! lol
But all snarkiness aside, I know a small handful of you are pissed, and that is your prerogative. But I really do appreciate the kindness, support, and ongoing enthusiasm a number of you have shared with me in reviews and in PMs, so thank you.
Well, that's the end of Part 1 (of 3).
Because I have a lot going on outside of posting this story, I'm going to take a little bit of a break from updating for a couple of weeks, but I won't be gone for long. I'll more than likely start posting Part 2 at the beginning of August, so make sure to check back! But before I go, I just wanted to thank all of you again for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing this story thus far. Truly, your support means the absolute world to me and I cannot thank you enough!
I'll see you in the next one.
- T