Eternal Night (II) Chapter 33: Bridges, a van helsing fanfic

HOW IS IT ALMOST DECEMBER?! WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING RIGHT NOW?! Time needs to slow down, please and thank you.

ANYWAYS - many thanks to the MVPs Scarlet Empress and She-Devil Red for the regular reviews. I adore you two. And an extra special thank you to Gwenpaige for binge-reading/reviewing and playing catch-up over the last few days! I treasure every review I receive, so many thanks to you wonderful humans.

CW: my babies are repressed and horny and it shows...

Chapter 33
Bridges

Frankie and Lyra stood silently out in the alley behind Carmen's, both leaning up against the wall of the neighboring building. The redhead had a black cigarette between her lips, her deep intake of breath the only outward indication that she was on edge. She sent her friend a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I hope you plan on explaining that as well before the night is through."

She knew she didn't need to elaborate.

Frankie extended her hand in a silent request for her cigarette. Lyra's lips pursed into a small smirk as the brunette took the offered stick and inhaled only once before handing it back.

"Seems I'm not the only one who's tense."

Still, Frankie remained quiet, but the way the corners of her lips were twitching made Lyra laugh silently.

"Anything of interest happen with you while I was away?" the brunette said at last. A pitiful attempt at conversation, but her friend shrugged.

"It was pretty quiet while you were gone – of course, now we know why."

"Any visions or dreams I should know about?"

The woman shook her head.

"Nothing of note. Just a lot of weird, choppy ones that were all fire and smoke – or mist, I couldn't really distinguish between the two. Something's coming though. I may not be able to see it clearly yet, but I can feel it in my bones."

"Something bad?"

"Can't tell. My gut isn't freaking out, which is probably a good sign, but… I don't know how to describe it."

"Have you talked to Jake about it?"

"No. I saw him a lot after Raul… you know," and her voice trailed off for a moment. Frankie took her arm in consolation but said nothing. "It's amazing how grief and rage are such powerful catalysts."

"He's always been good about smoothing out your rough edges."

"Yeah, he is," she conceded, flicking a stray tear from the corner of her eye before it could spill down her cheek. "I know Rémy is still pissed, but between the two of us, I'm glad we're finally doing this. It's long overdue."

"I know it is. I just hope Rémy behaves himself."

"If he doesn't, I might throat punch him."

Frankie chuckled.

"I probably won't stop you, though devil knows I should."

Lyra laughed at that, but then she paused, noticing the faraway look in the woman's eyes.

"What happened in France, Frank? The tension between you, Vlad, and Rémy is…"

Before she could finish, the back door to Carmen's opened, Rémy and Vlad stepping out into the dark hours of the morning. Rémy shut the door behind them a little harder than was probably necessary.

"Danny and Carmen aren't coming?" Lyra asked, sending Vlad a suspicious look, but the man ignored her, his eyes having immediately gone to Francesca.

"Danny doesn't want to come and Carmen is busy with Damon," Rémy replied impatiently.

Frankie's brows shot to her hairline at this. She sent her best friend a look.

Is that jealousy I detect? her eyes seemed to say.

Lyra's grin was smug.

I'm just glad Carmen is finally getting some, came the redhead's voice in her mind. It's nothing serious – though clearly your brother doesn't know that. Serves him right for making her wait so long. Frankie had to bite her tongue to keep from smiling, though she sent her brother a sympathetic look.

"Well, we better get moving while we still have the cover of darkness," Lyra announced, the lightness in her tone evidently chafing Rémy's ears.

"Where's he staying?" he asked, already making his way down the alley, the others falling in line behind him.

"The Gresham Palace, top floor in one of the suites."

The man barked out a hollow laugh.

"Of course he fucking is."

It was a miracle nobody had been recognized, Frankie thought to herself as they made their way through the hotel lobby toward one of the elevators. By some divine miracle, a storm had broken loose by the time they emerged from the subway near the Széchenyi Chain Bridge, which made traveling with hoods on and collars pulled up excusable as they had made their way toward the glistening hotel.

They were the first to enter the elevator, Rémy quickly pressing the button for the top floor in the hopes that the doors would close before more guests could join them, but luck, it would appear, was not on his side. Vlad had situated himself in the back corner, Lyra in the other with Rémy near the buttons. But as the people all piled in, all requesting multiple other stops that didn't involve the fifth floor, Frankie found herself being moved toward the back to make room.

She startled when she felt herself bump into something firm and tall behind her, and she turned to find Dracula situated there, holding onto the railing at his side. She offered a small murmur of apology, but he only nodded, a soft, amused smile playing over his lips before his eyes darted to Rémy to make sure he hadn't witnessed the encounter.

Fortunately, he hadn't.

The man was too busy scowling at one of the guests who had requested they make a stop on the second floor.

At long last, the doors closed and the lift began to slowly move upward.

Mindless chatter filled the cramped space, but no amount of noise could still the thrumming in Francesca's veins, her entire person hyper-aware of how close Vladislaus was. She could smell him – light, clean and fresh, with a lovely warm, spiced undertone that heated her blood and had her reaching for the railing at her side, her hand now a hair's breadth from his.

One of the guests in front of her dropped something just then, bending down to pick it up, which had Frankie instinctually backing up to make room for the woman – and consequently right up against the man himself. She felt him stiffen when her ass found a home right between his hipbones. His body's response to her was immediate. She would have moved, but then she felt the firm pressure of his hand resting on her hip, strategically hidden between the wall of the elevator and their bodies. A silent plea for her to stay put. She didn't dare move.

The hotel guest in front of her had apparently dropped one of her earrings, forcing the other guests to squish back to the walls of the lift to give her room to look. All were oblivious to the pair in the corner and the crackling sexual tension between them, even though their gazes remained straight ahead.

Frankie felt Vlad's nose in her hair as he leaned his head forward just a fraction; could feel his chest expand at her back as he breathed her in deep and slow. Her grip on the handrail at her side tightened as a tremor shuddered through her sex. As if on instinct, she pressed herself a little farther back against him, creating friction and the low groan he struggled to suppress wasn't even discernible over the noise of the other guests, yet it echoed in her head like the pealing of bells. Hallelujah, amen.

At long last, the lift stopped at the second floor, only one of the guests exiting as two more squeezed on.

The elevator seemed to be ascending at a snail's pace, but neither Frankie nor Vlad seemed to mind.

She could feel him reaching for her with his mind, tantalizing fingers against threads. She opened immediately to him without question.

I miss you, she heard his voice in her mind.

His hand was still at her hip, the fingers gently starting to knead – teasing, tempting. She closed her eyes, unconsciously licking her lips as he started to plant memories of the kisses they had shared in France in her mind – his hands on her body, skin against skin.

Her knuckles went white as she clutched the handrail tighter, her knees nearly buckling beneath her.

Had it really been so long since they had last kissed? Her heart cracked at the thought.

I miss you, too.

She felt his breath fan the side of her neck, mouth brushing against her ear nearest the wall, just barely out of view of the others. He inhaled deep, drawing her scent into his lungs before exhaling slowly, the brush of air bathing her pulse point. His fingers had left her hip and were now caressing down her arm before resting over her hand on the railing. The contact nearly had her weeping with want, but she remained the outward picture of stoicism, eyes fixed on the doors ahead.

At the touch, however, she sensed her dark passenger rousing, weeks of pent up tension without even the smallest of releases sending the demon to claw at the back of her brain.

Dracula must have sensed it in her, because he was now very gently prying her death grip from the railing so he could hold her hand, fingers entwining around hers as they stopped briefly at the third floor.

"Breathe," she heard him whisper, his voice barely discernible amongst the noise in the elevator. "Let it breathe."

His presence steadied her and her eyes prickled as she realized just how much she had missed that – the anchor he provided her, the steadiness, the lack of judgment or fear. She gently squeezed his hand and he squeezed back in reassurance.

He was still there.

He wasn't leaving.

Rémy and all his good intentions may have forced distance between them, but the three weeks that had passed since hadn't changed anything. It made her feel relieved, knowing that he still cared, that being apart was just as aggravating for him as it was for her. As if he had sensed her thoughts, he squeezed her hand one more time and she leaned back against his chest, completely forgetting that they weren't alone.

The elevator stopped again, this time at the fourth floor, and it was Lyra announcing that the next stop was theirs that had Frankie's straightening.

With fewer people in the lift, the pair had to – tragically – put some distance between them to avoid rousing any suspicion. When they stopped at the fifth level and began to file out, Frankie reached behind her to brush her finger against the back of his knuckles before stepping out into the hall – one last touch to keep her going.

With Lyra leading the way, Frankie fell into line beside her brother, quiet, but for very different reasons.

They travelled at a leisurely pace, waiting for the hallway to clear before approaching one of the doors at the end of the corridor.

"Is he expecting us?" Vlad asked in an attempt to dispel some of the strain in the air.

"I called ahead to let him know we were coming," Lyra explained, proceeding to knock in a specific pattern.

"Or warn him," Rémy grumbled, but the redhead ignored him.

They waited for several long, agonizing seconds before the deadbolt clicked, the door opening just slightly, though no face appeared within the crack.

Lyra stepped in first, waiting until the others had entered and Vlad had shut the door behind them before she called out Jacob's name.

There was no answer as they cautiously made their way deeper inside.

The suite was dimly lit and handsomely furnished. On the surface, everything appeared to be normal, except for the green and blue florescent lights coming from the master bedroom. Lyra said the man's name again, this time met with a reply.

"Give me just a second!"

Rémy went rigid at the voice, the hard expression he had been donning now visibly fractured. Frankie took a deep breath to steady her own nerves before curling her arm around his in reassurance.

The man who emerged from the master bedroom was not the same man Francesca had last seen wasting away in the palace dungeons. The Jacob Šarić before them looked just as he should – clean, dark brown hair slicked back, his facial hair meticulously groomed. The only real difference was in his eyes. They were clear and warm – something she knew Rémy had noticed instantly.

Jacob's smile was shy, tentative.

"Hey guys."

Frankie could sense the wave of conflicting emotions radiating off of her brother and she gently squeezed his bicep – both in warning and comfort.

Jacob's eyes visibly took in his guests, quickly scanning over them one by one, his expression never belying his true feelings. The only hint of inflection was when he noticed Dracula lingering in the back between them and the door. His brows rose for only a moment in surprise before returning to their natural state.

"Lyra, good to see you as always," he said, turning his attention to the redhead. "You're looking better than when I last saw you."

"I'm feeling better," she said, surprisingly demure.

His eyes then flitted back to Frankie.

"Frank, nice to see you again as well. And it looks like you still have that bodyguard of yours with you. It's Leinhart, right?" he called out, though the woman realized by the sparkle in his eye that he knew better. She kept her expression as neutral as possible.

"Glad to see you cleaned up and still in one piece," Vlad offered, "though I'm surprised you came back, given where we found you."

"What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment."

Jake laughed at his own joke but the amusement died as quickly as it came.

"Rémy," was all he said by way of acknowledgement.

Frankie's brother only nodded his head, though the movement was barely discernible.

It was something, though.

"So – to what do I owe the pleasure?" Jake asked, desperate to get some semblance of conversation going so the tension would lessen. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"I'll take a bourbon if you have any," Lyra said with loud sigh as she removed her coat, making her way over to one of the sofas.

Jake sent the woman an appreciative look before retreating toward the wet bar on the other side of the room.

"Anything for the rest of you? Frankie, you still like your whiskey, right?"

"Sure – I'll take two fingers. No ice."

"Leinhart?"

"The same."

He handed the two their drinks as they made their way to sit down, but Rémy was still standing, utterly silent and expression unreadable. His eyes continued to move back and forth between Jacob and Francesca as if he were bracing himself for something.

"Vodka for you, Rémy?" Jake asked carefully.

There was a tense silence that settled in the air at the question, the two looking at one another, unblinking, for a long minute. Rémy's entire body was rigid, the man looking as if he was barely able to keep himself in check. A curt shake of his head was the only thing he could manage, declining the offer.

Jake shrugged, pouring the drink anyway before placing it on one of the end tables nearest to the man with a soft, "In case you change your mind." He then took the remaining empty seat nearest the gas fireplace, looking to the other three.

"So – I understand you have a favor you wanted to ask of me?"

Lyra did most of the talking.

She told him about the files from councilwoman Elina, about Augustine and the Spider, and Frankie's plan to openly declare war as queen consort to Dracula. She then explained the plan, what they needed him to do to broadcast that message across the city, how it was to be done and when, all while Frankie and the others remained utterly silent.

To his credit, Jacob never showed how uncomfortable he was, how the weight of Rémy's stare nearly had him buckling from the guilt and shame.

But after the details had all been laid out, Lyra finally paused, eyes darting back and forth between Rémy, who still hadn't moved or said anything, and Jacob.

"Will you help us?" Frankie asked. Her brother-in-law's attention turned directly to her. "If we're going to do this, Jake… if we're going to move against Marcus, we're going to need you. I am going to need you."

Her words had Rémy visibly shuddering at the sound as he sent his sister a questioning look. She ignored him.

Jacob offered her a small, appreciative smile, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his head to face the burning glare of Rémy, whose face had taken on a notably agitated expression.

"That is not my call to make," the man replied, meeting Rémy's stare without an ounce of fear in his eyes. "Is it?"

"I don't care what you do, so long as my own stay safe," Rémy managed through gritted teeth.

"Yes, I know. You made that abundantly clear the last time we saw each other. But it's still not my call to make. It's yours."

Rémy's jaw tensed. When he offered no reply, Jacob persisted.

"Are you inviting me back? Have you forgiven me?"

Frankie didn't even have a moment to blink.

One minute, her brother was just standing there, and the next he had snapped.

Rémy moved with the kind of speed not even the naked eye could detect as he raised his fist, punching Jacob right in the face. The man fell out of his chair, but never hit the ground as he was grabbed by the lapels of his shirt and lifted back up, only so that same fist could collide with his nose.

Frankie felt a shift in the air – magic – and she looked to see if Jacob was about to do something stupid, but it was Lyra who was standing, hand outstretched. A red light had begun to pour from the woman's hands, the color in her irises fading to white as an invisible wall pushed through the room like a wave, headed directly for Rémy. But Jake held out his hand, his own power halting hers.

"No!" he shouted. "Let him…"

That seemed to suck all the wind out of Rémy's sails. He released Jacob's shirt with a growl before stalking over to the end table where the glass of vodka had been left for him. He shot it back in a single breath as Frankie made her way over to her brother-in-law. The scent of his blood hit her like a summer wind and her stomach grumbled, irises flickering in bloodlust. She was quick to push the hunger back down before it found any real footing. Then she extended her hand to help the man back to his feet.

Lyra was already making her way over to Rémy, eyes feral and fists clenched.

Frankie snapped her fingers and pointed at the woman.

"Don't," she barked in warning.

The redhead obeyed, standing down – albeit begrudgingly. She made no effort to hide the murder in her eyes, even when Rémy flipped her off, baiting her.

Jacob, already healing, wiped the blood from his nose, eyes still fixed on the man standing on the other side of the room with a now empty glass in his hand.

"Well, Reynaud?"

There was a huff and then a slew of curses spewed in his mother-tongue before Rémy finally replied.

"Yes – though I think it's a huge mistake," and with that, he turned on his heel to leave. Jacob took a bold step forward.

"I've been clean for ten years!" he shouted, the words bringing Rémy to a halt, though the man never turned to look back at him. "Ten years, Rémy. And not a day goes by that I don't regret what happened. I've spent every day since trying to make up for it, trying to change." Still nothing. "I don't expect you to forgive me." That seemed to ease some of the tension in Rémy's shoulders. "But I hope you will… someday. I hope we can learn to be brothers again."

Frankie watched as her brother winced, his back still turned. But she knew him – knew that Jacob's words had met their mark.

Thankfully, Jacob didn't expect any reply. He turned to Frankie and offered her a rueful smile.

"I'll help you," he said. "But we won't be able to do it here. I'm going to need somewhere to move my equipment."

"You can move it to Carmen's," Frankie said, much to the surprise of the others. "We have a new place near the south district – it's out of the way. Just let us know when you're ready and we can send extra hands to help you."

Silver lined his eyes.

"Thanks, Frankie."

"You're a de Chacier," she said, loud enough for her brother to hear. "De Chacier's stick together… no matter what."

The pointedness of her words were not lost to anyone and without so much as a glance behind him or a word of goodbye, Rémy stormed out of the room. A pleading look from Frankie had Vlad going after him.

When the two were gone, Lyra actually sighed in relief.

"Well, that could have gone better."

"That could have gone a lot worse," Frankie countered, but Jake was chuckling.

"Actually, that went pretty much exactly as I had anticipated," he said, fingers gently assessing the damage to his face. His jaw popped and he grimaced. "So I take it Carmen isn't still holed up in that tavern of hers, then?"

"No. It's been nothing but charcoal and ash for a year now," Lyra replied, putting her jacket back on. He sent the two women a questioning look and Frankie exhaled slowly.

"Long story," was all she said.

Lord that seemed like ages ago!

"I can have my equipment packed up and ready to go in 24 hours – less if you need me sooner."

"No, that's fine," Frankie replied. "Although, before we go, you and I need to catch-up real quick. Lyra, can you give us the room?"

"I'll wait outside."

When the redhead was gone, Frankie led Jake over to the sofa and she took a seat on the coffee table across from him.

"Let me guess – another favor?"

"Am I that obvious?" she answered, lowering her voice, a phantom of a smile on her lips.

"No, but I do have an unfair advantage," he replied. "Margot used to get that same look when she was about to ask me for something."

The sound of her long-dead sister's name sent an old familiar ache to tighten in her chest. She patted the man's knee.

"I had a meeting with the three matrons earlier this evening."

He frowned.

"Do I want to know?"

"We needed them to sign a blood oath that they would either join our cause or stay out of the fight entirely. I couldn't risk Augustine trying to pull them over to his side of the board once all hell breaks loose."

Jacob seemed to follow her train of thought. He swore softly under his breath, scrubbing his face once through with his hand.

"Shit… what did you promise them?"

"Only that I would ask you to hear them out – though I made sure they understood that the decision to do so was still entirely yours and that if you chose not to, they couldn't back out of our deal."

"Smart. I only hope they uphold their end of the bargain. What exactly do they want?"

"The usual. They want their necromancer back, and they want you to help make little witchlings while you're at it."

The man barked out a hollow laugh.

"Fat chance."

"I know, but they also seemed to know that you've been trying to break the blood hex," and she sent him a meaningful look. "And they are under the impression that you haven't made much headway in that department, in spite of the inquiries you've been making in secret."

"It's true. While you were in France, I touched bases with a few old contacts, no one directly connected with the covens, but they were all pretty useless. Do you want me to barter with them? See if I can get them to help translate the sigils?"

Frankie deliberated over the offer.

"I don't want them to get their claws in you again, Jake… not after the shit they pulled last time."

"That feeling is mutual. I assure you." He paused, considering. "I'll think it over. I might be able to pull some strings, work this to our advantage."

"I'd appreciate that."

"And Frankie?" He suddenly reached out, taking her hand. "You should know that me even asking for help in the first place has undoubtedly put you know who on Marcus' radar." She paled. "If you see or get to talk to them again, you need to make sure they stay out of sight until I can get this thing translated. I won't be held responsible for any harm coming to your fiancé's kids."

"Dracula and I are not engaged. I've consented to nothing," she answered pointedly. "But I'll let them know. Honestly, I haven't had contact with them since before we left for France at the start of the summer."

"That's probably a good thing – means they're lying low."

"I'll make sure it stays that way."

"Good… I can take your brother bashing my face in, but I have no desire to be on the receiving end of the dragon's wrath."

She smirked.

"He'd have to get through me first," she assured him, leaning forward to leave an affectionate kiss on his brow. She then stood, squeezing his shoulder. She was about to move around him to take her leave when he held her hand there for a moment, as if he wasn't quite ready yet to have her go.

"Frankie?"

"Hmm?"

He looked up at her, tears in his eyes.

"Thank you."

"For what?" she asked.

"For forgiving me," he whispered, voice cracking. With a gentle tug on his arm, she brought him up to his feet so she could hug him.

"We've all made mistakes, Jacob – me more so than anyone. If Rémy can forgive me for all the horrible things I've done, he'll come around for you too." She pulled back to take his face in her hands as he wept softly. "Just give him time. You know how stubborn he is. He's as bad as Father was."

That earned her the chuckle she had been aiming for, though the tears still tumbled down his cheeks, wetting her hands.

"I'm pretty sure your father was much worse," he said with fondness. She laughed openly at that.

"So much worse!" she exclaimed.