Eternal Night (II) Chapter 11: When the Rules Change, a van helsing fanfic

CW: just a wee bit of smut. Not much. Just a little... and it's a dream, anyway, so does it really count? ;)

Chapter 11
When the Rules Change

When a vampire sleeps during the daylight hours, their conscious minds often tend to linger in an empty field of mist and shadow suspended on the dust of eternity. What Frankie wouldn't give to be like most of her undead counterparts – to dwell in that solitary space, safe from her memories, her fears, and the secret longings of her heart.

She was dreaming of New Orleans – though why she couldn't quite account for. But she recognized the scene. The memories were choppy, and instead of re-experiencing them for herself in the first person, the view point alternated sporadically between first and third as she wandered the streets of an 1830 French Quarter, unaccompanied. It was when she turned onto Rue Bourbon that she had bumped into a stranger, another female wandering unchaperoned at night.

The woman's hair was a brilliant shade of red, pinned up with a few ringlets strategically framing the elegant column of her bare throat. But it was her eyes that Frankie recalled best, not so much their color, but how cold they were – dark pools of an abyss that stared right back at her.

The scene shifted, both ladies turning in a similar direction when a third female stepped onto the scene, dark skinned and beautiful, her dress surprisingly fine for one of her lineage given the time period. She had introduced herself as Marie Laveau, but hindsight filled Frankie's mind with the truth, identifying the third woman as Mariella Bernardini.

With an invitation and a beckoning finger, she had led Francesca and the red haired stranger into a handsomely decorated room, the walls draped in crimson tapestries, the amber glow of candlelight offering an almost sensuous feel. The ladies all took their seats at a small circular table situated in the center of the chamber as Mariella offered to tell their fortunes.

Their conversation was unintelligible to Frankie, who in this dream state was now standing off to the side, observing from a distance with a newfound cognizance of what was transpiring. The scene moved at an unnatural pace, stilted and sometimes incoherent as the witch studied the hand of her memory-self, the woman's mutterings and prophesies unnerving those in attendance. It was when Francesca tried to leave her chair that her conscious-self slammed back into first-person as Mariella's grip abruptly tightened on her wrist with an inhuman strength, keeping her seated.

The barrage of emotions of an evening long since passed flooded Frankie's slumbering mind, namely fear as the dark female held her down in her seat, eyes white as a strange light began to emanate from her being.

The redheaded female made an attempt to escape the room that was now closing in around them, but the door had vanished from the scarlet walls as Mariella's voice rose, echoing in the space between, only to reverberate in Frankie's head. The witch had then gripped the startled brunette's shoulder, her thumb pressing down hard below her collarbone as a brilliant white light poured forth from her finger, searing Francesca's flesh.

It was a dream, only a memory, and yet it felt so real, as if she were there in that cursed room in Louisiana, being branded like cattle as the foreign language Mariella had been speaking suddenly became intelligible, resonating within the very depths of her soul as though the woman's magic was not only marking her flesh, but imprinting on every inch of her immortal soul.

Man shall fall and the dead shall rule. The fallen dragon will seek his undying bride – a flame in a world of eternal darkness, the silent warrior, guarded by four ravens until in blind faith on a moonless night, the dragon shall claim what is his. A father will be slain, a mother taken, a brother lost, a sister sacrificed. But on the dawning of a red sun shall they reign – the demons bound, the lost restored. A new power shall rise in the darkness of the night and through her blood, the forsaken shall taste of the light.

As the nocturnal vision continued, Frankie waited for the scene to change, to continue along the course of the memories long forgotten, but instead it shifted as she was drawn into Mariella's intense gaze. But rather than turning her attention to the startled redhead in the corner of the room, the witch seemed to be staring directly into Frankie's soul now, a consuming darkness surrounding them.

"Francesca Elisabeth de Chacier. Always a thing of shadow – you're a hard woman to get a hold of."

Frankie opened her mouth to request clarification, but no sound came out. Her chest tightened as panic started to set in, and she tried harder to speak, to scream, to cry out for help – yet no sound passed her lips.

Why can't I speak, came the frantic thought and Mariella smiled a little sympathetically as if she had heard the question.

"You cannot speak because time is precious, and I can't have you wasting what little of it we have with questions," was the answer, and her grip on Frankie's shoulder relaxed, though her hand continued to hold her firmly down in her seat.

When the brunette's mental struggle began to lessen, Mariella rewarded her by letting go of her wrist, holding the side of the vampire's face instead so she could bring her darting gaze back to her own. The witch's stare was piercing, as if she could see right into the very heart of the woman and it left the Frankie unnerved.

"There's so much fear in you… so much uncertainty and pain."

Frankie calmed a bit more at this, brows furrowing in confusion as Mariella cradled her face in both hands now. The witch began searching her eyes intently, watching those swirls of violet blue framed by dark lashes and a flawless porcelain complexion.

"Don't be afraid, Francesca," Bernardini's long-deceased wife whispered reassuringly. "Replace your fear with faith. Believe."

I don't understand.

"All that was promised shall come to pass. Your path is written in the dust of stars."

What was promised? Frankie wondered skeptically. I told you before, I don't believe in predestination. I want to live my life as I decide, not because some unseen power decides for me.

The witch chuckled.

"It's a little late for that, my dear. You were chosen to be queen before you even existed."

What do you mean?

"The night you came into this world, your destiny was already decided…"

Frankie's vision shifted, suddenly consumed in a blinding light that radiated from Mariella's being, apparitions incomplete and incoherent passing before her eyes like a waking dream within a dream.

She could see her mother, belly swollen and body drenched in sweat as a vicious storm raged outside. Her father was seated beside her, their hands joined as the midwife encouraged Frankie's mother to keep pushing.

With a flash of lightning, the scene changed – a newborn Francesca bloody and screaming, but with a thin, translucent membrane over the crown of her head.

"The birth caul," Mariella explained. "Born with the veil – a symbol of what you are and what you are destined to become."

Frankie offered no reply, a chill running down her spine as she watched the midwife gently remove the amniotic membrane from her infant head before handing her to her tearful and exhausted parents.

The scene shifted with another flash of lightning, her vision clearing from the blinding light slowly. The first thing she became aware of was the face of Vladislaus, the man standing before her suddenly.

His eyes were deeply blue and gaze penetrating, expression serene as he turned fully to look back at her. Warmth flooded her being when she fell under his gaze, the setting slowly becoming clearer. They were in France, in her uncle's home of all places, and though his feet never moved, he drew closer to her. A familiar longing swelled within her, but before he could graze the tips of his fingers over her outstretched hand, the scene changed again.

She was now with the Dracul Sânge, the five siblings all situated near the foot of a stair she did not recognize. They stood there, motionless as if they had been waiting for her, Jack the first to extend his hand in beckoning. When she made a move to approach, however, she could hear Vlad somewhere off in the distance. As he drew nearer, one by one the siblings began to vanish before her eyes, dissolving into dust until she stood alone in an empty foyer, the sigil of Augustine's hex marked out in their ashen remains on the floor before they started to burn red.

Another flash, and her soul flew through space and time, away from all light and into dark realms of fire and smoke. Budapest was aflame and violence and blood had flooded the streets of the north district. The stench of death hung in the air like a sickness, the sounds of a suffering people a dissonant choir that harrowed her soul in ways she never could have imagined.

In the blink of an eye, she was carried up into some different location – a marbled hall shrouded in a darkness that was almost tangible. The nameless red haired woman from that night in 1830 New Orleans was there, with Lyra of all people at her side. The pair of females looked strangely similar now that they were standing together. The hair, the general structure of their faces, the fierceness of the eyes…

Lyra's right arm was covered up to her elbow in intricate markings resembling that of a tattoo – dark sworls and strange symbols similar to runes starting at her fingers and climbing up the back of her hand to her wrist, then along her forearm and around. Frankie's eyes met Lyra's and in a strange moment of what felt like clarity, the script on her friend's arm began to glow. The light that poured from the hieroglyphs illuminated the obscure gloom surrounding to the point where Frankie could see a familiar face somewhere behind the pair of females, cast in shadow.

She knew those eyes anywhere.

Marcus Augustine.

Just as the fear prepared to take hold of her heart, the scene changed once again as Vlad, appearing out of nowhere at her side, gently took hold of her face in his hands, guiding her eyes away from Marcus as he pulled her into a soft kiss that soothed her previous trepidation. With the displacement of her fear, the ominous scene surrounding them melted away.

They were in her uncle's home in France again, some hallway in the west wing. Laughter disrupted their kiss as two small bodies pushed between them, racing by. A pair of dark haired twins, maybe five years of age, pursued in play by what appeared to be an older Anna-Sophie, Zeke and Isabella's daughter. The three were all giggling as they passed and Frankie became aware of a familiar maternal ache in her chest as she watched them turn the corner toward the stairs.

She moved as if to follow after them, but Vlad had gently pulled her back into a kiss and that pain in her heart was quick to transform into a kind of rapture, a consuming joy that flooded her with warmth and left tears to prick her eyes.

The scene shifted one last time, moving them from the hall into some unknown room. It took several moments for Frankie to become fully conscious of the change. All she knew was that she was tangled in soft sheets and the limbs of another, large hands mapping the curve of her spine as she arched forward on her back, mouth breathless on the front of a throat bared above her. She felt something akin to a scar on the stretch of smooth skin she had been caressing and she looked to find a brand in the shape of a lion – the de Chacier lion – on the left pectoral of the man whose hips rested between her open thighs.

She caressed the mark lovingly, knowing exactly whom she was dreaming about now and with that recognition came the soothing of a deep ache in her womanhood, a delicious pressure filling her hollow spaces, stretching her, and she looked up into the brilliant azure eyes of Dracula.

He whispered her name with reverence, the syllables extended into an erotic moan when he thrusted into her a second time, slower than before and with a kind of deliberation that left her drowning in a sea of liquid warmth that unspooled and spread luxuriously.

A tremor of pleasure pulsated from her sex and into her womb, leaving the rest of her skin to crawl as she pulled his body closer to hers, desperate to cling to the fantasy before her rational mind could spoil the moment with the awful reminder that this could never be, that it would only ever be a dream.

It worked, and each time his hips rocked against her, that divine tension inside of her steadily increased. While the room around them remained dark, the bed on which they laid began to burn, the joining of their hands on the mattress the spark that sent the linens to smolder and then catch fire. And then the world around them was engulfed in flames.

But no fire could harm her – not when she was in his arms.

The fallen dragon will seek his undying bride, Mariella's now disembodied voice called out from somewhere in the obscure darkness of the room unseen, even as the licentious scene continued uninterrupted. And with blind faith on a moonless night, the dragon shall claim what is his.

"You are mine," Vladislaus panted above her, fangs bared, eyes ablaze in passion, and his face began its descent toward her throat as he prepared to bite her.

Frankie was too lost to her own pleasure to stop him, on the cusp of what promised to be a glorious, full-body orgasm, but before she could come undone beneath him, she felt his teeth sink into her flesh and she awoke with a start.

Francesca sat upright alone in her bed, gasping needlessly for air as the dark cold of her bedroom greeted her. Her hand immediately flew to the side of her neck as she instinctually checked for a sign of a bite and when she found none, she exhaled heavily in relief.

When that particular concern had been addressed, she noted a strange tickle in an isolated spot on her chest just below her collarbone, where Dracula's branded insignia resided. Adjusting her nightgown so she could reveal that patch of skin, she noticed the dragon on her flesh was glowing slightly – an occurrence that had never taken place before now. It was a brief incident, the flesh-colored mark glowing white for barely a second until the bewildering phenomenon ended and all that was left was a peculiar warmth that was quick to dissipate when she gently massaged the spot.

Frankie's brows furrowed in confusion as she muttered an oath, still struggling to recover from the nocturnal visions she had just been ripped abruptly out of. As her mind attempted to make sense of all she had seen, a new sensation began to settle upon her shoulders, a kind of awareness of eyes on her person.

She was not alone in this room.

Her eyes scanned the space surrounding her bed in a growing caution, the faint illumination of her irises casting a soft violet glow over her person, barely penetrating the black on all sides of her. Upon the first sweep, she was relieved to discover that there was no one present, but on the way back to where she started she thought she saw the figure of a woman standing in the corner of her room out of her periphery.

With lightning reflexes, Frankie reached for the switch of the bedside lamp and turned it on. The darkness dispersed immediately and when she darted her eyes to that same corner of the chamber, she found… nothing.

No intruder, no visitors from beyond the grave.

She was alone.

That evening, just as the sun began to sink behind the horizon, members of the alliance started to slowly trickle into Carmen's for the final review of the plan for tomorrow's attack on the blood factory. Lyra was the first to arrive, the woman bee-lining directly for the shelves of liquor behind the bar as she helped herself to a shot or two, trying to ignore Vesper's questioning expression.

"What are you looking at?"

"Well sheesh, where do I start?" the teenage dhampir asked a little sarcastically. "You're the first one here for a meeting – which is already suspicious because everyone knows you're chronically late to everything – and you went straight for the booze without so much as a hello."

"I had a rough day."

"Trouble sleeping?" Vesper inquired absently as she returned her attention to the book she had been reading. Lyra's eyes narrowed a little in suspicion.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"You're easier to read than a stop sign."

"Shut up, you little smart a-"

"Hey, Lyra! You're early," Carmen called out as she entered the room, busy pulling her thick locks into a low ponytail at the base of her neck. "Everything okay?"

"She didn't sleep much," Vesper explained.

"I can speak for myself, you know."

"Did this lack of sleep have to do with a man?" Carmen inquired, trying to conceal her envy by keeping busy straightening up a few things behind the bar.

"I fucking wish," Lyra said with a dramatic exhale. "I had the weirdest dreams today."

"Oh? What about?"

"Oddly enough, it was about Frankie and Leinhart," and she lifted her half-empty glass of whiskey to her lips to finish it off when Carmen abruptly dropped an empty bottle she had picked up, the glass shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

Lyra and Vesper both sent the Spaniard a set of peculiar glances, bewildered by how flustered she suddenly appeared. The woman swore in her native tongue before calling out to Damon in the back hall, asking him to fetch the broom.

"Frankie and Leinhart, huh?" Carmen then asked as casually as she could, with little success. Lyra placed her now empty shot glass down onto the bar counter, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah."

"What kind of dreams?"

"Nothing particularly coherent, but they were definitely there."

"How odd."

Before Lyra could persist in this course of the conversation, the female of the hour, Francesca herself, suddenly entered through the front door.

"Carmen, is Leinhart in yet?" was the first thing out of her mouth, her query only making the redhead more suspicious.

"No, not yet."

"Good."

"Good?" Lyra repeated, looking between the two women. "Why is that good? What is going on?"

"Nothing," both Frankie and Carmen answered in unison before exchanging an odd set of expressions until the former, struggling to stay on task, turned to her other friend.

"Lyra, we need to talk. It's important," the brunette announced, grabbing the woman by the wrist before pulling her into the direction of the back hallway.

"No shit we need to talk."

"Vesper, stay put," Carmen instructed as she followed after them, noticing how the girl had prepared to leave her seat.

"Ah! Come on!"

"I mean it, young lady. Keep your scrawny ass on that stool. Damon, can you watch the front? Thanks," and she continued onward, following after the other two females just as Damon entered with the previously requested broom.

Danny had arrived just as the ladies departed and when they were gone, he dared to pout in Vesper's direction.

"Not even so much as a hello? What am I? Chopped liver?" he asked the girl.

"Don't look at me," Vesper insisted. "I just live here."

Meanwhile, Frankie had pulled Lyra into the kitchen, Carmen closing the door behind them while eyeing the female expectantly. The former was the first to speak as she removed a pair of folded papers from her pocket.

"You've been in contact with Jacob recently, right?"

"Good evening to you, too. I had a shit sleep, but thanks for asking," Lyra answered irritably, but Frankie ignored her.

"I need you to give this to him and have him translate the text."

"No – that's not how this works," the redhead retorted. "You don't just get to barge in here and make demands."

"Excuse me?"

"What's going on with you and Leinhart?"

Frankie's eyes widened at the abrupt question.

"I… what? Nothing's going on…"

"I'm tired of your bullshit, Chase. You want my help, I want you tell me what's going on between you two. Quid pro quo."

"Why do you think there's something going…" Frankie started.

"Lyra had a dream about the two of you during the day, and I think it's rattled her," Carmen explained calmly, opting to be the voice of reason this round because she had a sneaking suspicion that this conversation was about to go one of two ways – most likely south.

Frankie hid any surprise she had remarkably well, but even Carmen could see that the news had startled her a little.

"It's not just the dreams," the redhead insisted.

"Wait – they're plural now?" Carmen asked, but Lyra ignored her.

"It's this entire situation with you two," she continued. "It's him vanishing for eight months with some bullshit excuse that he had some personal thing he had to deal with, and then you go fucking radio silent and refuse to tell me anything. Then he comes back out of the blue and the tension between you two is so bloody thick and obvious, I could cut that shit with a flaccid dick!"

"Nothing is going on between Leinhart and I, Lyra," Frankie maintained. "Yes, there's some attraction there – I'm not blind – but that's always been there. Besides, nothing has actually taken place. You know that nothing could take place even if I wanted it to."

"Then why was I dreaming about the two of you during the day?" was the next accusation.

"I don't know," she lied with surprising ease, attempting to play ignorant to the fact that Lyra only ever dreamed in visions. "Maybe you've been fixating so much on there being something when there isn't and you've somehow started to convince yourself…"

"Okay, you know what? Just… just stop," Lyra interrupted. "You're lying to me. In fact, you've been lying to me for months and I'm sick of it."

"Lyra…" Carmen interjected.

"No, Carmen – she isn't telling us something and the fact that she's being blatantly deceitful about it makes it even worse."

"Maybe it's none of our business. She doesn't technically owe us an explanation…"

"But I'm your best friend!" Lyra insisted, addressing Frankie again. "I get your need for privacy, Frank, but you've been keeping me in the dark for too fucking long, ever since Leinhart left the alliance. I thought that with him being back and all, you'd start talking again, but you haven't. And after the stuff I saw…"

"What did you dream about?" Francesca asked patiently and Lyra, still worked-up, had begun to pace a little in agitation.

"He was feeding from you, Frankie," she whispered harshly. "He bit you and you didn't even try to stop him."

"What?"

"The rest of the dream was completely forgettable, but I remember him biting you vividly."

"And I just let him?"

"Yes," Lyra answered, seeming a bit panicked. "He bit you and you let him. I need to know if something is going on between you and Leinhart because if it is, you need to put an end to it right now before things get out of hand. If your brother loses another one of his friends to you…"

"Lyra, that's not fair," Carmen interjected, but the redhead disregarded the woman, now holding Frankie's arms, eyes full of pleading.

"I'm serious, Frank. We can't take another loss like Derek's – not with all that's happening with the alliance and the Spider. Vlad means too much to Rémy and to the alliance in general, and if something were to happen to him because of your condition…"

Frankie abruptly freed herself from the woman's hold, quick to put some distance between them as she looked on, affronted that the words her brother had so often spoken were now coming from her best friend's lips.

"You seriously think I would just let him feed from me?" she asked at last, finally managing to find her voice. "You think that after everything that's happened, all of the people I've hurt because of my blood that I would just be so careless?"

"I'm not suggesting…"

"Yes, you are!" Frankie insisted. "You think that just because there's some unresolved sexual tension between Vlad and I that I would just let him have his way with me? That I would just conveniently forget the risks involved? What kind of self-centered idiot do you take me for? Why do you think I told him to leave in the first place?!"

She was too angry to even realize that she had not only used the man's given name instead of the alias she had become so accustomed to employing up until this point, but that she had also unintentionally revealed part of the reason why he had been gone.

"I would expect this sort of display of mistrust from the likes of Rémy, Lyra, but not from you… never from you."

"I'm sure she didn't mean it maliciously," Carmen assured her in an attempt to restore some semblance of peace. "Everyone's been under a lot of stress lately, and we've all seen how you and Vlad have grown closer to each other – not that there's anything wrong with that."

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it!" Frankie retorted. "Because there's nothing going on! We are friends. That is it! No more, no less, and I can assure you that that will never change."

It was only partially true, of course, and she knew that the moment the words left her lips it was mostly a lie. Yes, perhaps she and Vlad were trying be strictly platonic in their friendship as she struggled to find some middle ground that they could exist on together, but even she knew that they would never be satisfied as just friends. Not when they were literally destined for one another; and even if they hadn't been, the attraction between them on a physical level alone was proving much too great for even Frankie and all of her self-discipline to ignore.

Although affronted that Lyra, the only person who had consistently encouraged her to do whatever the hell she wanted, was now telling her to draw a line, she could appreciate her friend's intentions.

But she couldn't think about Dracula now, not when memories from the dream she had had just hours ago were still swimming in the forefront of her brain – visions of him naked and tangled up in her.

The passion.

The possession.

The effortless surrender.

Eager to change the subject, Frankie returned her attention to the papers still in her hand.

"I didn't bring you in here to talk about Leinhart," she continued at last, voice more reasonable now as she held out the torn page Niklaus had retrieved from the palace archives, offering it to Lyra who hadn't uttered a word. "I need you to give this to Jacob."

Frankie knew Lyra wasn't ready to let the previous subject go, but was grateful she relented as she took the page and examined it briefly.

"What is it?"

"One of the Dracul Sânge gave it to me last night after my interview with Tempest," she explained.

"Oh. I forgot. Your last one was yesterday."

"How did it go?" Carmen asked.

"Well enough. I didn't need any of the serum afterwards to rein in the blood-rage, but I was a little on edge by the time I got home, so I went hunting that morning."

"By yourself?"

"I was discreet… mostly," was all she said.

"I'd say I pity the soul you fed on, but knowing your superior sense of morality, I'm sure I have nothing to worry about," Lyra answered caustically, looking up from paper still in her hand. "So why did Dracula's brats give this to you?"

Frankie knew Lyra didn't mean anything by her disrespectful mode of speech, but she could feel herself going on the defensive again, instinctually disapproving of the way in which her friend not only underhandedly insulted her, but how she referred to her future children with that level of disrespect. She took a deep breath in an attempt to let it go.

"Marcus was the one who orchestrated their disappearance. He branded them with this," and she handed the second page with the drawing of the sigil. "It's a hex that mirrors the breaking of the blood-bonding between them and their father, keeping them separated. It's why they haven't been successful in reuniting with him. Although the brands healed the moment they were burned onto their flesh, the curse remains unbroken. Supposedly the key to removing it is somewhere on that page."

"I'm not so sure Jacob can even translate this," Lyra replied honestly. "I mean… I don't even recognize whatever language this is and he's taught me nearly everything he knows."

"I still want you to ask him."

"But why? Who cares if that asshole's brats are separated from daddy? You don't owe them shit, Frankie. They've done nothing but burden you with their complaints and their biased pro-Dracula propaganda for almost a year now. It's not like you owe him or his offspring any favors. If anything, they should be enjoying their freedom from that monster. Heck, if you ask me, we should be asking Jacob to hook you up with something similar."

"This is not a joke, Kennedy," Frankie snapped suddenly, to the surprise of both Lyra and Carmen. "The Dracul Sânge aren't just Dracula's children or his offspring. They're also…" but before she could say the word my family, she stopped herself, thinking better of it. "They're good people," she said instead with a little more deliberation. "They care for the welfare of the inhabitants of this city. What's more, they care about me, even though I feel like I've done little to deserve their good opinion. They have been nothing but kind and gracious and patient with me throughout this entire ordeal. They accept me as I am, even with the knowledge of my reservations and my condition, as you so delicately put it earlier," and that last part was delivered with a little more bite than was probably necessary.

"Who their father is, is irrelevant," she continued, "because no one deserves to be separated from their loved ones in the cruel manner which they've experienced. And need I remind you that they are not the only ones to have had the ones they love viciously torn from them forever by Marcus Augustine. Only it's even worse for them because unlike the rest of us, at least their father is still alive!"

"Do we even know that for sure?" Lyra began quietly, but Frankie cut her off, still continuing on her little tirade.

"I think we'd know if the father of our species was dead."

"Then if he's alive, why hasn't he made any attempts to find you? Why is he still hiding in the shadows like some kind of coward?"

"Where do you get off being so judgmental of people you don't even know?" she retorted. "You don't know him or his children or anything about any of this! You have no right to judge any of them! Do you understand me?"

The silence that hung in the air in response was deafening.

Carmen's expression remained relatively passive, but it was very evident that Lyra hadn't taken kindly to the rebuke. It wasn't like Frankie to defend anything or anyone associated to Dracula, let alone with the level of fervor she had just displayed.

Francesca could sense the judgment she was now receiving from her two best friends and her attention momentarily fells to the floor, one hand resting on the edge of the island counter at her side, the other on her hip as she struggled to rein her temper back in.

"I'm not asking you to do this for them, Lyra," she said after some tense moments of silence, though her eyes remained downcast. "I'm asking you to do this because it's the right thing to do. And if even that is too much for you, then at least…" and she paused, finally looking up to brave Lyra's wounded expression as best as she could. "At least do this for me."

The air in the room changed when she had said that, the strain of earlier lessening as the hard lines in the redhead's furrowed brow softened a little. Frankie could sense the confusion coming off of her closest friend in waves, but she couldn't reveal the truth of the situation just yet, as much as she wished she could.

"Fine," Lyra said at last, folding the pages together before placing them in her pocket. "I'll go find Jacob now. Carmen, let Rémy know I'll be late to the war room meeting?"

"Sure."

When her final questioning look in Francesca's direction went unanswered, she prepared to leave.

"Lyra, wait," the woman called out before she could reach the door. "I'm… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that."

"Its fine," she insisted, back still turned until she felt Frankie's hand on her shoulder, urging her to turn around.

"No, it's not. I know I haven't been very forthright with either of you lately, and I know that much of your concern only exists because I've insisted on being so private these last few months. I just…"

Lyra finally turned around to look at Frankie, whose hand had fallen to her side as she stared rather blankly off to the side. Unbeknownst to either of the other women, Francesca was at war with herself, lost in that familiar battle between her nature and what she believed to be right.

With a groan of frustration, she raked her fingers through her hair once before running her hands down her face, exhaling heavily.

"I don't want to be like this," she continued, her thoughts swallowed up in the care and consideration Vlad had given her just the night before when she had opened up for the first time in a way she hadn't in years. "I hate feeling like I have to carry everything around by myself – all of these secrets that aren't mine to tell, the weight of all of these people; not to mention my own issues and obstacles in the way of my happiness. I hate feeling so alone in all of this, so isolated."

"But you were never alone, Frankie," Lyra insisted sympathetically. "We've always been here, eager to help."

"We know how important your sense of autonomy is to you," Carmen added, moving over to them. "And as much as we may understand and admire your sense of self-sufficiency and independence…"

"You're too damn proud, Francesca," the redhead interjected, deciding to translate what her Spaniard counterpart had been trying to put more delicately. "No one is telling you to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You're not Atlas, for fuck's sake!"

"I know," the woman agreed with a sheepish smile. "And I'll do better. I give you both my word that I will. I don't want to shut you out – either of you. But you know that I prefer to do these sort of things on my terms – and sometimes that means working through shit in my head before I come to you," and her friends sent each other knowing looks at that. "I know that I need to learn how to be more vulnerable again, more accessible to the people that matter to me."

"We just want to help you," Carmen replied, squeezing her hand.

"I'll admit it, your recent behavior has been incredibly annoying," Lyra added, "not to mention totally hypocritical."

"That's fair," Frankie conceded and Lyra, in response, finally unleashed a heavy sigh.

"But I suppose I get it. You've been through a lot and everyone copes and deals with their shit differently – you especially." The redhead took another deep, cleansing breath before continuing. "I'm grateful, though, that you can still acknowledge where you fall short, and the fact that you even have a desire to work at being better is very reassuring. We don't want to lose you, Frankie. Not to some guy and especially not to yourself."

Hugs and words of reconciliation were soon exchanged, and when peace and genuine smiles had been restored, Lyra patted the pocket where the papers on the hex were kept.

"Anyway, I better get this to Jacob. I'll see you two in an hour or so."

"Travel safe!" Carmen called out after she left the room, and when the woman was gone, she returned her attention to Frankie who had moved over to the island. She was leaning over it a little, forearms resting on the cool surface, elbows hanging off just slightly. "You know – I never thought I'd see the day where you'd rally to the defense of Dracula."

Frankie chuckled a little as her friend made her way over to the island, leaping up to sit on its edge.

"That makes two of us; three if you include Lyra."

"Those interviews with the Dracul Sânge must have had more of an impact on you than you've been letting on. It's like… it's like while getting to know them, you've been getting to know Dracula; and correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm getting the impression that maybe you're starting to think he's not so very terrible after all?"

Frankie, too lost in her own thoughts on the man himself, missed the subtle hinting in Carmen Guillermo's voice.

"It's true," she said quietly as if afraid of being overheard. "I have softened to him… more so than I ever imagined possible at the start of all of this. I… I care about him, Carmen. But what scares me even more is that he might actually care about me, too."

"Why is that something to be so frightened of?" she asked delicately, gently fishing for more details while desperately struggling to remain subtle about it.

"Because what if Lyra's dream was right? What if I get too close to him? Or worse, what if we actually fall in love with each other? There's just too much risk involved. I don't want to hurt him… but I don't want to lose him again, either. Not when something about him makes me feel so… secure. Anchored. Safe."

"Well, he certainly respects you; admires you, even. All ingredients for a good foundation if you ask me."

"But what if this feeling is just complacency like it was with Tristan?"

"I don't think it is," Carmen admitted. "You're different now than you were over a decade ago, let alone a year ago. You've grown so much since Rémy woke you from stasis… and I think we both know who has had a hand in your progress."

Frankie looked up at her friend with an almost quizzical expression.

Wait a second…

Did Carmen know who Vlad Leinhart actually was?

Before she could even ask, there was an unexpected knock at the door just as it opened abruptly.

Frankie turned to see who had interrupted their private conversation when she realized the man of the hour was standing in the doorway. She straightened immediately, trying to repress the instinctive guilt she was certain had spread across her face.

"Ladies, forgive me for the intrusion," Dracula called out. "But Rémy is ready to begin. He'd like you in the war room, please."

"Of course! Look at the time!" Carmen exclaimed, sliding off the counter. "Thank you, Vlad."

"It's no trouble. I hope I wasn't interrupting anything too important."

"Not at all," she replied with a knowing look in his direction as she passed by him and into the hallway. "We were just talking about Dracula."

When she was out of sight, Vlad returned his attention to Frankie, who, though appearing unmoved by the revelation in expression, had instinctually folded her arms over her chest in a subconscious display of defense as she moved toward the door. He stepped out of the way to make room for her, but when she was closest to his person, he leaned in a little and whispered,

"Not all terrible things, I hope?" he asked teasingly.

He was gratified by the small smirk that played over her lips as they exchanged knowing looks, but she said nothing in reply. Amused and undeterred, he fell into step at her side as they made their way into the war room together, separating to their respective seats on opposite sides of the oversized table casually, as to not raise any suspicion.

When those in attendance were situated, Rémy, settled at the head of the table, scanned over his audience.

"Where's Kennedy?"

"Lyra is running a quick errand on my behalf," Frankie explained. "She'll be back in about an hour or so, but she's well-acquainted with the plan and we can continue without her."

"Works for me. All right then, ladies and gentlemen, let's go ahead and get started."

"Actually, brother, before you begin, I received some important news last night and have a request to make of those present."

Rémy nodded in acquiescence, taking his seat as Frankie stood.

"It has recently come to my attention that the movements of the wolves are currently being monitored by Augustine. To what extent, I can't be certain, but I would prefer that we do not involve the lycans in our endeavors tomorrow evening."

"What? Why not? I've already extended the invitation to Tristan and he has a team already put together."

"I understand that, but I really must insist. This plan has enough risk involved as it is. I don't want to put more lives in danger than is necessary."

"He's not going to be happy about this, Frank," her brother replied, not appearing too thrilled by what he was hearing.

"He'll recover. He's good at that," she replied simply. "I don't want the wolves involved. We keep this small and in-house, Rémy."

"Fine, whatever… Danny, make a note that I need to call Tristan after the meeting adjourns to tell him the news?"

"Consider it done."

"Thanks. Any other requests, sister dear, or can we continue?"

Frankie returned to her seat.

"By all means. Let's get started."

Antón Bernardini slammed his open palm on the top of his desk angrily as he stared hard at the face on his computer monitor, an opened package with a number of books inside situated in front of him.

"I cannot believe you let him do that, Jack," he snapped. "I told you we had it under control. Elina was to get the journal when the coast was clear."

"Oh, come on, Antón. You and I both know it never would have been safe enough for her, and the second Marcus realizes they're missing he'd immediately point the blame in her direction. He's not an idiot. We did it this way so she'd have an alibi."

"But what if Niklaus had been caught?" the Italian insisted. "Augustine already knows there's been sightings of you in the city. Do you realize the kind of danger you've put you and your siblings in? The danger you've put all of us in?"

"This wasn't Jack's decision, Uncle Antón," came Zeke's voice from the computer, though he wasn't physically in range of the camera. "It was mine. I'm the one that let Nicco break into the archives. If you want a pound of flesh, take mine."

"What I want is for all of you to remain safe!" Bernardini replied, suddenly feeling weary. "It's bad enough that I have to continue to lie to your father about the lot of you. But if something were to happen on my watch, I could never face him again. I wouldn't even be able to face myself."

"But Niklaus didn't get caught," Jack maintained. "That's the important thing. Francesca has promised to have her brother-in-law work on the hex and we now have Aunt Mariella's missing grimoires, so we can try to help find a way around… well, everything else. This is a win for us, Antón and so far, Augustine is none the wiser."

"For now," the Italian muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes. "Jack, I appreciate the sacrifice you have made these last months to meet with Miss Chase, to soften her on your father's behalf. Devil knows the man could use all the help he can get at this point. But you are bringing too much attention to yourselves. When Augustine realizes these have gone missing – and trust me, he'll notice sooner or later – it's the wolves that will bear the brunt of his retribution. From what you've told me, it's very possible he already suspects that Isabella is harboring you. Now he has a reason to go check."

"Bella can handle whatever Uncle Marcus sends her way," Zeke insisted, moving into range of the camera now.

"Your faith in your wife's abilities is commendable, Ezekiel, but need I remind you that you are not the one actually at risk? You're no longer in Budapest. She and your daughter still are. Your actions have consequences and if you're not careful, someone you care about is going to get hurt."

"Well then, let's hope Uncle Marcus doesn't find out," Jack replied.