Many thanks to Scarlet Empress, SaruwatariAsuka, and She-Devil Red for reviewing the last chapter! I also had a few of you reach out in the PMs and I just wanted to say here, as I did there, that I am so very grateful for your support.
I get that writing reviews can feel anything from intimidating to tedious, but (and I know I'm not the only fanfic writer that feels this way) reviews and your outward support in general are literally the only payment we get for our labors. So truly - thank you for taking the time to review, but also thank you for reading, favoriting, following, sharing/recommending to your friends, and/or even lurking in general. I truly appreciate the support in whatever form it comes.
Now then... back to our regularly scheduled program.
CW: some minor violence and a heavy make-out session, followed by a bit of an off-screen domestic dispute. Rémy basically tries to blow holes in my ship. He means well, but also... ughhhh. ;)
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 28
Protective Older Brother
Several Weeks Later
The darkening sky was streaked with hues of crimson and violet as the sun fell behind the towering Alp peaks that cradled the hidden valley. The mild summer air gradually began to cool as the shadows of evening slinked across the earth like serpents, swallowing up the light until everything had been nearly devoured in darkness. Frankie pressed her back against the tree behind her, head turned to one side as she quickly checked her surroundings, ears tuned to the deafening silence of the woods on her uncle's estate.
It was quiet – almost too quiet, but she knew better than to trust the noted lack of noise. Just because there was no sign of the predator stalking her path did not mean that the coast was clear.
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She could still see his face in her mind – the shock, the insulted look as she had bested him in a way that could only be described as below the belt. Frankie desperately suppressed the snicker in her throat at the thought.
Poor Dracula, she mused silently to herself. Poor horny, sexually frustrated, too distracted for his own good Dracula.
That laughter she had been struggling to quash bubbled up suddenly into a kind of barely-there snort and she felt the air shift around her, realizing that he must have heard that.
Had her heart still been beating in her chest, surely it would have been racing by this point. Yet even with the anticipation and healthy dose of anxiety coursing through her veins, Frankie remained the picture of utter composure. She listened hard for the sound of his footfall, but she also began to reach with her mind, struggling to get a sense of his presence. Of course that blasted concealment charm he continued to wear made the task all the more difficult, but she managed.
He was near – that much she could discern; and yet his presence felt faint, distant.
But should she trust that?
She suspected not and turned her head to the other side to see if she could catch glimpse of him beyond the tree.
Instead, what she found was the face of the man himself, his expression smug as she yelped a little in surprise before quickly dodging his attack and stepping out of the way.
They were sparring with knives this afternoon – the addition of the smaller, seemingly innocuous blades something she had requested. Frankie had always preferred closer, one-on-one physical combat in comparison to the use of more detached weapons like guns. Knives were personal, intimate…
And while she'd never admit it, she was suddenly grateful for the hours Vlad had dedicated these last weeks to training with her. Not only had his lessons proved most beneficial to her state of being, but the practice and opportunity to hone her skills – and with one of the greatest warriors in existence – was arguably the only thing keeping him from besting her right now. Dracula was completely focused, each movement and attack swift, strategically executed.
Thanks to her recently acquired experience in dueling with the man, she was better equipped to anticipate his every move.
Well, almost every move.
With a sudden maneuver too quick to be detected by the naked eye, he had sliced his blade across her cheek, drawing blood and ending this particular round, but a quick disengage tactic then had her without a weapon. Before she knew it, she was air-born for just an instant and then her back came down hard on the ground. She thought about getting up or even rolling out of the way, but he was fast, anticipating her retreat. He pinned her to the earth with the weight of his body, the tip of his weapon right over her heart.
She knew if he chose to drive it through her chest right there that it would have no effect – except for perhaps ruining her blouse – but she remained motionless nonetheless, hands up next to her face in a sign of her submission.
"Do you yield?" he asked.
His eyes were glowing that feral and hypnotic blue she had come to like so much, the tips of his fangs visible when he spoke. His attention continued to dart back and forth between the blood on her cheek and her eyes.
While Frankie understood he currently held the upper hand in this situation, that didn't make her any less devious as her previous surprise melted into a borderline suggestive grin. She slid her arms up to rest above her head slowly in the grass as the cut he had given her healed, leaving a slight tingle to linger in her skin.
"To you?" she asked a little skeptically.
"Don't look at me like that," he warned her, struggling to remain unmoved by the open hunger in her gaze. "I should punish you for what you did back there."
"I think you're overreacting…"
"You nearly castrated me!"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic, mon petit chou," was her facetious reply. She even patted his cheek a little. "I wasn't trying to castrate you. If I had been, I would have succeeded. Besides, I had to cool you off somehow."
"Do I look cooled off to you?" he asked a little impatiently, swatting her condescending hand away, but Frankie's demure smile was having its intended effect. His earlier outrage was rapidly diminishing.
"Not even a little," was her answer.
He dared to smile in the face of her teasing, but his moment of distraction proved his undoing as Frankie suddenly moved beneath him. Quickly disarming him of his blade, she then bent her knee up and brought it to the side, creating distance between their bodies so she could roll him off of her. She pushed him to the ground and brought the sharpened edge of his weapon to his throat.
Dracula, though surprised by how easily she had turned the tables on him, did not appear the least bit upset by the sudden change in positions, that glowing in his irises only intensifying as she leaned in close. She hovered her lips over his, taunting him with her nearness.
"I think you're losing your touch, old man," she whispered. "Are you even trying?"
"If I wanted you beneath me, I would put you there."
He moved as if to flip her off of him, but she grabbed him by the bicep and firmly held him down, blade still at his throat.
"I beg to differ."
He moved again to make another half-hearted attempt, but she kept him pinned, the confidence in her air only growing.
"I think you like me on top," she crowed mockingly. His smile was pure devilment.
"The view from down here is certainly better," and his eyes darted from her face to the swells of cleavage visible from behind her blouse.
Pretending to be affronted, she lightly smacked his cheek.
"Hey! Eyes front, soldier."
"Did you just hit me?"
"Yes," and she applied a bit more pressure on the blade still resting against his throat. "What are you going to do about it?" She proceeded to run the edge of the cool steel downward until she reached one of the buttons of his shirt and with a flick of her wrist she cut it free, unaware of the faint glow her own irises had taken on at the sight of his newly freed flesh.
Vladislaus felt blood rush to his groin, lust burning hot in his veins.
It wasn't hard to imagine where this was headed.
"I thought you didn't want to play with fire," he murmured as she sliced another button free.
"Play with it? No," she whispered, removing a third button before abruptly burying the blade of the knife in the earth next to his head.
He didn't even flinch, only continued to stare into her eyes. Then she bent her head down toward the center of his newly freed chest and ran the tip of her nose up to his throat before hovering her lips over his mouth, breathing in his scent. God, she could never get enough of it – leather, woods, and a light musk that made her skin tingle and mouth water.
"Right now, I want to bathe in it."
Their lips met in a searing kiss of teeth and tongues preceded only by a sharp intake of breath in anticipation. Dracula's hands closed over her waist as he brought her body down onto his, relishing in its softness and the weight of her as she let herself settle over one of his thighs, clutching at the front of his partially opened shirt. They kissed hard and hungry, breath coming out in ragged gasps as her palms swept over the breadth of his chest greedily, his smoothing down to her ass.
When he rolled her off of him, she made no protest, knees parting as if on instinct to make room for him, cradling his body between her hips as their kisses deepened, tongues caressing, lips suckling, clinging – a soft, wet sound that only aroused both further.
As was intuitive by this point, Vlad's mouth was already moving down so he could kiss that favorite spot on her neck, the one place she seemed to love him most. A dreamy, almost drunken smile curved her lips as he nuzzled and sucked the sensitive skin, one of his hands palming a soft breast. Frankie ran her fingers encouragingly through his hair while glancing idly up at the canopy overhead, the beauty of the dark violet sky hardly fazing her as a gentle breeze rustled the leaves above.
She sighed, contented, happy…
She loved the feel of him on top of her, his hands on her body, his lips on her skin.
It was perfect – this easy ebb and flow between them, the effortless way in which they continued to collide like this.
She lightly tugged the roots of his hair to bring his mouth back to hers and their next series of kisses proved deeper than before – all slow sweeps of tongue and cloying lips before the man finally paused to press his brow against hers for a moment, letting her catch her breath.
"Too much?" he asked, checking in.
In spite of his courtesy, the sliver of space between them crackled with sexual tension. When she licked her lips and lifted up towards him as if she intended to ignore his query, he pulled back a little. Her disgruntled exhale fanned across his face and brought out that notorious arched grin of his.
"Not nearly enough," she murmured, reaching for his mouth with her tongue, lightly running the tip over his parted lips. It sent them into another round of mind-numbingly passionate kisses and going under, to her, had never felt so good.
Vladislaus Drăculea was fire for her, and how easy it was for her to willfully drown in his ardor.
She could feel the strength of him moving into the very roots of her hair, imbedding into her skin, prickling at every nerve ending and soothing his singe with molten waves of ecstasy. But she needed more – infinitely more, and he seemed to sense that, his worshiping lips moving downward again as he nudged the collar of her blouse to one side to free more of her chest and shoulder.
He placed hot, open-mouthed kisses there before biting down on the curve hard enough to leave little indentations, but not enough to break the skin. She cried out in a mix of pleasure and sudden anxiety, but then he salved the marks with his tongue and she moaned, her insides melting as she went wet between her legs. His wandering hands only served to heighten her own arousal as one of his palms reached down and flattened against the juncture between her thighs, the soft pressure against her sex exactly what she had been craving.
The wanton sound that escaped her made him hard as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. He rubbed his fingers against the seam of her pants, teasing her while nipping and suckling the sensitive flesh of her throat and the tops of her breasts until the skin flushed red.
Frankie became aware of her dark passenger rousing, its conscientiousness growing as her arousal ascended until her eyes were burning like stars in the developing darkness. She felt the scrape of his fangs against her skin and she jolted suddenly, her inner demon, that familiar blood rage, no longer creeping insidiously in the back of her mind. Now it was alert and hungry…
Dracula must have sensed the newfound tension in her body, for he spoke in spite of his persistent ministrations.
"Remember to breathe, Francesca," he coached her, his words encouraging, but tone deeply erotic. "Let it breathe."
His ministrations slowed, but remained ever present, forcing her to focus on the task ahead without disengaging from what was happening around her. Something that, with practice, she hoped would become instinct.
Frankie closed her eyes for a moment as she struggled to implement what he had taught her these last weeks, expanding the mental cage around her active inner demon rather than instinctually restricting. It took a moment, but slowly, surely, she started to center herself – even with the man's distracting hands and lips.
Another deep breath and she pictured his fire that seemed to always be on the brink of consuming her. Instead of losing herself entirely to it, she channeled it; allowing herself to feel every caress, every ounce of pressure, every moment of delicious friction – all while making sure she didn't smother her dark passenger in the process.
If she gave it enough room to move about, its efforts to break free would lessen. They could enjoy the heat of his flames together.
After some minutes, Frankie was able to find a rhythm that suited her, and then she was back into it, one cautious toe ensuring she maintained that required sense of balance within herself while the rest of her continued to get lost in the pleasure he was conjuring within her.
The longer it went on, the heavier it became – until each suckle and release of their lips brought with it a caress of tongue that sent her insides unspooling in waves of liquid, decadent warmth.
His hand lifted her knee to link it around his waist, their bodies pressed together, instinctually moving in a kind of wave-like motion that led to further friction until not even the evening breeze could cool the sweltering heat between them. Frankie's greedy hands got lost underneath his shirt, palms smoothing over the skin of his chest and back, fingers tracing the defined contours of each muscle as his hands moved constantly between her breasts and her ass.
She could feel him hard between her legs, her needy quim and his aching cock separated by their clothes.
Frankie knew in the back of her head that actual intercourse was still very much off the table, but just the feel of him mindlessly grinding against her as they continued to kiss sent her conscience bringing into question her reasons for abstinence.
It was around this time that that little shoulder angel in the back of her head gently suggested that maybe they should stop before things went too far.
But she couldn't stop.
God forgive her, she didn't want to.
Even when he ran a clawed hand over the front of her chest while feverishly groping one of her breasts, the sting only served to deepen her excitement to the point where she wasn't even aware that he had successfully broken skin.
Vlad was now eying the tiny droplets of blood that slowly broke free from where he had scratched her and his mouth salivated at the sight, a different hunger awakening in him.
Without even realizing it, he had already begun to descend toward the seductive crimson, eager to lap it up with his tongue before she could heal. But she must have seen the bloodlust in his eyes because she gave the roots of his hair a sharp and unforgiving yank, his neck popping as it was forced to bend back.
"No!" she cried out and then in the blink of an eye she had materialized out from under him, reappearing several yards away, clutching onto a neighboring tree as she gasped for air.
Vladislaus, realizing what he had almost done, blanched, a look of pained mortification marring his features, though his irises continued to glow in his hunger.
"I'm sorry…" he began, but she interrupted him.
"Are you insane? What were you thinking?" she snapped, her words harsh and angry, but the fear in her eyes was what sobered him up.
"I…" he began, bringing himself to his knees.
"No – stay there!" she insisted, hand outstretched in warning as she looked down to assess the damage.
She was relieved to find no smeared blood, which meant he hadn't gotten any on him, but it was only after the thin scratches had healed fully that she looked at him again.
"What were you thinking?" Frankie returned with a little less force this time. "You know what will happen if my blood gets on you."
"I'm sorry… I just… I got carried away," he answered lamely, rising to his feet but knowing better than to approach. He remained rooted to the spot.
"Well you can't get carried away like that, Vlad. We're flirting with danger enough as it is," she replied in earnest. "I can't keep my blood-rage in check and make sure you're keeping your fangs and… and claws to yourself at the same time! The only way this works," and she waved her hand between the two of them, "is if I can trust you to stay in control."
"I know," he submitted, hands up in an unconscious display of acquiescence as he slowly began to approach. When he finally reached her, her combined temper and sense of panic had cooled, but he could feel the disappointment and distress coming off of her in waves.
That had been close.
Too close.
"I'm sorry," he said, standing before her. He reached out a hand to comfort and soothe her concern, but he hesitated to touch her for a moment. "I am trying to curb my own demons, just as you are," he added in reminder.
"That's no excuse," she replied, the shrewdness in her tone and the way she rolled her eyes a little rubbing him wrong, though he opted to bite his tongue instead of reciprocate the silently passed judgment.
"I am trying, Francesca. Truly…" His hand finally reached her, the back of his fingers lightly caressing a flushed cheek. He was secretly grateful when she didn't recoil. She exhaled heavily in the wake of his touch, eyes closing for a moment, her entire visage visibly relaxing. "You're not the only one with a dark passenger that requires taming."
Her expression softened as she looked up at him.
"I know. I'm sorry," she murmured. "I can't explain why, but this thing inside of me, this blood-rage… something about you seems to only exacerbate it."
"I'll try not to take that personally," he replied, but the amusement in his voice was false and she knew it.
"I don't know how else to make sense of it," she continued, hoping if she explained he'd better understand. "Any amorous relations I've had in the past were never able to so easily conjure up my inner demon, but with you it's different. Around you, it's like it's always awake, always lurking on the fringes of my sense of self-control, waiting for me to let my guard down, but I don't know why."
"Don't you?" he inquired with a knowing expression, but his question had her falling silent.
They had yet to address the elephant in the room between them – even after all these weeks.
While it was clear there was an unspoken understanding, Frankie's continued refusal to openly acknowledge not just who Vlad truly was, but who he was in relation to her, secretly wounded him a little. Was she still so frightened of that truth? He had promised himself long ago that he wouldn't be the one to initiate that conversation. It had to be her. She needed to be ready and it was becoming more and more clear to him that in spite of the growing intimacy and connection, Francesca Chase was anything but ready.
There was a very petty and insecure side of his brain that would occasionally take offense at that, but he could usually quell such protestations before they could fully take root. He cared about her, after all – it's why he had been dedicating so much time to helping her, to help her feel safe in her own skin.
But in this present moment, he was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore that little nagging voice in his head.
This woman had had only God knew how many lovers since the emergence of her demon. Her over-a-decade long stint with the werewolf – which by all accounts had been an intense and passionate affair – hadn't been met with these kind of issues, so why him? Why was her inner demon so eager to vie for control in his presence when it had been so easily placated in the past with the others?
The thought had him recalling that evening in the old house just beyond these very trees when Frankie had given him free reign to the depths of her own mind – the things he had seen.
"Dearest beloved… you must free us," that being buried deep within the woman's psyche had told him. "You must bind us. Bind us in blood…"
As the tense silence between them continued, Dracula's thoughts became more distracted, his person more distant from the present as he mulled over those visions in his head, unaware of the way Frankie was looking at him.
Perhaps that is why her dark passenger continued to rear its ugly head whenever they tempted the boundaries of physical intimacy, he mused silently. Perhaps it understood that the only way to be permanently free from its cage, to return to that state of equilibrium with its host, with Francesca herself – the only way to unleash the lamian strigoi in her, to release that unlocked potential was through blood-binding. Perhaps it understood that Frankie would never consciously permit such an event to take place – given the constitution of her blood. So instead of sitting contentedly in the back of her mind as it often did, it had only grown more active, more eager – desperate, even – to fulfill its purpose for creation – a healing and realization of the self that could only take place if they were blood bound.
It was only a theory, but it was enough to cool the previous surge of insecurity that had threatened to take hold of him. With a heavy sigh, Vladislaus returned to the present moment.
Frankie had turned to look away from him by this point, a jumble of fear and general worry etched across her features.
"I'm not angry," he assured her, his voice bringing her attention back to him. "And I hope you're not angry with me for nearly losing control."
"Not angry. Just deeply concerned," she said with some deliberation. "I've been noticing that it's become more and more difficult for you to rein yourself in – I just didn't want to see it. But now that I do, it leaves me to wonder…"
"Perhaps we should make a more concerted effort not to tempt fate until things are a bit more stable," he suggested, anticipating her. She nodded immediately.
"Yes, I think that would be wise. I don't want you to get hurt, Vlad – especially at my hand."
He smiled a little in the face of her concern, gently bringing her to him. He held her until he could feel her relax in his arms, her cheek pressed to his naked chest, fingers tanged around the chain of his concealment charm.
"I know, iubito. I know."
Frankie leaned her head back to look up into his eyes.
His irises had returned to their normal state, the lustful glow long since gone, having been replaced with a tenderness that melted her heart and sent a gentle smile to curve her lips.
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked and he chuckled a little, bending down to kiss her.
"Of course."
After gathering their weapons, the pair started to make their way back to the house, a comfortable back and forth of easy conversation passing between them as they made their way through the gardens, the light of the day long-since passed.
Once the knives had been cleaned and returned to the armory and Vlad's shirt exchanged for one that wasn't missing its three top buttons, the two wandered the halls of the house for a bit until they found themselves taking laps through the conservatory. Entirely lost to their dialogue, neither of them seemed to notice that they were being observed from the second level of the room near one of the doors that led back into the main part of the house.
Rémy was situated out of sight in the shadow of a large shrubbery, the man eying his sister and friend with a noted degree of suspicion. He had been grateful at first that the two had miraculously overcome their differences, but ever since the night of the masquerade ball, he had sensed a change in the air between them. While he had no definitive proof that would present him with a cause for concern, Rémy couldn't shake the trepidation that had begun to settle in his gut.
He could see the way his sister was smiling at his friend.
He had seen that smile before many a time in his centuries of life to know what it meant, what it entailed. And the way Vlad looked back at her made him feel no better.
Rémy reached up to nervously rub the short-trimmed beard on his face, brows furrowing just a little as his baby sister laughed at a joke.
"Reynaud! It's not like you to stalk shadowed doorways like this. Is everything all right?" he heard his cousin, Georgine, ask from the hall. He only slightly turned his head to catch her out of his periphery, attention still predominately fixed on his friend and sister.
He chose not to answer the woman, instead folding his arms across his chest, his mannerisms explanation enough of his disapproval. Gigi, curious as to what had caused her cousin to behave thus, slipped into the conservatory to linger in the shadows with him for a moment. It didn't take her long to discern what had been the cause of his displeasure.
"Frankie's disposition has improved tremendously since your arrival a couple months ago, don't you think?" she whispered with genuine pleasure. "She's seemed so much more serene, more herself as of late than she has in ages. Who would have thought Vlad would be such a positive influence?"
"I'd prefer if the two returned to their constant bickering to this," he muttered, though mostly to himself.
"Oh don't be so petty," Gigi replied with a chiding expression, though her smile never faded. "I, for one, am glad they're getting on so well – for Frankie's sake especially. And yours, too. Wouldn't you rather have your sister and friend behave amicably toward one another instead of the hostility I understand existed previously? Surely this is an improvement worth commending."
"If it were merely cordial affability, sure," Rémy explained, arms still folded over his chest. "But I know my sister, Gigi," and he paused to look back down at Frankie, his eyes filled with worry. "And I know that look. She likes him."
"And he her, it would seem," Georgine added, still not understanding her cousin's motive for concern. "They do look well together."
But Rémy proved anything but amused by her commentary and he stepped out into the hall, unable to look at the sight before him for a moment longer.
"I have to put a stop to this," he announced, but the woman had followed after him, grabbing hold of his arm to halt his progress before he got too far.
"You don't have to do anything," she insisted. "Just let them be."
"After what happened with Tristan? And Derek? No G. If I don't put an end to this right now…"
"Oh stop your worrying," and she held both of his shoulders so he would face her. "Yes, they've been spending inordinate amounts of time together – I'll give you that – and it does look as though something is blossoming between them, but this is Francesca we're talking about. You know how cautious she is."
"But…"
"Rémy, truly, there's no need for concern. Alayna has already tested his loyalty, and given the fact that the servants have found none of the usual signs of intimacy – even if he's been sharing her bed for the last few weeks…"
"What?!"
"…that tells me that he is aware of the danger. Which means that not only is she being extra cautious, but he is clearly respecting her boundaries by handling the situation with the same degree of care."
"Wait – how long has this even been going on? When did Alayna have time to give him the grand tour test?"
"Oh, she did it the first evening after you arrived."
Rémy blanched, his eyes widening in horror.
"You mean they've been sleeping together all this time?" he snapped, clearly upset by this news.
"I already told you – nothing has actually happened between them. They're just sharing a bed – not bodily fluids."
"I can't believe this!" and he shook himself free of her hold. "I'm going to kill her. I'm going to fucking kill her," and he tried to step around Georgine so he could return to the conservatory, but she remained in his path, blocking his progress.
"Stop over-reacting. There is no cause for you to get this agitated," she insisted.
"No cause? You do remember what happened the last time my sister screwed one of my best friends, right?" Rémy asked rather caustically. "He died, Georgine. Frankie fucking killed him. I'm not going to make the same mistake as last time… I'm putting an end to this right now."
"That's not fair, Rémy. It's not like she did it on purpose."
"Killed Derek, you mean? Or that she used him as a rebound after Tristan shattered her heart into a million pieces? And don't look at me like you're surprised. Of course I knew about it! Look, I'm sorry, Georgine, but I'm not going to lose Vlad to her, nor am I going to risk losing my sister again if something does happen – and it will. It's only a matter of time."
He tried to move around her again, but she stepped in front of him once more, ignoring his agitation.
"Father and Eduardo see nothing wrong with the two of them being together and if they trust her, I don't understand why you can't offer your sister the same courtesy. He makes her happy, Rémy. Don't you care about that?"
Rémy paused, the wheels in his head turning.
"Armand and… you mean that's why Lucia was here?" he exclaimed, a look of utter betrayal marring his features. "To distract me so Frankie and Vlad could…"
"You're making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be," Gigi insisted, finally starting to grasp the extent of her cousin's distress.
"No I'm fucking not!" he snapped at her. "It's the rest of you that aren't making it a big enough deal. She murdered Derek, Gigi."
"That was the blood-rage – not her. Don't you dare put that on her."
"But he wouldn't have put himself in the line of fire if they hadn't…"
"You don't know that. Besides, Vlad and Derek are nothing alike."
"Oh please! He's a man. As far as I'm concerned, they're exactly the same – with the same fucking soft-spot for my sister, who, need I remind you, is betrothed to Dracula."
"Reynaud, calm down."
"Calm down?" he almost shouted, but he stopped himself, lowering his voice as to not risk being overheard. Rémy was shaking with anger, irises glowing faintly. "Don't tell me to calm down when history is already repeating itself in the other room while the rest of you sit back like everything is perfectly fine. You weren't there the night everything went down. You weren't there at ground fucking zero. You didn't have to deal with the aftermath. So don't you dare tell me that I'm overreacting! Don't you fucking dare," and he shoved her out of the way, marching back in the direction of the conservatory.
"Why are you so against Francesca being happy with another man who isn't Dracula?" Georgine snapped at him suddenly, the question causing him to halt and turn to look at her. "Why shouldn't she get to decide who she spends her time with, let alone who she loves?"
Rémy opened his mouth to reply, but she interjected.
"You've always been slow to approve of anyone she chooses to care for, the last to support her happiness – no matter the form it comes in. You still detest Lyra Kennedy, though she's been nothing but a loyal friend to Francesca for decades."
"I detest Lyra because she's a cu…"
"It took you years to open up to the possibility of her dating that werewolf, and that was when there was no actual danger involved! Why can't you just let her be happy with another man? Even if it's just for a short while? Francesca should not be condemned to a lifetime of loneliness, an existence without affection and companionship, nor should she be denied the opportunity to be understood by another – and all because of that infernal witch and her bloody prophecy. Just because your sister is destined to be queen doesn't mean she has to be one right this second, Reynaud. You seem to forget that Frankie never asked for any of this – for Dracula, the blood-rage, the poison running through her veins, the trauma and the baggage. She asked for none of it."
"Christ, you fucking sound like Lyra," he groaned irritably. "And like that narrow-minded she-devil, you seem to conveniently forget that Frankie isn't the only one that suffers a loss when someone dies as a result of her negligence, or have you forgotten Cece so soon?"
The air went still as Georgine reached out and slapped Rémy hard across the face.
His cheek flushed bright pink, the sting spreading slowly; and while his eyes darkened, he never uttered a word, knowing full well he had deserved that. Gigi's brows were furrowed angrily over eyes that were now welling with tears as she pointed dangerously at him.
"Don't you dare bring Maman into this," she warned him, her words delivered with methodical emphasis to drive her point home.
"Then stop painting me out as the villain," he countered without missing a beat. "You think I enjoy having to be the killjoy around here? There is nothing I wouldn't love more than for my sister to be a normal fucking vampire, destiny-free like the rest of us. But she's not, Georgine. She's never been normal, and I'm tired of being the only one to take that seriously. Even if her blood was perfectly fine and she didn't have some murderous, rampaging demon threatening to take control of her at the first sign of conflict, that doesn't change the fact that she's promised to another."
Georgine's jaw hardened at this, the woman clearly wanting to refute his words, yet she could not.
"There are powers at work in her life," he continued, lowering his voice. "There always has been – from the instant Satanas showed up on her doorstep, all the way to the present. She's been chosen for a reason, G, and if history has proven anything, it is that fighting her destiny isn't going to help her – not now and certainly not in the long run."
Although it was clear she didn't like it, Gigi sighed heavily as if in defeat.
"And if that weren't enough," Rémy added, "just think about Vlad for a minute. What if he falls in love with her? It's not only selfish what she's doing, encouraging him like this, its needlessly cruel – giving the man hope where this is none."
"Be that as it may," she answered rationally, "that still isn't your call to make…"
But before Rémy could offer a rebuttal, they were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Frankie and Vlad, the pair having just exited from the conservatory. Frankie picked up on the tension between her brother and cousin almost immediately and from the disapproving look Rémy was currently giving her, it wasn't hard to imagine the cause of the contentious air between them. Her smile faded a little.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, hoping against hope that the motive for her brother's ill humor had little to do with the flirting she and Vlad had just been indulging in not moments ago. Had Rémy seen them?
"We need to talk," Rémy announced, making his way over to her. "Now."
"Okay, so let's talk," she said, perfectly calm.
"Not here," and the man sent Vlad a hard look before he returned his attention to his sister. "Somewhere private."
As he started to make his way down the hall to another room, Frankie looked first to Vlad and then to Georgine, the latter of which appeared almost apologetic.
Frankie quietly excused herself as she followed off after her elder brother, disappearing into one of the parlors, the door shutting behind her, leaving Vladislaus and Gigi alone in the corridor. The woman exhaled heavily once the siblings had departed, her reaction catching Dracula's attention.
"Is everything all right?" he asked her. Gigi shook her head but offered no further comment or clarification. Instead, she looked to her father's guest and offered him a sympathetic smile. The lack of conversation lingered for a few long seconds until muted arguing could be heard from down the hall. Uncomfortable with the tension, Dracula attempted to fill the silence. "You seem much more relaxed now that the masquerade is over," he managed.
"I feel more myself than I have in months," Georgine confessed. "I was not made for party planning." There was a slight chuckle to her words as she moved to stand beside the man.
"I'm normally not in the habit of repeating myself, but I found the evening to be thoroughly enjoyable."
"Thank you, Mr. Leinhart. Your approval means a great deal to me," she replied, but then they paused again as the sibling quarrel grew more heated, the angry French still yet to reach shouting-match levels, but the fury was palpable. "I can't thank you enough for the kindness you've shown to my dear cousin," Gigi added, but there was a newfound timidity to her words that had not been there previously and it captured his attention. "It's been wonderful to see her so happy, so contended and steady. She's been through a great deal. I can't remember the last time I saw her so much like her old self. I daresay she even smiles more when you're around."
Dracula wasn't entirely sure how best to reply, though it was evident by his expression that this news pleased him immensely. Yet there was an uneasiness lingering in Georgine's eyes that left something uncomfortable to settle in the pit of his stomach – something akin to anxiety.
Gigi took his hand suddenly, squeezing it in earnest as she pulled her attention from the far end of the corridor to his face.
"I know it is none of my business," she whispered, "but I know of the adversities and suffering my cousin has faced over the centuries, so I will support her happiness in whatever form it comes. I need you to promise me, Mr. Leinhart. Promise me that no matter what happens, you will not give up on her."
Troubled by this sudden mode of conversation, but not wishing to cause any further alarm, Vlad did his best to reassure the woman.
"I have no intention of doing so," he insisted.
Gigi's smile was rueful at best.
"Good. I am glad. And please – for the sake of us all – if you two decide to, well… take this further…" She paused, releasing his hand. "Just be careful."
Before Vladislaus could even agree to her request, let alone ask for further clarification, their little conference was interrupted by the sound of the parlor door down the hall being thrown open violently and the pair turned in the direction of the noise.
Frankie had stormed out of the room, clearly having been made upset by whatever conversation she had just had with her brother. Even from here, Dracula could feel the anger radiating off of her, but before he could excuse himself to go after her, Rémy reentered the corridor. The man seemed to anticipate him.
"Best to leave her be," he insisted, ignoring the disapproving scowl his cousin was now sending him. The woman looked like she was ready to hit him again, but instead she turned on her heel and departed, muttering oaths in her native tongue as she went. Rémy aptly ignored her. "Vlad, have you fed yet?"
"No, not yet," he answered a little warily, eyes briefly darting in the direction Frankie had just ventured.
"Why don't you join me down in the dining room then for a glass or a bite? I feel like we haven't properly talked in ages," and he placed his arm around the man's shoulders, leading him in the opposite direction.