I absolutely love Eduardo de Meirás (aka: Satanas) as a character. I adored writing him - it was just so much fun. He is pure bisexual chaotic energy and diabolical as hell, but his love for Frankie and her family just makes my heart ache. I hope you come to enjoy him as well as the story progresses.
Oh! And calling this out now, since the term of endearment is used a lot, but he often calls Frankie cariño, which translates to "darling" or "honey" in Spanish (at least, according to our lord and savior, Google Translate).
Before we begin, though, I've neglected shouting out the lovely souls who have been reviewing, so a massive thank you to Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, and inkmagpie for your regular reviews! You three are absolute treasures and I adore your reactions and feedback! They seriously help to carry me through each week and weekend. I love you guys!
And to the rest - thanks for at least stopping by to read. Hope you enjoy the chapter!
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 19
Enter the Devil
It was early evening, just after twilight. The sun's daily descent behind the surrounding mountains was feeling particularly slow today, but perhaps that was owed to the small well of anxiety nestling in the center of Vladislaus' chest. He had awoken a couple of hours before sunset, the usual hustle and bustle of the house having been suddenly amplified by the arrival of previously anticipated guests. Having tuned his ears to the distant sounds of conversation, he was able to ascertain the identities of at least two of the newcomers, although given the warnings he had received just the evening before regarding their impending arrival, the confirmation did little to soothe his nerves.
The de Chacier's infamous maker, Castilian Lord and reputed rake, Señor Eduardo de Meirás, was the first voice he had recognized. While Vlad had only been in the company of the man a handful of times in the whole of his existence, that Spanish baritone was not an easy thing to forget. Meirás spoke with a lilt in his tone, something both inherently soothing and inviting, but the undercurrent of suggestion was unmistakable and in an instant, Dracula found himself recalling all of the rumors and stories he had heard pertaining to the Spanish Devil.
His traveling companion, it was to be assumed, was none other than the one known as Benicio Alastair, an old friend of the de Chacier family and, by all accounts, a truly admirable man with a knack for diplomacy. Rémy, Vlad quickly remembered, had been most eager to meet with Alastair, no doubt ensuring his continued state of distraction. The Spaniard, however, would be an entirely different matter. If the whisperings around the house held any validity, the man was here for Francesca, which would make finding time alone with the woman difficult – a pity really. They had been making such progress these last few days.
The question yet to be answered, however, was whether or not the arrival of Satanas would undo that development.
While it was easy for Dracula to trust the genuine connection between himself and Frankie, there was no way to speculate how the presence of her maker – and ex-lover – would impact their relationship. And after his conversation with Rémy just the evening prior, Vlad was finding it especially difficult to conjure up some much needed optimism.
Rémy, who had been briefly liberated from his otherwise happy entanglement with the distracting Lucia Ghilardi, in casual conversation with Vlad had relayed some of the details of his sister's sordid past with the family's personal "devil." While a number of the particulars had already been made known to Vlad previously, there was a certain piece of newfound information that had affected him in a way he had not been prepared for.
The news that Miss Chase and her sire were biblically acquainted had hardly phased him – though if he was being honest with himself, there was some small part of him that envied the man that pleasure. Instead, it had been a reference to the rare bond the pair shared as master and protégé that left him uneasy and even – surprisingly enough – just a little insecure, a sensation he was not at all accustomed to.
Sire bonds, while not entirely unheard of between vampires and their progeny, could be very tricky things.
Thankfully they were not as severe in nature as a formal blood-bond, but still. From what he had gathered of Rémy's information, despite Satanas' affinity for each member of the de Chacier family as their sire, it was the connection between the man and Francesca that had proven uncharacteristically profound and unyielding over the centuries.
When pressed for further clarification, as was usual with Rémy, the man clammed up, insisting that he had no desire to discuss the intricacy of his sister's on-again, off-again affair with their maker. If he desired to know more, it would be best for him to go directly to the source – to Francesca herself. But Vlad, in a moment of impatience and not at all the sort of man to give up in the face of opposition, sought out Alayna instead for the intelligence and was more than gratified by her willingness to answer his more immediate concerns.
His intended's cousin provided him with the further understanding he desired, and while having a fuller picture provided him with greater insight into the inner-workings of Frankie as an individual, it did nothing for the small but noticeable unsettling feeling in his gut.
Per Alayna's information, her cousin's relationship with Meirás had been a tumultuous one, inexplicably intense and passionate from the very beginning. She also made no effort to conceal how the Spaniard and his ex-protégé had fallen out of favor with one another on a number of occasions over the centuries, yet in spite of it all, they always seemed to find their way back to each other. Her open disapproval as she relayed the events, however, surprised him a little – even reassured him in some strange way.
"I'd call it romantic if their relationship wasn't so inherently dysfunctional," Alayna had confided at one point in their conversation. "But I suppose most affairs are in one way or another. No matter what Eduardo does, Frankie always seems to find it in her to forgive him, to move past his quirks and general amorality. I don't mean to imply that she easily forgets when he wrongs her, or that she doesn't learn from her own mistakes. I wouldn't even suggest that their quarrels don't have lasting consequences because they certainly have. I guess what I'm trying to say is that Frankie is the only person I know who's managed to not only hold Eduardo's interest for all these years – which is a feat on its own… the man is more capricious and adulterous than Dracula – but the strange thing is that she's also the only one who possesses any form of sway over him. They've both had quite the impact on one another."
"Does she love him?" Vlad had caught himself asking without even meaning to.
Alayna, unaware of the extent of his true feelings though not wholly without suspicion, had smiled.
"In her own way, yes. I believe she does – but I'm convinced it's not the romantic kind. At least on her side. Then again, I could be mistaken. Wouldn't be the first time. My cousin has always been talented at keeping her true feelings to herself."
Wasn't that the understatement of the century, Vlad mused privately. He was standing in front of the hearth in his private chambers now, brows furrowed a little as he recalled his conversation with Alayna, one arm resting on the edge of the mantle.
He had been studying the flames of the gas fireplace with vague interest for some minutes now, mulling over the implications of all he had learned, what it could mean for the pending success of his pursuit of Francesca, all of the questions he yearned to ask, yet he remained unsure of how to delicately broach the topic.
Two weeks had already passed since their initial arrival in France, and while the relationship between them had only continued to bloom, Vlad found himself growing especially weary of the pace. He wanted more and it was becoming difficult to school his impatience. He knew from the start that he could never be satisfied with this platonic arrangement between them, and instinct had him suspecting that he was not alone in feeling thus.
He had seen the way Francesca looked at him when she thought he wasn't watching. He recognized the longing in her eyes, the desire, the fascination… So why did she continue to deny herself what she so clearly wanted? How could he convince her that the danger she feared was not nearly so great and terrible as assumed? Yes, perhaps she had been burned in the past, but was it really so arrogant of him to believe that he was stronger and more disciplined than her inferior past lovers?
How to proceed?
He licked his lips absently as the wheels in his mind turned, considering his options.
Historically speaking, he knew that if he pushed her too hard or moved too quickly, she would retreat as she had done before.
Or would she?
So much had changed between them since those earlier days of their relationship. Frankie was no longer the wounded, depressed, closed-off creature she had appeared to be when they had first met almost a year ago now. If anything, she had become more like the woman of old, the Léonide he had met that night in Venice – confident, mysterious, flirtatious… and, more importantly, receptive – a willing and active participant.
A sudden knock at his door disturbed his train of thought and he huffed a little impatiently at the interruption. Upon answering, he was surprised to discover Vesper outside his room, the girl only looking up at him briefly before returning her attention to her phone, texting away rather furiously.
"Can I help you?"
"Frankie wants to talk to you," the dhampir explained. Without even bothering to look up at him, she motioned with her hand for him to follow, offering no further explanation.
A thought about the lack of consideration in today's youth skidded across his mind, but his curiosity won out over his pride as he exited from his chambers, eyes narrowing a little in suspicion when the teenager led him to Francesca's door. Not even bothering to knock, Vesper helped herself into the room, leaving the man to linger in the doorway as she made her way over to the bed, plopping down rather unceremoniously as she continued to study the screen in her hand.
"Ah! Vlad! Good evening. I hope your rest was pleasant," Alayna called out, standing behind Frankie who was seated at her dressing table. Her cousin had just finished positioning a strategically placed pin in the woman's hair.
"It was. Thank you," he answered instinctually, but his eyes had fallen immediately on Francesca. She stole a glance in his direction, but was yet to offer him any further acknowledgement.
"Thank you for your help, Lana. I think I can manage from here," the woman declared, rising from her cushioned seat as she finished fastening a pair of emerald earrings, the deep green of the jewels a perfect complement to the shade of her blouse. "If you could let your father and Eduardo know that we'll be down momentarily…"
"Of course. Although Satanas won't be happy to hear he still has to wait to see you. He's been most impatient since his arrival."
It was subtle, but Vlad noted a brief flash of annoyance in Frankie's expression as she rolled her eyes a little before smiling.
"If he puts up a fuss, assure him that he will survive a few minutes more," the woman insisted, now adjusting the hem of her pencil skirt before using the mirror on the wall to make sure the seams on the back of her nylons were still centered. When she went to slip into her shoes, she paused. "Vesper, I thought I asked you to grab the Jimmy Choo's from the closet for me?"
"I think you should wear the Louboutins instead," the teenager explained, finally looking up from her phone, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but she was in a room full of vampires with acting skills far superior to her own.
As if on cue, her phone vibrated almost guiltily and before she could shove the device into her pocket, Vlad had crossed the room in a blur, snatching the mobile from her hand.
"Hey! Give that back!" the girl immediately protested, but with his palm suddenly on her face, he lightly pushed her back onto the bed, creating distance between them.
It wasn't long before a pillow came careening toward his head, but he gracefully moved out of its path, not in the least bit disturbed by the projectile. He used his thumb to scroll up on the screen, reading through the teenager's recent conversation. When Vesper leapt off the bed in an attempt to tear the phone from his hand, he held it up out of reach, his palm on her face again as he kept her back.
"Seems the shoes were actually Carmen's idea," he announced, continuing to skim through the dialogue before coming across something in particular that made his lips curl into a borderline menacing grin. Alayna made her way over to him. He positioned the phone so they could view it together as he casually continued to fend the teenager off.
The youngest de Chacier laughed after reading.
"She calls them your secret weapon shoes," the woman explained, appearing heartily amused. "Vesper asks what that means and then Carmen goes on to say that every man who has ever seen you in them turns into a single-minded, drooling ani…"
But before she could finish, a very embarrassed and red-faced Vesper successfully reclaimed her property from Dracula's grip. He made no effort to get it back from her, having made his point, and the adults all watched as the teenager, humiliated and eager for a retreat, began to stalk toward the exit.
Even in a completely different country on the other side of the continent, Carmen was still proving to be incredibly meddlesome. Vlad wondered if he should be grateful, amused, or concerned by the woman's blatant interference. Perhaps a balance of the three would be prudent?
"I didn't ask to spy for her," Vesper muttered angrily under her breath. "Even when we're hundreds of miles apart, she's still telling me what to do."
Frankie looked on sympathetically.
"Vesper, wait…" she called out and the girl paused obediently in the doorway, still too mortified to turn around and look back at the amused eyes that were watching her closely. "Would you like me to speak with her?"
"Fat lot of good that'll do," the dhampir grumbled bitterly.
"You know you could just turn your phone off, or at the very least, leave it in your room."
"I tried that and she got pissed at me for avoiding her. You know how she gets..."
"I could also just take it away from you."
Vesper looked up at that, briefly horrified by the suggestion.
"But then how am I supposed to talk to Anna-Sophie? And what if something happens that is legit important and Carmen can't get a hold of me?"
"I didn't mean permanently. Just for the evening," Frankie explained. "Tell you what – you surrender your phone to me for the night and I'll return it to you after I talk to Carmen. That way if she accuses you of ignoring her shameless attempts at meddling, you can put the blame on me and I'll be the one to deal with her."
"You'd do that?"
"Of course," she replied with a smile, holding out her hand. "The Spanish have never intimidated me – just ask Satanas. Besides, if Carmen truly needs to get a hold of you, she can call the house directly. And if she tries to give you more instructions, let me know, and I'll come save you."
"But what if she retaliates?"
"She won't if she knows what's good for her. I give you my word, she won't punish you."
The girl's phone buzzed in her hand as if in protest and she glanced down at the device in consideration before making her way over to Frankie and placing it in her upturned palm. The woman immediately shut it off and Vesper visibly relaxed, appearing relieved.
"There. Now why don't you and Alayna head downstairs to greet our guests while I have a quick word with Mr. Leinhart?"
The girl nodded, smiling in gratitude before following Alayna out into the hall, the latter opting at the last minute to leave the door open.
While a little perturbed by that, Vlad was grateful, at least, that they were now alone.
"Secret weapon shoes?" he cued conversationally.
Frankie lifted the infamous pair of patent leather stilettos from off the floor, and placed them down on the edge of her vanity. The thin heels were easily five inches in length, with blood red soles and a fierce point in the toe. It was easy for the man to imagine why they had earned the nickname.
"Carmen likes to exaggerate," the woman explained with amusement, briefly disappearing into the dimly lit closet before reemerging with a pair of more modest looking pumps in hand.
"I'd happily be the judge of that."
"I'm sure you would," she said, a smile in her voice.
"So… are those shoes meant to entrap your maker or someone else?"
"It takes a lot less to entrap the likes of Eduardo. I could walk around with bedhead, sweatpants, and day-old blood breath and he'd still think I was trying to elicit sex from him."
"If anyone could make that work in their favor, it'd probably be you," he teased, but there was an unintended amount of earnestness hidden away behind his smile that spoke volumes. His gaze briefly raked over her figure in thinly veiled appreciation and it was only when she turned to look back at him that he made a conscious effort to return his attention from her ass to her face.
"I appreciate the compliment, but alas, I didn't call you in here to discuss the power of the right accessory," and after she had slid into her shoes, she motioned with her hand for him to sit on the edge of the bed.
He silently declined with a subtle shake of his head and she shrugged in acquiescence, returning to the seat of her vanity. When she was comfortably situated, one leg crossed over the other, she began,
"I recall you mentioning once that you are in fact acquainted with my family's sire, Señor Meirás."
"To some respect, in former years," he admitted. "Although I doubt he'll remember me."
"You'd be surprised. He has an excellent memory," and she paused to smooth the nonexistent creases in her skirt. "I also understand from Alayna that you had been asking some rather specific questions regarding my relationship with him."
Vlad did his best to ensure that his expression did not mirror the one Vesper had been wearing just moments ago.
What a disappointment that Alayna proved to be less discreet than he had previously hoped. He had been caught, but Dracula refused to appear guilty for his snooping. He did, however, fold his arms across his chest.
"Could you blame me for being a little curious?" he defended, maintaining her gaze.
The woman's tone of voice up until this point had been fairly calm, serene even; but now her smile was tinged with something deviant and like a moth to a flame, he was being pulled in.
"No. Though you've always seemed to hold a peculiar interest in the details of my personal life. I can't help but wonder why…"
Her curiosity, while admittedly justified and by all means relatively inconspicuous on the surface, had trap written all over it and it made him want to smile.
"You fascinate me," he answered after a moment of consideration.
"Is that all I do?" she asked without missing a beat.
She then uncrossed and crossed her legs, expression unchanged but eyes sharp like a razor when she caught his attention hesitating from her face down to the short-lived space between her knees.
The corner of his mouth twitched into a sly smirk.
Was she finally bringing out those claws of hers that he liked so very much? Enticing little minx.
"I am afraid I'm not at liberty to say," he replied, his answer having its intended effect. She took his bait.
"Why?"
"Because we agreed to be friends, as per your request… and should the truth be spoken aloud, I could never take those words back. I fear their impact on our relationship would be immediate and everlasting."
The heat in his voice sent delicious shivers down her spine and Frankie became aware of how her body was already responding to the invitation in his eyes.
God in heaven, this tension between them was going to be the death of her!
"That's right; we did agree to be friends," she said, struggling to appear unaffected by his words. She had to divert her gaze from his for a moment to quickly collect herself. "I'll readily admit that I'm not the most forthcoming individual, at least where my private life is concerned. It's something I've struggled with for centuries. I don't let others in easily and even when I do, it can be difficult to volunteer information. I drive poor Lyra and Carmen crazy sometimes, it's a wonder they still put up with me."
"I've always believed a little mystery to be healthy," he offered, "but like most things, it is best in moderation."
"I agree, and I'm working on improving. In truth, I used to be much better at being more open, but after the events of a few years ago… let's just say it was easier to crawl into myself and regress than to allow the people I care about to share my burdens with me. You'll recall how standoffish I was when we first met."
"Not the word I would use, but yes, I remember."
"In the spirit of my own personal improvement and because you are correct in that we did agree to be friends, I'd like to give you the opportunity to ask me any questions you have regarding the nature of my relationship with Eduardo before we head downstairs. Naturally, we won't have much time to really delve into things, but I understand your curiosity and would like to speak for myself for a change instead of allowing others to do so for me."
Dracula stood there for a moment or two in silence, pondering her offer before finally responding.
"What is the nature of your relationship with Eduardo de Meirás?" he asked after some deliberation, making a concerted effort to appear less interested than he was.
"He and I have a long and complicated history; but for the last half-century or so, while he's remained a close friend and confidant, there's been nothing beyond the strictly platonic between us. That's not to say that he doesn't desire more or that he hasn't tested those boundaries on occasion – primarily for his own amusement – but he comprehends my feelings and has, thus far, respected my wishes to practice a certain level of sexual continence. Although between the two of us, the man takes no pains in making it abundantly clear that he does not enjoy that aspect of our relationship. But in his defense, he at least has the decency to understand what the word no means. On that note, I should probably warn you – Eduardo has no filter. He has always been in the habit of saying exactly what he thinks and feels, basic decency and the comfort of others be damned."
While he gave no indication in word or expression, her answer satisfied Vladislaus for the present and he could feel himself relaxing a little.
"Alayna referred to your relationship with him as dysfunctional, but wouldn't elaborate on what she meant by that…"
Frankie chuckled in an attempt to deflect her own embarrassment.
"Sadly, it's a fair assessment, but in my defense, she's one to talk given the way she toys with poor Benicio, but I suppose I have no right to judge her on that count. Anyway, I assume she told you about the family theory that he and I share a sire-bond?"
"Your brother was the first to acquaint me with the notion," he admitted, finally taking that previously offered seat at the edge of her bed.
"Eduardo and I have always been close, I'll admit to that much," she began, standing as he made himself comfortable. Her arms folded across her chest as she studied her feet for a moment. "But what my well-meaning family neglects to fully grasp is that the reason for our unique connection is because he and I have been through a lot together," she continued, slowly making her way over to him, "which is incredibly vague, I recognize that – and if we had more time to dive into the particulars, I would share them with you if that is what you wished…"
Frankie took a seat beside him, but kept her attention fixed on the rug beneath their feet.
"He did once possess a tremendous influence over me after my transition – for some decades, actually. He wasn't just my maker, he was something so much more than that – he was my teacher, my liberator, a constant source of self-empowerment, and yes, also my lover. But we connected on such a profound level – the likes of which I've yet to replicate. He saw something in me the night we met, and what's more, he unlocked something that had previously laid dormant – what precisely, I could hardly begin to say.
"But with the death of my husband and the sudden liberation I experienced from his passing, I found myself transforming into this woman I had never imagined myself capable of being – autonomous, powerful, resilient, sexual, and unapologetically headstrong – all things Eduardo nurtured and encouraged, especially in those first couple of years. For decades, my family was convinced that my change was a sign of his influence, but over the centuries I've become wholly convinced that that wasn't entirely the case, that I've always been this way, I just never had anyone I felt truly safe with before, someone I could be my authentic self with – whatever that was. With Eduardo, I was always at liberty to experiment, to try new things, to figure out who I was without risk of judgment or condemnation. And he loved and appreciated all those different facets of me – well, for the most part. But does that make sense?"
Dracula only nodded.
"When I was a mortal," she continued, "I had been raised to behave as society – and, more importantly, as my grandmother – dictated; constantly instructed to suppress my own thoughts and feelings and impulses… my voice. But after I became a vampire that changed. The social constructs that had kept me bound for the entirety of my life were gone and I was finally with someone who didn't want to see me live out my years as a docile creature designed to be controlled and to breed, but as something more, something greater, something untamed, unrestricted, uninhibited. The members of my family have all stayed relatively unchanged since they were turned, true to their characters now as they were in life for the most part. But Eduardo helped me to become something beyond what I had been the night I died. When he saved me from Alphonse, he didn't just grant me immortality or freedom from a possessive husband. He gave me purpose … he helped me to find and unlock an inner strength I never even knew I had, a potential that to this day I still don't fully understand."
She rested her hands on either side of her on the bed, their fingers barely an inch apart.
"But there came a point where he couldn't help me grow anymore beyond what had already been accomplished, and that became all the more evident after Lyra and I escaped from Marcus in Rome."
"What do you mean?"
"Eduardo once told me that the night he turned me, he sensed some thing in me, some otherness he did not fully understand – the likes of which he had never before encountered in any of his fledglings – but whatever it was, it called to him. When Marcus had broken me, when my blood-rage had emerged, Eduardo told me he had sensed it again, that it had been awoken – whatever it was. He is the only person I have ever known to have witnessed or felt this thing, to grasp – at least in part – who or what I am at my core. He tried to recreate the occurrence, to unveil whatever was lurking unseen behind my eyes, but to no avail. We had become too different by that point in our relationship, had grown too distant from what we had once been, and the trust of old had been long lost between us. It was clear that I had become too independent for him, too stubborn. He once accused me of building my walls too high for him to scale."
Her smile was rueful, mournful eyes quietly examining the small amount of space that lingered between her and Vlad's fingers, barely an inch apart on the edge of the mattress.
"Yet in spite of all of that," she concluded, glancing up at him now, "he has remained my closest friend. There is very little that has happened in my life that he doesn't know the intimate details of."
"Sounds like he is very important to you," was all Vlad could think to say, his attention – like her own – now distracted by the designs of the rug beneath their feet.
"He is," Frankie confessed. "But contrary to popular opinion, he is not the most important person in my life… hasn't been in over three hundred years. I suppose my reason for telling you all of this is to say that if there ever was a sire-bond, it was broken when we first parted ways in 1830."
"What brought that about?" he asked, finally looking at her, though her attention remained downcast.
"For the sake of brevity, let's just say that the majority of men who claim to like strong women only ever seem to feel thus when they don't actually have to go toe-to-toe with one."
He chuckled a little.
"True, but in defense of my own sex, a genuinely strong woman can be an intimidating thing, especially if the man in question lacks a certain degree of confidence or self-awareness," Vlad explained. "It's even trickier when you're dealing with two very dominant personalities."
"I don't know – I maintain that there's a stark difference between domination and being domineering."
"True, but in any relationship, there still needs to be a certain level of…"
"Give and take?" she offered and he nodded.
"Yes… if the relationship is going to work, if it's going to be healthy, there needs to be a balance of power on both sides, a willingness to submit on occasion, to compromise. Clearly defined expectations are also crucial..."
"And a mutual respect for the other's autonomy," she added.
"I take it from your tone that that was the primary issue at hand when it came to you and Meirás?"
She nodded once.
"After Alphonse, I swore to myself that no man would ever rule over me like that again, and when Eduardo tried to invoke the right of maker over me, compelling me to adhere to his whim, it felt like a betrayal. It was a betrayal. It took me years to learn how to trust him again and even after all this time, we both know that things will never be as they once were because of what he did. He did learn from his mistakes, though, and has proved repentant, so we were able to resolve things, but by the time we got around to reconciling, we had changed too much. Or at least, I had."
"He's still very much as he always was, I understand."
"Yes," she laughed. "One of the few constants. That's not to say that he hasn't matured or grown personally over the centuries, but at the end of the day, he's still very much the same amoral libertine who's a bit too puckish for his own good. Or have I misrepresented your character entirely?"
Frankie looked up in the direction of her open door and Vlad followed her gaze to find that they were no longer alone. Someone had been standing in the hallway, listening to their conversation, unannounced.
It had been easily two or three centuries since the reputed "Prince of Darkness" had crossed paths with that of the "Spanish Devil"; and while the latter's manner of dress had changed with the times, little else of Satanas had. Eduardo de Meirás still had the same dark curly hair, the same meticulously trimmed beard, and the same penetrating eyes that were now observing the couple seated on the edge of the bed with a barely constrained amusement. He crossed over the threshold without invitation.
"As accurate as ever, cariño, but be honest – would you have me any other way?"
Frankie smiled.
"No, I suppose not." She stood, Vlad quick to follow suit as he watched the woman meet her maker half way across the room, the two readily embracing. "It's good to see you again, Eduardo."
Satanas' hold tightened into a meaningful squeeze as he rested his cheek against the side of her head, expression serene, relieved even.
"Amor de mi vida…" he whispered at the end of a sigh before pulling his head back for a moment so he could affectionately kiss her brow.
"I thought I told Alayna to let you know that we'd be down in a moment?" and she leaned back a little as if to get a proper look at him, her expression turning accusatory.
A natural kind of deviance returned to her maker's eyes as he patted her cheek like one would a small child before moving one of his arms up and around her shoulders so they could face Vladislaus together.
"And I would have waited, but I was eager to become acquainted with this friend of your brother's that I keep hearing so much about," and he motioned to Dracula with a nod of his head and a knowing smile. "Your dear uncle has told me so much, I just had to come and see the man for myself."
"I somehow doubt that," Frankie said, a flash of timidity in her eyes before she stepped out of his hold and straightened, making her way to stand between her maker and their king. The woman raised her hand in Vlad's direction, silently inviting him to step forward. "Mr. Leinhart, this is Eduardo de Meirás. Eduardo – Vlad Leinhart."
Satanas' mischievous grin only seemed to be deepening by the second as he extended his hand to keep himself from instinctually bowing.
"Mr. Leinhart," the man repeated with noted emphasis. "A pleasure. I understand that you served his majesty until recently? Well over six-hundred years working for the dragon… When Rémy told me, I was certain that our paths had crossed at some point in former years, but for the life of me I can't seem to recall you, which is odd because I never forget a face."
For the briefest of moments, Vlad genuinely considered refusing the man's hand in response to his blatant suspicion. He could only assume that Armand had informed the Spaniard of his true identity, and if that were the case, Eduardo was certainly making no qualms of immediately testing his boundaries.
How Vlad wished he could wipe that insolent smirk off the man's face, but the weight of Francesca's anticipation for his reaction helped him to keep his ego in check. He accepted the offered hand and shook it once, grip unmistakably firm.
"Señor Meirás," was all he said, offering a short incline of his head in acknowledgement and nothing else.
This only seemed to encourage the Spaniard further, however, and while Vlad's expression remained perfectly stoic and unreadable, there was the faintest narrowing of his gaze that Frankie picked up on immediately. She held her breath.
"So how did you and my favorite little lioness happen to cross paths?" Satanas asked after his hand was released. The Spaniard betrayed no sign of intimidation, but Vlad was gratified when he noticed the way the man subtly extended his fingers as if to dispel the slight ache his grip had caused. "Must be a fascinating story. Has Rémy picked up on the sexual tension between the two of you yet or is he still completely oblivious?"
Frankie's eyes widened in shock before she sent her maker a dangerous warning look, but it did nothing to deter him. If anything, her glare seemed to embolden the man as he continued to hold Dracula's gaze, silently daring him to make the next move.
Vlad didn't take the bait, however.
Instead, he remained rooted to the spot, his back straight, shoulders perfectly squared, chin tilted upward just so, the picture of regal superiority and indifference. The only sign of disapproval on his part was in the unflinching intensity of his stare as he held Eduardo's gaze. Unwilling to give way to instinct and put the man in his place while claiming Francesca as his own, he allowed himself to relax, a faint, but charming smirk curling his lips.
"Miss Chase and I are friends," he explained and at this, his counterpart's eyes began to sparkle with unsung laughter.
"Friends?" Satanas repeated, scoffing once as he glanced over at Frankie in disbelief, apparently seeking confirmation. The woman appeared torn between humiliation and a homicidal rage. "Is that with benefits, cariño, or no? I certainly hope so for your sake that it's the former at least. You and celibacy have never been good bedfellows and lord knows any man at this point would be an improvement compared to that tree you were dating when we last saw each other."
"That tree has a name, though you still refuse to utter it," she reminded him pointedly and the Spaniard barked a harsh laugh.
"Like I care if that mutt has a name…. He was unworthy of you – lycan royalty or not. I told you this from the start but you never listen. Werewolves are great for a tumble if you're into something purely bestial, but…"
"Satanas," she interrupted in warning, "Tristan and I haven't been together in over half a decade. Your continued hostility toward him is complete overkill at this point…"
Eduardo looked to Vlad and winked.
"She's so easy to vex, this one. Have you noticed?"
Dracula smirked just a little in agreement, but said nothing as Francesca continued.
"I'm not angry – I'd never give you the satisfaction," she insisted, folding her arms defensively.
"I can barely recall the last time you gave me any sort of satisfaction, darling," Eduardo said with a dramatic sigh, pretending to ponder the subject. "God, it's been centuries!"
"It's barely even been half a century, old man. Don't be so dramatic," she replied without missing a beat, and though she smiled now, her maker was quick to note the way she could scarcely maintain a second of eye contact with Vladislaus all of a sudden. "Besides, contrary to your current moaning, Alayna tells me that you've been kept more than amply satisfied thanks to the services of your latest harem of protégés in Geneva."
"Satisfied is the wrong word, cariño," he countered with a rueful smile. "They're all pleasing little things to be sure, but they will never be as sublime as la sirène."
Frankie rolled her eyes and blushed when she noticed the way Vlad was looking at her almost in agreement.
"Be that as it may, I'm certain Mr. Leinhart has no desire to hear about any of this, particularly in regards to your latest conquests."
"I don't know – I think Mr. Leinhart could put us all to shame with the tales of his own exploits…"
"I probably could," Vlad finally said, still maintaining his mask of perfect serenity, "but I've always maintained that actions are far more effective than mere exclamations of prowess."
The look he sent Francesca was brief, but smoldering, and while subtle, it was not lost on her maker – but perhaps that had been the intention.
"True," Satanas agreed, "but words have their merit."
"Only when appropriate, and given the blush in Miss Chase's cheeks, I'm inclined to think that such a conversation at this time is inadvisable," Dracula replied.
"Especially between people that are only friends and nothing more," the Spaniard added with a pointed look in the woman's direction.
Frankie did her best to at least appear unaffected by the not entirely unexpected route this conversation had taken, quick to adopt what charming smile she could muster before taking a deliberate breath to steady her nerves.
"I am certainly no prude, but I agree with Mr. Leinhart. This is hardly the time or place for such a discussion," she said.
The Spaniard exhaled as if in defeat, though his smile remained.
"I'm not sure if I concur with your mentioning of location, but if you insist, cariño…"
Frankie muttered an oath in her mother-tongue, gently rubbing the bridge of her nose.
"Satanas, you are impossible."
Eduardo chuckled, smirking a little in Vlad's direction.
"The only impossible person in this room is you, my dear. You used to be easier to get into than an art college. Now look you. All stone walls and cobwebs."
Frankie's hand moved with lightning speed, smacking hard against his upper arm and the man laughed.
"So abusive! You know I'm only teasing!" and he made a show of rubbing the spot she had struck as if it had hurt.
"Let's go downstairs!" she announced, already halfway out the door.
They were seated sometime later in the conservatory – sire and progeny – tucked away at the far end of the room surrounded by rich foliage and climbing roses that framed the opened French doors, leading out into the gardens. Frankie was at one end of the small round table situated between them, and while her attention was momentarily fixed on the beautiful summer evening just beyond the threshold, she remained perfectly cognizant of Eduardo's gaze.
She glanced over to find that he was indeed watching her, elbow on the arm of his chair as this thumb and forefinger slightly cradled the side of his face, middle finger resting over his lips. Though the serenity of his countenance lent him a look of impassivity, the twinkle in his eyes from an hour or two ago remained undiminished.
Frankie sent him a somewhat pointed look.
"You are positively shameless," she said, earning a soft chuckle from the Spaniard.
"Am I?" he asked innocently.
"I know Armand told you who he is, that you were to behave yourself, and what is the first thing that comes out of your mouth? Has Rémy picked up on the sexual tension yet? Ugh… honestly…"
"I was in that hallway for maybe a minute at most just listening to the pair of you, and without even seeing you, I could taste your desire in the air. Hell, I'm surprised he couldn't smell it."
"You're delusional, old man."
"And you're in denial, cariño. A dangerous thing to be in right about now."
She rolled her eyes.
"What did you hope to accomplish exactly by bringing up our history? That was humiliating, Eduardo."
"Oh don't be so melodramatic. You were hardly embarrassed. Flustered, maybe, but considering who the man is and the fact that you haven't had a decent fuck in over half a decade…"
"My sex life isn't your business anymore, remember?"
"How could I forget?" he asked, smirking, although his tone held a certain degree of resentment that was not entirely lost to her. "Doesn't mean the curiosity or concern, for that matter, isn't still present."
"Mr. Leinhart and I are friends, and that's it…"
"His name, Francesca. Stop being a coward and say his name."
She paused, shifting uncomfortably in her seat for a moment, folding her arms in front of her, legs crossed.
"Dracula and I are only friends."
"So you keep insisting, but I've yet to be persuaded."
"I don't need to prove anything you," she muttered mostly to herself, but her maker merely smiled.
"I'm not entirely certain he's wholly convinced either. In truth, I wouldn't be surprised if the man is merely biding his time until you finally fold under the weight of your own lack of fulfillment."
Frankie narrowed her eyes.
"Are you questioning my resiliency?"
"Never. We both know you to be irrationally stubborn – ever your father's daughter." Her self-satisfied grin perturbed him a little. "But I know you, Francesca," he added in earnest, leaning forward somewhat in his seat. "I know that in the last year, you've had a significant change of heart where he and the prophecy are concerned. You try to hide your feelings for him, but I can see them. It's written all over your face."
Her animated expression faltered somewhat; that carefully maintained mask beginning to slip.
"Your uncle gave me a brief account of his initial discussion with you after you first arrived, of the things you told him – your fears and concerns. He also told me that while Lucia has kept your brother occupied these last two weeks, that it is your company his majesty has been actively seeking out, in spite of your adamant insistence that the two of you be just friends and nothing more… that it is increasingly evident that not only he, but you desire more, that this current arrangement is leaving you both dangerously unsatisfied."
Eduardo tried to capture her gaze as he continued, but she refused to look at him.
"I know what you're doing," he said, voice low. "You think you're keeping him safe by holding him at arm's length."
"I don't want to hurt him," she answered quietly.
"And yet?" he cued.
"Everything is so effortless around him. It's so easy to talk to him, to open up, to trust him."
"And you're afraid of where that may inevitably lead?"
She nodded.
"It's like he's tearing down all of my walls without even trying and I know that given my own track record, I should be horrified of where all of this could end up, and there's a part of me that is, but he makes it so easy to forget. I often find myself wondering if he truly feels as I do or if he's – as you say – merely biding his time until he gets what he wants of me."
"I think it's safe to say that the feelings there are mutual, although I do not pretend to understand the inner workings of our king the way I do your heart," he replied with a slight grin. "So what comes next? And how can I help?"
"Nothing comes next." Frankie leaned back in her chair, sighing.
"Nothing?" Satanas repeated. "So you're just going to continue to string the poor man along until one of you snaps?"
"I'm tired of this conversation," the woman announced suddenly, rising from her seat. "If you'll excuse me."
But before she could reach the exit, he had grabbed her arm as she had passed. The man stood when she struggled to free herself and he towered over her, eyes dark and penetrating, yet she never shrank, even with the firmness of his grip.
"If this were any other man but Dracula, I wouldn't give a damn what you do, but this isn't a game, Francesca. His majesty may be patient with your indecisiveness now, but he won't stay that way forever. You need to figure out what you want while you can still make that decision before he makes it for you." Frankie roughly pulled herself free and began to stalk away, even as he continued. "You can't keep running away from who you are meant to be! You can't spend forever walking the line, Frankie! That's what gets people hurt!"
But she had already turned the corner, passing out of his line of sight and when she had vanished, the man swore under his breath, slamming his palm down on the table in frustration. He sensed Armand lingering somewhere behind and exhaled rather dramatically.
"After everything, I can't believe how completely selfish and headstrong that woman still is. She can't have it both ways, Armand. This is Dracula we're talking about – not some hapless nobody from Budapest."
"She's scared, Eduardo," Armand explained calmly. "This isn't a choice to be made lightly – she recognizes that. Even if she and his majesty are never formally blood-bound, there are still consequences that would inevitably follow if she gave herself to someone like him. Responsibilities, expectations, implications, risk…"
"But it isn't like her to be so gutless. The old Francesca would have made up her mind already."
"True, but you said it yourself – this is Dracula she's dealing with, not an average suitor. And the general inevitability of it all I'm sure isn't helping. Fortunately, his majesty appears to understand the pressure she faces and has opted to exercise patience in the interim as she sorts through her own feelings."
"How do you know this? Has he said as much?"
"No – but I received a rather interesting call from one Signore Bernardini two nights ago, who was more than happy to elaborate on the situation."
"Antón Bernardini?"
"The very same."
"How did he get your number?"
"I didn't ask, but the point is he is quite eager for there to be a union between his master and our Francesca."
"I bloody hate politics. This is precisely why I had us all avoid his majesty's court from the start."
"You know the state Budapest is in. I'm sure Bernardini only wants to help and he knows that Dracula cannot defeat Augustine without Francesca."
"I know, I know…that whole prophecy thing…" Satanas muttered another oath under his breath as he rested his hands on the back of his chair, watching as the man across from him continued to look out at the gardens. "You know that she won't make the first move," the Spaniard explained. "This whole just friends kick she's on reminds me of what she put poor Derek through – and we all saw how that ended."
"This situation is nothing like the one with Derek," Armand insisted.
"But there is a lesson to be learned there. The more she suppresses herself, the more dangerous the situation becomes. If she succumbs to blood-rage and something were to happen to him under your roof…"
"According to Carmen, he's faced her demon already."
"What?"
"She couldn't give me any particulars, but clearly he somehow managed to survive."
"Then what the hell is Francesca afraid of?"
"What she has always feared – losing control. If her dark passenger were to surface at an inopportune moment, there's no guarantee that his majesty would emerge unscathed a second time. It's a gamble she's unwilling to make."
"So what do we do?"
Armand glanced over at man his family called devil and smiled.
"I'm not entirely certain there's much that we can do at present. If there is any progress to be made here, I do believe that the burden of responsibility is going to have to fall on his majesty."
"There must be something we can do, though."
"I'd prefer to hear from his own lips his reasons for pursuing my niece before I go offering him any more help than has already been provided," Armand announced. "Rémy has been more distracted than usual since his arrival and Lucia is having a harder and harder time holding his attention."
"Well, I'm sure he and Benicio will have plenty to talk about for a few days at the very least, but I see where you're going with this – we need to know where Dracula stands before we try to keep our favorite revolutionary occupied."
"Precisely."
"Well then, no time to waste. I'll smooth things over with Francesca while you go talk to the dragon."
"Will you send her up to the music room before the top of the hour?" Armand asked, checking his watch. "That should give me enough time to speak with his majesty."
"Look at you, being so officious. I think I'm finally beginning to rub off on you!"
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