Sorry I missed a week of updating unexpectedly. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled updates now.
Hope you're all well!
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 20
Intentions
Vladislaus had grossly underestimated how much he had needed this outlet.
Alone at last in Armand's music room, he dared to sigh in relief as his fingers flew across the cool ivory keys of the concert grand. Sure, the Bösendorfer sound was a little clearer and transparent than what he was accustomed to, his Steinway back in Budapest being more on the dark and smooth side tonally, but it was the reprieve he had been craving, not the purity of sound. And so, for the first time in weeks, he was granted the opportunity to decompress, much of his previous stress and anxiety gradually being purged from his system with each scale and chord.
His playing, which had been only momentarily tentative, now swelled – all inhibitions gone as a familiar passion set in; fingers moving so rapidly, they were almost a blur to the naked eye. Each movement was executed with the exactness of a razor, no wrong note or discordant noise to interfere. But as it often did, soon place and time became temporarily lost to the man until nothing remained but that of the music he was creating, his mind emptying of all consideration and feeling – save one.
Like clockwork, something familiar began to scratch at the back of his brain, a face, a smile, a pair of sapphire eyes.
Francesca.
Even in a moment of rare solitude and relaxation, he couldn't seem to escape her. In an instant, his mind was once more possessed, a familiar tension and longing tightening in his chest, and with that change in thought his playing too had altered. A composition of his own devising eventually replaced the technical complexities of Liszt and Chopin and in their place was Frankie's song – dark and mysterious, rich intricacies and hidden beauties lying underneath an unassuming melody. Similar to his feelings toward the woman in question, the quality of the song had notably evolved with time, even more so now than it had been a fortnight ago when he had played it last in the privacy of his own flat.
It was second nature, surrendering to the music and her visage in his mind, to close his eyes in brief surrender as recollections of every touch, look, and fantasy flooded his senses. If he focused hard enough, he could feel her somewhere on the grounds just beyond the window, alone in the darkness among the roses. He imagined her sensing him, his soul calling out to hers, of her turning her head slowly to look back to the house, eyes in search of the glowing window of the music room. A shiver ran down his spine, sending him to straighten for an instant before he leaned forward once more over the keys, silently willing her to hear the music, for it to beckon her to him...
"Mr. Leinhart?"
The sound of another – one who was clearly not Francesca – interrupted his private moment as his eyes snapped open and he turned in the direction of the one who had spoken. He was astonished to find Armand standing before the closed door of the music room, situated comfortably against the wall as if he had been listening for a while.
How long had he been standing there?
Unwilling to appear as surprised as he felt, Vlad made a concerted effort to keep his mask of indifference rightly secured as he stopped playing, his hands sliding off the keys to rest in his lap.
"Armand. Forgive me. I did not hear you come in."
"It's quite all right. I did not wish to disturb you. My apologies for interrupting your solitude."
"No, I don't mind," he fibbed, offering a charming smile.
Armand smirked a little, knowing better, though not exactly ready to counter the word of his king. He bowed his head.
"I've been wishing to speak to you in private since your arrival, but I've found you're usually otherwise occupied. I was hoping I could steal a moment of your time, if you have a couple of minutes to spare?"
"Of course," and Vlad turned a little on the bench so he could better face the man. "I am at your disposal."
"Thank you. That is gracious of you," and Armand grabbed hold of the back of one of the chairs situated against the wall and brought it closer to the instrument. He took a seat. "So, I understand that my youngest has been diligent in seeing to your comfort, but as your host I wanted to ask – how are you finding your stay with us? Do you have everything you need?"
"Yes. Alayna has been very attentive and your staff most impressive. They seem to anticipate my every need. I want for nothing."
"I'm glad to hear it. And the rest of my family? I hope they are all treating you with the courtesy owed to you as my guest? You seem to get along well with them from what I've observed?"
"They are all very affable," Vlad explained, although his eyes narrowed just slightly in suspicion. "Might I ask why? Did some report give you cause for concern?"
"Not at all. Sometimes when there's an increase in the number of house guests, it can be easy for one or two to get lost in the shuffle and I wanted to ensure that does not take place, especially with you."
"Especially?" Vlad repeated, growing more curious by the second.
"Despite the alias you presently maintain, in many ways you are a guest of honor in this house, your majesty. I could never forgive myself if Vladislaus Drăculea left this estate finding anything wanting."
Dracula straightened a little at the sound of his true name as if its very utterance had power over his person.
"I beg your pardon?" he answered carefully, but Armand's knowing smile remained.
"With all due respect, there is no need for pretense here. My niece might insist on feigned ignorance, but I fail to see the point in pretending that you are someone other than what you are."
"I see," was the only response Vlad could think to offer. The silence between them lingered for several long seconds after that, Armand seeming to wait as if he were expecting some sort of specific query to follow. Although not wholly uncomfortable with the lack of conversation, Dracula found himself eager to unveil the true intentions of this private conference, and so he asked, "Is there something in particular you wished to discuss?"
That seemed to be the correct question, for Francesca's uncle straightened a little in his chair as if in anticipation.
"There is, in fact. I'd like to talk to you about your intentions toward my niece."
Dracula's eyes narrowed a little before a slow, almost mischievous smile tugged the corner of his lips.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," he lied with the skill of the devil, but Armand was anything but diverted by this blatant deflection. The man returned his king's veiled amusement with a pointed look… the kind of glare a loving father would give a prospective suitor of his dearest child.
"Your majesty, I do not wish to contradict you, but I have reason to believe that you know exactly what I mean," he countered firmly. "I've seen the way you've looked at my niece… and how she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching. She may not be my child by birth, but she is my blood and my brother's daughter."
"And this gives you the right to know my intentions toward her – if such things even exist?" Vlad clarified, unaware of how easy it had been for him to slip into his old mode of speech. But Armand had noticed the authority in his tone, not to mention the dominant mode of his posture. "Given that you clearly know my secret, your presumptiveness intrigues me."
Armand took a single, calming breath as he steadied himself.
Nature dictated that he back down in submission, but he resisted.
"Where my family is concerned, you will always find me thus," he explained, holding his ground. "But you are avoiding my question."
Seemingly pleased with his response, Dracula leaned back a little in his seat, the harsh lines in his face softening just a fraction.
"Not avoiding it," he assured the man. "Merely considering… What makes you think I have any inclination towards her? Everyone knows that she and I are friends, nothing more."
Armand actually rolled his eyes at that.
"Contrary to what Francesca may choose to delude herself into believing, I'm convinced you know who she is… what she is destined to become."
"And what might that be?"
His continued avoidance of the issue at hand seemed to push Armand over the edge a little and all patience momentarily vanished from his features, his expression hardening.
"Don't attempt to divert me by playing the fool, Dracul. Tell me your intentions," he demanded.
Vladislaus fell silent for just a moment, allowing his name – his true name – to hang in the air along with his host's justifiable frustration. While it was clear from the look worn on his face that Armand regretted raising his voice, he offered no apology. Instead, the man waited patiently for a reply to his question, one that Dracula mulled over in his mind for a moment or two longer than was probably necessary – in consideration or for dramatic effect, the Comté de Chacier could hardly tell.
"Not that you are necessarily owed an explanation, I shall do you the courtesy of at least telling you the truth and that is that I hardly know," Dracula explained simply.
The man seated across from him didn't appear entirely convinced at first, brows furrowing over pensive eyes as he studied the face of his king, searching for some sign or inclination of him being disingenuous, but he discovered nothing of the sort. Instead of requesting further explanation, Armand opted for silence, a tactic Vlad had witnessed Bernardini use time and time again when attempting to extract difficult truths.
To his chagrin, it worked.
"I am aware of the… expectations surrounding myself and Francesca," Vladislaus continued, his admittance seeming to please Armand, for he visibly relaxed at the news. "I've been aware of them for some time – although I didn't realize who she truly was until after the acquaintance had been formed, so I can assure you that the crossing of our paths was truly coincidental at the start. And while I may have pursued her at one point, it was made clear to me that that is not what she desires and so I have heeded her wishes."
"You do know why she pushed you away, right?"
"I am conscientious of her situation, yes," he confirmed with noted deliberation, "and how that is the main motive of her desire for distance. Her consideration for my well-being, though commendable, makes it difficult to progress further than we already have."
"So you actually want to progress further," Armand clarified, reading between the lines and while Dracula was clearly not eager to have this conversation with a stranger, he nodded his head in affirmation.
"I am willing see if we could make this arrangement work, yes," he confirmed. "But she has insisted that any relationship between us remain platonic and so, as I mentioned previously, I have chosen to respect her wishes."
"Frankie is hyper-conscious of her condition and the danger it can put people in – often to her own detriment."
"I admire her fortitude."
Armand's smile was rueful.
"Yes… her sense of discipline and restraint are commendable, but the chains she binds herself with are contrary to her very nature. If history has taught us anything it is that the longer she exists in self-inflicted subjugation, the more risk involved when she inevitably does lose control and break free."
"You worry about her." It was more a statement than a question – an obvious one at that – but there was a look in Armand's eyes that intrigued Dracula.
"Francesca is a lioness. When it comes to her strength of will, I have no need for worry when she actually takes care of herself – and the majority of the time, she is very good at finding balance," the man was quick to counter. "I do, however, worry about you, your majesty, and the role you are meant to play in her life… the one you are playing right now, in fact. What that could mean for her, the impact and influence you could and arguably already do possess. When I first learned of your presence in her life, I had anticipated a change in her, but nothing quite like what I've witnessed."
"And what change is that?"
"My niece has never been the sort of woman inclined to indecisiveness – in matters of the heart or even in something as base as desire. But with you, it has become apparent how torn she is and this increasing conflict in her can only cause more harm than good."
"But you know better than anyone, I suspect, her reasons for…"
"For fighting her instincts, yes; and I perfectly comprehend from where her fears and general reservations stem. But I cannot help but be convinced that perhaps it would be easier for her to make a decision, to open herself more to the risk of, as you put it, seeing if the two of you could make this arrangement work if she understood where you stood on the issue. I take it that neither of you have been open regarding the prophecy and your roles in it?"
"Not as of yet, no," Vlad admitted.
"Might I inquire as to why?"
"She's not ready for that discussion. She's known my true identity for months now, but still insists on referring to me by my alias, even in private."
"Yes… I've wondered about that. But surely that's a minor obstacle for someone like you. You're Dracula. Your reputation…"
"My reputation is exactly why I've abstained from pushing too hard since entering her life again. First and foremost, your niece is an intelligent woman. She'd sniff out such tactics a mile away and it would only cause more problems than it would solve. Believe me, I know from experience."
"But that was almost a year ago. Surely things have changed between you? What if you were to try again, and she proved receptive?" Armand suggested hopefully.
Vlad's brows furrowed a little in suspicion.
"Forgive me, but I'm having trouble understanding your sudden eagerness for a union between myself and your niece, Comté de Chacier. In fact, from what I've gathered from not only your own children, but in my conversations with Francesca and her brother, along with our shared associations – the whole lot of you, historically speaking, have been against this alliance since the prophecy's inception."
"Not against it entirely," Armand quickly defended, shifting a little in his seat, "but cautious, certainly. You have to understand, my family has spent the whole of our immortal existences outside of your court with nothing but the tales of your infamy to keep us from actively changing that. Can you blame any of us for our reservations toward you? The rumors surrounding your throne and your court, your honestly archaic methods of punishing those that defy you… not to mention your history with women in particular…"
"Do you judge your niece for her centuries of dalliances and past sins as harshly as you do mine?" Vlad interjected and his point had its intended effect. His counterpart's lips pressed together in silent embarrassment. "I will not be made to feel ashamed of my history, Comté – not by you or anyone. Yes, I have make mistakes, I have done things that I am not proud of, but do not presume to know me or the details of the circumstances in which those acts took place. You were not there."
He had delivered his message calmly, but there was no mistaking the firmness in his tone. Armand, recognizing his misstep, lowered his head slightly.
"I apologize if I have offended you," he said. "I am the closest thing Francesca has to a father. All I desire where you are concerned are assurances of her future safety and happiness."
Dracula sighed heavily.
"I understand."
"With all due respect, I'm not entirely convinced you do," Armand countered, trying to maintain a respectful tone. "That wall presently between you and Francesca is so much more convoluted than the existence of her blood condition. Her marriage to Alphonse broke her – let alone any real confidence she had once possessed in our sex – and despite the miracle of Eduardo's timing, the Duke's shadow continues to haunt her, whether she likes to admit it or not.
"So much of who she is is because of what that monster did to her, of what Eduardo also put her through. And then there's Augustine – the damage he caused has been, in many ways, beyond repair. When she returned to us from that demon's clutches, she was destroyed. Utterly and completely. And the remaining embers of the fire that had once burned in her had all but gone cold. It took decades for her to crawl out of that hole, for her to rebuild herself yet again, to overcome not only the trauma of what she endured and all that she lost, but the fresh hell that continued to stalk her, the rippling consequences of someone else's actions that she was left to deal with."
He paused for a moment to clear the emotion from his throat.
"That woman has walked through the fires of hell more times than I care to count. She is strong, she is resilient, but she is not indestructible, not without feeling. She deserves to be cherished by someone who is worthy of her, who can love, respect, and – most importantly of all – challenge her. I have met nearly all of her lovers, and while she has given her heart to many a good and powerful man, they were all beneath her. You, however, your majesty…" and he stood suddenly, moving his chair back to the wall, "you are not the average suitor. I may not have known your witch friend personally, but I know Francesca and she is capable of more than you or I can even imagine and I would very much like to see her fully realize her own potential."
Armand turned to face his king once more, Dracula still seated, silent and still at the piano, his expression difficult to decipher.
"When the time comes, Vladislaus Drăculea, know that every assurance that you'll be careful will not satisfy her. She's heard them all before. The risks involved are far too great and the scars of past experiences much too deep. So if you choose to actively pursue her, make sure it's what you want to do, not what fate dictates. Be all in or don't be in at all, as my dear Cece would say. I am convinced that Francesca wants to believe, to make an honest attempt… but she needs a reason to take that chance. When you decide what you want, give her that reason."
Armand de Chacier's counsel hung heavily in the air.
Vlad considered his words in silence, appearing to study the man's face but in truth, his mind was elsewhere. He was reliving that moment eight months ago in the subway tunnel when Frankie had pushed him away, the pain in her face, the tears welling at her lower lash line as she spat venom at him. He recalled the very real sensation of losing her as she climbed onto the train with her brother and disappeared into the darkness of the tunnel, the long days and nights without a word from her, not a single solitary moment in her presence, how she had haunted his dreams.
His mind then returned to that night in Venice, the once inexplicable sense of loss he had experienced when he had awoken to find she had vanished without a trace, the bewildering and uncharacteristic sense of panic and disappointment that had lingered for decades after that night.
Yes, being friends was infinitely better than to risk losing her again, but in that moment Vladislaus could not help but acknowledge that he would never be satisfied with this present arrangement long-term. Frankie wasn't the only one keeping herself bound in metaphorical chains – in an unconscious attempt to keep her in his life he had willingly restrained himself as well.
"So if you need anything, as always, do not hesitate to let myself or anyone else know," Armand suddenly announced, his abrupt interruption of the silence jarring the man. "And thank you again for being so willing to fill in for me this evening."
Before Dracula could ask what he meant by filling in, the door to the music room opened.
"Sorry I'm late, Uncle. I went for a walk in the gardens and lost track of…" Frankie paused in the doorway mid-sentence when she noticed that her uncle was not alone. "Mr. Leinhart. I'm terribly sorry. I seem to have interrupted something."
"Not at all, ma petite," Armand insisted jovially, making his way to her to place an affectionate kiss on her cheek as he patted her hand. "I was just leaving. I'm afraid I won't be able to keep our appointment for practice tonight and I've asked Vlad to fill in for me and he was gracious enough to accept."
Dracula's expression remained impassive, but the razor sharpness of his pointed look was not lost on his host who smiled mischievously.
"Only if Miss Chase has no objections," he replied, the hard lines in his face softening a little as his eyes fell upon the woman still situated in the doorway.
Frankie, a little taken aback but quick to recover from this unexpected turn of events nodded in acquiescence and offered him a smile.
"No, I don't mind. Thank you for being so willing to help. I'm sure there are plenty of other things you'd rather spend your evening doing," she said as she entered the room, making her way over to a handsome cabinet in the corner. As she pulled open the drawer where her violin was kept, Armand nodded his head in Vlad's direction, smirking.
"You two have fun," and then he departed, shutting the door behind him. When he was gone, the tension in the air was immediate, even with Frankie inspecting her instrument before heading over to the piano with it in one hand and what appeared to be an electronic music stand in the other.
"So let me guess," she announced, placing the stand down on the ground a couple of feet from where he sat, eyes fixed on the illuminated screen as she searched the digitized library for a particular song. "You finally managed to get some alone time with the Bösendorfer and my uncle used it to corner you."
"Pretty much," he admitted with a faint smirk. "He's a little… intense, that uncle of yours."
Sighing a little dramatically, Frankie double-tapped her finger on the screen in front of her to pair the stand with the music rack on the piano. It illuminated and the digitized sheet music for what looked like a variation on a Chopin waltz appeared.
"If you think he's bad, you should have met my father."
Dracula's smile broadened a little.
"I suppose I technically already have, since you're evidently him in female form – or so I've been informed."
She chuckled, still avoiding eye contact with him as she briefly checked the tuning of her violin.
"Trust me – he was much worse. So what did you and Armand talk about?"
"Nothing too scandalous," Vlad replied a little uncomfortably, clearing his throat and returning his attention to the instrument in front of him. "Shall we begin?" and he pressed down on one of the keys to confirm that her instrument was in tune. Intrigued by his blatant change of subject but choosing not to pursue the topic further, Frankie nodded, bow at the ready.
Dracula began to play and though Frankie kept her eyes fixed on the notes in front of her, she found herself distracted by the music he created, nearly missing her entrance. Vlad's style was very different from her uncle's – she had known that from the beginning, but accompanying him was quite the different experience from what she had expected.
Where Armand was always very by the book in their rehearsals, Vlad was much more expressive, constantly improvising. She half expected it to throw her off, but there was something so very infectious about the music he created, something that drew her in, an effortless pull. And in no time at all, a natural synergy began to bloom between them.
When the song ended, Frankie finally met his gaze, the pleasure in her gentle smile making it very difficult for him to maintain his mask of disinterestedness.
"You play very beautifully," he said, the compliment deepening her smile as her eyes fell modestly.
"Thank you. I'll admit, it's a little strange playing with you. Your technique is very different from what I'm used to accompanying."
"In what way?"
"You like to take liberties, don't you?"
"With some songs, yes," he admitted, tinkering around on the piano idly in an unconscious effort to distract himself. "Would you prefer I play by the book?"
"I would never want you to do anything contrary to your nature, Mr. Leinhart. You play however you'd like and I'll do my best to keep up."
There was something in her words, a suggestion hidden beneath layers of meaning, subtle yet so very poignant. He couldn't help but wonder… no. He dare not hope. But it was there – some sparkle in her eyes he had not seen in nearly four-hundred years. There was an unspoken invitation in her countenance as she waited for him to play the next song, her bow at the ready.
"I'll try not to overwhelm you," he promised.
Her smile deepened.
"Don't worry about me. I enjoy the challenge."
It was about an hour before dawn and Satanas had yet to cross paths with Frankie again since he had sent her up to the music room earlier that evening. Although he was grateful to have Alayna on his arm, the two in easy conversation, the general lack of his favorite protégé, along with the absence of their king, left the man admittedly curious… maybe even a little uneasy.
Or perhaps that was jealousy he was feeling just now, that gnawing human emotion that only Francesca could seem to bring out in him.
"I just don't know what to do, Eduardo," Alayna continued with a sigh. "I care for Benicio, I do. But I don't love him in that way… and the idea of being blood-bound to a single person for all eternity just does not appeal to me."
"Is it the blood-binding that turns you off or the commitment involved?" he asked with a teasing sideways glance. "You and Benicio have been in an open relationship for well over a century now and despite the pair of you taking other lovers when things grow a bit stale, you still manage to find your way back to each other. Besides, no one ever said that blood-binding required absolute fidelity."
"I just don't see the point of it if he's fine with being in a polyamorous relationship in the first place. Why the formality of marriage?"
"Well, there's the sociopolitical benefits to consider. He's head of the council, and a formal alliance with one of the oldest and most prestigious vampire families in the region can only be of benefit – but I doubt that he really cares about that."
"I suppose."
"He cares for you, pet."
"And I him. But to make it so official seems so…"
"So antiquated?" he offered. "My dear, it will never cease to amaze me how dissimilar you and Francesca are. Sometimes I wonder if I should have made you my creature instead of her."
Alayna patted his arm reassuringly.
"She was a far better student than I ever was. Besides, you remember how you tried to make me your Frankie-replacement and how well that worked out for you."
"Yes – you were terrible. Always insisted on doing your own thing."
"No man can tie me down," she laughed.
"Maybe. Where your dear cousin is a serial monogamist, you are the complete opposite."
"Are you calling me a slut?" the woman proclaimed dramatically, though the smile on her face suggested she was more amused by the insinuation than anything else.
"Since when has it ever been a crime to be a slut in this family?" a familiar voice called out from behind.
The pair turned to discover Frankie and Vladislaus coming up from behind and Alayna laughed in response to her cousin's retort.
"Since never," she answered. "Eduardo likes to think he's morally superior to the rest of us, don't you, darling?"
"Don't twist my words, girl," Satanas warned, lightly slapping her ass and chuckling when she squealed. "So, cariño," and he turned his attention to Frankie, motioning to both her and Vlad, "where the devil have the two of you been hiding all evening? I dropped by the music room to check in and you were nowhere to be found!"
"We just came from the library," she explained, glancing over at Vlad. "After practice, we got to talking…"
"And she accused me of misquoting Voltaire, so naturally we had to end the debate by looking it up…" Vlad explained.
"… and I was in the right," she continued with an impish grin in Dracula's direction. "Jonathan Swift said 'Every man desires to live long, but no man wishes to be old.' Not Voltaire."
"Yes, but they both shared very similar sentiments on the subject, and I only brought it up because it supported my argument that the appeal of our kind stems not from the promise of longevity, but…"
"But the misconception that being a vampire guarantees the restoration of lost youth, yes, yes. I know."
Eduardo and Alayna exchanged looks as the pair continued in their playful little repartee. Soon conscious of the weight of her maker's stare, however, Frankie finally pulled her gaze away from her brother's friend, her smile growing a little demure.
"Anyway, we weren't there long. You must have only just missed us."
"Actually, I dropped by to check on you hours ago. Did you not know? It's nearly dawn."
The curve in Frankie's lips slipped, eyes widening in disbelief.
"Really?" She looked to Alayna for confirmation before glancing back at Vlad. "Have we really been talking that long? I had no idea."
"The time must have gotten away from us," he offered.
"I suppose it did."
Satanas smirked mischievously.
"That's not like you, cariño, to lose track of time so easily."
Frankie flashed him a look of warning, not at all caring for the implication in his words. Her reaction, however, only made the man chuckle.
The conversation was short-lived after that, a kind of awkwardness settling in the air that only Alayna seemed unable to fully grasp. The back-and-forth felt stilted all of a sudden as her cousin, now queerly self-conscious, began to slowly retreat from the company, eyes downcast almost guiltily as if Eduardo's unspoken judgments had reminded her of something.
Alayna looked to Vlad for some kind of explanation for the sudden change, but the man seemed closed-off all of a sudden, dark brows furrowed a little in displeasure as he looked to Satanas as Frankie announced she would retire for bed now, soon after disappearing down the hall as she made her way to her private bedchambers. Her absence was felt immediately, that tension in the air now intensifying as Vlad and Eduardo exchanged a series of looks, the former seeming displeased with the latter's earlier teasing, though he never said as much.
After her cousin's friend departed company, Alayna couldn't help but feel like the man whose arm she was still on had interrupted something just there in a moment of inexplicable pettiness. Which is why when they finally crossed paths with another member of her family, she made no hesitation to free herself from her maker's company, eyes narrowed a little in suspicion.
Vladislaus stood in the darkness of his private chambers, leaning back against the cool, polished wood of his locked bedroom door, the silence deafening. His brow was still furrowed in displeasure, not at all appreciative of Satanas and the man's evident delight in making Francesca self-conscious for spending time with him this evening.
But what an evening it had been!
Their exchange had been vibrant, steady and effortless, both in the music room as they practiced together and long after when they wandered the halls of the house rather aimlessly, lost in conversation. It was true that they had gotten so swept up in their tête-à-tête that even he, Vladislaus, had neglected to realize the lateness of the hour – but was that really so terrible? The ease in which they had fallen into discussion had been wonderful, Francesca's increasing openness and trust even more so.
In fact, Vlad couldn't help but wonder as he slowly began to disrobe how differently this evening could have ended if they had not happened upon the woman's fiendish sire in the hallway just now. The thought brought him to a pause shortly after removing his shoes, shirt half unbuttoned as he turned to look at the wall that separated his room from Francesca's.
He was not ready to say goodnight to her just yet.
But what to do?
His earlier conversation with Armand began to replay in his mind as he made his way over to that inconspicuous wall, sensing her on the other side. With his left palm lightly pressed against the panel, he leaned forward and closed his eyes, reaching with his mind to feel her, to sense her more clearly.
She was moving about, humming softly to herself as she readied for bed. It was easy to imagine, her undressing, removing the pins from her hair, pulling the covers down on the bed before dimming the lights.
Make sure it's what you want to do, not what fate dictates, Armand had told him.
In that moment, the decision had never been so clear.
Vladislaus did want this.
He wanted her.
Fate and the prophecy had nothing to do with that anymore. His throne and Augustine were the last things on his mind. Every ounce of his being was fixated on Francesca, just beyond this wall. She was like a burning flame in an eternal night, something about her that called out to the darkness in him, a siren song.
He reached a little more consciously with his mind, honing his senses on the sound of her, the weight of her presence, the faint scent of roses that seemed permanently imbedded in her skin. She must have recognized him then, because her humming stopped. While he could not see beyond the wall, he could feel the shift in the air as she turned to look back in the direction of his room. His eyes opened, though he was hardly aware of the damask floral wallpaper at the end of his nose.
Remaining utterly still, he lingered, still mentally reaching for her, urging her, willing her to come to him, to cross the threshold between their rooms, to use the secret passageway. He was hardly aware of his own desires until he had sensed her making those silent steps toward the wall adjacent his, her nearness virtually undoing him as that familiar longing intensified.
She was so close, yet not nearly close enough.
While he could not see her, he could sense her, imagining her raising her hand to press against the wall just as he was, feeling him and that distance which was so inconsequential, yet so profound.
But would she move?
Would she surrender to the desire thrumming through her eternally preserved flesh and close the distance? Would she even acknowledge it?
He could sense her indecision from the other side of the wall, her hand pressed firmly against the panel, yet she never took that final step forward. Instead, as she so often did, Frankie resisted temptation, and when he felt her moving away, returning to the center of her chambers once more, Vlad groaned inwardly, torn between being impressed with her self-restraint and so thoroughly exasperated by it.
Then he remembered –
Francesca wants to believe, Armand had told him, to make an honest attempt… but she needs a reason to take that chance… give her that reason.
Without even making the conscious decision to do so, Vladislaus pressed both hands firmly against the panel until the door to the secret passage gave way and opened. The chill of that narrow hall was lost to him as he passed silently from his room into hers.
Her bedchambers were softly lit, the air cool and inviting, the scent of the rose garden just outside her window flooding his senses as he crossed the threshold unannounced. It hadn't quite dawned on him what he had done until his eyes had fallen upon her and by then it was too late to retreat. She turned to meet his gaze the instant he had entered.
As anticipated, she was dressed for bed, but he hadn't been prepared for the vision she presented. She donned a simple navy blue silk nightgown that fell mid-thigh, black lace tantalizing over smooth, toned thighs. She wore a slightly longer black robe, the sash loosely tied around her waist, her open hair situated over a single shoulder in rich waves that took on an auburn hue when they caught the light.
But his appreciation of her attire was short-lived when his eyes trailed down her legs to stop at her feet where he noticed the stilettos she was wearing.
Her secret weapon shoes.
Slick, patent leather black with that evocative pop of red in the soles, and the things they did to her calves and ass… Every muscle in his body hardened in an instant.
At last, their eyes met.
Her expression was one of surprise, but not of immediate disapproval – perhaps just shock.
"Mr. Leinhart? What are you doing here?"
Though he hadn't yet decided how best to respond, his true motive was clear as it prowled across his fevered brain like some kind of dark, sleek predator.
Giving you a reason, he thought to himself and he closed the secret door behind him, sealing them within her room.