Eternal Night (II) Chapter 13: Blood-Rage, a van helsing fanfic

CW: all the blood and gore and violence and death, plus references to past trauma/torture/abuse

Chapter 13
Blood-Rage

The violence and general carnage was sending Frankie's dark passenger into a frenzy. While her inner demon made no effort as of yet to hijack control of her conscious mind, she could feel it in the back of her head reveling in the bloodshed as she sliced, shot, and tore her way through her faceless enemies, eyes fixed on the Spider who continued to stand above in the rafters, observing the scene with growing disapproval. He had to come down in order to exit through the nearest door that would take him to safety, but why he hadn't done so yet puzzled the woman at first.

Until she realized that it wasn't the fight he was taking in, but her.

He had recognized her.

Frankie's eyes narrowed as their gazes met.

On the surface, he looked put out by the turn of events, but then the man dared to smile in her direction, baiting her.

"Not that I'm complaining," Tristan announced as he quickly ducked in next to her, taking cover from another spray of gunfire, "but are we going to just stay here until everyone is dead or are we actually going to make a run for it at some point?"

"Come now, your highness," Dracula drawled, joining them. His irises glowed brightly in his bloodlust, lips already painted in crimson. "Don't tell me you're not enjoying this!"

Frankie smiled but said nothing.

"Like I said before, I'm not complaining," the werewolf prince insisted. "I'd just like to NOT BE SHOT AT FOR AT LEAST A MINUTE!" he shouted abruptly as he stepped out from their hiding place so he could throw a heavy piece of machinery in the direction of the soldiers that had been firing at them.

The effort it took to heave such a hulking piece of metal had him exuding a fraction of his true virility and power, a beastly growl reverberating in his chest as he snarled in the direction of their enemies. When the makeshift weapon hit its target, he smiled triumphantly before returning to take cover again, seemingly grateful for the brief moment of reprieve.

"There… that's better. Now then… what was I saying?"

"And you used to accuse me of being dramatic," Frankie said with a dry laugh.

"Oh, babe, you still totally are," he replied with a knowing look. She smacked his arm in playful warning, but he persisted. "Dramatic, bossy, and a complete show off."

He laughed when she punched his arm that time, but the prickle of awareness on the back of his neck reminded him who was still in their company. He dared to look in Vlad's direction, not entirely surprised to find that although Dracula remained silent, he clearly didn't care for the lycan's blatant flirting.

Clearing his throat, Tristan decided to return to the matter at hand.

"Seriously, though, Frank – what's the plan? We need to get out of here before our luck completely runs out."

"Is there a reason why I'm the one that needs to come up with a plan? We both know you're more than capable. Besides – it was you who insisted on coming after you were told not to."

"Oh please! You know you're secretly grateful I didn't listen to you."

She sent him a look that spoke otherwise, but once more offered him no reply.

"Frankie? Frankie come in," Danny's voice called out over the radio.

The woman unclipped the small speaker about half the size of her palm before bringing it up to her lips.

"How's my brother doing, Danny?" she asked.

"He's in real bad shape. The bullets in Aldrick's gun are filled with some kind of poison."

"Do we know what kind?"

"No, but it doesn't look good. He's burning up and the wound isn't healing on its own."

Frankie's eyes searched for Vlad's as if out of instinct. Though fearful for her brother's life, something about Dracula's presence always seemed to inexplicably soothe her and right now was no exception. Despite the chaos around them, his nearness, his attentiveness helped her stay focused.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, still holding his majesty's gaze.

"We need a way out. The door we came in through won't budge. One of our guys tried it."

"What about the loading dock?"

"It's too open. We'd be shot to pieces and if any of those goons have this similar ammunition, I don't want to run the risk."

Frankie's eyes seemed to plead for Dracula's help, some kind of guidance or direction, but he offered her nothing.

"What do I do?" she asked him in a low whisper.

"What are your instincts telling you?" he asked in turn.

She shook her head.

He was certainly picking a terrible time to show his faith in her abilities. Frankie pressed her forefinger and thumb against the bridge of her nose to dispel the growing tension in her head. Her inner demon was screaming for more violence, but she knew there was a risk if she lost herself to the carnage. She could lose control…

Lifting her head to look up in the direction of Basilio, she noticed that the man was still situated on the rafters, muttering orders to his men from his excellent vantage point, and in that moment the choice became clear.

The entirety of this situation began and ended with the Spider. It was the Spider who had given her brother false hope of an alliance in the beginning, the Spider who had played both sides of the board even after choosing Augustine, the Spider who had overseen the death and suffering of so many, who undoubtedly orchestrated this trap and was more than likely responsible for the poison now making its way through her brother's body.

"Danny – I want you to listen very carefully. I'm going to try to get you a clear shot to the loading dock. Tell Lyra to look for my signal. She'll know it when she sees it."

"Frankie, what are you planning?" Danny asked.

"Just be ready. You'll have a very short window to get out of here and when it's gone, that's it."

"Fuck… okay, you're the boss."

Frankie clipped the radio back to her belt before removing one of the semi-automatic pistols from its holster. Removing the clip to check that it was loaded, she then slid it back into place before turning off the safety.

"So what's the plan?" Tristan asked.

"I'm going after Basilio. Cover me," and before either men could argue, she was up and gone.

The werewolf immediately looked to Vlad for his reaction. The man appeared as displeased with this course of action as he was. When Dracula returned his gaze, his expression seeming to ask why he hadn't stopped her, Tristan smiled, holding his hands up in defense.

"Don't look at me. She's your responsibility now," the lycan insisted, patting the vampire on the shoulder as if in reassurance before heading off to fight again.

Dracula looked back at the man, brows furrowed over his eyes for a moment until it dawned on him…

Tristan knew who he was.

But how? Had Frankie told him?

There was no time to determine the cause of the prince's revelation now. He rose, eyes moving in the direction his intended had gone.

Francesca was already bounding for the stairs, fighting anything that got in her way with a ferocity that pleased him far more than it probably should have. But she was still overwhelmed by the enemy's numbers, and so he buried his questions for the present and materialized to her side just in time to push a gun that had been pointed at her back away before it could go off.

She turned in surprise at the nearness of the blast, relieved to find that Vlad had been the one to stave off what would have been an awful blow. He disarmed the soldier with tremendous ease before using the man's weapon against him, shooting twice at point blank range directly over the soldier's heart.

"When I asked what your instincts were telling you to do, I was hoping they weren't telling you to be suicidal and use yourself as bait," he called out to her as she made her way up the stairs.

"You still have my back?" she asked him, glancing behind her briefly before abruptly throwing one of her knives in his direction.

He moved out of the way before the blade could slice his cheek and he turned to find that the weapon had found a home in the head of another soldier that had attempted to sneak up behind him. Using the combatant's distraction thanks to Frankie's quick reflexes, with an inhuman punch to the chest, he removed the stranger's undead heart with his bare hand, crushing it as the body began to deteriorate rapidly before their eyes. He caught the handle of the knife before it could hit the ground as he smiled up at her, answering her question.

"Mereu, dragă." (*)

The corner of her lips twitched in reply, but she turned to continue forward before the smile could reach her eyes.

The third floor was absolute chaos as Tristan and his men, now all in their wolf forms, took on what remained of Basilio's small army.

"Take the dogs down, you cretins!" the Spider was shouting from his elevated position.

While he surveyed the scene with growing annoyance at the incompetency of his hired guns, his eyes grew wary as he followed Frankie with his gaze. She was getting much too close for comfort, expertly maneuvering through the fray as a man he had never seen before, along with one of the werewolves – evidently the leader of the small pack – guarded her back while a redheaded female on the first floor cleared her path with every shot she made.

"The silver bullets aren't doing anything, boss," one of his lackeys explained.

"What about the nitrate rounds?"

"We don't have any."

"Why the bloody hell not?" he shouted. The man, of course, had no answer. He just stood there, dumbfounded that they were being so easily beset by such a small group of rebels. They were clearly more experienced and better organized than anticipated… an underestimation Basilio swore he would never make again. "Must I do everything myself?" he growled angrily, shoving the soldier out of his path as he gripped his cane in one hand and removed a sleek glock from his hip with the other, taking aim at one of the wolves closest to him.

A shot was fired and the werewolf paused when the bullet found a home in its skull. The hole in its brow began to leak a thick stream of crimson as the fur immediately started to shed of its own volition. There was a shout of protest as the monster transformed back into a man before falling to the floor with loud thud, dead. There was an anguished howl from somewhere in the chaos, and Basilio followed it until he found its source – another werewolf.

He took aim once again as the lycan fought through the crowd of vampire soldiers, clawing and thrashing to clear himself a path so he could reach his fallen comrade, but little did he know that in doing so, he was removing the Spider's obstructions as well. Basilio's finger rested patiently on the trigger of the gun, his eyes following the beast with precision, waiting for just the right moment….

He pulled the trigger but when the gun went off, his arm had been pushed upward as Madame Nemo appeared, fangs bared and eyes glowing a deadly violet hue.

Frankie grabbed Basilio's arm with both hands, slamming it hard against the railing at their side so she could knock the weapon out of his grip.

There was a howl somewhere behind her, Raul's if she wasn't mistaken, but she didn't have time to look. The glock finally slipped from the Spider's hand and tumbled to the floor. She quickly kicked it away, sending it over the edge of the rafter so it would fall down to the first level and out of reach. It went off when it met the ground, the ejected bullet hitting a fuel line. There were sparks and the smell of gas and then an explosion down below on the docking bay.

Basilio attempted to free himself from her death grip on his arm by grabbing her hair, but his vicious tug never fazed her. With some quick maneuvering, she armed herself with a set of twin blades from her person and she went to ramming them repeatedly into his gut as if he were a punching bag. The silver-plated steel burned as it sank into his abdomen, slicing flesh and organ.

It was enough to get him to release her hair so he could try to push her away from him, but the sight and smell of his blood sent her inner demon into a rampage. With a powerful blow of her hand, she sent the Spider careening back on the rafters. He hit the floor head first until the rest of him followed and he growled angrily in both pain and frustration.

Frankie used the moment to turn and look at how her friends were doing and what she saw broke her heart.

She had managed to keep Basilio from shooting Raul in the chest, but she hadn't been quick enough, as the bullet had still found a home in his upper left arm, right in the bone. He was now morphed somewhere between his human and wolf forms, crying out in agony as the poison in the cartridge crawled through his system. And with the rush of adrenaline from the fight and the rapid beating of his heart, it was clearly spreading at a dangerous rate. Tristan was fighting to get to his brother in arms, the fury and fear in his eyes potent as the loss of two of his men had somehow turned the tables in favor of their enemies.

Her eyes sought out Vlad in the sea of violence before her.

While he was holding his own just fine, rather enjoying the massacre despite being entirely outnumbered, he seemed to sense her gaze.

Frankie's eyes filled with a look of resignation.

There was only one way they were going to get out of this.

She had hoped it wouldn't have come to this, that she wouldn't have to reveal her other side to the man now looking up at her, his eyes sharp and questioning. She unclipped the small radio on her belt and brought it to her lips.

"Run," she whispered into the microphone. "Run now."

Dracula held her gaze, his expression seeming to ask why she would want them to do such a thing, but the woman gave no further clarification.

"Frankie! Frankie don't you fucking dare!" Lyra shouted from the ground level, but the woman's pleas fell on deaf ears.

"Get them out of here," she then called out to Vladislaus as she let the radio slip from her hand. "Don't come back for me."

Frankie never bothered to wait for an acknowledgement that she had spoken. She could hear Basilio getting up behind her and she made no effort to stop him as he approached, the man stumbling forward, undoubtedly seething. Instead of preparing to block his inevitable attack, she outstretched her arms as if in welcome of it, and Vlad watched in disbelief as the Spider rammed what appeared to be a glorified wooden stake he kept hidden in his cane directly into her heart from behind.

There was a barely discernible gasp and a widening of her eyes at the act and for a single moment, Dracula stood there, horrified at the prospect that he was witnessing his intended being killed by a fatal blow to her heart.

But true death never took her.

Instead, the violet glow of her irises turned red, the whites of her eyes bleeding into a pitless black as the complex network of veins and arteries beneath her flesh darkened, becoming visible beneath the pallor of her skin. The structure of her face altered visibly, taking on an appearance that was borderline hellish, the muscles and bones in her brow and cheeks becoming more pronounced, sharp and jagged, and in that moment, he understood.

He was quick to recall the last time he had seen her thus – almost a year ago now, in the earlier days of their acquaintance when she had fallen inexplicably ill and had been desperately trying to keep something contained inside of her, something that the others had greatly feared.

The blood-rage.

Frankie's dark passenger had now taken over and the shift in the air was tangible.

He watched in amazement as she turned around with inhuman speed to face Basilio, diving for his throat, fangs bared. He could barely keep her off of him, stumbling back against the railing of the rafter, shouting for aid when she managed to successfully sink her teeth into the flesh of his shoulder.

A hand grabbed Dracula's arm and he turned to see Lyra had joined them, weapon still in hand.

"We need to get out of here now," she said before turning her attention to Tristan who had managed to get Raul into a corner as his last two werewolf companions attempted to stave the enemy off. Her eyes fell and a futile protestation was uttered when she realized that it had been Raul who had taken that second bullet from Basilio.

She raised her gun and took aim, shouting for the wolves to take cover as she then proceeded to spray the offending soldiers with bullets. Some met true death instantly, whereas others had merely been slowed down, but it was enough of a distraction for her to reach the lycans in time.

"How bad is he?" she asked of Tristan, unable to tear her eyes away from Raul who was writhing in agony.

"We need to get him out of here," the prince explained, brow knitted in worry.

"Then let's get our asses moving before she notices us," and she motioned for the men to follow her. "Vlad, we need to go."

"But what about…"

"Frankie is long fucking gone. Trust me. There is nothing you can do for her."

"Lyra? Where are you? We need to go!" Danny's voice shouted over her pocket radio.

"Coming now. Meet us at the rendezvous point." She then looked to the men in front of her and motioned with her head for them to follow. "Let's move our asses, people!"

Tristan and one of the other two surviving werewolves helped him carry Raul to safety while the other retrieved the corpse of their fallen friend. Vlad quickly moved ahead of Lyra to clear a path. When they all made it down to the loading dock, he took up the rear as if intending to make sure no one snuck up behind them as they made their escape, but in truth, he had turned to look back at Frankie still on the level above. Basilio had managed to somehow escape her, disappearing in the smoke and darkness of the now burning factory. She was swarmed by dozens of heavily armed, undead soldiers, but every blow she took only seemed to strengthen her.

Everything about the woman seemed beyond human.

She was monstrous to behold, savage in the way she annihilated her enemies. She was tearing off limbs from the looks of it, biting out chunks of flesh, clawing and gouging and shredding until her arms and face were stained in the blood of the fallen. She was quite a thing to behold, and yet, while her friends all ran in panic at the emergence of her inner demon, he couldn't seem to tear himself away.

Something dark in him recognized that darkness in her, providing him with a clarity that had eluded him for so long when it came to the woman and the way in which she pushed him away when she so clearly didn't wish to. He had suspected the condition of her blood was the primary issue, but it was evident now that her blood-rage was another major culprit.

While a rare affliction amongst nosferatu, blood-rage was notorious for being triggered by trauma and brought on after by a variety of strong emotions – anger, fear, and even on occasion extreme lust.

She must have been afraid of hurting him… that had to be the reason!

Instead of being deterred by this newfound knowledge, however, he felt energized by a sudden sense of purpose as he recalled his own personal experience with the infirmity and how he had managed to overcome it. Yes, her acidic blood was still an obstacle that needed to be addressed, but this… this he was equipped to help her with! There was hope!

Dracula was so caught up in his own thoughts that he never realized that Carmen was the only one still in the building, the others having all escaped. She was standing at his side now, staring up at Frankie, though with a very different expression than the one he was presently wearing.

"They call it blood-rage," she said, assuming that because this was the first time he had seen the woman thus that he'd require an explanation.

"What caused its emergence?" he asked, eyes still fixed on his red goddess on the third floor.

"Apparently it's what happens when a vampire is put under great duress to the point of a mental break," she replied, misunderstanding his question until she took a better look at his expression. "It happened during her time with Augustine."

The name sent a chill through Vladislaus as he began to connect the dots.

What suffering had this woman endured at the hand of the one he had once called brother? What torture had her mind and body sustained that would bring her to this?

"I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like… to have something like that inside you, to struggle against it constantly… to lose control to it," Carmen confessed softly.

"All vampires have a dark passenger," he explained, glancing at her briefly. "It is the curse of the undying – the hunger, the insatiable lust for blood, for violence, for complete and utter dominance. It's engrained into our very DNA, woven into the fabric of our being – the need to kill, to conquer. It's what helps us survive. In a normal vampire, the two work together as one, virtually undistinguishable. But her natures have been split in two, both cognizant, both existing in the same space, fighting for control. The fracture only occurs in moments of absolute desperation. It's a survival instinct – that shutting off of our humanity. Whatever Augustine did, it broke her… and in an effort to keep her alive, the hunger and the rage became an entity of its own."

"I've always wondered if it's possible to mend the break. Frankie says it's not, but you've been around longer than she has. Could she ever be whole again?"

"It's much easier to heal the bond when the break is fresh," he admitted. "It becomes infinitely more difficult and complex over time."

He heard Carmen sniff and turned to find that silent tears had been tumbling down her cheeks. Realizing that he was looking at her now, she wiped them away quickly.

"It's not fair," she whispered. "She's already endured so much… to live out eternity in this way. It breaks my heart."

But Dracula smiled, his eyes returning to his future queen, observing her with rapt attention as she violently kicked one of the soldiers over the railing and he fell as gravity took hold, landing on a broken piece of metal. It impaled him in the heart just a few yards from where they stood.

Vlad shook his head.

"No. She's not broken," he insisted. "She is magnificent."

"Carmen? Carmen, come in! Where the fuck are you?" Lyra's angry voice shouted over the radio.

The woman brought the speaker up to her mouth.

"We're on our way. Standby."

"Be quick about it. Rémy just lost consciousness and I don't know how much longer Raul is going to hold on. We need to leave now."

"Start the car. We're coming…" and she turned to head out the door, but Dracula never moved.

"I'm staying behind," he announced. Carmen stopped and turned to look back at him, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Are you crazy? You can't do anything for her! That isn't Frankie up there. Frankie is gone."

"No, she's not," he insisted, disarming himself and handing the few weapons he had strapped to his person to Carmen.

"But she could kill you!"

Dracula reached behind the collar of his shirt and proceeded to remove the concealment charm from his person. When it dropped to the floor with a clang against the cement, Carmen became cognizant of his presence, his true self, the power now radiating off of him in waves like a beacon. He started to roll up his sleeves.

"She won't," he replied confidently, eyes still fixed on the woman above.

"Vlad… Dracula… your majesty, with all due respect, what you're about do is unbelievably stupid!" the Spaniard whispered harshly at him.

"You won't be able to save the werewolf," he stated, purposefully changing the subject. "He's too far gone. Whatever poison was in that bullet has spread through his system. I could smell the infection as they carried him out. But you can still save Rémy," and he sent her a pointed look.

That seemed to silent her protestations.

Having noticed a small discarded bottle cap on the ground near the door, he bent down and retrieved it before pressing the tip of his sharpened nail into his thumb to break the skin.

"Because he has no heartbeat, the poison will take longer to spread. Drain as much of his blood as you can, and at the moment of crisis, place this directly into the wound," and he filled the small cap with several large droplets of his blood. "It should help him heal, though I cannot give him more without revealing my identity." He handed the filled cap to her. "He will need to feed immediately after. Dhampir is preferable, but if you can't find one in time, he may need your blood."

"Mine? Why mine?"

"Would you prefer he take someone else's? You know the implications of vampire-on-vampire mastication."

Her expression was her answer.

"That's what I thought. Now go save your boyfriend."

Carmen scowled.

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Yet," he teased smugly. "After tonight, who knows?"

"Has anyone ever told you before how utterly insufferable you are?" she then asked him, her moment of snark interrupted by an explosion somewhere from within the factory.

His smile was vicious, a great ball of flame like a hellish halo behind his head only accentuating the darkness that was now radiating from his being. He offered her no reply, instead turning to enter the growing inferno of fire and blood. Carmen was quick to depart after that.

The sound of the battle on the third level had grown less pronounced as he silently made his way back into the main area of the factory. Unrestrained by his concealment charm, he materialized effortlessly to the stairwell between the second and third floors, ascending slowly so he could take in the sight before him and savor it.

Francesca was all claws and fangs, a violent goddess of blood and rage, the floor surrounding her littered with the remains of the deceased – piles of ash, scarlet-soaked clothing, bones, and even bits of flesh from the younger vampires that hadn't fully decomposed when they met true death. Watching her fight with little more than her hands was a wondrous and horrific thing to behold.

One of the surviving undead soldiers seemed to be missing the lower half of his body as he used his arms to crawl toward the woman while she fed off another one of her victims. The arterial spray of the throat she was feasting on was only partially covered by her mouth, much of the crimson ending up on her face and chest, saturating her clothing and staining the once pale flesh that was now exposed through the violent rips and tears in her blouse.

The combatant with the missing lower half drove a knife into her calf in some vain hope to help his friend, but this only infuriated the female demon as she released the one in her hands so she could return to the other who had foolishly come back for more. With an unearthly roar and a blood-soaked fist, she slammed her hand down the throat of the man who had stabbed her, tearing his heart out through his mouth before crushing it so he would dissolve into ash.

After absently removing the blade from her leg, she returned to the vampire she had been feeding on previously. The poor fool had tried to put some distance between himself and the she-devil, but hadn't been quick enough, for she was at his throat once more, straddling his body beneath hers as her inner demon gorged itself.

There were few who had managed to survive her slaughter, all severely wounded as they struggled to escape during her moment of distraction. Indifferent to their departure, Dracula looked on, his icy blue eyes fixed on his future queen as he felt his own bloodlust begin to rise, his own demon eager to join her, to partake in the butchery.

He could taste her power in the air around them.

It was potent, palpable, like the rising heat from the flames below them that were slowly climbing up the walls. Watching her was like looking into a mirror at his former self, his early years as a vampire when he too had become lost to the carnage and the darkness, relished in it even. But where his demon had been born out of an insatiable sense of vengeance and anger, what radiated off of Francesca was notably different and it made him curious.

He approached her with great care, in open awe of her magnificence while never negating the need for caution.

She must have sensed his presence, for her glowing red eyes shot up in his direction with razor precision, noting him in the periphery of her line of sight. Her mouth dripped with crimson as her head rose slowly away from that of her prey, the vision she presented sending every muscle in his body to harden. Despite the precarious circumstances, his mind immediately recalled how her mouth had tasted, how it felt to have the tongue that was now licking liquid scarlet from her lips caressing his and the mere notion of adding blood into that already erotic mix excited him.

Dracula held his hand out low as he took another careful step toward her, eyes locked on hers.

"Francesca…"

She snarled at him in warning as the one beneath her finished bleeding out, disintegrating between her thighs. She rose in a single, almost unnaturally graceful movement; her stance clearly defensive.

He could sense that she recognized him, his true self as her king, and he watched as she seemed to struggle internally, unsure of what to do. She didn't back down or submit to his stronger will as he stared her down, but she also didn't fight back right away. Her clawed hands rested at her sides, tense and ready to attack if need be as low growls continued to reverberate in her chest.

He said her name again and she snapped her teeth at him like a wild dog in warning, as if urging him to stay his distance; yet he persisted, taking another step forward.

"I do not wish to hurt you," he assured her calmly, his irises glowing as he tried to assert his dominance. "But I will use force if I must."

She snarled again at that, mentally fighting his inherent authority over her with a growing viciousness. She wasn't going to make this easy for him. If he could just get into her mind, perhaps he could pull her out and shove her demon back into its cage…

He was perhaps a few feet from her now, towering over her person, holding her gaze with his hand still outstretched as if he were trying to tame a ferocious beast – a lion, perhaps. He felt her beginning to yield and dared to sigh a little in relief when she started to lower her head, acknowledging – albeit, resentfully – his supremacy.

"That's it," he whispered softly in encouragement. "Good girl."

Those were the wrong words.

Their utterance incited something furious in her and in the blink of an eye, she was suddenly lashing out at him. He managed to block the deadly swipe of her clawed hand just in time before her talons could cut across his chest, but she had managed to nick his cheek, drawing blood. The scratch healed instantly, but that didn't stop him from smiling darkly at her.

"Do you wish to fight me?" he asked her tauntingly. "You are no match for me, you precious thing. Trust me."

She unleashed another horrendous roar as she took another swipe at him, but he blocked this one a little easier than the last, now on full alert.

"Francesca, I do not wish to fight you…" he began more seriously that time, but then she leapt for him, claws desperately reaching for some piece of his flesh that she could tear into. He grabbed hold of her wrists, blocking her attack and pulling his head backward when she tried to take a bite out of him. "Fine. You want to play rough?"

He swung his head forward with abruptness, hitting her square in the nose. Using her moment of distraction, he then knocked her back a few yards with an unforgiving kick to the chest. She was on her back for barely a second before getting to her feet again. Frankie unleashed another roar in his direction, the sound deafening, but he barely even flinched in the face of her wrath.

Instead, Dracula responded with a feral growl of his own that caused the walls to reverberate. He held out his arms in invitation and then gave her a slow, almost menacing smile, eyes raking over her body, not missing a single detail.

"Let's see what you're made of then, little lion!" he taunted.

At this, she raced toward him.

Vlad managed to block her first series of attacks. She was much quicker than he had anticipated. A violent swipe across his chest had him snarling in frustration, her talons tearing through the front of his shirt and breaking flesh. He blocked the second swipe just in time and managed to shove her backwards, distancing himself from her so he could heal. She was on him again before his skin even finished stitching back together.

Frankie achieved a couple more hits, but soon she was the one taking the beating.

Every time he would strike her down – though careful not to get her blood on his person – Dracula would call her by name, urging her to get control; but every time she would get back up again and come back for more.

After some long minutes of this, it became clear that Frankie was growing weary of being thrown down to the ground or against a wall repeatedly, tired of being forced to be made lower than he. But there was a method to his madness. With every blow she took, she would grow more fatigued, more distracted, which allowed him to stick his foot into the door of her unconscious mind.

He thought he had managed to get in enough at one point, but she had grabbed hold of him with both hands and thrown his body across the way, impaling him on a pipe that had broken when one of the rafters above had fallen during their scuffle. Dracula laughed openly, amused that she had managed to get the upper hand, yet by no means discouraged as he lifted himself off the long and jagged piece of metal.

"Well done, Francesca!" he exclaimed when he was free, noting how worn out she had become, the woman breathing deep as she rested for just a moment from their fight, hands on trembling knees. "Very well done. I can't remember the last time I had an opponent worthy of me. It's refreshing!"

She dove for him again, but he staved her off, pushing her clawed hands away from his person and stepping out of the way casually.

"But aren't you tired of fighting me, dragă? You look tired…"

Again she attacked him, and once more he evaded her.

"Come my darling… let's not fight anymore. This is one battle you cannot win. You may be my equal in many things, but believe me, this is not one of…"

His words came to an abrupt halt when she feigned right and then swung her body around him, a ballerina in a circle. Then she rammed her fist into the side of his face, clocking him so hard, he was only half aware of a distinct cracking noise in his head before he found himself flat on his back.

That felt more like the Frankie he knew rather than the demon he had been dueling for the last number of minutes.

It made him chuckle to know that she was indeed still in there, that despite her present state, she didn't take kindly to his arrogance.

"I stand corrected," he called out, still on his back.

Then she jumped on top of him.

He held her clawed hands back by the wrists, lifting her up with the sheer power of his arms as she put all her weight against him, desperate to get to that throat of his. To his surprise, her strength matched his own as her razor sharp talons grew ever closer to his face. He moved his head to the side to deny her the precious inch she had just gained and she growled angrily at him.

Dracula noticed another explosion somewhere within the room and he felt the floor shift beneath them. This building wasn't going to hold up much longer. It was time to put an end to this.

"Forgive me, Francesca, but I'm afraid we don't have time," he said softly, and then with a quick maneuver, he had her pinned to the ground, face down.

He straddled her hips to keep her secured beneath him with his weight, one hand pinning her wrists above her head while his other hand took a fist full of her hair to better control her head. She thrashed angrily, snarling and snapping like some kind of wild beast.

"I didn't want to do this, but you've left me no choice," he explained, the words sounding more like an apology than anything else.

Before she could buck him off of her, he snapped her neck, rendering her temporarily unconscious.

Vlad sighed in relief when she went still beneath him, finally taking a moment to catch his breath as the tension in him began to ebb, his brow soon resting against the back of her head for just a moment. He temporarily surrendered to the sudden calm. Sensing her body already beginning to heal thanks to the copious amounts of blood she had recently consumed, he used this time to effortlessly slip into her mind so he could put her demon back in its cage.

To his great relief, it was already there, but what surprised him was the turmoil that swirled around in her mind – a dark, smoky plume of rage and fear that seemed to be saturating her every conscious thought. Too curious not to explore what it was precisely that drove her dark passenger, he reached out for that blackened storm before him and what he saw disturbed him immensely.

There were memories, terrible memories that flashed before his mind's eye in rapid succession with little to no context that he could discern. She was in some dark dungeon, bound in chains and huddled in the corner furthest from the door, reeking of fear. The scene changed as quickly as it came, flickers of pain in varying degrees and originating from a number of sources, but the mark it left on her psyche seemed to be the same.

In one scene, she was being bled dry, cruel cuts repeatedly drawn along her wrists, her throat, the precious crimson going to waste as it splattered and pooled on the floor. In another, she was strapped to a metal slab, flesh exposed and mutilated by numerous instruments of torture, an ominous figure ranting furiously about how she was somehow still alive. In the next, she was isolated, alone, forgotten, deprived of any interaction with another living soul. And then another, she was restrained in some dark place – pale and starving, but with a familiar fire in her eyes.

She was spitting venomously at the one who held her captive – Marcus Augustine. Her act of insolence, however, had earned her a cruel smack across the face before the immortal grabbed her by the hair, unmoved by her nakedness as he held her gaze with equal ferocity.

"Why won't you die?" he demanded of her, though it was clear his query required no answer.

"I don't know," she ground out.

"I've staked you, drained you, burned you alive, cast you into the sun, drowned you in holy water, set a pack of wolves on you… what more must I do?"

"Let me go?" Frankie suggested. The existence of that inner fire of hers both impressed and annoyed Augustine as he slammed her head back against the wall, seeming to relish in the sickening crack of her skull against the stone.

"What? And let you crawl to my brother so you can destroy me? I think not."

"What if I promise not to kill you?"

"You couldn't even if you tried," he insisted, roughly releasing her so he could pace, trying to come up with a plan.

"Then what do you have to fear?" Frankie taunted him.

The look Augustine sent her was grave.

"When you've lived as long as I have, Duchess, you learn not to take the predictions of one of the most powerful witches to ever walk this earth lightly."

"I don't believe in prophecies. Soothsaying and fortune telling means nothing unless we give it credence with our belief. Our future, our destiny is our own. We choose the path we take. We choose the ones we love, the ones we submit to. I will never submit to you, and you can be damn sure I will never submit to Dracula!"

Marcus laughed openly at this.

"Such will you have in the face of danger, my dear… such fearful independence. No wonder you're destined for my brother. He'll enjoy the challenge of conquering you."

"He will never be my master," she insisted, raising her chin. "I bow to no man! Continue your pathetic tortures if you must, but I will never be possessed! He will never have me, and neither will you!"

"I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter, my dear. It will happen – in a year or a hundred years from now. You two are destined for each other. You will submit to him and with your union will come my inevitable destruction."

Augustine paused, expression thoughtful as his eyes glazed over suddenly with a familiar look Dracula recognized all too well. Marcus was on to something and the cruel smile that began to curve his lips confirmed it as he pointed a menacing finger in memory-Frankie's direction.

"Unless…"

"Unless what?" the woman asked, trying to conceal the trepidation in her voice.

"Your freedom, your autonomy is the one thing you value most in life, is it not?" Marcus inquired. "You have endured endless torture and debasement these last months and despite your chains, the only thing I hold true dominion over is your flesh… not your soul. Not your fire…" Augustine ran the back of his fingers gently across her cheek and she shuddered a little, not at all liking the look in his eyes. "All this time I've been trying to break your body when I should have been breaking your spirit."

Frankie dared a laugh, but Dracula could sense her growing anxiety.

"You can try," she dared him with boldness. "I've told you before and I will tell you again, demon – do what you will to this body. But I will never bend to your whims. Even in these chains, you can't stop me. You will never break me."

"Oh, but I can and I will," he assured her, standing uncomfortably close to her now as he gripped her face. "Because there is one thing I've yet to take from you, Francesca de Chacier," and the sharp nails of his fingers began to dig into her skin as he held her cruelly in his hand, forcing her to look at him. When he broke through her flesh, the scent of her blood intoxicated him and his eyes began to glow. He released her to lick the crimson from his fingers. "You may not want Vladislaus now, but you will someday."

Marcus turned on his heel, heading toward the door.

"What are you going to do to me?" she shouted at him, pulling at her restraints in some vain effort to free herself.

He looked back at her, his smile cruel.

"I'm going to take away the one thing you treasure the most, my dear… your ability to choose. No hard feelings, of course. It's nothing personal. Merely an act of self-defense."

The scene melted away into flashes of incoherent thoughts and images until Dracula's conscious mind began to be swallowed up in her darkness as wave upon wave of her anger and fear threatened to devour him whole. He witnessed the emergence of her demon, a ferocious snap in her soul as her blood was poisoned and her freewill stolen. Amidst her fury and pain, something far more dangerous than her hunger had awoken, had taken over. There was something dark inside of her, something beyond the bloodlust that came with being nosferatu. There was a harrowing power that bordered on madness, lingering just beneath the surface, an aggregation of centuries begging to be unleashed.

The true extent of that power startled him and Dracula pulled himself abruptly from her memories, enraged by what he had seen, but also horrified on her behalf.

His sudden departure from her mind was what pulled Frankie out of her unconscious state.

She gasped for air when she awoke, body seizing for just a moment when she felt the weight of another on her person. Vladislaus climbed off of her immediately, standing so he could back away, a look of shock etched across his features as he processed what he had witnessed in her mind.

Frankie, meanwhile, had quickly scurried to her feet, breathless, a wave of nausea and anxiety sending her into brief panic attack as she took in the sight surrounding.

The building was on fire, the smoke managing to break through a hole in the roof that had begun to collapse above her. The ground on which she stood was similar to that of a slaughterhouse or a killing field: blood, flesh, and the remains of the dead strewn about unceremoniously. And she was wet – soaked through with blood. The sight had her brain suddenly replaying all she had done, all the pain she had sadistically inflicted when she had lost control.

The violence, the carnage, the rapture…

Tears streamed down her stained cheeks as she looked at her trembling hands, her ruined clothes… the guilt, the shame. It was overwhelming. Her mind raced, stomach turning. Then in a moment of horror, she remembered fighting Vlad. Her chest tightened as bile rose up in her throat.

Where was he? Had she… she couldn't even finish the thought.

Frankie turned around and felt a sob get caught in her throat when she found that he was indeed still alive – miraculously – although a little worse for wear. She had clearly gotten a number of good hits in; his shirt tattered and bloodstained, his hair in disarray. But the expression he was wearing was not one of fear, but of clarity… and did she detect a notable degree of sorrow, perhaps even guilt in those devastating eyes of his?

Her mind was still running a hundred miles a second, trying to catch up with all she had done, but a single touch from him when he reached out to wipe one of the trails of tears from her blood-stained cheek silenced her mind immediately. It wasn't relief that flooded through her – just quiet. Stillness. A moment of calm in the eye of a terrible storm.

She would never understand what it was about this man that soothed her so effortlessly, yet despite the horrors that surrounded her, she was no longer afraid; only grateful that he was still standing.

"You…" was all she could think to say, the single syllable spoken in bewilderment.

More silent tears streamed down her face as she continued to take him in.

He said nothing, only unrelenting in his observation of her. It didn't take long for Frankie to account for his sudden muteness. She remembered feeling him briefly in her mind when she had been lost to the darkness, to the horror, the frenzy. He must have seen it, must have tasted of her private hell. She wasn't certain what it was he had seen specifically, but she could only imagine, given the solemnity of his expression as he held her gaze.

At last, he broke the silence, allowing his hand to fall back to his side.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

Though it was easy to conceive how perfectly not okay she undoubtedly was, he found himself awe-struck as she visibly compartmentalized what had just occurred, burying her pain and wiping her tears from her cheeks with a bravery that genuinely moved him.

This woman, this glorious being standing before him had been through more hell than he could have ever imagined. It was almost devastating to witness, but he also found that this gave her beauty a kind of edge. In that moment, she seemed so untouchable, as if she were wearing her pain like rubies, her chin tilting upward then, with an impermeable strength.

A queen. She was born to be a queen.

He could have kissed her then, but abstained.

The groaning of the rooftop above their heads brought him back to the present as he quickly realized that the building was getting ready to cave in on itself from the fire and sustained damage of their previous brawl.

"We need to get out of here," he announced, motioning for her to follow him. She did so without question as they both vaulted over the railing at the edge of the floor, allowing gravity to drag them down to the main level just before the rafters above came crashing down, dismantling from the ceiling.

"Where are the others? Did they make it out okay?"

"They should be at Carmen's by now," he explained as they neared the exit at the loading dock. He quickly jogged ahead so he could gather up his discarded concealment charm, placing the necklace over his head and tucking it behind his shirt before turning to look back at her.

"What of my brother? Is he all right?"

"He fell unconscious by the time they got him to the van, but I have reason to believe that he'll make it. Raul, on the other hand, I do not have high hopes for."

They stepped out into the night, the scent of rain in the air.

The pair managed to locate an abandoned motorcycle – undoubtedly belonging to one of the poor souls that had been on sentry duty. While Vlad proceeded to hotwire the bike, Frankie removed her soiled shirt from her person, using one of the only dry spots she could find to wipe the blood from her face and neck as best she could. In no time at all, the engine of the small machine roared to life and Vlad turned to look back at her. He opened his mouth to tell her to hop on behind him when he noticed the skin of her arms, shoulders, and collar were now bare. His voice got lost somewhere in his throat.

While she was still pretty much covered from head to toe in blood, he noticed a small mark under her left collarbone, the concealer she usually wore to hide the scar having been wiped away when she had tried to clean herself up.

It was his insignia – a dragon with outstretched wings and a tail curled under its body like a serpent.

Francesca had been branded just as he had been.

Seeing his mark on her flesh made every muscle in his body harden, an inexplicable pleasure rushing through him at the sight of it. His eyes met hers for only a moment as she realized what he had been looking at, but the woman said nothing, offering him no explanation.

There was no need to.

Thunder boomed in the darkened clouds overhead as rain began to gently fall from the sky. Dracula used his foot to lift the kickstand of the motorcycle, revving the engine once as he moved up a little to make more room for her.

"We need to go… before the authorities come to investigate. I'm not sure you'd like to make an appearance on the evening news."

Before climbing on, Frankie crouched down near the front of the bike, her head close to his knee as she reached her fingers up underneath the colored shield that covered the engine. Vlad desperately tried to ignore the fact that her face was so close to his thigh, diverting his gaze elsewhere when he noticed the excellent view he had of her bosom from this vantage point, thanks to the low cut of her tank top.

"What are you looking for?" he asked conversationally. She stood shortly thereafter, revealing a small tracking device with a blinking red light.

She dropped it to the ground and crushed it with the heel of her boot before mounting the bike behind him.

"I've had enough bloodshed for one evening. Don't need any unwanted visitors following us home," she explained.

Frankie wrapped her arms around his waist then, and to his chagrin, his manhood immediately responded to her nearness, his groin tightening in his pants and he had to stifle a groan when she leaned fully against his back. Clearing his throat slightly in an effort to compose himself, he then rested his foot on one of the pegs, revving the engine once more.

"Hold on tight," he urged her gently. She did as he instructed just as the motorcycle lunged forward abruptly and then they took off into the night.

(*) "Mereu, dragă" translates to "Always, darling" (Romanian to English)

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