I am so sorry about the delay! Today got away from me...
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 16
A Den of Lions
Vladislaus awoke from a dreamless slumber some hours later while the sun continued to hang lazily in the sky. It was late afternoon from what he could sense, and as he rose from the bed, he took in his surroundings carefully.
Someone had been in here as he had slept… he could sense it.
Slipping from the mattress, he moved about the elegantly furnished room slowly, eyes taking in each detail with laser focus until he found what exactly had altered since he had retired several hours earlier.
He noticed a small handwritten note fastened to the handle of a handsome antique armoire that upon his inspection just this morning had been devoid of contents. According to the communication, which had been written in a fierce script of hard lines and pointed edges – undoubtedly belonging to that formidable butler, Monsieur Fabian – he discovered that the wardrobe had been filled as he had been sleeping and should any of the items not suit his taste, he was to leave them in a pile on the edge of the bed.
Impressed that Armand's staff had proven so stealthy, Dracula placed the note back on the handle before opening the smooth doors of the large cabinet. Within he discovered a number of beautifully tailored suits, freshly pressed dress shirts, trousers, and a variety of other garments all neatly situated in immaculate piles or hanging on the bar fitted across the top. Amazed by not only the service, but the quality selection, Vlad reviewed the articles of clothing with interest before finally dressing and making a move to leave his room in the hope that he could explore a little before "dinner."
He was disappointed to find, however, that someone was waiting for him in the corridor.
"Ah! Excellent! You're awake!" the stranger announced, having been leaning against the wall opposite. How long this person had been there, Vlad knew not. The man, who was all legs and lean muscle, appeared to be an inch or two taller than Armand, with brown hair of a similar shade to Rémy's – a family member, no doubt. "You must be Vlad Leinhart, Rémy's friend?"
"I am. And you are?"
"Marceau – his cousin. I believe you met my father, Armand, this morning."
"Yes, I did."
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Marceau exclaimed, reaching for Vlad's hand to shake it firmly, thinking nothing of the fact that the gentleman hadn't offered it to him. "I've been given the task of showing you to the dining room, if you'll follow me," and he started to make his way down the hall.
Although a bit taken off-guard by the man's presence, Dracula quickly collected himself as he fell into step beside his host's son.
"I have to admit, I've been eager to meet you," Marceau explained. "Ever since Princess Vivian and Jacob recounted the tale of how you and Frankie rescued them from Augustine's dungeons last year, and then to hear Rémy's accounts of all you've done for the alliance in such a short amount of time… you've developed quite the reputation! Is it true that you and Frankie hated each other when you first met?"
The man's query left Dracula a little put off.
"Hate is a strong word, but I will admit that we did occasionally clash in those days," he replied, but that's all he would say on the subject, unsure of what to make of Marceau's bewildering sense of familiarity.
"I would have liked to see that. My cousin is usually the epitome of self-restraint, you see. I've always found her outbursts profoundly amusing. But I am to understand from my father that the two of you seem to be on good terms now?"
Dracula, growing inexplicably perturbed with this line of discussion – which felt more like gossip than anything else – chose to keep his answers clipped.
"Yes."
"So we're back to the old Frankie then," the man said with a bit of a sigh. "Well, I'm glad she's at least doing better. I haven't seen her yet. She tends to rise early for her afternoon walks in the gardens before joining the family for the evening meal. Last time she was here was shortly after Mother died, and she was in stasis by the time we got around to having the funeral. Thought that was rather selfish, but given the circumstances I guess I can't blame her too much. I'd probably do something similar if it had been me. But I'm sure you've heard all about that."
"Enough to understand the fundamentals," Vlad offered before strategically changing the subject as they descended the stairs together. "I believe Rémy mentioned that you are the only son of the family?"
"Yes – the cursed middle child," Marceau explained with a good-humored laugh, his pace still brisk. "You'll adore my sisters – everyone does; Alayna most of all, undoubtedly. She's always been a favorite with Rémy's friends."
"Miss Chase had mentioned her when we arrived this morning. I believe she's to give me a tour of the house this evening?"
Marceau stopped abruptly before he could descend the final steps and he turned to look over at the man with a curious expression, eyes wide in something akin to disbelief.
"Really?" the man inquired before he started to laugh, apparently amused by something that was completely lost to Vlad who found himself growing a bit weary of his present company. "Well then, I wish you good luck, old man," Marceau replied, smacking Dracula's upper arm in encouragement before making his way down the rest of the stairs. "Be careful. Once my baby sister gets her claws in, she's not in the habit of letting go."
Vladislaus stood there for a moment or two, terribly puzzled as he observed Frankie and Rémy's cousin.
He was feeling very out of his element in that moment. To be treated with such familiarity and flippancy by a total stranger was something he was by no means accustomed to. Usually, his very presence was enough to command respect – even when he was assuming the role of Leinhart rather than Dracula – but Marceau seemed unaffected by the natural authority that tended to radiate from the man in waves. It was an odd occurrence; one that Vlad wasn't quite certain how to cope with it, but he was hardly given a moment to consider his options as Marceau had turned around half-way through the foyer when he realized his father's guest had stopped following him.
"Come now, don't dawdle. We're almost there."
Quickly reclaiming his sense of self-control, Dracula straightened his waistcoat from behind his jacket before finishing his descent, too distracted with his own thoughts to take in the grandness of the house. They passed down a corridor before entering into a large dining hall. In the center sat a massive dark walnut table with seats for at least forty guests, the matching chairs upholstered in a stunning blue jacquard fabric with a damask design, fleur de lis and lion heads lovingly carved into the crest rails. In fact, from what he had seen of the furnishings thus far, those lions seemed to be a reoccurring theme.
Seated near the head of the table on the far left was Francesca, donning a dark navy blue cowl neck blouse, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. A few errant wisps delicately framed her face.
Her eyes met his the second he entered the room and her previously casual posture straightened as she placed the glass of blood she had been nursing down onto the table.
"Ah, Marceau. Gigi had mentioned you were fetching our guest. Thank you for that."
"But of course," the man replied as he made his way over to her, placing an affectionate kiss on her cheek. "It's good to see you cousin."
"And you."
He gently squeezed her shoulder, maintaining her gaze for a moment before lightly patting her cheek with a smile.
"I'm glad you're here. Is Joe still in bed?"
"No, I believe your charming wife is busy entertaining Vesper at the moment. You just missed her."
"She's a saint, that one," he announced before turning his attention to one of the other individuals seated at the table, this one a woman with hair identical to his own in shade and facial features very similar to that of Armand's. "How goes the planning, Gigi?"
"Awful. I don't know why I agreed to do this."
"Father asked for your help – not for you to take over the entire enterprise," the man teased.
"I'd help her," the gentleman at Gigi's side chimed in. "But she won't let me after the fiasco with the napkins."
"You ordered cotton after I specifically requested linen," Gigi insisted, smiling despite the stress that was clearly in her voice. "And I swear, you did it on purpose, Charles."
"I most certainly did not! It was an accident!"
"I don't know how Mother planned these parties so regularly. I can feel the anxiety aging me as we speak."
"You're not aging, my dear. I promise. You are as beautiful as the day I married you."
Gigi blushed, kissing her husband affectionately on the cheek.
"So dramatic, the pair of you!" Marceau laughed, taking a seat on the arm of Frankie's chair before returning his attention to their guest. "Well, come in, Vlad… we don't bite. I promise."
Dracula approached slowly, betraying no sign of the minuscule swell of nervous anticipation now settling in the center of his chest. Reminding himself that he was still king, he was quick in reclaiming his confidence, putting on his best charismatic smile before nodding his head in acknowledgement of the company.
"Everyone," Frankie announced, "this is Vlad Leinhart. Mr. Leinhart, you've already met my cousin Marceau," and she motioned to the man beside her. "His wife, Joséphine, is currently keeping Vesper occupied, so you'll have to meet her later this evening."
"You can't miss her," Marceau interjected. "Blonde hair, voice like an angel. Easily the sweetest person for at least a hundred miles."
"This is Georgine – the eldest."
"Ah yes, the artist in the family," Dracula replied. "I've been admiring your work since my arrival; that mural in the foyer in particular."
"Thank you, Vlad – and please. Call me Gigi," the woman insisted with a pleasant smile. "This is my husband, Charles."
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"And then there's Alayna… who is the devil knows where at the moment," Frankie concluded. "Though she was here a second ago."
"LANA!" Marceau shouted, his voice echoing off the high walls as he turned toward one of the open doors off to the side.
"What?" a female shouted with hostility from the other room, earning a mischievous grin from her elder brother.
"Get your scrawny ass in here! We're doing introductions…"
"You were supposed to wait until Father got back with Rémy, you brute," Alayna replied, her voice coming closer.
"Yeah, well, he's not here right now and Vlad is."
"Marceau, you are incorrigible," the woman replied, but her rebuke was short lived as she entered, eyes falling upon the newcomer almost immediately and the frustration in her face vanished.
Dracula's reaction briefly mirrored her own, the cordiality in his expression softening into something more like awe.
Alayna de Chacier was easily one of the most staggeringly beautiful women he had happened upon in over a century – maybe even two. Her lithe figure was draped in silk the color of pine, the ends of the skirt teasing the eye, the neckline dangerously low. She smiled shortly after falling under his gaze, her honeysuckle eyes briefly shooting to Frankie in a silent and instantaneous conversation of looks before she returned her attention to the newcomer, making no effort to hide her desire as her cousin made the introductions.
"Mr. Leinhart, this is Alayna. Alayna – Vlad Leinhart."
The youngest de Chacier approached and held out her hand in invitation. She moved like a dancer – all grace and elegance. Dracula accepted her offer on instinct, raising the female's knuckles to his lips as he held her gaze.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir," the woman replied, seeming almost awe-struck by the male before her.
"The pleasure is mine, I'm sure."
With the acquaintances now formed, Alayna managed to pull her attention away from the man for just a moment as she made her way over to her siblings and cousin seated at the far end of the table, though she continued to steal glances at the newcomer as she progressed.
"Cousin, dearest, you never said Rémy's friend was so frightfully good-looking," Alayna said in low tones, speaking in her native tongue. Francesca chuckled, attention darting back and forth between her cousin and her intended with an underlying amusement Dracula could not account for.
"Didn't I? Must have escaped my notice," she said teasingly, that playful spark in her eyes deepening when Vlad sent her an arched look.
"Escaped your notice?" Alayna exclaimed dramatically. "I have half a mind to move to Budapest tomorrow! All of the men there are so deliciously attractive. First that werewolf of yours, not to mention Rémy's other male friends, but this! Good lord, have you seen his fingers?"
"You should see them when he plays the piano," was Frankie's mischievous reply and Alayna groaned quietly to herself.
"I'm certain I'd rather have them do something else…" was her licentious answer before she cleared her throat and that charming smile of hers returned. "Have you lived in Budapest long, Vlad?" Alayna called out, switching to English, ignorant of his proficiency when it came to her mother tongue.
"For some decades, yes," Dracula replied, joining them at the end of the table now. He silently declined a seat when it was offered to him, preferring to stand.
"I do so love the city. All of that excitement, the people, the culture. Budapest was always one of the crown jewels of Europe before that tyrannical boor, Marcus Augustine, took over. Honestly, Frankie, I don't know why you and Rémy insist on staying there. You and your friends really should consider just leaving that place for good. You could come and stay here with the rest of us."
"You know that isn't possible, Alayna. Besides, if we did, we couldn't bring you handsome men to oogle, now could we?" she added, reverting back to French.
"I suppose that's true," the woman agreed, practically purring her approval as she raked her eyes over Vlad in a manner that was unapologetic.
Fortunately for him, he was accustomed to the lustful gazes of females and the attention in no way unnerved him. If anything, he found himself enjoying it, having forgotten how much he had missed the attention. He had spent the better part of year desperate to blend in with those whose company he kept. It was a refreshing change to be the center of attention again – even if it was still under false pretenses.
"But this one knows how good-looking he is. You can see it in his eyes," Alayna added. "I love a man with a bit of an ego…"
Frankie, desperately trying to keep from laughing, delicately covered her smile with her fingertips. The action caught Vlad's attention however, and for a moment he considered the two women sitting side-by-side.
While Alayna was certainly easy on the eyes, it was Francesca that his gaze always seemed to gravitate toward. Where her cousin was more open in her desires, Miss Chase's natural grace and sense of mystery proved far more alluring to him. It felt sneaky – the way they would steal glances at one another mid-conversation, careful not to look too long for fear of rousing the suspicions of others.
If he had learned anything in his over seven hundred years of existence, it was that there was a very simple difference between mere sexual attraction and actual lust. Attraction was purely chemical, but lust… lust was earned; and it was that lust that set the two women apart.
The youngest de Chacier was still examining the man across the table as she took a seat in her cousin's lap, shamelessly dragging her gaze up and down the Vlad's figure once again, slower this time as if she were trying to savor him.
"He looks good enough to eat," she declared and her shameless proclamation awoke something dark in him. He hoped Francesca would offer a word of agreement, but Marceau was the only one who replied.
"He's not a piece of meat, Lana, for devil's sake," the man insisted, playfully mussing up her hair before making a move to exit from the room. "I'm going to go find Joe and the teenager. Frank, keep her in line, won't you?"
"You know as well as I do that that's impossible."
"Well at least try!"
"I make no promises…"
"I'm not sure how I feel about the jacket, though," Alayna announced in English, ignoring the side-conversation between her cousin and brother as she persisted in her scrutiny of their guest. "Francesca, what are your thoughts?"
"It definitely needs to be taken in at the waist a bit more," Frankie agreed, less obvious in her inspection as she casually reached for her glass to take a sip, her expression perfectly guarded.
But even Vlad could see the way in which her eyes lingered on his person for a little longer than was probably necessary and he found himself far more gratified by her display than that of her cousin's.
"I agree, the jacket is a bit roomier than I'd usually prefer. But what about the rest?" he inquired, deciding to play along and he slipped the jacket off his shoulders, draping it over the back of a chair. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. This seemed to be the right thing to do because Frankie's eyes darkened just so while Alayna's approval became quite vocal. The latter stood, hands on her hips as she approached.
"Oh yes, much better!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, circling him now. "Pants could be a bit more fitted, don't you think so, cousin? I love a man with a good ass…"
Frankie once again offered no reply, her eyes fixed on Vlad, though upon Alayna's declaration, her brow arched, eyes sparkling in her amusement. Her lips pursed into a thin line as if she were struggling to keep her comments to herself.
She, of course, had seen that ass in person. While she never said as much, her expression spoke of her agreement.
"Well, Vlad Leinhart," Alayna announced decidedly, "you certainly know how to wear a suit. If you have no objections, I think it would be good to let Fabian know that the jackets need to be taken in a little. Is the rest of your wardrobe to your satisfaction?"
"It is, thank you."
"I'm glad to hear it," she insisted. "Your comfort while you're with us is paramount. Is it not, Frankie?"
The woman only continued to smile.
"Would you care for some refreshment, Vlad?" Gigi chimed in, motioning toward the crystal decanter in the center of the table. "The blood is fresh, but if you prefer it directly from the vein, that could be arranged as well."
"A glass would be sufficient, thank you," and he accepted the offering once the woman finished pouring.
"So what's on the agenda for today?" Alayna asked, returning to stand next to Frankie, arm resting over the high back of her chair.
"I have a one-on-one with your father, once he's finished talking to Rémy," Frankie explained after clearing her throat. "And then we'll be up in the music room for a while afterwards."
"Your brother and I are due in town for a couple of hours to take care of some business for Armand. Should be back before midnight, though," Charles added, taking a quick glance at his watch. "And Gigi – you're still up to your eyeballs in masquerade planning?"
"Unfortunately yes. Hoping to finalize the orchestra before the night is out. Madame Dubeau may have a conflict for the first part of the evening. I'm supposed to hear from her in the next couple of hours to see if I need to find a temporary stand-in."
"You're not doing anything this evening, are you, Alayna?" Frankie then inquired innocently. "I was hoping you could give Mr. Leinhart here the grand tour."
Once more, there was sudden silence and an exchange of thinly veiled surprise amongst the present company. Dracula suddenly found himself wondering if this supposed tour was a front for something else entirely.
"I would love to!" Alayna announced. "We'll have quite the adventure, won't we Vlad?"
"I'll do my best not to overwhelm you with my questions," he assured her affably, looking to Francesca for some sort of explanation, but she offered him no such comfort. Her smile was pure deviousness and for the briefest of moments, Dracula found himself wondering if this was some sort of trap.
But what a trap, the more salacious side of his brain seemed to say and his eyes lingered a little on the supple swell of Alayna's breasts, the pale cleavage emphasized by the low v-cut of her neckline.
"It takes a great deal to overwhelm me, sir, I assure you. Come! We'll start at once!" and the woman took his arm.
With her so near now, Vladislaus found his senses assaulted by the fragrant perfume she wore – a delectable blend of pear, magnolia, and some underlying musk that only seemed to accentuate her inherent erotic appeal. That scent, mingled with the way she almost leaned against him as they stood side-by-side, would have left him feeling a light-headed had it not been for Lilith's curse.
But oh! This had strategy written all over it.
Yet, to what end?
Before she could lead him out of the room, their departure was interrupted.
"Ah! Mr. Leinhart! Glad to see you're up," Armand called out as he and Rémy suddenly entered the dining room, the latter looking significantly improved from how he had been this morning. "I trust you slept well."
"Yes, thank you," Dracula replied cordially, snapping himself out of the stupor Alayna had left him in. His moment of clarity also permitted him the chance to see the way in which Francesca was watching him. She was still wearing that mischievous smile of hers as she watched him and her cousin and it made him all the more suspicious.
What was she up to?
"Good. Excellent. I assume the introductions have already been made?"
"Yes, Uncle," Frankie said, standing so she could offer her brother her seat. "Although Joséphine was absent. We'll need to make sure we take care of that later in the evening."
"We just saw her and Vesper over by the pool house," Rémy explained, helping himself to the rest of the blood in his sister's glass before pouring another helping. "They should be making their way in around dusk. We still good to head into town in a few, Charles?"
"Ready when you are."
Armand extended his arm to his niece in silent invitation and as the two quietly began to exit from the room, Charles and Rémy continuing in their conversation while Alayna had gently tugged Vlad's arm.
"Come," she encouraged, lowering her voice as she motioned with her eyes towards the hall. "We have a great deal of ground to cover and there are so many things I am eager to show you."
Vlad acquiesced, but managed to turn back to steal once last glance at Frankie before she and her uncle disappeared outside on the veranda. The woman had also turned to look back at him as well, but her expression had altered – that earlier mischief replaced with a barely perceptible note of concern. But she had turned a corner before he had time to ponder the change properly, and Alayna was already leading him into the hallway. They finally stopped when they reached the main entrance of the house.
"I overheard you praising Gigi for her mural, so I assumed starting here would be best. It looks better in the light, anyway," the woman explained, raising her eyes to the ceiling in such a way that allowed him the perfect view of her bare throat.
Dracula, growing more and more wary of the motives for having this woman be the one to give him the tour, chose to ignore her subtle move and instead allowed his eyes to follow hers toward the masterpiece on the ceiling, much to the woman's chagrin.
"It's incredible," he replied, craning his head back, arm slipping out of Alayna's.
The action, coupled with his genuinely growing fascination with the ceiling, had him missing the way her brows knitted over her eyes just so in a blend of surprise and increased determination. She remained at his side, looking back up while her hand gently rested against her own neck.
"Gigi struggled more than anyone when it came to her transition. She had always been the most devout in the family, and for nearly a decade after, she had trouble coping with the prospect of damnation. This and much of her earlier work was her way of coming to terms with her change. I suppose you could say she transformed her fear into art."
Georgine must have been consumed by her anxiety, Dracula thought to himself, for the visions above proved both monstrous and frightfully erotic.
There were dozens of naked figures painted in the classical style, their bodies tangled together in a chaotic intertwining of legs and arms as a number of them struggled to climb upwards toward the light of the chandelier. There were some persons being outright attacked by darkened figures, from horned demons with fangs to faceless wraiths, a blackened mist coiling around one female's ankle in particular over the main stair. That dark haze became more serpent-like in its form as it moved higher and higher, up the nameless woman's leg, threatening to bury itself home in her bald sex. There were other nude figures feeding on one another, lips and flesh painted in a harrowing crimson.
To Vladislaus, it was as though he were witnessing a sea of nameless souls lost in a purgatory of a ceaseless graying mist, bound for neither heaven, nor hell; an empty eternity of lust and rage, decadence and destruction.
The figures above his head were almost lifelike, the attention to detail in each male or female positively immaculate, from the dimension of limbs to the contouring of muscle, down to the way the light caught in their hair. It was a breathtaking sight, the emotions behind the painting raw and unfeigned.
"I thought your father said this house was only a couple centuries old?" Vlad finally said in response to Alayna's earlier assertion, though his eyes never searched for her as he continued to examine the scene above.
He had caught her in his periphery, however, her hand gently caressing down her own throat to her chest with almost calculated sensuality and when he didn't turn his head to look more openly, she had paused, eyes narrowing a little.
"It is. What you're seeing here is a replica of the original. In the old house, Gigi had used one of the corridors as her canvas, one large painting all along the ceiling from one end to the other. She spent months in that hallway. When Father announced that he would be having this building erected, he asked her to replicate the piece here in the foyer – and so it was done."
"It puts me in mind of Michelangelo's work in the Sistine Chapel, or Fumiani's in San Pantalon – although I must admit, this is in a league of its own entirely. The level of detail and sense of realism is astounding."
"I had no idea you were such an enthusiast for the arts," Alayna teased.
"The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine," he replied. "We are undying souls bound for neither paradise, nor hellfire; damned to walk the earth in our unnatural states, unceasing in our existence. Art – be it painting or music – is the closest any of us will ever get to God."
"And poetic too! Although, I don't know if I entirely agree," the woman replied. "There are other ways for us to experience the divine, I think. Why… Gigi captures it in her painting. Look there," and she pointed to a certain spot on the ceiling.
It was a trio of nude figures tangled in a lover's embrace, floating in the blue-gray mist around them, yet lost in the throes of passion. The female's spine was bowed beautifully, her male lover's strong hands holding her close with one palm on her back and the other at her thigh, which was propped up on his hip. A winged male demon stood at her back, tongue dragging along her shoulder as one of his hands gripped the hair of the other man. The woman's throat had been opened, crimson rivulets streaming down her neck and chest, both of her lovers' lips stained in her blood.
The eroticism of the scene had its intended effect and Dracula felt the faintest shiver move through him… yet that was all the reaction he had physically. And for the first time since Lilith had cursed him, he was actually grateful his cock remained flaccid.
"The hunger and the ecstasy are tastes of the celestial, too – are they not?" Alayna asked knowingly, voice sensual and low. "I have found that the intimacy of feeding or the pleasures of the flesh have often left me feeling closer to heaven than art has. The sense of oneness, the weightless, consuming passion, the high…" and she slipped her arm around his once more, her touch drawing his attention away from the painting above their heads and back to her. "Tell me, Vlad – when was the last time you tasted of the divine?"
Dracula's smile was absolutely Machiavellian.
Oh, that clever, clever woman.
In a moment of perfect clarity, he understood exactly what this was.
He was being tested and the lady at his side was to be his temptation.
It was the only thing that made sense.
Why else would Francesca practically throw her gorgeous cousin into his path and then leave them for the next several hours alone and undisturbed? It made him want to laugh, in part because the tactic had been so obvious, but primarily because it was exactly the sort of thing he used to do many years ago in order to gauge a certain level of loyalty. Frankie knew of his reputation as an unapologetic philanderer and while he didn't necessarily agree, let alone appreciate, the blatant catfishing, he found himself incapable of judging her too harshly.
If anything, it was profoundly amusing.
On a more serious note, the test did make some sense, as he recognized that there would be great risk if he and Francesca became romantically involved with one another. Since being strictly platonic wasn't going to work long-term, he assumed that this was her way of gauging whether or not he was worth the danger.
Well, he thought to himself as Alayna gently pressed her body against his side, still looking up into his eyes with her tantalizing lips nearing his ever so slowly, two can play that game.
Dracula took Alayna's chin in his hand and tipped her head back a little further so he could better look into her eyes and with profound ease, he ensnared her, his inherently stronger will overriding hers as he slipped effortlessly into her unsuspecting mind as if he had sunk his fingers directly into her grey matter and taken hold.
He felt the woman's initial resistance, but he squashed her rebellion as one would kill an ant, a gentle press downward – with tremendous ease, although he secretly relished in the flash of awareness that appeared in her eyes before they glazed over, a sign that she was now his slave – temporarily, at least.
"A word of advice, Miss Alayna," he purred darkly, running his thumb thoughtfully over her bottom lip, "the next time you try to seduce a handsome stranger, make sure you know who it is you're going up against."
"Yes, master," came the involuntary reply, her unblinking eyes lost in his penetrating gaze.
"That's much better," and he condescendingly patted her cheek before breaking eye-contact so he could motion toward the nearest hall. "Shall we continue our tour?"
Alayna nodded mechanically and led him into the next area of the house. The next hour or so was spent in relative silence as they travelled from room to room, Frankie's cousin only speaking when asked a direct question – usually pertaining to a piece of art or the use of a given chamber. Dracula found the silence preferable, as it permitted him the chance to merely observe.
The house was just as grand as its façade – richly furnished and handsomely designed, not a solitary detail left unattended. There were the usual rooms – the dining hall, ballroom, library, parlor, a number of sitting rooms and bedchambers. There was also a music room on the second floor with one of the most beautiful Bösendorfer grand pianos Vlad had ever seen – he'd have to try the instrument out a little later – as well as a solarium and a greenhouse, which led to the outdoor pool.
But it was the family gallery on the second floor of the house that captured his interest most.
The walls of this particular corridor were lined with portraits of the de Chacier family, going back a number of generations, each image accompanied by a gold placard positioned beneath the individual frames with the names of those persons on a given canvas and the years of their birth and death.
"Did your sister paint these as well?" he asked Alayna, who had remained on his arm, and the woman, still under his spell, nodded.
"Yes, master."
"Tell me about them – your family."
"What would you like to know?"
Their slow pace along the corridor came to a sudden stop when they passed the portrait of Francesca and it was at this point that Dracula finally released Alayna's arm so he could turn to face the painting more fully, attention transfixed.
The painting was almost lifelike in its detail and it left Vlad a little unnerved at first, as if those fierce blue eyes staring back at him could see right through his person. The Francesca in the portrait appeared to be nude, her unblemished figure swathed in indigo velvet with an adult lion seated at her side as if it were a domesticated house cat. Her dark hair was open, cascading in soft, tantalizing waves over her left shoulder. She wore no jewelry or embellishment, and yet her very visage – from the way she held herself to the manner in which she seemed to command all that surrounded her – it screamed royalty to him.
She looked every inch the queen.
"Tell me everything," he said at last, his gaze lingering on Francesca for just a moment longer before he made his way back to the start of the hall to a series of older portraits. "Starting with this man," and he motioned to the painting in front of him, glancing at the name placard before studying the face.
"The Duke of Vendôme, Charles de Bourbon," Alayna explained, still standing where he had left her, although he had eased up a bit on his control over her mind. "The man next is his son, Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Condé, and then his son, Henri, and his son Armand… all the way down to grand-mère Marie Anne de Bourbon – daughter of King Louis XIV of France and his mistress, the Duchess Louise de La Vallière."
Dracula, who had been following the procession of faces down the hall, paused to look back at Alayna, his expression one of skepticism.
"So your family really are decedents of French royalty?" he asked.
"Yes," was the answer. "Francesca and Reynaund more so than the rest of us. Grand-mère Marie was married to the Prince of Conti, Louis Armand, until he died in 1685. Her first union was not one of her choosing. She and grand-père Henri had been sweethearts since they were children. When Louis Armand died, they were immediately married in secret. It took a few years for them to find favor with the king again. But unbeknownst to the rest of the world, when she and Henri de Chacier had wed, she was carrying her first husband's child – my uncle, Louis Charles. But for reasons never divulged, she kept Louis' true parentage a secret until the night of her death, and so Uncle Louis was raised a Chacier, rather than a Bourbon. When the truth was revealed, he chose to keep his name rather than lay claim to the Bourbon title, such was his loyalty to the man that raised him."
Dracula studied the portrait of Francesca and Rémy's father with interest.
Louis de Chacier had been a formidable figure, tall and handsome with that same dark hair that ran through the family. It was interesting, however, to see where Francesca got her fierce eyes. Louis' stare was penetrating, thick brows framing a hawk-like gaze that cut through everything – even if he was merely a painting on canvas. His trimmed goatee added a certain rugged distinction to his person, making him look every inch a predator.
The woman at his side in the painting, Dracula assumed, was Francesca's mother; the female dark-haired and slender, with sensuous eyes and full lips. Like with Frankie's portrait, they too were posed with a lion, the large, exotic cat situated in front of the couple who were seated on an ornate chaise lounge, positioned close together and also draped in velvet.
"My Aunt Elisaveta de Chacier née Petrovna," Alayna explained. "A grand duchess of Russia in her own right. Her marriage to my uncle was arranged, and yet, they were perfectly matched."
"They look as though they had been made for one another," Vlad agreed, noting how well the couple seemed to complement each other aesthetically.
His eyes then fell over the other members of the family, each portrait similar to the others with the lions and velvet coverings. There was a painting of Armand and his late wife, Cecilia – a stunning woman who, according to Alayna, had been of Italian stock, but had been such a favorite of the king, Armand had been permitted to marry her. The pictures that followed included one of Georgine and her husband Charles, then Marceau and his wife Joséphine, and then one of Alayna by herself. Then there was Rémy, Francesca…
The final painting at the end of the hall was of a woman Vlad did not recognize. She was situated next to a man Frankie had once identified as her brother-in-law, Jacob Šarić, although the gentleman in the portrait was far cleaner and better dressed than the one he had met in the palace dungeons almost a year ago.
"Who is this?" he asked and Alayna came to stand beside him after he beckoned her with a slight movement of his finger, the female still under his spell.
"My cousin, Marguerite Thérèse, Rémy and Frankie's baby sister. Margot died long before we even learned the word nosferatu; complications during the birth of their first and only child. Her sudden passing shook the family, although Frankie felt it most of all. The news devastated her so much, she ended up going into premature labor and she lost her son."
"I remember her telling me as much," he admitted. "Tell me about it… her marriage."
Upon giving Alayna the command, Vlad could feel her starting to resist his inherent hold over her and it made him curious.
"Why do you defy me?" he asked calmly.
"I cannot tell you about Alphonse. We do not speak of him."
This only served to pique his curiosity further and with a minor exertion of will, he deepened his hold over the woman, repeating his command.
"Tell me about your cousin's marriage," he said once more.
Although he could feel Alayna still struggling against him, the words tumbled from her lips like water.
"Frankie was betrothed to the Duke of Nivernais when she was a small child – the wish of grand-mère. She and Alphonse were married when Frankie was sixteen years old, in 1725, a week after her first bleed. Aunt Vita did not like Alphonse, but grand-mère was insistent and had the support of the king, so she did not argue. They were happy for a time and Alphonse doted on her. But when Frankie miscarried their son a year later, it caused a fracture in their marriage. They tried for the next two years to conceive another child, but Frankie wasn't able to. Alphonse needed an heir to secure his hold on the dukedom from the Mancini, who briefly fell out of favor with the king. When Frankie could not give him one, he took no scruples in making her feel utterly defective and by the time she was twenty, they were estranged. To make matters worse, the Mancinis were regaining their royal favor and the stress only made Alphonse worse. Despite his efforts, however, after his death they were able to reclaim the title and they wrote Alphonse out of history completely as revenge – and with Frankie's blessing."
"So they were never able to reconcile – Francesca and Alphonse?" Dracula guessed and Alayna shook her head.
"He did not deserve her forgiveness after what he did. Alphonse left Frankie confined on his estate like a prisoner while he stayed at court to pursue some countess, simply because he knew it would hurt his wife. The affair caused quite the scandal and when Frankie went to confront him, he…" The woman's voice trailed off and Vlad could feel her resisting him again.
Taking her chin in his hand, he led her gaze to his, pushing against the mental door she was desperately trying to close on him.
"What did he do?" he asked her, voice low, soothing… hypnotic. His irises began to glow as he ensnared her further, pushing past her mental walls to partake of those things she was trying to keep secret, desperate to know the truth.
What he found, however, disturbed him.
"He hit her for the first time," Alayna whispered. "And the abuse only escalated after that – graduating beyond beatings or forcing himself upon her whenever he felt like it. It was mental and emotional as well. For six years, he micromanaged every aspect of her life. He didn't even try to hide his infidelities from her after a while, and to add insult to injury, he isolated her – first from her friends at court, and then eventually the family. He monitored all of her letters and communications, restricted her to the grounds of his estate, never permitting her to be without a pre-approved chaperone. She was his prisoner… and all because she was unable to provide him with a son."
Well, that certainly explained the woman's passionate pursuit of autonomy.
"How did she escape?"
"She took his life after the devil got inside of her."
The choice of words sent an uncharacteristic chill down Vlad's spine, his eyes leaving Alayna's for a moment so they could return to the portrait of Francesca.
What was it she had told him nearly four centuries ago, that night in Venice when he had asked who had sired her? – that the devil had been the one to turn her.
He was also quick to recall that evening in the tunnels beneath the palace dungeons in Budapest when he and Miss Chase had gone to rescue the lycan princess and it had been revealed that Francesca and the notorious la sirène of the eighteenth century had been one and the same.
"When you say the devil, do you mean Eduardo de Meirás?"
"The very one."
"So he turned Francesca…"
"… and then the rest of the family followed shortly thereafter. By 1740, we had all been reborn as vampires, and while it changed our lives forever, Frankie in particular was never quite the same. She embraced her newfound freedom in ways none of us did in the beginning. Becoming immortal changed her utterly and completely…"
The words were delivered rather mechanically, a consequence of his hold over her, but there was an urgency in Alayna's expression that moved Dracula in a way he had not anticipated. The revelations surrounding his intended had provided him with much to ponder, and yet he still had so many questions about the woman.
What had her first few years as a young fledgling vampire been like? What was the extent of her relationship with her maker? What things had she seen and experienced in her four hundred years as one of the undying?
Eager for answers, but also desiring a less stilted conversation between his current companion, Vladislaus slowly began to ease up on the woman at his side. He returned to her a fraction of her will, though slowly, careful to take the newly formed memories of their most recent exchange and masterfully hiding them away in the deeper recesses of her mind, a practice he had often employed in an effort to cover his tracks. When the work had been done and false memories left in the place of those that had been hidden away, he released her more fully, making sure his expression remained stoic as to not raise any suspicion as she returned to herself.
She blinked once and then again before shaking her head slightly, brow knitted in a brief moment of confusion as she took in where they were located.
"Forgive me, Vlad… I seemed to have lost my train of thought. What were we talking about?" she inquired, touching her brow absentmindedly, as if she could still feel that she was under his influence but was not fully cognizant of it.
Dracula smiled charmingly.
"You were telling me about your cousin, Francesca."
"I was?" Alayna asked. "How strange. I can't seem to recall… where did I leave off?"
Before he could guide the conversation further, their private conference was interrupted by one of the servants at the end of the hall.
"Miss Alayna?"
The woman turned, smiling.
"Yes, Claire? Vlad, this is Claire, our housekeeper."
Dracula nodded his head in acknowledgement, but said nothing, not entirely pleased by the disturbance.
"I wanted to let you know that Madame Ghilardi has arrived. I've had her things delivered to one of the guest chambers, but she's presently alone in the blue parlor. I'd go fetch your father so he could welcome her, but I know he's busy with Miss Francesca."
"Yes, yes of course. No, the pair of them will be occupied for some time. You were right come get me. I'll go see to her at once," and the youngest de Chacier began to make her way down the hall. "Vlad, would you care to join us? You'd like Lucia. She's been an old friend of the family for centuries."
Lucia Ghilardi.
Where had he heard that name before?
"Thank you, but perhaps later in the evening."
"Are you sure? I think I remember hearing from my cousin that you used to work for Dracula, no? Lucia was once a paramour of his back in the early eighteenth century – perhaps the two of you have met? It was a brief affair by all accounts, but she dined on those stories for decades after!" and the woman laughed.
Vlad, on the other hand, felt as if his entire person had been drenched in ice water.
Wait a second. That Lucia Ghilardi?
It was coming back to him now in waves of memory.
Italy, 1723.
That house in Florence on the banks of the Arno.
The music.
The blood.
The sex.
A certain four-letter word skidded across his brain in a moment of panic.
"As… as fascinating as that sounds," he managed with some deliberation, struggling to maintain his façade of general indifference, "perhaps I can join the pair of you later. Besides, I've yet to see the grounds of the estate…"
"Don't be absurd. Surely the gardens can wait when there are such friends to be met…"
"Miss Alayna, might I confide in you for a moment?" he asked, lowering his voice so she'd have to return to his side to better hear him.
"Of course."
When she was close enough, he stared deep into her eyes, ensnaring her once again, his anxiety at being under the same roof as an ex-lover and all the complications that could arise causing him to use a little more force than was probably necessary.
He leaned in close to whisper in her ear, as to not be overheard.
"You will go downstairs and attend to your guest without another word of protestation. If Miss Chase asks about our tour, you will tell her I passed her little test and that is all you will tell her."
"Yes, m–" but a single look from him had her omitting the "master" at the end of that sentence and as soon as he was satisfied with her compliance, he dismissed her with a nod of his head. When the woman vanished around the corner with the housekeeper at her side, he slowly released her will and then sighed in relief when she was a safe distance away.
Now alone in the gallery with only the de Chacier family paintings for company, Dracula closed his eyes for just a moment so he could soak in the welcomed solitude. He found the silence incredibly soothing. Not even the ticking of a clock could be heard unless he strained his ears for a sound.
The quiet permitted him the chance to center himself, steadying his nerves as he reached behind his shirt to grasp the concealment charm between his fingers, offering a silent prayer to whatever deity would listen that Lucia would not recognize him when the time came for the inevitable introductions. If memory served, Madame Ghilardi had always been a bit of a troublemaker and he didn't need the woman causing mischief, not when his primary goal was his pursuit of Francesca. He had already staved off one attack from Alayna; if he could avoid the potential of another from Lucia, it would only leave him with Rémy to contend with.
Slipping the pendant back behind his shirt, Vlad's eyes moved slowly down the length of the dimly lit corridor, taking in each and every one of the faces of the de Chacier family, all the way down to his intended.
He liked this painting of Francesca.
According to the dates in the corners of each piece of art, located near Georgine's signature, these portraits had been done in the earlier part of the twentieth century, just before the death of Frankie's parents, before her time as Augustine's prisoner.
There was a spark in her eyes that he had only witnessed remnants of during the length of their acquaintance. In fact, the woman in the painting very much reminded him of the one he had met in Venice four centuries ago. He couldn't help but wonder if she was still in there somewhere, the Francesca of old.
He stepped closer to the painting, tilting his head up so he could continue to hold her impenetrable gaze, the faint smirk that curved her lips inspiring one of his own.
"Iubito… comoara mea," he reached up and delicately ran the back of his finger against the dried paint that made up her cheek.
He thought of what Alayna had told him of her time as a mortal, of the woman she had become since then. In the face of her adversity, Francesca still possessed a kind of resiliency, one that he admired. In fact, if he was being wholly honest with himself, it was that strength of hers that only seemed to add to her appeal. What would it be like, he wondered, to be loved by such a woman?
"No one controls you. No one," he reverently whispered to the canvas, imagining that it was she standing there before him. "I want the Francesca who in a single dance held me captive in the palm of her hand. I want the woman who knew what she wanted and took it, who could have taken me anywhere, anyway she wanted that night, and I would have let her gladly. Where is she, Francesca? I know she's still in you somewhere…"
His hand fell slowly back to his side as he took a step back, his attention still fixed. Despite all Frankie had endured, her spark, though admittedly dimmed, lingered – he had seen it in her, that fire. He had tasted it in her kiss that night in Carmen's cellar.
In that moment, he found himself longing to taste it again.
They just had to get passed her fear, her reservations. And he would help her. He would take her hand and show her the way.
Vladislaus was so enraptured by that piercing gaze and the thoughts of all the prospects that lay before him, that he nearly missed the sound of a heartbeat drawing closer to his location.
"Vlad! There you are. What are you doing all the way over here?" Vesper asked after turning the corner, apparently having been headed somewhere in particular given the determination in her step.
"Just enjoying the view," he answered, though mostly to himself, his attention continuing to linger on the painting of Francesca. The teenager stopped to stand at his left, briefly looking up at portrait.
"You mean of Frankie or of the gallery in general?" was her cheeky response, studying his guarded expression carefully.
Dracula sent her a sidelong glance. Evidently her hearing had improved in the eight months he had been gone. But rather than give way to embarrassment, he remained unmoved by her blatant teasing.
"Can I help you, Vesper?"
"Nah, I'm good," she said with a bit of a shrug. "So have you gotten a tour of the house yet, or were you left to wander aimlessly about for the last couple of hours?"
"Alayna was kind enough to show me around, but I believe she had to see to the arrival of another guest."
"Yeah, Lucia. I heard she was coming."
"Are you at all acquainted with her?"
"A little. She's an old friend of the family, and she's nice enough I guess, but she doesn't really like minors, so she always made it a point to avoid me while I was growing up. Which is fine because she's usually only ever here for Rémy anyway."
"Here for him in what way?" he asked as he fell into step beside the young dhampir, the two now gradually making their way down to the end of the hall. "Last I checked, he hasn't been romantically attached to anyone since Lily late last year."
"Oh, they're not dating, but they're still close – if you catch my drift. Armand usually only invites her over if he needs Rémy distracted… at least that's what Carmen says." That was certainly an interesting piece of information. But before he could inquire further, the girl continued. "Did Alayna ever show you the family archives?"
Dracula's brows narrowed a little in suspicion at the sudden change in topic.
"No, I don't believe she did."
"It's right next to the library. Come on, I'll show you," and she waved for him to follow after her as her pace quickened with her previous determination once again.
Although he followed without a word of reproof, Vlad couldn't seem to suppress the mischievous smile that was now tugging at the corners of his lips.
What was the girl up to?