Happy November, everyone! I hope you all had a safe and enjoyable Halloween.
A special thanks to Scarlet Empress and She-Devil Red for being so phenomenal with the consistent reviews! You have no idea just how much your regular support means to me. I know a number of you are still reading or are in the process of catching up, but I hope you know I appreciate you as well! I've said this before, but writing and posting really can be such a lonely thing, so having you all there really does mean the world. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
CW: some violence à la a sword fight followed by a bath-time seduction. It gets explicit. One of the two parties involved gets a "happy ending." The other will have to wait their turn. I'm a shameless tease, I know.
Also, I don't claim to be an expert on fencing/dueling outside of the basic research I've done (thank you, Google, YouTube, and an old fencing manual I bought years ago at a library book sale). For my readers who have a penchant for details, please do forgive me if I've gotten any of the mechanics, techniques, or equipment names wrong. I did the best I could with what I had readily at my disposal.
Okay. Now that I've covered my ass - ENJOY!
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 25
A Lesson in Control
The rhythmic clash of steel echoed throughout the gallery, the combatants armed with both rapier and parrying dagger, their movements swift and precise. Their deadly dance of blade and footwork to the untrained eye appeared as exact as a razor's edge, but Frankie was lost in the mire of her own thoughts and Eduardo had no qualms in taking full advantage. With a flick of his wrist, the tip of his sword sliced across her cheek and she huffed her irritation, the drawing of blood marking the present round of their duel as ended and the Spaniard smiled triumphantly. He motioned with the end of his dagger to Vesper who was seated comfortably at the far end of the room near the door, legs tucked beneath her as she kept track of the score on an old slate.
"Another point for me!" the man proclaimed before sending a sidelong glance at his weary opponent. "Honestly, cariño, are you even trying? I know I taught you better than this," he added teasingly, making his way back to the center of the room where they would start their duel again.
Frankie took her time returning to her mark, the nick on her cheek quick to heal of its own volition. She pushed back the stray hairs that had fallen loose from her braid and tucked them behind her ear, her expression stormy.
"Don't mock me, Satanas," she warned, pointing her blade in his direction as she approached. "I'm not in the mood for your usual facetiousness."
"Yes, I've noticed," and that amusement of his spread up to his eyes. He had always enjoyed her anger. "Look, I understand that you're agitated, darling, and that nothing would give you greater pleasure than to tear Marcus Augustine into tiny little pieces with your bare hands, but seeing as how that isn't exactly an option at present…"
"I know, I know," Frankie interrupted, swinging her blade violently through the air so it would create that whipping sound. She then twirled the weapon once in her hand at the hilt before tilting her head to one side and then the other to stretch the muscles in her neck and shoulders. "I appreciate the distraction. Truly, I do," she sighed, emphasizing that last point with genuine sincerity. "I just… I can't shake this irritation. I still feel on edge… alarmingly so."
"The exercise should be helping..."
"Exactly, and normally doing something active is sufficient, but right now it's not…"
"Do you wish to stop?"
"No… I'll be fine. I just need to push through this. Though you constantly winning is not exactly making me feel any better."
Eduardo sent his favorite protégé a wry grin.
"Would you prefer I go easy on you?"
"Of course not," she exclaimed, offended by the suggestion. He chuckled.
"Then focus. Get out of your head. Or at the very least, make a better attempt to actually best me," he taunted. "I know you have it in you. You may be out of practice, but I know you're not this incompetent."
When she reached her mark, blades were raised to signal the start of the next match and then Eduardo lunged forward with his blade in a feint attack. She parried on instinct, leaving him to riposte, but her lack of focus left her wide open and in a series of moves, the tip of his rapier ran across her cheek again, ending the round and leaving the woman effectively defeated once more.
She actually growled that time as her maker feebly attempted to stifle the laughter in his throat.
"I stand corrected," he said, smiling. "Clearly you are that incompetent."
Usually, Frankie would have let his teasing go. She knew he was only trying to get a rise out of her, there was nothing inherently malicious about his mockery. But the last ten hours had been long and emotionally taxing.
The sexual frustration from her earlier encounter this afternoon with Vlad still remained unfulfilled; and then there was the incident in the old house, followed shortly by the bad news she had received during their video chat with Bernardini. All in all, the events of the evening had left their mark and instead of purging those negative feelings, they had been allowed to fester, transforming gradually into a now almost debilitating fury for not only her situation, but the one who had put her in it.
It was Marcus who had murdered her parents, Marcus who had stolen half a decade of her existence and spent it torturing and mutilating her. It had been Marcus who had tainted her blood, stolen her freedom to choose to believe in the prophecy, to choose Vladislaus… It didn't help that with every passing evening, her feelings for Dracula only continued to flourish. She didn't even have to try – the connection between them was instinctual, organic. Effortless.
But she could not have him.
And with that denial came the awful reality that Augustine had essentially doomed her to an eternity feeling fractured, isolated… a danger to all those whom she loved, like some sort of pariah. And that alone was enough to stoke the fire in her belly. She knew from experience that a release of this toxic tension inside of her was needed. If she didn't find an outlet soon, things could get precarious very quickly; but her usual coping methods weren't cutting it. Being in the music room only served to remind her of her evening prior with Vladislaus. Hunting was also out of the question, and even the violence of her little competition with her maker was proving itself counterproductive.
Frankie wasn't quite ready to admit it, but the longer the night progressed, the more she found her desires aligning with that of her inner demon. The only thing she could think to satisfy her was blood and frenzy.
No, she thought to herself. I cannot give in. I won't let this rule me.
And so in a desperate attempt to keep herself under control, she repressed and restricted herself – an old technique that subconsciously she knew had the potential to cause more harm than good. But what else could she do?
She was tired and angry and tense and she needed a reprieve.
Which is why when her sire had baited her once more with his teasing, she momentarily snapped. Her dark passenger had been cloying in the back of her brain all evening, that tightening in her chest worsening as a blackened energy continued to aggregate within.
Momentarily possessed by a need to wipe that smirk off the Spaniard's face, Frankie blindly lunged forward, swinging her blade in his direction, fully intent on slicing him open. Perhaps being the one to draw blood for once would make her feel better…
But Eduardo sensed her attack, along with a tangible shift in the air. He turned just in time to block his protégé's rapier before it could pierce his flesh and the amusement in his eyes vanished when he noticed the expression she was wearing.
"Francesca, control…" he chided, but she was already in the throes of losing herself to the fury in her veins. She couldn't see or hear reason. All she saw was red.
In a moment of pure insanity, the beloved and familiar face of her maker was replaced with that of Marcus Augustine in her mind's eye and the monstrous hunger for violence and blood that followed was blinding.
Vesper immediately sensed the danger the moment Frankie threw herself into the next series of attacks, the uncharacteristic concern in Meirás' eyes chilling. The teenager ran out of the room, shouting for Armand.
As Eduardo blocked each of the woman's attacks, he watched as her eyes began to make that familiar change, her glowing irises flashing between violet and red, the angry network of veins slowly darkening as they became more visible beneath her pale flesh, tears visibly welling in her eyes.
"Francesca, stop!" he commanded, and with a maneuver he disarmed her of her parrying dagger. He went to forcibly remove the rapier from her grip next, but she head-butted him, knocking him backward and distracting him just long enough for her to disarm him entirely before swiftly kicking him in the chest.
Satanas was on his back, eyes frantically searching for something with which to defend himself, but before she could deliver the final blow, another sword blocked her attack. The Spaniard looked up to find that the owner of the opposing blade was none other than Dracula.
Frankie, not wholly lost to her demon yet, but by no means entirely herself, glared hard at the man, clearly not taking kindly to his interference.
"What do you think you're doing?" she snapped at him.
"Keeping you from doing something we both know you'll regret," Dracula answered evenly, his voice deceptively mild. When she moved to push his blade away so she could finish the job, he effortlessly disengaged her, twirling once and pushing her weapon away from the silent Spaniard.
"He was taunting me," the woman explained, sounding like a petulant child. "He had it coming."
"If you spill his blood, you will lose control," Vlad countered with infuriating rationality.
"I am in control!" she barked back, but then she realized how she sounded and her expression softened a little as her anger echoed throughout the room.
Vlad's thin lips curled just a fraction, a cruel smirk, but his eyes were mournful.
"Hardly," he replied without missing a beat, his even tone having its intended effect. The ferocity in her eyes began to lessen. "You are a ball of unbridled aggression. I could taste your rage out in the hallway."
With a movement quick as lightning, he smacked her blade with his, pushing it farther away from her maker's chest, forcing her to fully disengage. She relented, but it was clear her agitation had not fully abated. Without breaking eye contact with her, Dracula motioned with his hand for Eduardo to distance himself, and the man obeyed immediately, rising to his feet and all but materializing over to the far end of the room where he then lingered warily by the door.
Vladislaus, meanwhile, still had his blade raised in Frankie's direction; attention fixed as they slowly began to circle one another.
"Why are you so angry?" he inquired next, his voice low, persuasive – a singsong quality to the words even as he lunged. She knocked the attack away and then feinted into a counterattack.
"Do you not know?" she asked him a little incredulously. He had anticipated her move and easily slipped around her. She felt the flat of his blade slide along her neck, the metal cold, but gentle. Teasing. The mockery of a caress.
He was playing with her. Like he was fighting a child.
She felt like a child – powerless, small, and angry. Angry to the point of tears.
"Of course I know, but I think it would be of benefit if you said the words aloud."
Her face worked furiously, emotions flickering almost too quickly for him to name. Their swords connected again and slid apart.
"It's not fair," she said at last, taking several long steps back to put distance between them. "None of this is fair."
He waited patiently for her to elaborate, the silence that filled the tense air around them borderline oppressive. She could almost feel herself cracking internally under the weight of it, of everything. Those infernal tears started to well in her eyes again, pricking, burning, and the shame that accompanied her vulnerability only served to further feed her dark passenger, the wrath in her heart intensifying.
"I didn't ask for this – for this thing inside of me; to be continually broken and violated in this way. And just when I think there's hope at finding a cure, the one thing that could make me whole again…" her voice wavered, eyes filled with longing and despair, "it has been stripped from me! Cruelly and without remorse!"
"I know," he answered sympathetically, his voice remaining low, controlled.
"He's taken everything from me, Vlad!" she continued, those tears now tumbling freely down her cheeks, much to her own chagrin. "Everything! My parents, my freedom, my ability to choose…" She nearly finished with a desperate you, her lips moving to form the word, but she couldn't get the sound to leave her mouth. It didn't matter, though. He knew what she was going to say and his expression softened, a rueful smile. "And what about you?" she added, instinctually deflecting the attention from herself. "I know that I am not the only one who has suffered at Marcus' hand…"
"It's true," Dracula confirmed with soberness, lowering his blade when he was certain the danger had passed. They were standing face to face now, the energy in the room shifting as she returned to reason. "But there is little I can do in the face of Marcus' treachery at present. He has nothing to lose and no reason to fear retribution because he can never taste of true death. Not by my hand anyway."
Frankie finally lowered her weapon, more herself now, but that unquenchable rage was still settled uncomfortably in the center of her chest. While the man's soothing presence led her gently into calmer waters, she couldn't seem to free herself of her agitation. She exhaled heavily.
"So what am I to do?" she asked. "Am I just supposed to sit by and accept that this is my fate? To live in perpetuity, forever in fear that at any moment I could cause harm to those I care about?" and she sent Eduardo a remorseful glance before her eyes fell to the floor at her feet in shame. "Am I to be supplanted? Am I supposed to just submit, to forfeit my mind, my body, my choice… to lie down and surrender as fate does with me what it wills?"
"I would never ask that of you," Vlad said, his words so soft she had to strain to hear them. "I know it may feel like it now, but all hope is not yet lost. We may not be able to cure what runs in your veins, but I can teach you to better navigate and control your blood-rage… if you'll let me."
She looked up at him and for the first time that evening, he could see just how exhausted she was. There was something in her eyes that belied her eternally preserved youth, a weariness that he recognized and understood perfectly, even intimately. She felt more kindred to him in that moment than she ever had before.
"I can't face this darkness alone," she whispered, the prophetic words sending a shiver down his spine and something warm to swell in the center of his chest.
"You don't have to, iubito," he murmured in reply, stepping forward so he could reach out and caress her cheek. The tenderness of his touch sent another tear silently tumbling down and he gathered it with his fingers before wiping it away. "I may not be able to save you from this, but at least let me help in giving you the tools you need to save yourself." There was something akin to regret in his eyes, a kind of guilt that seemed to suggest he felt in part responsible for her present suffering.
Frankie reached up to hold his hand to her face before he could pull it away, the feel of his touch the most comforting thing she could have asked for.
"I am what I am through no fault of your own," she insisted. "You have no reason… no obligation toward me."
His smile was slow, tender, but behind his eyes she could see something lethal hidden, as if he knew better. In truth, they both did.
"Perhaps not," he replied. "But I have no wish to see you suffer further."
Her heart ached.
Oh, how she wanted him.
She could still feel the phantom caress of his hands on her body from earlier this afternoon, the press of his lips against hers, his breath on her neck. Frankie shivered ever so slightly at the recollection. Had that only been just hours ago? It felt like an age.
"And how am I to repay you for your counsel?"
"You will owe me nothing – no favors, no obligations or allegiances, no quid pro quo."
"So you do this out of the goodness of your heart?" she asked rather skeptically, the newfound lightness in her tone alleviating some of the tension in the room. He removed his hand from her face, chuckling silently.
"Do I strike you as the sort of man inclined to charity?"
His self-deprecation had its intended effect. Her lips curved just a hair, forming the faintest of smiles.
"No – which is why I can't help but wonder…" Her voice trailed off as her uncle and Vesper entered the room abruptly, interrupting the moment. Vlad and Frankie both looked to the newcomers, but Eduardo was already quietly updating them on the situation as to not disturb the couple further and Dracula took that as a sign, returning his attention to the woman in front of him.
"My motives are my own," he continued for only her to hear. "But let's not waste any more time." He then took his mark and motioning with the tip of his rapier, he silently instructed for Francesca to do the same. She obeyed and awaited his next command.
"Your first lesson, Miss Chase," he said, stating her name with added emphasis, as if it were for the benefit of their audience, "is to acknowledge what you are feeling. Anger, rage, disappointment, lust…" While his tone remained unchanged, she noticed a spark of earnestness in his expression at the mention of the last emotion, the one that had essentially put her on this path this evening and she knew immediately to what he was referring to. "When you feel your grasp over your faculties slipping, acknowledge it – for now, say the words aloud if you can," he continued. "Let us start there. What were you feeling when you attacked Señor Meirás?"
He then stepped forward, blade drawn and he lightly tapped the extended steel, beginning their duel; but his attacks were half-hearted, casual, even.
"Frustration," she admitted, following his lead as they lightly crossed swords, once, twice… three times. With every other strike, she named an emotion. "Insecurity… anger… fear…"
The last word caught his attention.
He had been cognizant of that fear in her from the earliest moments of their acquaintance, and while he had managed to put some pieces of the puzzle together since then, he couldn't help but ask,
"Tell me what you are afraid of."
Vlad waited patiently for her to respond, but her lips remained tightly pressed together for several seconds as they continued in combat. It was only when he stopped and repeated himself that she finally responded.
"I'm afraid of what I am, afraid of what I could be… afraid of what I feel," she said with some deliberation. "Afraid of losing control… that if I loosen my grip and let go, I'll get carried away in the undertow and I won't ever be able to find myself again."
"Are you afraid now?"
"Yes," she answered and with utter sincerity, staring directly into his eyes. She continued, her voice barely a whisper. "The expectations, and my own increasing desire to fulfill them, in spite of present circumstances… the hope makes me feel so… so…"
"Vulnerable," he finished, comprehending her perfectly. Frankie only nodded, but not once did she break eye contact.
Dracula paused for a moment, pondering on her words while peeling back the layers to find any additional meaning. So she really was open to the prophecy, he wondered to himself. Her feelings must have mirrored his own – that proliferation in not only desire one for the other, but in affection, a genuine care and tenderness, a growing concern. The subtle affirmation both reassured and devastated him, but he hid his true feelings with perfect mastery.
Bending down to pick up Eduardo's parrying dagger from off the ground, he armed himself with the second blade, Frankie following suit and they resumed their fighting stance.
"The second lesson," he announced before lunging forward again, his attacks a little more rapid this time. "Once you've acknowledged what you're feeling, you must resist the urge to fight it. Allow yourself to feel. Hold space for it. Let it flow through you," he explained, his movements graduating in intensity. "Breathe through it if you must – deep breaths." He watched as she visibly took a deep breath between a parry and a beat attack, and he could sense that in spite of her concentration, her dark passenger was still very much awake and alert. "Do you still feel that energy in you? The anger and fear?"
She nodded and he paused once more, halting the duel.
"Where does it originate?"
"It's a tightness in my chest most of the time," she explained, motioning to her heart. "It then slowly spreads up to the back of my skull and down my spine. It's an intense, almost suffocating pressure, like a giant wave or impenetrable wall that's closing in around me. I try to push it back, but whenever I do that, especially for long stretches of time…"
"The more you restrict, the worse it gets," he translated, nodding in understanding. "I am very familiar with the feeling. This is going to sound counterintuitive, but I want you to give it room to stretch. Slowly… gradually," and with a move of his sword, they began again. When he saw that she was returning to that state of agitation, however, he stopped. "You're suppressing, Francesca."
"No I'm not."
"Don't lie to me. I can tell," he accused. "You're so busy trying to push it back down that you can't focus on anything else. It's why your form is so terrible."
"See! I told you!" Eduardo exclaimed, but Vlad's expression told her to ignore her maker.
"I don't know how to give it room without allowing it to rule me," she admitted.
"Imagine that this energy, this hunger, as it were – picture it as a kind of wild beast in a cage, if that helps. Right now, you have it locked away, confined to an astronomically infinitesimal space in the back of your mind. To add insult to injury, you rarely feed it; you never give it room to move. Like you, it craves freedom…"
"But if I give it what it wants, I'll lose control."
"That's where lesson three comes in – you have to work with those emotions, Francesca. You must learn to exist in tandem with what is inside of you without letting it rule you. You are the master here," and he pointed the tip of his blade at her heart. "You are in command of the hunger, the rage. They may be a part of you – but they are not who you are. The only reason why it feels like some indefinable other attempting to claim control is because you've become so disconnected from that part of yourself, the vampire in you, the animal that craves blood and violence and the thrill of the hunt. And because you've spent the last two centuries denying yourself, ignoring and suppressing your fury, your fear, and all of the unpleasantness surrounding your time in captivity – all of that has been left to fester and aggregate. Your need for control is coming from a place of fear, of insecurity, a lack of trust with yourself and others. You have to learn how to trust that other part of you. Can you do that?" he asked, lifting both blades again in a fighting stance.
Frankie hesitated for a moment, studying him with noted uncertainty.
"I don't want to hurt you."
But the king of vampires smiled confidently at her, maintaining his position.
"You won't hurt me," he answered, not an ounce of arrogance in his tone as he gave her a daring smile. "Not unless it is what you desire."
Although it was clear she was still not wholly convinced, she answered his silent challenge by raising her rapier and with a light thrust of his blade, their duel commenced.
As before, his attacks were nimble and quick, easing her into the stress of their battle. He was the picture of self-mastery, his lines and footwork flawless. But it was his attention to detail that truly impressed; his eyes moving as quickly as their dueling blades, taking in Frankie's every expression.
Her gaze was still storming with conflicting emotions, but to her credit, the woman was fighting to put his counsel into practice.
Unfortunately, and through no real fault of her own, her anxiety prevailed and he sensed this in her immediately as she wavered to riposte.
"Don't let your fear stifle you, Francesca," Vlad instructed her. "There's might in you, a well of strength and power. Tap into that."
Frankie took another deep breath to steady her nerves.
He was right of course.
Beyond the rage and the fear amassing in the center of her chest, she was slowly becoming cognizant of something else deeper inside of her: a swell of some currently unnamed energy crackling, flickering faintly like a small flame. Using all she could to focus on whatever it actually was, she inhaled deep once again, and with the slow release of air, Frankie began to feel something shift inside of her. Instead of all that feeling collecting and crushing her with its weight as it had before, it started to move, slowly at first, and then with more fluidity as her instincts kicked in.
Her eyes, which until this moment had been dark with emotion, began to lighten, her movements, like that energy inside of her, growing more effortless, flowing; her pace quickening like the gradual rushing of a great river.
Dracula smiled.
"Yes," he encouraged. "Keep going… let it all move through you. Channel it. Feel it in your arms and legs, in your fingers, running along your spine…"
She did as instructed, slowly allowing herself to embrace this dark energy and power that for so long had terrified her. She could feel it beginning to meld with her conscious and unconscious mind, becoming less a separate entity to mistrust and control and more as it had been once before: a perfect marriage between human and beast, the incorruptible and the monstrous. For the first time in over two centuries, Frankie actually felt a little more like her old self.
For just a brief moment, she started to remember what it was like to be whole.
The adrenaline and pure excitement nearly overpowered her, but something about the pride in his expression as he took her in amidst their fight kept her focused.
When he feigned right, she met his attack.
When he sprung at her, blade carefully balanced, she swung her body around him, a ballerina in a circle, and then she jabbed. Struck.
He took the hit, made one of his own. Then she made a graceful leap, a pointed stab towards his chest. He rounded her, met the thrust of her sword.
But she was gaining confidence, her next series of rapid-fire movements made with almost surgical precision, too quick for the human eye to detect.
And in the blink of an eye, she had disarmed him with the mere flick of her wrist, the tip of her blade at his throat. He immediately held his hands up in surrender, smiling, even as their duel concluded.
"Very well done," he said, his words of approval followed by a burst of sudden applause from their little audience by the doorway of the gallery. Eduardo, Armand, and Vesper rushed over to the pair in the center of the room the instant Frankie lowered her weapon, a look of relief washing over her face.
The compliments and praise that filled the air were heart-felt and overwhelming, but their words fell on deaf ears where Vladislaus was concerned, for nothing could compare to the radiant smile on Francesca's face. He found himself beaming with silent pride as the woman's sire and uncle both congratulated her, Armand exclaiming that he knew she had had it in her all along before informing his daughter, Alayna, who had passed by the room to see what all the commotion was about, of the great news.
But Dracula's greatest reward was the silent expression of gratitude Frankie sent him amidst the chaos. No matter the distraction her family offered, her gaze always returned back to him.
It was nearly dawn, the sun due to rise within the hour and Vlad could not have been more grateful for the pending day. Given the emotional rollercoaster of the last fourteen hours, sleep sounded like perfection.
Well… near perfection.
As he had the morning prior, he found himself using the secret passageway between his and Francesca's bedrooms. He had no intention to stay the day in her private chambers again – not without an explicit invitation anyway – but he did feel this insatiable need to see her one last time before retiring.
Her room was dark and empty, the bed undisturbed and the heavy drapes drawn over the windows. The only sign of life – unnatural or otherwise – appeared to be coming from the private bath connected to the boudoir, a dim light illuminating the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. From what he could hear, the shower wasn't running, and too curious for his own good, he found himself closing the distance without a second thought. He knocked once and then tried the handle, surprised that it had been unlocked given what he found beyond.
The bathroom was filled with a thick steam, almost like a mist – the humidity intense. Frankie was situated comfortably in an oversized standalone tub near a window, the frosted glass and adjacent mirror completely fogged up. Her eyes were closed, dark hair gathered on top of her head in a large and messy bun, a few errant locks lining the column of her neck, clinging to her damp skin. The surface of the water she was soaking in was overrun with bubbles, the white foam effectively obscuring her nakedness, the scent of rose and bergamot oils a heady perfume.
"I thought I felt a draft," she said, eyes still closed. "So what will it be? Are you going to continue to linger in the doorway or are you coming in?"
When he didn't reply, she looked over at him, raising her arms so they'd rest atop the walls of the tub, knowing perfectly well the picture she presented. He slipped into the closed quarters and shut the door behind him, making a point to look at her face and not the faint swell of the tops of her breasts precariously situated just beneath the surface of the bubbles.
"I had hoped to speak with you before sunrise, but it's been hard to get you alone."
"Well, I'm alone now. What was so important that you found the need to enter my private space uninvited for a second morning in a row?" she asked archly, the smirk which curved her lips betraying her own amusement at his actions.
"Given your success in the gallery earlier, I wanted to see if you were interested in holding similar training sessions. I do believe that under my tutorage you can learn to do what you did earlier on instinct. At least until a more suitable option presents itself."
"I'd greatly appreciate that, if you can spare the time."
"I'm not sure if you noticed, but I seem to have nothing but time these days," he explained, slowly making his way over to the bath, his steps light. Predatory. His eyes raked over her just once before his attention flickered briefly from her face to the dragon brand just above her breast. The sight of it made the base of his spine tingle. "If anything you'd be doing me the service – I would like to be of use."
"You're unaccustomed to all this leisure," she translated, sitting up a bit more in the bath as she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs.
"I will admit, I've enjoyed my stay thus far under your uncle's hospitality, but it's also been difficult… being here where everything is so tranquil and peaceful…"
"Especially when so many are still suffering in Budapest," she added, and he nodded in agreement. "I haven't heard much of anything from Carmen or Lyra or even Danny. They're still safe as far as I know, but as to the details of their present circumstance…"
"I know." He lingered for a moment, standing over the tub before slowly crouching down beside it so his face could be level with hers. "So you see? My motives aren't nearly as gallant as they ought to be." The mirth in his eyes made her smile.
"And here I thought you were sincere when you said there would be no quid pro quo between us," she teased, resting against the wall of the tub again as her knees slipped back down under the water.
"I would have thought you knew me better by now," he said, smiling a slow and lethal smile. "I'm inherently false and unforgivably selfish." His lack of shame made her chuckle as she leaned back a bit more, eyes growing heavy-lidded as the darkness of the early morning waned. She looked perfectly docile, a stunning contrast to the fervor he had witnessed not once, but three times tonight.
"Yes. You are a perfect scoundrel," she announced softly. "Nonetheless, I am at your disposal, Mr. Leinhart."
"I had also hoped that after everything you and I have experienced together today, I'd never have to hear you call me that in private ever again," he mused, expression deceptively impassive as he absently studied the dewy curves of her shoulders and collar. But the heat in his tone was unmistakable.
As his attentiveness lingered on his dragon insignia branded below her collar, she watched in private fascination as the desire in his eyes became more apparent; the intensity of his gaze, the longing – all more poignant. He was taking her in slowly, thoroughly – as if she were something indulgent and luxurious that demanded savoring. The longer they remained in silence, the more cognizant Frankie became of that familiar swell of yearning between them. She enjoyed the feel of his eyes on her, but what she really wanted was the touch of his hand, his skin against her own.
He must have read her mind, because as soon as the thought came and went, he reached out then, eyes cautious and narrowed on her face. He stroked a slow finger down the side of her cheek, a brief caress, before moving his hand behind her head. With gentle confidence, he began to rub the back of her neck, holding her gaze to his even as she sighed, her eyes flittering shut for a moment in pleasure.
"What do you want, Vlad?" Frankie asked eventually, drawing out his name. When she felt his thumb move to trace over her lips, she opened her eyes again.
"There is one more lesson I'd like to teach you before I let you retire for the day," he clarified, his voice lowering an octave, his desire adding a graveled quality to the sound. It sent a quiver through her sex.
"And what lesson is that?" she asked, suggestive, lilting.
"I want you to do what you did earlier with your anger and your fear… and apply those same principles to lust."
Her eyes widened just a fraction, unsure if she had heard him correctly, but the earnestness in his expression was unmistakable. She brought one of her hands out of the water and left it to hold the side of the tub as she turned to look at him a bit more directly.
"Oh?" she asked, suddenly demure.
Dracula did not answer right away, his silence only deepening the tension. He took her hand at the wrist and lifted it slowly, pressing a kiss to her palm, then to her fingertips, countenance darkening.
"I want you to touch yourself," he purred, the mere suggestion igniting a deep, primal fire in her womb and she trembled a little. Then he took one of her fingers into his mouth, running his tongue along the digit before adding another.
"You technically started this," she murmured once the shock of his request had abated, finding her voice again. "Shouldn't you finish it?"
The man felt nearly all the blood in his body rush to his pelvis as the purity of his desire flowed freely through his veins. Oh, that devious little temptress.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he chided with a dark smile.
"You're the one that insisted on playing with fire this afternoon," she reminded him. "You opened that door after I told you not to."
"Only because you begged me," he teased, kissing her wrist. "And so prettily, too."
"I did nothing of the sort…" but then her words fell short when he ran the tip of his tongue along the part of her arm nearing the shoulder before kissing a scorching trail from the curve to her neck. The caress of his lips left her skin tingling. "Although you keep this up and that might change."
His chuckle was low and rich.
"What's this? Now you're encouraging my persistence?" he teased.
Her eyes grew heavy-lidded as she looked at him, her gaze on his lips.
"Only because you make it so easy to indulge in my more masochistic sensibilities." She watched as he brought her fingers to his lips again, only after kissing them he lightly flicked his tongue at the web between two of her digits, communicating exactly what he wanted of her. She bit her lower lip to keep herself from moaning. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, chéri."
"Oh, I fully intend on keeping that promise," he assured her. "But not yet… baby steps, dragă. If the events of this evening have taught me anything, it is that we mustn't run before we can crawl… and I have every intention of making you crawl." Her arched expression was scorching, but she offered no rebuttal. Vladislaus met her look with one of his own before releasing her hand so he could reposition himself behind her. He then leaned forward to whisper in her ear, sinking the fingers of one hand into her hair so he could gently bring her head back onto his shoulder. "Now then, start slow… let it build gradually."
He ran the tip of his nose between her temple and hairline, lips brushing against her skin in soft sweeps as he gently tested the doors to her mind. Finding no resistance, he helped himself inside, using his stronger will to draw up recollections of this afternoon.
She lingered for a moment, submitting to the fantasy he wove before allowing her hand to slip beneath the surface of the water. He could feel the crackle of sexual energy radiating from her the moment she started to touch herself, fingertips caressing those hairless nether lips before sliding between the slit. She then began to lightly tease over that bundle of nerves at the crown of her womanhood in slow, deliberate circles.
"Imagine my fingers between your legs," he breathed, his free hand caressing slowly down her other arm, which remained along the wall of the tub. "Can you feel me, iubito?"
She whined softly, a whimpered yes stumbling past her lips as she closed her eyes. He pressed a kiss to that favorite spot on her neck and it was that caress of lips to skin that turned her bones to water and her sex a lake.
Her dark passenger was wide awake now, conscious and alert as before and the moment she felt it, she instinctually began to slow her ministrations. Dracula sensed the change in her and was quick to respond to it.
"No, no, no… don't restrict," he commanded gently. "Remember… give it room to breathe. Let it move," and he slowly began to caress her arm with his fingers, tracing intricate whorls and swirls along her damp skin.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she started up again, the heat of the water nothing to the fire steadily building between her thighs. She could feel the strength of him behind her, like some nameless energy that would wash over her each time his skin came in contact with hers. She could soon feel it in the roots of her hair, in her flesh, prickling at every nerve-ending, and then soothing its singe with a darkness that sang with hers.
Fully committing to the task before her, Frankie lifted her left foot and rested her leg over the wall of the tub at the knee, opening herself more before fully, succumbing to the black within her, sensing that energy she had felt in the gallery upstairs just an hour or two ago return. As she had before under his instruction, she let it flow, channeling it, allowing it to saturate her limbs until she felt tingly all over.
"That's it," he encouraged her. "Give way to it…"
She circled her fingers harder, faster, her own ministrations coupled with the erotic undertones in his voice and the way his mouth played over her neck enough to bring her close to the edge with very little effort.
"Now fuck yourself for me," he whispered, and while his vision was still obscured by the bubbles, the movement of the water changed as she plunged two fingers deep into her channel. The air was soon filled with her wanton moaning – soft, agonizing gasps and sighs that sent Vlad's eyes to glow and his fangs to lengthen in a familiar hunger. "Yes," he growled, taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth as he hissed. "You like it hard, don't you, dragă? A rough, merciless pounding."
She keened at his words, the movement of her fingers relentless, sending the water to lap in choppy waves against her skin.
Vladislaus had to bite down on her shoulder to keep from moaning himself at her performance. She was utterly divine like this – taking her pleasure in her hands, thinking of him, aching for him, her lips parted and trembling, eyes screwed shut as she neared the precipice, head back and neck free.
He could see the gentle protrusion of her jugular vein running along the side of her throat out of the corner of his eye and it tempted him more in that moment than it ever had before.
What he wouldn't give to taste her, to sink his teeth into her sweet flesh and feel the burst of crimson life soak his mouth when she came.
But he could not.
And so to satisfy himself, he took her throat in one hand, forcing her head back and squeezing gently as he moved his mouth to that favorite spot on her neck. He sucked hard, worrying his teeth against the flesh before salving the flushed mark with his tongue as he pushed aside his own needs and surrendered himself to the moment, allowing her fantasy of him viciously fucking her with his fingers to saturate his brain. He groaned audibly at the suggestion, tempted to slip his own hand beneath the water so he could finish her off himself, eager to feel her channel clenching around him, but…
Baby steps, he reminded himself, having to take a few deep breaths in order to steady his nerves.
But then she pictured him adding his tongue to the mix – lashing her clit with it while he fingered not just her cunt, but her ass, and his cock pulsated painfully in need. His fingers moved to her hair and he tugged a handful at the roots roughly. The sound she made at that… oh, devil in hell save him, she did like it rough.
"You deliciously wicked thing," he ground out.
The flick of a smile that appeared as she bit down on her lower lip just about undid his sense of restraint.
That sly little minx knew exactly what she was doing, knew that he was tasting her mind as she touched herself for him.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
He said her name, then, drawing it out so it sounded like music as she danced on the edge. To distract himself from his own bourgeoning lust, he coached her, reminding her when to breathe and when to quicken the tempo of her fingers.
And then she met her release – a glorious shattering that sent her head all the way back and eyes wide open, and Vlad was momentarily lost. He continued to cradle the back of her skull with one hand, his other caressing over the front of her neck, but his attention was swept up in capturing every detail of her face, particularly the way her eyes sparkled as the orgasm tore through her. Her entire body trembled as she came, the water choppy and sloshing as she convulsed until the last tremor had ripped its way through her and a familiar stillness and peace washed over her limbs.
And then that satiated smile softened her countenance.
Vlad had to bite down on his own tongue.
It would have been so easy to take her now, right here in this tub, naked and slippery, legs spread and eyes warm, inviting.
But then he felt the prickle of awareness as she looked up at him and it provided him with just enough discipline to rein his own demon back in.
They said nothing for a long time, content in the silence and the intimacy of the moment as he cradled her head in one arm, his free hand lightly caressing her face as he stared into her eyes.
Before getting up to depart, he leaned forward slowly to kiss her, gratified when she reached up to pull him just a little closer, a silent plea for him to stay. But he smiled, pressing his brow against hers before whispering goodnight and then he was gone in a whirl of shadow and mist.
Because your boy is on the verge of having chronic blue balls and he's got to go take care of that. I should feel bad, but I don't. Because I'm evil. Don't worry, though, dear reader. Vlad will get his turn soon enough. ;)
*going to hell intensifies*
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