Eternal Night (I) Chapter 20: The Lion & the Wolf, a van helsing fanfic

Many thanks to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, Arwen17evenstar, Guest/Mali, Riona Winters, and cneajna for the reviews this week!

I feel like there's more I should say, but I'm running on like four hours of sleep (stayed up late last night to read an entire book in one sitting - which I haven't done IN AN AGE), and while I don't regret it, I 100% have brain fog now. And I still have to work... lord have mercy.

Hope you all have a wonderful (and safe!) weekend ahead! But first, enjoy the chapter :)

Chapter 20
The Lion & the Wolf

Frankie lingered in the dark of her bedroom, back pressed against the door as she fought the tickled grin tugging the corner of her lips.

That man.

That presumptuous, infuriating, audacious… clever man.

Vlad Leinhart had somehow managed to work his way beneath her skin and he knew it.

He knew it, knew that she was attracted to him, knew that some part of her secretly liked him, and while his arrogance remained genuinely irritating, she couldn't deny her own twisted amusement when it came to the situation. Despite the warnings he no doubt had received regarding her, his insistence at being flirtatious when no one was looking made it plain that he didn't care. The danger was of no interest to him and the attraction was in no way one-sided.

It was reckless, what he was doing – tempting her, coaxing her closer to that line drawn in the sand between them. It was a dangerous game to play. Feelings could get involved, control could be lost, and she wasn't sure her brother would ever forgive her if something happened to Leinhart – especially at her hands.

She'd have to be careful, but evidently the man wanted to play and it had been too long since Frankie had last indulged in her more mischievous sensibilities. He had proven himself a worthy enough opponent, and another battle for dominance had the potential of being vastly entertaining – especially after his actions of just a few hours ago with the art history book. She still had to get even with him for that.

Resolved, Frankie emerged a few minutes later, dressed for war – and in more ways than one – nearly every inch of skin covered in black, but the outfit was skin-tight, practically painted on. The way Leinhart's eyes raked over her the moment she reentered the room was a reward of its own.

She found the rest of the party finishing up with their final preparations, Danny and Lyra discussing weaponry as her brother concluded his conversation with Carmen on the phone. From the sound of it, they'd keep Anna-Sophie locked in the panic room beneath the new HQ until the coast was clear, and if their cover was blown, the tunnels beneath the city were always an option. It was a solid plan; she'd be well protected either way.

"You ready to go?" Lyra asked her friend, tossing her a series of sheathed blades, which were quickly strapped to her person. Once the twin pair of Damascus steel daggers were fastened in place on the outside of her thighs, Frankie nodded and then looked to her brother, requesting an update.

"Carmen will be ready for us. I'll be texting her as soon as we have Anna-Sophie, so if we're not there in the allotted time, she'll send in the cavalry."

"Good. I'm driving," and she quickly snatched the set of keys off the counter before Rémy could grab them.

"I'll take my bike," Lyra added, the two women already heading towards the exit.

"Hey! Why do you get to drive?"

"Because I know the south-side better than you. You, Danny, and Leinhart can fight over shotgun," and she stole a quick glance at Vlad. His attention had been fixed on the outline of her ass. It made the corner of her lips twitch.

Her brother looked like he was about to argue, but he relented and lightly smacked her arm as he passed through the front door.

"Just promise not to kill us, okay?"

"My dear brother, I would never let any harm come to you, or that vehicle. He's my kitten… and it's been a while since I've given him a proper ride," she replied, sending Vlad a suggestive look once Danny and Lyra had exited. "Nobody makes him purr like I do." Dracula chuckled at the double entendre and her sudden change in mood. "Are you coming, Mr. Leinhart?"

"Patience, micuțo," he whispered darkly so only she would hear. "The game will begin soon enough."

"The game has already started. Do try to keep up, old man," and she lightly shoved him out of the doorway so she could seal the apartment behind them.

Before he could reply, she had passed him up, but instead of taking the stairs like the others, she vaulted herself over the railing, surrendering to the pull of gravity. Vladislaus watched as she fell between the many floors of stairs before landing like a feline on all fours, making a point to look back up at him after she rose to her feet. She even winked at him.

"Now you're just showing off," he stated, though mostly to himself. His smile, however, never faltered.

When they all reached the ground floor, they descended into the basement-level garage. While Lyra threw her leg over the shiny black and violet motorcycle – revving the engine just to get a rise out of Rémy – Frankie, on the other hand was whispering in French to her car as if it were a long lost lover, popping the hood so she could look over the high-tech engine, making sure everything was still in working order. The car had the body of a Lamborgini – sleek, black, and oozing in sophistication and class – but the machinery that ran it was something Dracula did not recognize.

The engine had been altered, and it made him curious – though not nearly as curious as the woman's behavior.

"Is your sister talking to the car?" he asked Rémy.

"Yep."

"In French?"

"Yeah – she's a bit twisted, that one," and they both watched as Francesca finally climbed into the driver's seat.

"Let's put it this way," Danny interjected from the back seat. "If the vehicle were a man, she would make love to it."

While Danny laughed at his own joke, Rémy shuddered as if the suggestion disgusted him.

"Seriously, I don't need that image in my head," and he climbed into the front seat just as his sister revved the engine once. Rémy then flicked a switch on the dash, turning on the two-way radio that would allow them and Lyra to talk as they drove.

"Ready when you are, darling," Lyra announced.

After putting on her seat belt and checking her mirrors, Frankie nodded once.

"Ladies first."

"Age before beauty," Lyra laughed.

"Can you two stop flirting? Otherwise we'll be in this garage for days!" Rémy grumbled from his seat, earning a couple of chuckles.

In response, Frankie slammed her foot down on the gas without warning and the car jolted forward, sending Rémy's head flying back. He cursed as the car came soaring out of the garage and onto the street.

"Sheesh! Some warning would have been nice!"

"I'm terribly sorry, brother. Do buckle up. I'm a bit rusty."

"You? Rusty? I sincerely hope not," Rémy laughed nervously, still fastening his seatbelt anyway. Danny was doing the same thing and considering the rather forceful beginning, Dracula decided to follow suit.

"Just hang on," was all she said.

The engine roared beneath the hood as the car streamlined down the street, smoothly weaving out and around any slower vehicles. The ride to the south-district was relatively free of conversation, the only noise being that of the hum of the engine and a series of contemporary remixes of classical music blaring on the stereo.

Lyra managed to keep up with Frankie's insane driving with astonishing ease and soon enough, they had reached the outskirts of the south side.

Eventually, the music was turned down as they drove deeper into that part of the city.

Entering lycan territory was like crossing over into a different dimension. All of the buildings and houses were old and decaying, many devoured in vines, trees, and other plant-life that had emerged over the last thirty years. The streets themselves were deserted and yet there was a tangible presence that could be felt. The further they drove into the labyrinth of ill-repaired streets, the darker and wilder it seemed to become.

Some minutes later, they arrived at their destination and Frankie pulled the car over into a side street to park. They sat there in silence for a moment or two before Rémy spoke.

"Well, this should be fun."

"Have we actually decided how we're going to broach the topic to Isabella that her daughter is about to be kidnapped?" Danny asked.

Frankie climbed out of the car.

"We will tell the truth, and keep nothing from her. Werewolves can smell deceit a mile away. Remember, gentlemen – we have nothing to fear. We are on neutral ground."

"Ha… easy for you to say. You're still allied with them," Rémy pointed out as the rest of the men emerged from the vehicle. She sent her brother a look but said nothing.

Dracula inhaled deeply of the night air, nose quickly curling in disgust.

It smelled like dog.

"So, shall we head down then?" Lyra announced, starting to make her way toward the shadows, but Frankie remained rooted, holding her ground.

"No – we wait. You and I may still have friends here, but this is a formal visit, not a social call," she reminded her friend, but the redhead rolled her eyes.

"We don't have time for rules, Frank. This is a life or death situation."

"I'd pay heed to that one," a voice called out from the darkness and all turned in the direction of its origin. "She knows the ways of our kind better than any of you blood-suckers do."

A pair of tall men emerged from the shadows, both of similar build in reference to strength and breadth, though distinctly different. The one on the right was a hair shorter than his counterpart, tanned though clearly caucasian, cheeks and jaw shadowed in dark brown stubble, whereas the taller one was had a slightly darker countenance, face covered in a well-kept beard, a noticeable scar cut across his left eyebrow, granting him a slightly more menacing look.

The latter's eyes were fixed on Frankie and the energy between the two was so intense that even Dracula could feel it.

The former spoke up first, smiling.

"Lyra, babe, you brought friends!" the slightly shorter male exclaimed. "And one I have not seen in an age! Frankie Chase, or do my eyes deceive me?" and he moved over to the woman who was soon nothing but smiles as he wrapped his arms around her and all but lifted her off her feet. He gave her a tight squeeze before placing her back down, giving her a friendly peck on the cheek.

"Raul, it's good to see you," Frankie replied with genuine tenderness.

"It has been far too long. Last we heard, you were in stasis, according to this rapscallion of a brother of yours," and Raul roughly patted Rémy on the back, though the latter appeared suddenly uncomfortable.

"I've been up and about for a couple months now," she explained, her attention returning to the second man who still hadn't spoken or introduced himself.

"And no calls? No notes or messages? What, are we not good enough for you anymore?" Raul laughed. "I'm only teasing. Lyra did let us know, though for my part, I'm a bit sad that it's taken you so long to get down here."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that."

"Think nothing of it," he assured her before turning to look over at his friend who had finally made his way over to the group. "Tristan and I were just talking about you the other day."

"Nothing too terrible, I hope?"

"You know very well I could never speak ill of you, even if I wanted to," Tristan said at last, what appeared to be the faintest of smiles curving his lips, though there was a visible pain in his eyes. "Get over here, woman," and the two embraced fiercely.

When he finally released her, it was with evident difficulty as he rested his brow against hers with a familiarity and evident affection that incited a degree of envy in Vladislaus. He looked on with thinly veiled interest between the woman and her previous lover, unable to tear his eyes away. The history between them was unspoken, but palpable: the intimacy, the still prevalent sexual tension – all painfully marked as a world of longing openly passed between them.

It clearly took a great deal of self-control on Tristan's part when it came time to release Frankie from his arms and Dracula immediately recognized the look of masked disappointment hiding behind his smile.

"I'm pleased to see that you're doing better than before," Tristan stated and Frankie nodded in recognition.

"Thank you."

"What brings you to the south district? I believe I overheard you saying this wasn't a social call."

"If only it were," Frankie admitted. "We need to speak to your sister. It's urgent."

Dracula became aware of the fact that he had been unconsciously moving closer to the pair, absently positioning himself a couple of feet behind Frankie on instinct, and in a way that could be easily misconstrued as territorial. It wasn't an obvious gesture, but as an alpha, Tristan had immediately noticed and the werewolf sent the man a curious look.

"What about?" he asked, having to pry his gaze away from Dracula's in order to look at Frankie.

"It concerns Anna-Sophie. We have reason to believe her in danger."

"Well then, I will take you to her directly. But where are my manners? I know all of you except this one here. Who is this, Frankie? Your new bodyguard? He seems rather brooding, don't you think?"

"This is Vlad Leinhart," Rémy explained, finally recovering his voice. "A very good friend of mine."

"Really? Seems a bit too…" he took a sniff in Vlad's direction, "aristocratic to be your friend, Rémy." The two made eye contact once again and Tristan's gaze narrowed in a way that almost looked like suspicion, maybe even recognition. Fortunately, it left as quickly as it came, his countenance softening as he offered a smile to Frankie's brother. "I trust your judgment. Any friend of the Chase's is a friend of mine. But you wished to see Isabella. Follow me," and he motioned towards the shadows.

Rémy went first, followed by Lyra, Raul, and then Danny. Frankie moved to take the rear when Vlad insisted she go before him, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. She sent him a questioning look, but when Tristan placed his hand on the small of her back, urging her forward, she turned her attention to the path ahead.

They entered one of the abandoned buildings through a broken door in the alley. The dusty floors beneath them creaked with the weight of each step until Raul, up ahead, revealed a large hole that appeared torn out of a wall.

"Watch where you place your feet, everyone," Tristan warned softly as he motioned for Raul to enter first. "Don't want anyone tripping." Lyra followed with Rémy next, and then Danny. Tristan, who had since taken Frankie's hand, moved in first, allowing her to hold onto him for support as she stepped into the darkness – not that she actually needed the help. "You still remember the way, don't you?" the werewolf prince asked her in a whisper that, to Dracula, sounded like he was referring to something that certainly wasn't the path.

Though her back was to the vampire, Vlad could sense her pleasure in the enveloping darkness.

"Of course I do," she replied gently.

"How have you been?"

"A work in progress," she admitted. "Still have a few mountains to climb."

"Mountains you'll conquer in no time, I'm sure," Tristan stated with confidence.

"And you? I haven't seen you since…"

"I know. I'm doing alright, all things considered."

"How's the co-ruling working for you and your sister? And being alpha in general? I assume the adjustment period is long-since over?"

"It's still a bit of an unusual arrangement, I'll admit – but we're making it work. Sharing the responsibility of leading our people eases the burden on some level."

"I can imagine. There's so many of you."

"And our numbers keep growing," he said with pride. "We're much stronger than Augustine realizes. I'm still working on getting my sister to open up to the idea of a formal collaboration between the wolves and your alliance like before, but she's still a bit bitter."

"I had hoped we'd be able to move past all that."

"You know Bella," Tristan said with a rueful laugh. "We foiled her plans for a unification of the species. That, and she can be a stubborn bitch when she doesn't get her way."

"Yes, I suppose we did sort of ruin her plans, didn't we? Calling it off."

Dracula had been careful to keep his distance as he observed the two walking ahead of him. But what intrigued him was how the mention of their relationship coming to an end caused Tristan to finally release the woman's hand, as if he suddenly remembered where things had been left between them. Frankie had noticed it as well and the ease and comfort in which they had previously conversed grew stilted and awkward.

"I guess so – but it couldn't be helped," Tristan replied, brushing his hair out of his face.

"You told her why, didn't you?"

"I did, but she won't listen to me. She wouldn't listen to anyone."

"Guess some things never change."

The conversation died after that, and when Raul called him up to the front, Tristan left Frankie in the rear without a word or promise of returning. It was at this moment that Dracula quickened his pace a little so he could step in time with her, noting the way the woman's smile had fallen.

"Did you love him?" he asked her candidly.

Frankie's expression grew sorrowful as she followed Tristan up ahead with her eyes. She knew her brother's friend had no right to ask her that question, but she answered it nonetheless, unable to do otherwise as they continued on through the tunnels beneath the earth.

"I did," she replied, voice barely even a whisper. "Even though I knew in my heart it would never last – I loved him all the same."

They walked the remainder of the way in silence.

The channel seemed to go downward for quite some time, curving and dropping as if it had been dug out with human hands. The dirt surrounding them eventually turned to rock as Tristan and Raul led them deeper into wolf territory and farther away from the surface. Dim electric lights on strings littered the walls of the cave, illuminating their path.

"How much farther?" Rémy inquired, his voice echoing.

"Not far. We're almost there."

At least the werewolf isn't a liar, Dracula thought idly to himself.

The stench of dog was becoming more and more potent with every step they took. It was a wonder they could breathe at all, but he kept these thoughts to himself, currently fascinated with how well Frankie could walk in heeled boots with such merciless terrain beneath her. Not once had she lost her footing, nor had she reached out for assistance from a neighboring wall. She walked as if she knew the positions of each and every treacherous rock underfoot.

He noticed up ahead that Lyra was able to walk with similar ease and a thought nagged at his conscience.

Frankie had mentioned that she and Lyra had met under the worst of circumstances and that it had to do with Augustine. He couldn't help but wonder what exactly had been those circumstances. What had happened to them? Lyra had a psychic connection with Augustine because of the unknown event – so what had Frankie gained?

Or perhaps the more appropriate question was: what had she lost?

He was never permitted a further exploration of the thought because within moments, he realized they had reached the epicenter of the wolves' lair.

There were werewolves everywhere, all in their human forms, and a vast amalgamation of ethnicities – black, caucasian, asian, hispanic, arabian...

Dozens of different packs from different corners of the world with different cultures and nations of origin – all living in what appeared to be perfect harmony.

They had established an almost fantasy-like existence here, underground – many dwellings and places of business carved directly into the walls of the cavernous rocks, the entire place covered in shrubs, ivy, and other low-light fauna. This place wasn't just passably habitable – it was beautiful. But that wasn't what impressed him most. It was their sheer numbers. There were thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, going about their lives as if they were living above the ground.

To one side of the cave were many of the dwellings, all overrun with roots and greenery – personal herb gardens and the like. In the center, where they were now, was the market – the epicenter of life in this place with foods and wares Dracula was surprised even existed in the city at all – fresh produce, livestock, medicine, art. Of course, his preternatural senses had him realizing that the tunnels on the other side of the open space led to actual crops, which had been built directly in the cavern. It was sustained by a natural spring that ran through the underground city, along with powerful high-intensity discharge lights positioned in such a way to replace the power of the sun.

The werewolves were completely self-sufficient down here.

Perhaps he had been too hasty in his earlier dismissal of the lycans.

His own people, living above ground in the city – so many of them seemed borderline insistent on wallowing in their perpetual state of want and misery – but were they not just as capable of creating beauty from ashes as the wolves had down here? Or perhaps Francesca had had a point in her earlier critique of the vampire aristocracy. The potential for this kind of industry and ingenuity and humanity – it existed in all creatures, damned or otherwise. What made the difference between the lycans and the vampires evidently had little to do with what they were, but perhaps everything to do with how that potential was nurtured through quality leadership.

Dracula continued his way through the center of the market in relative silence, taking it all in as they followed the lycan prince and his right-hand man through the throng.

He could feel their eyes on the lot of them – vampires in the inner sanctum of the werewolves. He had been invited on several occasions to visit with the wolf elders in the past in their natural habitat, but had often declined on the grounds that they were natural adversaries, even if they chose not to actively indulge in the traditions of the past. The toxicity of werewolf venom to a vampire was still a very real subject of concern. But their sheer numbers was also something that needed to be taken into consideration.

No wonder Augustine had chosen to anger the wolves. If he could turn them against the vampires, not even the alliance would be able to withstand them. The sheer magnitude of the power in this underground city was profound, perhaps even a little awe-inspiring.

Frankie must have felt it too because she had slowed her steady walk to look around at the hundreds of faces surrounding them, only there wasn't fear or anxiety in her expression; there was pity.

Why would she pity them? He wondered while carefully placing his hand against her lower back to gently press her forward. She met his eyes for a brief moment only to return to her initial pace and he felt the curve of her back slip away from his fingers.

They followed the others in silence towards what appeared to be a palace carved into the side of the cavern, the Grecian goddess of the moon, Selene, carved lovingly over a pair of enormous doors. They were engraved with extravagant images of wolves, an arcane language imprinted along the frames. With a word from Tristan, the doors opened slowly and the stench of dog was soon replaced with a scent Dracula knew very well – wolfsbane.

The plant grew like a weed in the main entrance of the hall they had just entered. It seemed to cover everything in its path – the walls, the enormous candelabras. The plant was not like ivy or vine in nature but from the look of it, these plants had been here for decades – and the lycans weren't in any way bothered by the scent.

Legend and myth had always suggested that wolfsbane was lethal to the lycanthrope, but with the way the two men ahead walked past it without so much as flinching… it made Vladislaus curious. It wouldn't be the first time folktales had gotten something wrong – and yet there wasn't something quite right about the aconitum growing around them. It wasn't like any of the strains he had encountered over the centuries.

As if she had sensed his curiosity, Frankie slowed her step so she could walk alongside him for a moment.

"It's known as the princess' flower," she explained, keeping her voice purposefully low. "Tristan and Isabella's sister bioengineered a strain of aconitum that acts as the antithesis to regular wolfsbane. Instead of being toxic to lycans, it acts as a powerful anti-venom to aid in the healing of the more common ails of the wolves – including the damage of prolonged exposure to silver."

"Impressive."

"And it thrives with little to no light, which makes it perfect, considering…"

He nodded, taking one final scan over the room as they reached the end of the corridor. A few more halls and a set of stairs later, and they were finally led to a set of doors, which opened into a throne room.

At the far end of the chamber were a number of large cushions, the kind one would find in a Persian palace. In fact, the general aesthetic of the place seemed to have a distinctly Ottoman vibe to it. A woman was situated at the far end of the room, lounging as she read quietly to a young girl at her side – the child perhaps ten years of age.

"Bella! You have visitors!"

The woman looked up at Tristan before allowing her gaze to fall over the individuals behind him. She had irises of gold that glowed in their sockets, her stare penetrating as she stood from her throne of cushions, the skirt of her dress flowing over shapely hips and down her legs, only to pool at her feet as a look of astonishment spread across her face.

"Francesca Chase? Is that you?"

Frankie stepped forward.

"Hello, Isabella."

The queen shifted her long dark braid over her shoulder so it would run down her back and she held out her hands, beckoning the vampire to come forward, the gold bangles on her wrists tinkling from the movement. Frankie obeyed the summons, walking briskly to Isabella's side without losing an ounce of grace in the process. The two embraced like old friends, though on Frankie's side Dracula noticed there was something lacking. He moved forward to get a better look, stopping to stand beside her brother as they both observed in silence.

"To what do I owe this immense pleasure?" Isabella cried out. "It has been well over half a decade since I saw you last." The woman's expression suddenly became solemn. "I heard about what happened to Derek and to your aunt. I am so terribly sorry for your loss my dear. I understand their deaths had caused you much pain."

"Thank you for your condolences. The ache of their loss remains, but I am otherwise quite well."

"No thanks to your brother, I'm sure," she replied, sending a pointed look in Rémy's direction. "Well, you must tell me all about what's going on on the surface! It has felt like an age since I have seen Budapest properly, ever since my Anna-Sophie was born," and she motioned to the young girl who now had her arms wrapped around her mother's waist.

Dracula examined the child from where he stood, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

So this was the hybrid – the child that Augustine wanted to kidnap.

She was a pretty little thing, a spitting image of her mother with the dark hair and yellow eyes, only her skin was several shades paler, and instead of the natural curls and waves of her mother, her hair was pin-straight.

The shape of her eyes, however, were terribly familiar… yet he couldn't quite pin down why.

As he and the others moved a bit closer, Vlad was able to discern a pair of small fangs hiding behind the girl's pink lips. Using his special visual abilities, he was able to discover that her fangs, though vampiric in structure, were accompanied by smaller, razor like teeth and he could smell the venom in her mouth from where he stood. A bite from that child would be absolutely lethal for a human. She had the venom of both bat and wolf.

His earlier disturbance, however, quickly turned to fascination.

The girl was watching him carefully as he continued to scrutinize from a safe distance, clearly uninterested by her mother's other guests; and the longer he looked, the closer she pulled herself to her mother as she spoke with Frankie. After he had gathered what information he could simply through naked observation, his ice-blue eyes met the child's stare head-on. The young Anna-Sophie held his gaze with boldness, even as she continued to hold to her mother. He was about to nod his head in acknowledgement of the child when a small voice entered his mind.

So you're Dracula, it whispered softly. His eyes widened a little at the statement before narrowing suspiciously in the direction of the girl. Yes, I can see your thoughts.

You will not betray my secret, will you? he replied back. He noticed a soft, mischievous smile appear on her lips as each little razor tooth glistened in the dimly lit room.

If you promise not to tell mine.

Your mother does not know that you can read people's minds?

No, she does not. You won't tell her, will you?

Vladislaus couldn't quite put his finger on why, but there was something about this child that he liked almost instinctually – her eyes in particular seemed terribly familiar, and while he could not articulate the reason for the life of him, he found them oddly reassuring in some way.

My lips are sealed, he assured her.

Thanks. Why are you here?

A very evil man wants to hurt you. We have come to keep you safe.

Dracula suddenly realized that the room had gone quiet and when he finally managed to pull his gaze away from Anna-Sophie, he noticed how every eye was on him and he cleared his throat carefully, a bit embarrassed.

"Who is this man?" Isabella asked, wrapping an arm around her daughter in a protective manner.

"This is Vlad Leinhart," Francesca explained, a look of interest knitting her own brows as she glanced between the child and her brother's friend, curious as to what had just transpired between them. "A friend of my brother's. He's here to help us."

"Help you in what?"

"We have reason to believe that Anna-Sophie is in danger," Rémy explained, taking a couple of steps forward.

The woman had been sending Vladislaus a rather hostile look that almost appeared accusatory, but it disappeared the moment Rémy spoke.

"What kind of danger?"

"Isabella, you may wish to sit down," Rémy advised as gently as he could, but this only seemed to provoke the woman.

Her gold eyes began to glow just a tint or so brighter and in a single movement of arm and flowing sleeve, Anna-Sophie was tucked behind her majesty. Though the queen of werewolves remained relatively calm on the surface, it was evident she did not take kindly to the insinuated threat upon her offspring.

"I prefer to stand," she insisted, the faintest hint of aggression in her tone.

"Please don't be harsh with my brother," Frankie interjected calmly. "He is merely looking after your well-being. He fears the news we have to share will distress you."

"Distress me? Why would the news of my only daughter and heir being threatened distress me?" the woman scoffed sarcastically. "What, do you think that even if these reports you bring were true that we could not defend ourselves? We outnumber the nosferatu ten to one!"

"Isabella, please," and though Frankie remained composed and gently spoken, it did nothing to soothe the queen.

"No, I will not hear of it!" the she-wolf growled. "I have endured the threats of Marcus Augustine for years. What makes you think I will cower now? No creature, hell-spawned or otherwise, will ever get close to my daughter so long as I live. I have heard enough. You are dismissed!" and Isabella waved her hand for the guards to escort them from the room.

"Christ, Bella, just hear them out," Tristan began, but even he was met with a ferocious growl from his older sister.

"I said I will hear no more!"

"Hear no more of what? You've barely given them the chance to say anything."

"Get out! All of you!"

They did not need to be told a third time. Isabella looked positively furious and Tristan, knowing his sister's temper like the back of his hand, began to escort Rémy, Danny, and Lyra from the room. Dracula had turned to follow suit when he noticed Frankie still rooted in place. He paused mid-step and turned, watching her closely as she continued to stand her ground, noting how she clenched and unclenched her fists as if attempting to calm her own irritation.

Sensing an encounter he knew he couldn't miss, he quietly waved off the persistence of Tristan and situated himself in the shadows of the room near the exit as Frankie's past lover rolled his eyes in an "it's your funeral" kind of fashion before shutting the door behind him.

Isabella had been pacing angrily in front of her throne as her brother had ushered the vampire guests from the room and it took her a moment to finally notice that Frankie was still present. Her eyes narrowed somewhat.

"I distinctly recall my telling you to leave."

"You of all people know how obstinate I can be if the occasion calls for it. And where my god-daughter is concerned, I can assure you that I will not be leaving this room until what I have set out to do has been accomplished."

There was a moment's pause and suddenly the queen began to laugh.

"You have some serious nerve to stand so boldly in my presence after all you've done."

The resentment in her voice was unmistakable and Dracula found it incomprehensible how the two women could get along so well one moment, only now to appear like vicious felines the next, ready for a bloody duel. Still, he couldn't help but lean forward somewhat in anticipation.

This promised to get interesting.

"I have done nothing to insult your majesty," Frankie stated plainly, still remarkably composed, though the inflections in her voice revealed her internal struggle to keep her temper checked. Isabella, after all, was being utterly ridiculous.

Her irritation, however, was not lost to the queen.

"Do not take that tone with me!" she snapped, pointing a threatening finger in the vampire's direction. "You shouldn't even be permitted to speak in my presence after what happened!"

"Clearly, I do not have the pleasure of understanding you."

"Oh? Well then, allow me to enlighten you, de Chacier."

Isabella snapped her fingers and in a moment, two women entered the room, gently ushering a startled and somewhat bewildered Anna-Sophie out so the two females could speak in private. Isabella then marched toward a firm and immoveable Francesca; the queen of the werewolves and the future queen of the undead.

"You used my brother for your own licentious urges, for one," the she-wolf began.

Frankie nearly rolled her eyes, but managed to refrain.

"I did nothing of the sort," she replied automatically. "I loved and still care very deeply for your brother, despite everything that has happened. But we both understood from the beginning – before things ever got serious between us, before he ever learned the truth about my role in the prophecy – our relationship would be stigmatized, questioned, even outright rejected by the standing traditions of your elders. We had everything working against us from the start."

"And even with your understanding, you pursued him."

"Just as he pursued me! You cannot place the entire responsibility of our relationship solely on my shoulders, Isabella, as convenient as that may be for you."

"But your deceit broke his heart!"

"And still, he stands!" Frankie snapped suddenly. "His heart still beats, he still lives to fight another day. And did he fight for our – as you call it – licentious union when he finally learned the truth? Obviously not! We needed each other when we were together and we were happy with what we had until you tried to turn our relationship into something it could never be, and for what? Political gain?"

"How dare you accuse me of…"

"You know, your younger brother had the maturity to recognize that we were both equally to blame when it came to our involvement with each other. Why can't you? Besides, even if I hadn't been promised to another, he and I never would have lasted anyway because he is the last alpha male of the vetus lupus line in this area and in your family. You know his loyalty as well as I do, Isabella, and he and I both understood that he could never preserve that line if he stayed with me. And since you have refused to take another mate and Vivian is literally locked away in a dungeon, the weight of that duty lies entirely with him."

"How dare you censure me? You have no authority…"

"Well someone has to do it!" Frankie shot, taking the other woman aback in surprise. With every word, Frankie started to move closer until she was right in the werewolf's face. "Valerio has been dead for over thirty years, Isabella. It is time to move on! You want to be queen, you need to swallow your pride and do what is best for your kind."

"You insolent…"

"By rights, Tristan should be fully in command. He is a natural born leader. It is his birthright to be king, and the people adore him! What's more, at least he has always had the decency to listen to counsel when it is given; he has always been willing to work with others, to strive for peace, to get his hands dirty. He is a blood-borne alpha, for crying out loud! And still you cling to Valerio's throne as if you possess some claim to it."

"I have been able to achieve more peace and prosperity amongst my people than any other man has ever hoped of accomplishing!" Isabella insisted.

"You are living underground in the shadows!"

"What does it matter where we live? We've only continued to thrive over the decades, and the unity and set purpose of my race has become unbreakable under my reign! We used to be nothing more than divided packs with numerous male leaders whose egos never permitted a moment of harmony! The changes I have made since my king's passing have been revolutionary in and of themselves and not even you, Francesca – the betrothed of the Dragon – can deny this!"

"Then take that victory and let it be your legacy. Give your brother the chance to fulfill his potential."

"And risk having him destroy what I have dedicated years of my life to creating? Never!"

"Do you still have so little faith in him?"

"He is a man – he is not infallible."

"That is not your call to make."

"It is my call to make! I am queen. I do this for the good of my people, Francesca – something you clearly do not understand as you have never ruled a day in your life."

Frankie had to bite her tongue to keep from lashing out further. Isabella had struck a nerve and in that moment, the tides began to change in the queen's favor.

"You may have royal blood running through your veins, but you are no queen – the extent of your arrogance and vanity have proven that point. You care nothing for the fate of others, only for yourself and what pleases you."

The chill in the air sent a small shiver down even Dracula's spine.

"I am not here to discuss what you believe my failings to be," Frankie maintained, though she was visibly shaken by the werewolf's decidedly low blow. "Nor have I come all this way to discuss your brother. Tristan and I are the past. We have both moved on – it is time for you to do the same. We need to discuss Anna-Sophie. You're in the middle of a new moon, and…"

"And I have told you, I will not listen to it! The notion you present is not only absurd, it's insulting to think I would require the protection of a band of misfit vampires in the first place when I have an army of lycans at my disposal! No living or undead soul is able to so much as reach the doors of this den without my allowance."

"I didn't say she was being threatened by a vampire."

Isabella barked out a laugh.

"A mortal is less a threat!"

"These are no mere mortals we are dealing with," Frankie replied. "But clearly you refuse to see that because you are too busy tearing me down instead of protecting your daughter."

"You will not speak to me like that again, Francesca, or I will throw you out of here myself!"

"You once told me that I was permitted to speak to you in the most brusque and forthright way that I possibly could. I am only fulfilling your wishes," she pointed out with a narrowed expression, challenging the queen to deny it. She did not.

"That was before-"

"Before what? Before Tristan and I broke up? I have told you once, and I'm telling you again, I am not here to discuss the past. I am here to discuss the future of your daughter and the longer you argue with me, the more endangered she becomes!"

"And why the sudden concern?" Isabella challenged. "You never cared about my daughter in the past! You were never there before. You weren't even there for her declaration of succession!"

"You knew why I couldn't attend."

"Ah, yes. That's right… You can recover from having your heart supposedly broken, but when it came to Derek and your aunt's untimely deaths, you were indisposed for half a decade!"

That was a strike she had not been prepared for and suddenly the dueling mistress had lost her footing.

"That isn't fair," Frankie began, but the lycan queen was on the rampage and she would not be stopped. Almost six years of anger and disappointed hopes were finally granted free reign and the emotions just seemed to pour from her majesty like a great wave of water, and with each blow, Frankie's confidence waned.

"You're right! You disappearing was not fair!" the queen shouted, purposefully twisting the woman's words. "I felt pity for you; believe me, I did. I myself know what it is like to lose the ones we love. I understood your grief, your need for isolation. But nothing you could have possibly lost could warrant you vanishing for years on end."

Dracula visibly cringed, the words – which had not even been intended for him – smarting as they struck a little too close to home. Evidently, Francesca was feeling the sting as well.

"You have no concept of what I have lost," she insisted, and he felt the pain in her words, understood it on some primal level.

"You were there when I lost my Valerio… my mate. But I did not go into hiding! I did not abandon my friends or my family or my people!"

"You weren't the one who killed him!" Frankie maintained, her voice breaking with emotion. "You weren't the one who took his life! You weren't tormented by the nightmares and the crippling guilt and the bloody trauma of it all! You have no idea what I have suffered!"

"But I know firsthand what your suffering has done to those around you!"

At this, Frankie fell silent.

Her back was still to the door, which left Dracula unable to see her face, but he could sense it – the anguish in her expression, the tears welling in her eyes. It took everything in him not to interrupt, to come to her defense.

"Do you have any idea what it must have been like for Lyra and Carmen to live so long without seeing their best friend? Do you know what it was like for your brother to live day to day, fighting this war against Augustine's tyranny all alone? Without the help and support of his sister – younger, perhaps, but even I can see how he looks to you in ways he looks to no one else. You were his strongest ally, his greatest confidante – his reason for fighting. He relies on you so heavily and what did you do? You abandoned him."

"I didn't mean to."

The words were like a whisper, a soft rush of breath and then silence. Isabella had cruelly exposed one of Frankie's greatest wounds, only to stick her finger in it and the vampire was left paralyzed.

"It does not matter what you meant or didn't mean to do. What you did was in your own interest and no one else's. You abandoned him. Your brother… your flesh and blood."

At last, Isabella paused to take a deep, calming breath, silently evaluating the damage she had caused. She may have been unrelenting in her attacks, but Frankie understood that all actions had consequences and she had been running from hers for a long time. The werewolf queen's face softened, brow creasing with emotion as she then reached for Frankie's hand, bringing it to her heart.

"I am sorry for my tactlessness. I know you have suffered greatly, but you must acknowledge – your pride and selfishness, your determination to live your life however you see fit – it does not come without a price, without consequences. Consequences that ripple out to those around you. I'm not suggesting that you should start living in such a way that betrays who you are and what you want, what you deserve, but…"

Isabella sighed heavily, clearly torn.

"I have discussed the motives that ended your relationship with my brother at length with Tristan, and I can understand the weight of the burden you carry. No – I correct myself. I do not understand it. But what I do know," and she took Frankie's face in her hands then so she could look into her eyes, "what I do know, Francesca, is that in our time of greatest need, when we had lost our dearest sister, Tristan and I did not have you here to comfort or counsel us – and I know, for my part, I so desperately needed you."

Frankie reached up to squeeze Isabella's hand.

"I am here now," she said with some deliberation. "And I am begging you, please – allow me to prevent what happened to dear Vivian from happening to Anna-Sophie."