I am so sorry for the slight delay in posting this chapter... my morning/early afternoon was absolute madness. Hope this baby was worth the wait!
We also get a special appearance from Dracula's summer palace from the movie in this chapter. Because of course. I'm so anxious/excited about you guys reading this chapter, though, so I'm just going to shut up now and let you dive in.
Copyright © 2021 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 37
The Dragon & the Lion
Frankie hadn't been in this part of Budapest before. In fact, she wasn't even sure they were in the city anymore – but they must have been because they never passed beyond the border wall. And yet, it was as if they had been transported to another place entirely.
Vlad had volunteered to drive, explaining that where they needed to go was a bit out of the way and being in a car would attract far less attention than flying. He hadn't said much else since, only speaking again when he parked the car in front of an ornate iron gate, completely overrun with foliage.
The Dracul crest could barely be made out amongst the ivy, the sight of the familiar dragon insignia with its outstretched wings and curling tail sending a shiver of anticipation down Francesca's spine.
"We'll have to walk the rest of the way," he said, already getting out.
Wherever they were, it was clear that nature had laid claim to this place decades ago, the trees and shrubs all overgrown and wild, slowly devouring any sign of civilization. A thick fog – perhaps from a nearby offshoot of the Danube – obscured much of Frankie's vision as she tried to take in her surroundings.
With preternatural ease, Vlad leapt over the gate, not even attempting to open it. He turned back to look at her, a silent query in his eyes. Are you coming?
His irises were glowing faintly in the darkness, reflecting off a shaft of starlight that had broken through the clouds above to settle over half his face.
She said nothing as she approached the gate, mirroring his earlier movements as she took an inhuman leap up, vaulting over the iron spikes of the sealed entry, and landing on her feet with a feline grace. She didn't get to catch his reaction, his back already turned to her as he began to lead the way down the old gravel driveway, the thick canopy of trees overhead blocking out whatever light lingered in the sky before the clouds veiled them once more.
Their progress was silent, yet not wholly uncomfortable, although the tension settling over Frankie like a thick blanket had her hyper aware of every move he made ahead of her. She attempted to distract herself by taking in the scenery with her keen sense of sight. In the darkness, there was an otherworldly beauty about this place, the ancient trees with their branches tangled together above her, vines of ivy spread out like a wave of dark green, devouring everything in sight.
"When I had asked for a place that was quiet, I hadn't expected this," she called out, keeping her voice low in case there was anyone else unseen in the darkness.
"It's hard to find true privacy in the city," he admitted, glancing behind him briefly to make sure she was still following. "You know, ever since we returned from your uncle's, I've found myself missing the nature and artifice combination." He tilted his head back to look around. She caught a look of something serene in his countenance and it made her curious.
"How did you find this place?"
"I've known about it for a long while, but it's been many years since I've stepped foot on this property," he admitted. "We should be getting closer now."
Closer to what, she found herself wondering.
As if in answer to her question, they turned around a bend just a few seconds later, the fog thinning out as the trees cleared.
Standing perfectly situated in the heart of the woods was a large mansion. She could smell the river before she could see it, off in the distance, separating the house from a grand-looking cemetery that covered a neighboring hill. It was littered with tombstones, statues, and even a few mausoleums – the resting place of royalty. The forgotten dead. If Frankie had to hazard a guess, from what she could see just from here, this place hadn't been visited in decades, maybe even a century.
The vista was stunning, however – a miniature palace framed by woods and rolling foothills that would eventually feed into the mountains, with a city of the dead flanked to the right of the stately home. It was like something out of a gothic romance, the ornate palace door, easily twelve feet tall, with beautiful carvings of dragons and fire.
With beckoning fingers, Vlad motioned for Frankie to follow him as they entered the house. Much to her surprise, the door was unlocked, but from the looks of things nothing living or otherwise had stepped foot in here recently. Starlight broke through the clouds once more as if by magic, illuminating the entryway somewhat as they stepped into the main foyer. The interior had been lavishly decorated once upon a time, the parquet floors intricately detailed, walls covered with ancient tapestries and gilded moldings in the shape of crowns. The furnishings were definitely antique, a collection of several periods of European history.
There were two sets of stairs that curved around to meet in the middle before parting again to head to the second floor of the house. Between them sat a pair of doors, plated in gold, appearing to lead to what looked like a ballroom or some other gathering place. Frankie had to rein herself in to keep from exploring.
It was a pity this house had fallen prey to time and neglect, but it was easy to imagine what it had looked like in its prime: the picture of elegance and refinery. The very best money – and immortality – had to offer.
"Where are we, exactly?" Frankie found herself asking, her gaze still gobbling up her surroundings with a look of wonderment and awe. She never did see the approving smile that had spread out over Vlad's features. She didn't even look at him until he spoke.
"Someplace quiet," was all he offered by way of an answer. "Nobody has lived here in well over half a century."
She was still turning slowly about, taking it all in as he continued to observe her.
Vladislaus would never say such things aloud, but her silent approval meant a great deal to him. It was difficult to resist the temptation to imagine what it would be like to live here once more, to breathe life into this old place with Francesca at his side. With Francesca as his wife, his queen.
The thought had something primal awakening in him, an almost visceral need to mark, to claim.
He rooted himself to the spot however, even when she finally turned to meet the intensity of his gaze. Not once did she ever shrink from it.
"So," he cued as casually as he could manage, fully aware of the tension that had settled between them, "you said you wanted to talk."
"Yes," she confirmed, turning fully to face him now, though she kept her distance. "We've been dancing around this elephant in the room for months now and given the direction things are headed, I can't bring myself to keep up with the pretense anymore." She noted the barely discernible way his entire body seemed to stiffen, as if he were bracing himself, yet his expression remained neutral. "There's no easy way to start this conversation, so I'm just going to spit it out and see where all this goes," she continued, though it was mostly for her own benefit rather than his.
She paused, steadying herself with a breath before squaring her shoulders as if she now had steel running down her back.
"I know who you are," was all she said.
She then waited for him to reply.
He didn't.
He just continued to stand there, a flash of something appearing in his eyes before it vanished altogether, his mask of stoicism remaining.
"Well?" she called out, hoping he'd say something, at the very least acknowledge her words.
"Well what?"
"Don't you have anything to say?"
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously in his direction. Why was he pretending to be so oblivious?
"You say you know who I am, but I have yet to hear who exactly that happens to be."
It made sense now. Frankie even found herself chuckling a little in disbelief.
"You're actually going to make me say it, aren't you?" she asked. His lips curved just a hair into an amused grin, but he remained mute.
You owe me that much, his eyes seemed to say.
He wasn't wrong.
With another brief inhale, she mustered her courage and found herself uttering the words aloud.
"Your name is not Vlad Leinhart," she replied. "You have never been Vlad Leinhart. You're Dracula – Vladislaus Drăculea. Father of vampires, king of the undying, prince of darkness." She paused, allowing her words to resonate in the air around them like the pealing of bells. "The dragon."
Frankie fell silent, waiting with baited breath for his reply.
He said nothing for a long time, a series of emotions flickering across his features before settling into a look of confidence. The revelation, her admission of his true identity, clearly had had an effect on him. He was holding himself differently than what she was accustomed to. Even the air around him felt altered somehow.
Without uttering a word, he reached behind his shirt to reveal the concealment charm he had been wearing around his neck for over a year now and with what looked like relief in his eyes, he pulled the chain over his head and then let the pendant drop to the floor. The clang was deafening… yet it made her smile.
There you are, she thought to herself, sensing the waves of his true self, his presence, washing over her and she closed her eyes for just a moment to relish in the feeling.
When he spoke, she opened them again.
"I was beginning to doubt we'd ever get to this point," he admitted, humor in his tone, though his expression hadn't changed.
"I'm sorry it took me so long," she replied.
"It took you almost a year," he chastised, amusement now sparkling in his eyes, a single brow arched in teasing. "You've known who I am for a long while now."
"Yes. Since that night in the subway when I…"
"When you told me to stay away," he finished for her. "Yes. Antón informed me of your visit shortly after you left me on the platform."
"I hope you can believe me when I say that my motive for pushing you away had little to do with your true identity," she added with earnest.
"I know."
His reassurance surprised her.
"You do?"
"Antón also happened to mention your blood condition that night, along with some of your other concerns – how you felt what ran through your veins would impede your ability to play your role in all of this, for instance…" and he waved his hand about dismissively.
"Wait, so even then you knew who I was? What I… what I was meant to be to you?" she asked.
"Oh yes. I had known for some time."
"How long?"
"With certainty? Shortly after the Harpy burned down." Her eyes went wide at that. "I suspected it that evening you returned to Carmen's in the state you were in, battling with your blood-rage… but the night on the bridge and…" he paused suddenly, as if uncomfortable, "and the evening that followed left little room for doubt."
"You knew for that long?" she exclaimed. "But… but why did you never say anything? How did you even find out?"
Dracula shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly fascinated by the floor. He folded his arms in front of his chest.
"Let's just say there were a number of indicators."
"Like?" she cued, placing her hands on her hips.
"At first, it was a bewildering sense of déjà vu, like we had met before…" he began, meeting her gaze again. "And we have, though it was well over three-and-a-half centuries ago."
Recognition softened her features.
"You mean Venice."
He only nodded.
"So you really did remember…" she said, unable to help the smile that was now curving her lips. Of course, now that she thought of it, she knew he had – he had noted the color of her dress at her uncle's masquerade that night in France. She couldn't help but wonder what else of that night he remembered. The way he was looking at her now seemed to suggest he remembered everything.
"You left quite the impression," was all he offered by way of reply, meeting her smile with one of his own. He then cleared his throat, returning to the subject at hand. "Then there was my mark branded on your skin beneath your collarbone. But even before I saw that – long before that… well…"
He shifted again and Frankie's eyes narrowed a little.
"What?"
"Before I went into stasis, my path crossed that of the bride of Hell."
"You mean Lilith."
Another nod.
"What does she have to do with you knowing who I was?" Frankie asked.
"For the sake of brevity, she and I had a tumble some decades ago and my actions had… well, unforeseen consequences." He paused as if deliberating how best to word his thoughts. A look of resignation passed over his face before he said, "I was made impotent."
To her credit, Frankie didn't even flinch at the news.
"What does that have to do with me?" was all she could think to say.
His expression grew serious, but something smoldered behind his eyes as his gaze swept over her appreciatively.
"You are the only person that my body reacts to… in that way."
Francesca stared at him with an incredulous look, until he could start to see the wheels in her head turning, dots silently being connected.
"Well… I suppose that explains a few things," she announced, folding her arms in front of her. "Morene… Alayna… or really any other woman, for that matter."
He could guess where she was going with this and chose to nip it in the bud before she could get too far.
"If you're implying that my interest in you stems only from sexual desire, you're mistaken."
The way her brow arched at that was a pure, unadulterated challenge if he had ever seen one.
"Am I?"
"I still have the ability to feel attraction or desire for other women," he explained hastily. "But there's no physical reaction," and he grimaced a little when he motioned to his crotch. "So I have no way to act on any of those impulses. The only way to cure that is to partake of your blood, and since that hasn't exactly been an option..."
"So what you're saying is you've kept it in your pants this whole time because you've had no choice in the matter, not because you preferred me to literally anyone else."
He missed her mischievous smirk entirely, too flustered to even realize she was teasing him.
"That's not what I'm saying at all," he insisted. "And even if I could have acted on my baser instincts, contrary to popular belief, I don't exactly bed every female I come across."
Frankie took a bold step forward.
"Look me in the eye, Dracula, and tell me that statement has never, at any point, been even marginally true," she dared him. He couldn't, of course, and while she knew full well she had no room to judge him given her own history, that didn't mean she was above giving him a hard time. She took another step toward him. "Your silence isn't exactly helping your case, your majesty."
Vlad grumbled something obscene under his breath before continuing.
"The point is that I knew who you were almost immediately," he insisted. "And yes, I was humiliated by my situation and detested the idea of having my ability to make my own choices taken away from me because of the prophecy…"
"Well, at least in that you're in good company," she said with a tart smile. "But it also explains why you were such an ass when we first met."
His laughter held no humor to it.
"Maybe, but you weren't making it very easy to like you. And that hot and cold act of yours was downright infuriating."
"You were the one who kept coming back for more. And, as I recall, you got a kick out of purposefully pushing my buttons," she countered, taking another step forward, glaring up at him, though that mischievous curve on her lips had only deepened. Her expression was almost cruel – cruel, yet captivating. It sent a shiver of desire down his spine.
"Are you suggesting that that's changed since?" he taunted, finally catching on to her game.
Frankie threw her hands up in mock defeat, rolling her eyes a little in his direction. He chuckled softly, but then his countenance grew pensive… contemplative. His hands fell to rest at his sides, his posture relaxed, acquiescent.
"Francesca," he said, the sound of her name on his tongue sending her skin to crawl in anticipation, "to say that I like you would be a gross understatement. I've seen the way the people in your life look to you. They are drawn to you, just as I am. I've been drawn to you since the moment I laid eyes on you…" He took a step toward her.
"You sure that wasn't your cock talking?" was her snarky reply. He actually laughed that time, a frustrated yet profoundly amused noise that sent her smile all the way up to her eyes.
"Woman, I am trying over here!"
"I know, I know… I'm sorry," she conceded. "But you do recognize how that sounds, right? It's like you only have an interest in me because you have to, not because you want to."
"You don't actually believe that," he said knowingly, taking that final step forward. Then he reached for her hand, taking it in his. "What would you have me say?"
"The truth," she replied, still staring straight into his eyes as if she already owned him. She would never understand that she already did, that she had for months now. She wasn't a queen or a formal leader, but she ruled him even now as she held his gaze. He couldn't bring himself to break away – not when she was looking at him like that. "I give you carte blanche, Vlad. Like I did that morning in France. Tell me what you know," she said, softer this time. "Tell me what's in here," and she placed her hand over the center of his chest.
The request for such a level of vulnerability had his insides constricting a little at the command, an unsettling anxiety tightening beneath his breast. Dracula had never been one to readily verbalize the true depths of his feelings, to volunteer information unless it benefited him in some form or another. It was one of those things he still struggled with, even after centuries of living.
But he also understood that he could deny her nothing when she was looking at him like that, her sapphire eyes clear and bright, attentive – as if all she could see was him.
"I've wanted you for so long," he whispered, the words so soft, the average human ear would have had to strain to hear. "I wanted you in Venice, and I've wanted nothing else ever since. We barely knew each other then, but the connection I felt with you I have never been able to replicate. I never would have even believed it possible had I not experienced it myself."
He reached up to touch her face, fingertips ghosting over a cheek, a barely-there caress.
"But for some time now, that wanting has deepened into something new, something I can honestly say I've never encountered before." His thumb grazed over her lips thoughtfully. "I need you," he said, the confession fanning gently over her face and she shivered at the sound. "I need you, Francesca de Chacier – and not just because it's what some unseen power demands. Even if we destroyed Augustine and I reclaimed my throne, if all that I've lost was miraculously restored to me somehow, I would still need you. Being with you, near you… I'm not the same man I was a year ago."
Frankie eyes pricked with emotion, a lump getting caught in her throat as he leaned forward to rest his brow against hers. His sudden tenderness nearly undid her and she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, hand still over his heart.
"You were made for me, dragă," he breathed, "and if you let me, I will do whatever I can to prove that I was made for you, to prove myself worthy of you." He took her face in his hands, holding her as if she were this precious thing and the tenderness in his eyes made her heart crack. "You are my equal," he said, voice still low, but full of conviction. "Crown or no crown, prophecy or not, you have been and always will be my perfect match. There can be no one else. Only you… only ever you."
Francesca wasn't even aware she had been crying until a small noise – somewhere between a laugh and a sob – escaped from her throat. She clung to the front of his shirt with both hands now, so overcome with joy, she thought she would burst.
"I want to make this work," he added, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I have to… because you see me. You see me and you challenge me and you vex me for your own amusement," they both laughed at that, "but you also care. To be perfectly honest, I'm still not entirely sure why you do, but I love you for it."
Dracula wiped another trail of tears from her face before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear thoughtfully, his expression pensive.
"I choose you, Francesca," he finished with conviction. "I will have no one else."
Frankie felt her undead heart swell, her entire being brimming with emotion as she lost herself in his eyes, captivated by the adoration in his gaze and the words of love that had tumbled from his lips. She brushed her fingers over his mouth with a look of wonder. She never could have dreamed it possible, that such beautiful, precious things could ever be uttered from the lips of such a man, and yet he had spoken them, had meant every word.
"I love you, too… more than you could possibly know," was all she could think to say, smiling when she noticed the relief that washed over him at her confession. But then that familiar fear started to bubble up inside of her and her smile faded a little. "But this is so dangerous, Vlad… being with you – when you look at me like that, it's so easy to ignore and rationalize the danger away and I… I can't risk hurting you…"
She released his shirt from her grip and would have pulled away then, were it not for the flash of anguish that contorted his features. He never let go of her face.
"Don't…" he insisted immediately, already knowing where she was going with this. He'd know that look in her eyes anywhere now.
"But we can't," she said, her tears of joy turning bitter as her heart broke at the realization. "What Marcus did to me… he's always there, Vlad. There in the back of my head every time I've shared my bed or my heart with another – mocking me, tormenting me, constantly reminding me of what I've lost. That I will never be able to belong to anyone, that I won't ever be free to lose myself in another, in you the way that I want to, the way I have every right to – because even if I somehow managed to overcome my blood-rage, to get a better handle on myself, the poison in my veins will always be a threat."
He could feel her shutting down as she continued and Dracula found himself panicking, now gripping her by her arms, unwilling to let her go.
"Don't say it… don't you dare," he maintained.
"It would be hell, Vlad, being so close and yet so far. And I'm no sadist. I could never be that cruel to you… to ask for your fidelity, your heart, without ever being able to give you all of me in return."
Dracula felt his chest tighten, a desperation and a fury the likes of which he hadn't felt in ages now rushing over him in an unforgiving wave. This was like the subway platform all over again only infinitely worse. She was on the verge of pushing him away once more – he could taste it in the air. He understood her reasons. Hell, even some part of him agreed with her logic. Better to let go now than to dive in and suffer down the road. But he couldn't lose her… not now. Not after everything.
"I refuse to accept this," he asserted, the words coming out like a snarl. "Not after everything we've been through, not after the very fabric of the universe has conspired to bring us together. I refuse to accept that the only option is surrender, Francesca. Do you hear me? I won't accept this!"
"I hate it too," she wept pitifully and her tears, that resignation in her eyes, it gutted him. He could see the centuries of loss in her gaze, could smell the fear permeating from her like a disgusting perfume that choked the air from his lungs. "I hate it because I love you, Vlad… I love you so much, my heart aches with the pain of it. I don't want to give you up – not when you're the only man on this earth who sees me for what I am. And you've never feared me, you've never turned to run the other way. Not once." Her voice broke with another sob that clawed its way through her. She was shaking like a leaf in his hands. "I've waited so long," she cried, "so long for someone to look at me the way you do, someone to empower me, to challenge me, someone who sees who I've been, what I am, and who I can be and accepts all of it, loves all of it."
Frankie weakly grabbed hold of his shirt again, tears still streaming down her face.
"I know it's selfish, but I don't want to be without you," she said with a shuddering breath. "These last three weeks have been hell for me… I don't even want to imagine what it's going to be like without you…"
"I'm not going anywhere," he vowed to her. "I'm still here… I'm right here," and he took her wrist in his hand and pressed her palm to his heart. "I am yours forever, iubito. Everything that I am is yours."
But the exquisite defeat in her countenance remained.
Something primal snapped into place within him at the sight of it, a kind of territorial, possessive need that consumed every rational thought. His hold on her tightened as he pulled her hand away from his chest, gripping her arm and turning her wrist up between them.
"I cannot accept this," he stated plainly. "I let you slip through my fingers once before, and I regretted it for centuries. I will not lose you again."
His fangs began to extend, irises burning an electric blue that crackled and swirled like lightning around dark pupils.
Frankie went rigid, eyes widening with a new kind of fear.
"Vlad…"
"Marcus has attempted to thwart my every chance at happiness, and I have stood by and let him time and again. But no more…"
"What are you doing?" and she tried to pull her arm free of his hold, but he held her steady.
"I won't let him take you from me," he said, the words spoken with such conviction, it sent chills down her spine. "Not this time."
"Vlad, don't… my blood will kill you!" she exclaimed, going pale as his fangs reached their full length. The horror on her face was pure and unadulterated, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He had made up his mind – that much was clear.
A shaft of light broke through the clouds outside and for a moment, Vladislaus turned to look out the window.
There was no moon in the sky this evening.
Only an embroidery of stars.
In blind faith on a moonless night, the dragon shall claim what is his…
A wave of serenity washed over Dracula, a kind of clarity that soothed the primal rage that had taken hold of him.
He looked back at Francesca, her eyes filled with fear and doubt, tears of desperation still streaming down her cheeks.
"Do you trust me?" he asked her.
"Vlad…" she began to protest, but he persisted, his voice calm, soothing.
"Do you trust me, Francesca?"
She hesitated, still staring at his fangs with a look of trepidation. But in spite of herself, she nodded.
"You are destined to be mine. Blood, body, and soul," he said. She whimpered in reply, but didn't make an attempt to pull away this time. "I choose you, iubito. You and you alone… to whatever end."
Then he opened his mouth and made the descent toward her wrist.
Frankie yielded one final noise of protest, a strangled "no", but it shattered into a horrified sob when his fangs broke through her flesh.
Terror gripped the very heart of her, a wave of nausea threatening to overpower her senses as her blood broke through, suddenly filling his mouth. She wanted to look away, knew she couldn't bear the sight of watching him die. Memories flashed before her upon his first full suck against her wrist – images of old lovers wailing in agony as her blood destroyed them. And she was always helpless to stop it, unable to reverse the horrible death her blood inflicted. She could see herself sobbing in the corner of countless bedrooms, could feel her heart breaking a thousand times, over and over again, her hands soaked in blood and ash.
She waited with a fractured heart for the scent of burning flesh, the sickening, sulfuric bite of acid to reach her nose…
But it never did.
There were no screams of pain, no stench of dissolving flesh.
Only the perfume of blood in the air.
The soft sound of slurping.
The sensuous suck and smack of lips and tongue against her wrist.
Frankie's tears ceased, that painful tightness in her chest slowly relaxing as she stared in disbelief, eyes going wide.
He was still feeding from her – purposeful, measured mouthfuls of blood at a time.
As if he could sense her astonishment, he finally pulled himself away, lifting his head and raising his eyes to meet hers. Her blood had smeared around his pulsating lips, mingling with the venom in his fangs that glistened even in the darkness.
Francesca swore under her breath, in a state of absolute shock as he straightened before her.
His eyes scorched a fierce, primitive blue that threatened to burn her where she stood. He seemed taller to her all of a sudden – younger, tighter, stronger, virile and teeming with power unlike anything she had ever witnessed or felt before. He looked like a warrior king in his prime. Her blood had done that to him.
Vladislaus had yet to utter a word. The crimson that saturated his mouth, sliding down into his stomach, was like pure, liquid power. Frankie's blood burned in his gullet like sunshine and cinnamon – fizzling inside of him, leaving him warm all over as if his insides were suddenly sparking to life.
The stench of her fear had already begun to fade, and in its place was that familiar scent of roses – her scent – and it made him hard all over.
He needed more.
More of that delicious blood, more of her scent all over him.
In a single move, he reached for her and then his mouth was on hers.
She opened for him – mostly in relief – all heat and silk as the velvet of his tongue caressed hers, his fingers sliding to cradle the back of her head before tilting it to the side. He moved down to her neck in a smear of tongue and breathless lips before sinking his fangs into her throat, tearing through flesh and vein. That divinely profane liquid scarlet broke free, pouring into his mouth and they moaned in unison as some deeply primal need in them both was fulfilled.
Frankie couldn't remember the last time she had been fed on.
The sensation of it was so sensuous, so overwhelming, she felt the faintest of orgasms rippling deep in her sex, cresting and spreading through her limbs as he bit into her again, not just to feed, but to mark.
Her irises glowed violet, eyes rolling into the back of her head before fluttering closed as her body undulated with pleasure.
She could sense her inner demon – the thing was wide awake, but not once did it ever move in its cage – apparently as stunned as she was by what was happening.
Without even thinking, Frankie gripped Vlad's arms for support, digging her fingers into his biceps, then his shoulders before she finally curled her arms around his neck, holding him to her until all she could feel was hard, sculpted muscle. He made a sort of guttural growl against her neck and it sent an instant slick wave of heat between her thighs.
She was about to rub herself against him, a purely feline response, a silent plea for him to touch and bite her in other places too, but she stopped when she heard her mobile phone ringing in her jacket pocket.
Vladislaus let out a low and impatient snarl, pulling his head back to snap in the direction of the interruption.
A slew of filthy curses spoken in his mother-tongue were hissed in warning, but Frankie was already reaching into her pocket to silence the damn thing. Then she hesitated, noticing that it was Lyra who was calling. She looked up at the man, eyes questioning if she should ignore or answer the call. The frustrated wave of his hand was reply enough and he took a step back to give her space, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand. Frankie answered the phone.
"This better be good, Kennedy…" she began quietly, but was interrupted.
"What the fuck is going on?!" Lyra was whispering harshly through the other line. "I got a wave of panic from you a second ago and then nothing. What the hell happened?"
Frankie noticed Vlad's questioning look.
How the hell does she know? she heard him asking in her head.
Sire-bond.
Ah…
His expression relaxed significantly as he began to lick her blood from his hand and fingers, eyes fixed on the now healing bites on the side of her neck as she did her best to calm her friend down without getting into the details.
As the woman spoke on the phone, Vladislaus took the opportunity to take stock of what had just happened… not to mention how different he felt with Francesca's blood coursing through his system.
He felt younger, alert – and he could feel her as well, her indiscernible thoughts buzzing in his head, the waves of her pleasure like echoes in the darkness. The latter had him smirking with a predatory deviousness. Looking at her face, he never would have realized… but he could feel it now, as if they were partially linked together already – the humming of her arousal, that lingering, wanton weakness. She hid it so well, not a trace of it in her countenance.
But knowing it was there made him want to snatch the phone from her hand and toss it away.
Every inch of him was itching to mount her, to claim her officially, thoroughly, here and now, on the floor or against a wall – he wasn't particular about the location. His entire body was taut and ready.
Yet he kept his urges on a very short leash, white-knuckling even as his own inner demon pulled desperately against the restraints.
He couldn't push her further than he already had this evening.
She'd get overwhelmed – too much, and in such a short span of time.
No, he resolved silently. He wouldn't rush this… wouldn't push for more until she was ready.
Contented and significantly more rational now, he waited patiently for her to finish up her call with her friend. When Frankie at last hung up, placing the phone back in her jacket pocket, she met his gaze, clearly unsure of what to say.
"What did Lyra want?" he asked.
His voice, normally like velvet, chafed her ears like cheap polyester.
Were they really having a polite conversation after that?
"She wanted to make sure everything was okay and to tell us to hurry back to Carmen's as soon as we can," she explained, though she seemed distracted even as she said it, as if her mind and body were in two different places at once.
"She couldn't just text you?"
"She and I share a sire-bond. When I experience extreme and intense emotions, she can sense it. She wanted to make sure I was all right."
He only nodded in understanding.
The silence that followed was rife with sexual tension, Francesca's previously edge-setting orgasm still flooding her brain with endorphins while Vlad's entire being was pleading with him to just fuck her into next week already.
He was about to sigh in relief when she began to move toward him, thinking she was going to have them pick up where they had left off just moments before when she suddenly raised her hand. Her palm came down hard on his cheek in a slap. Not too hard. But it was firm and it stung.
Frankie then pointed a finger in his face, eyes dark with warning before she snapped at him, "The next time I say no, I mean no. No coercion. No buts. No means no. Got it?"
Dracula took her in for a moment.
She wasn't angry. He knew her well enough to be able to sense that particular emotion. No, what was running through her veins was so very far from rage.
He flashed her a dark and lethal grin. She nearly buckled at the sight.
"Yes madam, although I should warn you – if you ever smack me like that again, there will be consequences. Understood?" She nodded, breathless. Vladislaus allowed the tense silence to linger for just a beat before saying, "Now then… may I continue?"
She crumbled immediately, already reaching for him.
"God, yes!"
Her hands clutched at his shirt and then slid along his shoulders. His had already moved to her waist, pulling her tightly into the cradle of his hips. She could feel him hard against her and it sent a delicious thrill straight to her core, but nothing compared to the feeling of his mouth on hers, the silken stroke of his tongue, the taste of her blood.
Fire.
She was on fire.
He had set her aflame.
His kiss was thorough – as if it was the first time, as if he wanted to learn every taste, every angle of her. She brushed her tongue against his. His responding growl had her toes curling. And then he was deepening the kiss and her knees threatened to give out beneath her. His mouth slanted over hers, his tongue thrusting, caressing her in lazy, deft strokes. His hands were all over her – predatory, greedy sweeps of palm. Tracing, claiming, memorizing.
He pulled his mouth away for only a moment, eyes heavy lidded as they raked her from toe to hair and back again. Just once. It was enough. She shivered at the look he wore.
"Are you truly angry with me for biting you?" he asked.
"I'm more glad that you're still alive," she admitted, her own attention darting back and forth between his mouth and his eyes.
"Undead," he corrected cheekily.
Her smirk was wicked as she leaned in to lightly bite his bottom lip, gripping the front of his shirt.
"Don't be a smart ass, your majesty," she purred.
He smacked her backside once, hard enough for it to sting, making her squirm against him. "Don't think that brazen cheekiness of yours is going to go unpunished, Duchess," he countered, his hand coming down on her other ass cheek, the heat spreading across her derrière. But to his eternal surprise, she only leaned into the hand that was now rubbing the warmth into her flesh.
"I should hope not. But if you're going to go through the trouble of correcting me, you may wish to tie me down first," she hummed, the tip of her tongue teasing the lobe of his ear.
He made a strangled kind of noise, his grip on her bum tightening as he pulled her flush against him.
"Oh, that's not all I'm going to do to you…"
They were about to kiss again when Frankie's phone went off once more – the deafening ding of a text message. They both scowled that time. Before he could tell her to ignore it, she already had her phone out – a message from Lyra telling them to hurry it up. Frankie switched her phone to silent with a muttered oath before putting the infernal contraption away.
"We should go," she announced, making no effort to hide her displeasure.
"We can go, but only if you promise me something," he said, still holding her, refusing to release her just yet. She sent him a questioning look. "Promise me we won't go so long without doing that again."
"What? Kissing?"
"Yes," he said, stealing one as if it helped prove his point.
Frankie chuckled against his lips before crooning, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Maybe if you're very good…"
"If I'm good," he scoffed dramatically, earning another laugh from her. He would never tire of that sound! "Woman, you're lucky I don't just take you right here…"
"I'm surprised you haven't tried yet," she answered truthfully.
He smirked, but then his eyes softened and he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, a shattering tenderness in his expression.
"All in good time," he promised, and then his eyes went dark. "I've had centuries to think about how and where I want you." The words were like gravel, low and deep, vibrating through her as he spoke them. "And believe me, dragă, that when that day finally comes," he paused, leaning in so he could whisper in her ear, "I have no intention of doing it all in one night. I'll need a few days at least if I'm going to take my time with you – to learn every curve, every inch… every sound you could possibly make."
Frankie felt her undead heart flutter at the promise, a tremor shuddering between tightly clenched thighs.
"I'm going to hold you to that, your majesty," she managed to say, struggling to keep from drowning in the sea of her own lust, though the devil knew how difficult that was with Dracula looking at her like he wanted to devour her whole. "I'm to be your queen," she added, her voice husked with desire. "I have every intention of being thoroughly fucked like one."
She knew her words had hit their intended mark when she felt him tense against her. He was barely leashed, she could see it in his eyes, in the strain of his neck. But that self-mastery of his, even now in the face of temptation – it left her dangerously aroused. Something about this man being in complete and total control left her deliciously turned on.
And some wicked part of her couldn't wait to test that restraint of his further, to learn and then exploit whatever it was that would finally snap that legendary discipline… but not now.
Later.
It took a bit of effort, but at long last, the pair finally began to make their way out of the mansion and back to the car, though they did so arm in arm. The night air helped to cool that simmering, unsatisfied passion between them, and to help distract herself, Frankie stole one last look back at the house before they rounded the corner.
"You know, you never did tell me whose house that was."
He smiled knowingly.
"The Vilkova estate – my old summer palace," he explained.
Frankie brought herself a little closer to him, relishing in the way he placed an affectionate kiss to her temple as they walked.
"When do we move in?"
Well? Thoughts?
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