Many thanks to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, and inkmagpie for reviewing over the weekend!
The end of Vlad and Frankie's separation is on the horizon! But first - let's wallow in a bit more angst, thicken the plot, subtly plant some seeds for later, and take a looksie inside his majesty's head again.
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 3
Haunting Me
The two gentlemen were standing beside the desk at the far end of the room closest to the window, the tabletop littered with dozens of journals in a variety of shapes, sizes, and general age.
"I can't believe I used to mock your wife for keeping a diary. If I had known these things would come in handy someday, I would have held my tongue," Dracula announced as he watched Bernardini shuffle through the volumes in search of one in particular.
"Yes. Although I fear the one we truly want is still in Marcus' possession."
"Elina will acquire it soon enough. The fact that my traitorous half-brother has kept it so close instead of having it buried at sea or something is evidence enough of its importance."
"Well, I only hope she's careful when she does retrieve it. We are steadily running out of allies on the inside, Vladislaus."
"She has a history with the people that none of the council members do. That reason alone has preserved her."
"Yes, but that won't last forever. If Marcus learns of her intentions, it won't be long before he puts the rest of the missing pieces together."
"Which is exactly why I told her to only do it when it is safe. Fortunately for us, we have all the time in the world."
Bernardini's smirk turned a little smug, the man sending his maker a sideways glance.
"Although your general sense of forbearance has certainly improved over the centuries, I sincerely doubt your patience will last that long when it comes to Miss Chase."
"I'm not giving the prophecy any degree of validation on her account, Antón. This is between myself and Marcus."
"Whom you cannot defeat without her, or your mystery demon, apparently."
"You mean the one from the dreams?" Dracula inquired, looking up from one of the volumes he had been studying.
Bernardini nodded before showing him the particular tome he had been perusing earlier in the day when Lilith had been over.
"Here," he explained. "Mariella refers to her as a Lilitu. I don't know why I didn't draw the connection before when we first learned of the red-haired demon. It would appear Mariella drew her likeness dozens of times – although the details of the face all vary a little between sketches, which will make it difficult to acquire any kind of positive identification. But this is definitive proof that we have another player here. Francesca is not the only piece of the puzzle we need."
"This particular likeness seems the most correct…" Dracula interrupted, taking the offered book from his friend's hand so he could study the pages more closely.
"Oh?"
"Yes – it most resembles the one that would appear in those dreams I used to have last year, after I had met Francesca – the demon with red hair and white eyes. It's not an exact likeness, but the similarities are too real to be ignored."
"Interesting. Well, that should give us a little more to go on in identifying her, whoever she is."
"Did Mariella write anything more about this creature?"
"I did find a passage here," and he retrieved another open book. "Apparently she is the natural born daughter of Lilith, and she feeds on not only blood, but sexual energy, like a succubus. And the last note I was able to dig up was that the visions regarding the Lilitu began in 1920 and lasted for about nine months or so before ceasing altogether."
"I didn't think Lilith could conceive in that manner. She's always been able to alter pre-existing forms of life, but never create something of her own. Such was the curse of all who fell from heaven, although I've always wondered how Lilith was able to retain her corporeal form when someone as powerful as Lucifer wasn't."
"Ah yes - Fabulae Diablo. I remember," Bernardini stated. "Although speaking of the mother of our race, I'm afraid I have a confession to make – this enterprise of collecting Mariella's journals that we've been engaged in for the last number of months was not originally my idea. It was Lilith's."
"You've been in contact with her," Dracula clarified, seeming surprised by the news. Bernardini nodded, quick to explain himself.
"She approached me first, shortly after the incident between you and Francesca. Despite her initial reservations regarding the prophecy that you spoke of some time back, she's since become unusually invested in its realization, although she continues to hint that that could change at any moment… as if she's biding her time for something else."
"You've never been the kind to make such tentative alliances."
"Let's just say the queen of hell has it in her to be quite… persuasive."
Vladislaus quietly studied his friend for a moment, leaving the Italian to mistake his silence for disapproval, but when Dracula did speak, his tone was anything but reproachful.
"I suppose I can't blame you," he said at last, much to the relief and impending curiosity of Antón, whose brows knitted a little in confusion.
"You're not angry?"
"No, I'm not. And now that you mention it, I suppose her involvement makes sense. My own recent encounters with the woman in the last months aside, look here," and he motioned to the section of the book he presently had open – the drawing of Francesca and the she-demon, Lilith's supposed daughter, destroying Augustine together. "Read the inscription. Mariella writes that a sister must be sacrificed."
"But Miss Chase has no sisters."
"She had one, when she was still mortal," Dracula explained, "but the woman died of illness in her earlier years."
"How do you know this?"
"Francesca told me."
The utterance of the woman's name that time seemed to evoke a kind of solemnity in Dracula that lingered, a private ache visible only in the depths of his eyes as he studied the sketched likeness of his undying bride. He would have caressed the page in a moment of weakness, but he resisted, collecting himself.
"So if her only sister is dead, what do you suppose Mariella meant by this?"
"She and her friend – Lyra Kennedy, you remember me telling you about her? – the pair are unusually close, and I wouldn't be surprised if the mention of a sister proved more figurative than literal. Mariella certainly liked her riddles," and Dracula closed the book, placing it back onto the table in defeat.
"Sometimes I wonder if she employed them for some unseen purpose."
"Whatever the reason, even if we somehow managed to answer the questions of who Lilith's daughter is, how she came to be, where she is now, and what her actual role in all of this is… all of that is pointless without Francesca."
Vlad then turned to retreat to one of the chairs by the fire, but he never sat down, instead opting to stand, arm resting on the high back as he leaned against it.
"We'll find a way to deal with her blood condition, but until that time comes, you two being able to be blood-bound will mean nothing if you aren't actually together," Antón pointed out.
He had braced himself for an agitated sigh of "I know" from his king and sire, but it never came. Dracula's face proved difficult to read in that moment, the man staring at the flames within the hearth, his mind clearly somewhere else.
"You need to go back to her, Vladislaus."
Still nothing.
Not a look, nor sign of acknowledgment, and while Bernardini could sympathize with his old friend's current emotional state, he was growing weary of the unproductive brooding, not to mention the uncharacteristic submission. It wasn't like him at all to just surrender like this, although it certainly stood as a testament to the female's hold over him.
The thought made Bernardini smile just a little, the suggestion that a woman had so effortlessly gotten under the skin of his notoriously dominant king had a sort of amusing factor to it.
So in an effort to be useful, the Italian took his usual seat in the chair facing his friend, folded his hands in his lap like the unpaid therapist he was, and he waited for Dracula to voluntarily share the secret feelings of the heart he had so often denied having.
The man didn't speak a word for nearly five minutes, yet the silence proved anything but awkward. Bernardini patiently sat and bore witness as his maker battled within himself.
At long last, Dracula gave in.
"When she told me to stay away, her rejection wasn't just a blow to my ego, I was embittered that she hadn't bothered to consult with me first, that she had had the nerve to make such a decision on her own. But after the initial frustration passed and I had had time to carefully consider the reasons why she had done what she had done, it had me viewing her in a different light. I do not pretend to know the woman as well as I would otherwise wish to. I also cannot deny that from the moment our paths first crossed, I have felt this inexplicable and, honestly, quite bewildering connection to her. But the fact remains that despite what I feel – whether it be genuine or simply the manipulation or influence of some unseen power – the entire situation is degrading. That I can only have a sexual or even a profound emotional reaction to no other woman but Francesca is inherently offensive to me. Normally, at this stage, I would have moved on by now, but I don't even have that option before me."
"If the option were available, though, would you still take it, knowing Miss Chase as you do?"
"Of course I would! She's undoubtedly moved on. I don't see why I cannot be permitted to do the same," he answered resentfully, but the Italian's expression was anything but sympathetic.
"Vladislaus, forgive me, but we both know what you're saying is complete and utter rubbish."
Dracula's brow furrowed a little in response to the refutation, but before he could comment on it, Bernardini continued, explaining himself.
"My friend, for the entire six-hundred some-odd years that I've known you, you have never, in the whole of our history, backed down from a challenge – especially where the fairer sex is concerned – nor have you, as you say, 'moved on', unless it was to incite a sense of jealousy in your prey so you could acquire some stronger foothold. In fact, I recall if you happened to detect even the slightest interest from a woman, you would pursue her to the ends of the earth until she had been utterly and thoroughly conquered," and he sent the man a knowing smile.
Dracula felt the corners of his lips twitching in reply, now lost in reminisce.
"That was a different time and I was a different man then," Vlad conceded, finally taking his seat. "Where Francesca is concerned, it would seem that she is always to prove the exception to the rule."
"Ah, but the only reason you let her go at all after the incident in Venice is because you had no idea who she was or where to find her, let alone how. If you had, I doubt we'd be having this conversation. Deny it all you want, my friend, but you would have been just as relentless with her then had you been given the chance."
Dracula's smile grew a little broader at the thought of how things could have been.
"You know, between the two of us, I sometimes wish I had been more determined, more diligent in my search of her all those centuries ago. Perhaps things really would be different now."
"Indubitably," Bernardini agreed. "Although, in your defense, you did have quite a bit going on at the time."
"I suppose that's true as well."
There came at this point a natural pause in the conversation as both men pondered on what could have been.
"Do you love her?" Antón asked after a while and Vlad thought on it for a moment or two.
"I don't know her well enough to say that I do," he confessed at last. "I certainly like her – even if she is rather infuriating at times. And I desire her – that's not even a question. I have never been able to deny the attraction between us."
"And do you believe it to be real – what you're feeling?"
"I want it to be," Vlad answered, the uncharacteristically vulnerable words nearly a whisper. "But I have no means of discerning between what's real and what is sheer fabrication – a result of the prophecy or even the manipulative influence of Lilith, for instance. You have long known my opinion on trusting one's feelings and emotions; that such base instincts can inhibit or even outright interfere with the true progress of an individual. But… just being in Francesca's presence, the mere thought of the woman seems to call into question every guiding principle I have ever held throughout my immortal existence."
"Her influence is changing you," Bernardini translated.
"Let me give you an example," Dracula replied, waving his hand a bit. "So you mentioned that in the past, I would pursue any given woman I desired to conquer to the ends of the earth if need be until I had seized and subjugated her. Well, in any other ordinary situation, I would do just that. I would opt for a more forward seduction. But when it comes to Francesca, any desire to go that route proves near impossible to conjure. It's like that is no longer even a viable option, and not just because I know she would fight me – and I certainly admire her for that – but I've also come to respect her too much to objectify her so blatantly. Especially without establishing a stronger foundation between us first.
"She simply deserves better. Not just from me, but in a general sense. I'm torn between my instincts to master her and a genuine desire to go about this differently, more honestly, if you can believe it. And because this makes my usual methods no longer viable options, I find myself without direction. The truth of it is, Antón, I haven't returned to the alliance not because I have decided to adhere to Francesca's wishes – although that was certainly the case initially – but it's because if I did go back to her, I wouldn't even know what to do."
"Well, that's easy, Vladislaus. You exercise patience," and Dracula balked a little at that piece of overly simplified advice, "and you let her behavior be your guide."
"As much as I have always valued your counsel, old friend, I fear what you suggest will not be of much use. You forget – she knows who I am… not to mention I'm still rather vexed with her for making the decision to part ways indefinitely without consulting me."
"But that's exactly why you should heed my words," Bernardini maintained, leaning forward a little, as if his insistence drove the point home more efficiently. "She knows who you are, and since she knows your reputation, she'll expect the usual from you – vengeance and a ruthless seduction."
"She undoubtedly resents me of that as well," but the Italian smiled sympathetically.
"She does not resent you your past. We all have a skeleton or two in our closets – or a handful of mass graves in your case," he added with a cheeky grin, "and if Miss Chase is truly la sirène as you mentioned before, then she has absolutely no room for judgment. Besides, from what I gathered during my brief interview with her, she does not strike me as the kind of woman to be immature enough to hold the entirety of your past against you. In fact, I have it on very good authority that alongside the condition of her blood, she has holds a number of the same fears and reservations that you do – whether or not any of this is real or if some unseen force is manipulating her, for a start. But that concern is minuscule when laid beside the fact that at the end of the day, she just doesn't want to bring you harm. Nor does she desire to waste your time or give you false hope when it comes to being blood-bound. If you ask me, I believe that her general resistance is her way of asserting control over a situation she feels she has no control over. And doesn't that sound familiar?"
The question was rhetorical, of course.
The woman was so much like Vladislaus, it was almost unnerving.
"Here is the advice I have to offer you – and you can take it with a grain of salt if you choose to do so. But the pair of you have had your time apart to breathe and reflect. It is time you return to her. She may resist at first, but given what I am certain she feels for you, I doubt that'll last."
"How would you know what she feels for me?" Dracula asked with a bit of an unconvinced laugh.
"You aren't the only person with eyes and ears in this city," was all the Italian would say on the subject.
"Even if I did as you suggest and actively pursued Francesca, you do realize that acquiring time alone with the woman is damn near impossible."
"Like that's ever stopped you before."
"Antón, this isn't the eighteenth century. I can't just waltz into Carmen's unannounced and sweep the woman off her feet!"
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Vlad's mobile suddenly ringing in his pocket. He apologized as he retrieved the device, ready to silence it, when he noticed the name illuminated on the screen.
Rémy Chase.
The coincidence was borderline suspicious.
But taking a leap of faith, Vlad answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear as he knew full well that his friend seated across from him had already tuned himself to the conversation.
"Hello? Vlad?" Rémy's voice came in on the other line.
"Hello, Rémy."
"Hey! Glad you're still alive! Sorry to be a bother, but are you doing anything right now?"
"Nothing of particular importance," he said, smirking a little when Bernardini dramatically pouted in his direction.
"So I know you said you were still busy with that personal matter, but I was hoping – if you have the time – could you drop by Carmen's at some point tonight? I could really use your help with something."
"I might be able to make the time, yes."
Stop playing hard to get, Vladislaus, the Italian's voice chided in his mind and Dracula waved his hand as if to silence the man as he stood.
"What time would you need me over there?"
"As soon as you can, actually."
"Is everything all right?" he then inquired, concerned by Rémy's insistent vagueness.
"Yeah, we're all fine here. It's just… I got an anonymous tip just now about something I've been working on for a while and, well, I could really use your expertise on this. I'm not sure what to do."
"I'd be happy to help, but we can't have this conversation over the phone?"
"Given the potential gravity of the situation, I'm thinking it needs to be in person. Again, if you're busy, I understand…"
"No, no, I'm on my way. I'll be there in about thirty minutes or so. Will that suffice?"
"Of course!" Rémy proclaimed, sounding relieved. "I'll see you in a few, then."
When the conversation ended and Dracula had hung up, he turned to look at his friend still seated in his usual chair by the fire. Vlad then motioned to the door a little sheepishly.
"I have to…"
"Yes, go, go," Bernardini insisted with a smile. "Though I expect a full report when you're finished," he added teasingly.
Dracula waved him off and rolled his eyes a little before bidding him good evening and vanishing into a plume of mist and shadow a moment later. When he was gone, the Italian retrieved his own mobile device so he could text Jack.
I don't know how you did it, he typed, but it worked. He's on his way now.
Jack's response was almost immediate.
Good. Z's still working on Isabella, but it looks like she'll consent. He had to tell her who Father actually was.
Can she be trusted?
Z says she can. I trust him. Got to go. Will talk soon.
Antón sighed a little in relief before reaching for the glass of blood he had poured himself earlier in the evening. After taking a sip, he muttered to himself,
"And so the second round begins."
And so the second round begins, indeed, Signore. I honestly can't wait. The tension between those two in later chapters was such a joy to write, I had to use a goddamn crowbar to keep the pair off of each other! lol
Thank you for stopping by to read! Would love to hear your thoughts on the latest. DON'T BE A LURKER! Leave a review :)
Next chapter will go up on Friday.