Sorry for the delay! I've fallen out of the habit of regularly updating and nearly forgot to post this. My bad. Don't forget to review!

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Chapter 6
Everything Has Changed

One Week Later

"Vladislaus!" Bernardini exclaimed, appearing to be genuinely surprised by the appearance of his old sire and dearest friend. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"Francesca pointed out that it had been a while since I had been to visit you and so I thought I'd drop by to check in." Dracula was still lingering on the doorstep, waiting to be invited in, but the Italian was remained rooted to the spot, the door ajar just enough so his head and half his body could be seen. "Is this a bad time?"

"No! No, no… not at all," the man insisted, though it was clear he was lying. He glanced behind himself briefly as if to check for something. Whatever it was, Vladislaus had no idea, but the man finally opened the door fully, beckoning his king with an inviting hand. "Please, come in. I just wasn't expecting a visit from you at this hour."

"If you're busy, I can always come back later," Vlad began, but the Italian immediately hushed him, motioning for him to enter.

"No, it's all right. You just caught me off guard is all. I'm afraid I've been busy getting your… some old friends situated in a new location. It's been taking up so much of my time this last week or so, I hardly know what day it is, let alone the time."

Once Vlad had crossed the threshold, Antón closed and locked the door before ushering the man rather anxiously through the foyer.

"Why don't we head into the study and we'll catch up there?"

Dracula followed the man, but not without a noted degree of suspicion in his arched brow as they made their way into the next room. Vladislaus settled himself into his usual seat by the fire as the Italian bustled about for some refreshment.

He couldn't recall a time in recent memory when his friend had been so… agitated.

"Antón, are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes, of course!" Bernardini insisted, reaching for a decanter of whiskey with an "ah ha" before he began to pour some into a tumbler for his guest. He then handed the drink to Vlad, but did not take his own seat right away. "So you were saying Francesca had encouraged you to visit? How is the delightful Miss Chase? And your training sessions with her – how are those going?"

It was the most blatant change of a subject, but Dracula decided to play along.

"She's made remarkable improvement in her control."

"Under your tutorage, that's no surprise," Antón replied, stealthily attempting to shut the study door when he paused before he could close it entirely, noting the way in which his sire and king scrutinized his every move. The Italian shrugged. "I thought I felt a draft," he answered lamely, but Dracula's pointed stare never waned and the man actually flinched.

"Antón."

It was a warning.

And not necessarily from a friend, but a master. A king.

The Italian sighed heavily in defeat.

"I may or may not have been contacted by Marcus a couple of days ago, which has, I'll admit, left me a little on edge."

Dracula had already begun to stand, but Bernardini was quick to wave him down.

"No, no – not in person. Otherwise I probably wouldn't even be here right now. It was through another."

"Whom?"

"That isn't important," and though Vlad recognized the deflection for what it was, he let it go. "The point is your brother has finally caught on to the fact that I never actually left Budapest after my wife's trial as he had initially believed… and that I've had a direct hand in orchestrating a counter-offence outside of the alliance."

"You have? For how long? And why am I only hearing about this now?"

"Because you have had enough to concern yourself with and I didn't wish to bring it up until the moment was appropriate."

"And is now that time?" Vlad asked with lingering doubt, as if he knew the answer already. His friend had yet to take a seat.

"No, it's not," the Italian answered flatly. "But the moment it is, you'll be the first to know."

There was an uncomfortable silence that lingered between the two men for several long seconds.

Dracula hated secrets – almost as much as he hated being lied to. And while his pride insisted he be affronted by his friend's blatant deceit, it took only a brief study of the Italian to realize that Bernardini took no pleasure in keeping this from him… and yet, for some reason unknown, he felt it was best. The two had been friends long enough for Vlad to know he could trust him.

Which is why he chose not to press the matter.

Instead, he asked:

"Are you still safe here?"

"Yes, though for how much longer, I can't say with any certainty. I'm currently in the process of searching for a new place to relocate to, but it will take time."

"Can I be of any assistance on that score? You know you always have a place with me, should you need it."

The Italian nodded his head in humble gratitude, but the smirk he wore was borderline mischievous.

"That is very gracious of you, but I'm not entirely certain Francesca would appreciate the added company."

"Honestly, if she understood the circumstances, she'd probably insist upon it," Dracula countered with a bit of a shrug.

"You think so?"

"I know so," he answered confidently. "She's spent the last several weeks nearly wearing herself to the bone making certain that everyone is safe – and I mean everyone, from the civilians evacuating the city through the tunnels, to her own friends and family. And undoubtedly more I don't know about."

Bernardini smiled knowingly at that, stealing a glance toward the ajar door that lead out into the hall.

"She has a very generous heart, that woman of yours," he said, finally taking his usual seat across from his majesty. Once he had settled, Vladislaus notably relaxed.

"I don't own her, Antón. And she's not mine – not formally, anyway."

"Yet," Antón corrected with an encouraging smile. "I'll take it, though, that she hasn't agreed to the blood-binding since last we spoke?"

"No, she hasn't."

Dracula's efforts to conceal his own disappointment failed miserably.

"Is she close to yielding?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "Sometimes I think she is, and other times I can't be certain. That distance that had been growing between us – you know, the one I had mentioned to you when last we spoke – the good news at least is that it has since been resolved."

"What was the cause?"

"Váci Street."

"Ah. Knowing her, she probably blamed herself entirely."

"Yes – and in my arrogance, I failed to assure her that even though she had indeed made a mistake, she wasn't wholly to blame. I assumed she knew that already, but clearly…"

"You were mistaken. It happens. I think you sometimes forget that even though she is a woman of prophecy, Francesca is still very new to all of this. To her credit, she continues to take much of it in stride, but she's not ignorant of the pressure, the expectations. So much is already riding on her success."

"I know."

"I'll take it this is a lesson you won't be needing to relearn again any time soon, right?"

The vampire king chuckled.

"Let's hope not," and he took a long drink from his glass. "Oh – I'm not sure if you were made aware of this already, but apparently Lilith switched sides and failed to inform either of us."

"Given that her majesty has been MIA for the last couple of months, would you think less of me if I said I wasn't at all surprised?"

"Not remotely."

"So how did you find out?"

"Francesca told me after she had a run in with the matron of the Conium coven…"

"Sorsha, right?"

Vlad nodded and recounted the events as Frankie had shared them – though, unknown to Dracula, with vital pieces missing from the narrative. Antón, having already heard the tale from Jack shortly after the meeting had taken place, explained to his friend in no uncertain terms that his own sources had had similar reports.

"That's not all," Vladislaus added with an ominous shift in his tone. "She attacked Francesca in her sleep a little over a week ago."

"What?!" The Italian straightened at this bit of news. "Is she all right?"

"She was shaken, naturally, but she hasn't mentioned it since. I had her brother-in-law ward the flat the following evening and thankfully we haven't had any further visitations."

"That's a relief."

"I had almost forgotten how handy it was to have a witch around," he added with a rueful smile. Bernardini nodded, recognizing that he was referring to Mariella.

"So what happened exactly?"

The account of Frankie's dream was then shared, Vlad careful to include only the pertinent details of her dark vision before admitting that in a strange sort of way, witnessing those secret doubts of her heart himself and so shortly after Lilith had unveiled them had unexpectedly helped him to understand much of the woman's lingering hesitations. It wasn't so much the fated union between them that she was opposed to, but the fear of being betrayed should she choose to put herself in the power of another – in his power.

What was more, because there was no guarantee that the binding would cure her blood-rage, there was also a lingering uncertainty surrounding what that would do to their future. Would he come to regret tying himself to her? Would he abandon her – or worse, use her up and then lock her away as Alphonse had?

When Dracula had finished his tale and the insights he had gathered, Bernardini had gone back to leaning in his plush seat. He was visibly puzzling over the information he had received, his chin propped up with his hand, middle finger resting over his lips thoughtfully.

"So what do you intend to do?"

"I have a couple of ideas – but really, I'll just have to play it by ear. At the end of the day, I want it to be her choice. The last thing I want is for her to feel pressured or obligated…"

"I don't think you need to worry about Francesca Chase making such a profoundly important decision under mere obligation," Bernardini said with a wry grin.

"True, but I also want her to feel safe in whatever decision she makes – no matter what it is."

The soberness of that reply had Antón's amusement fading a fraction.

"Even if she decides that she doesn't wish to be blood-bound to you?" he clarified, and with no small degree of surprise.

"Even then," Vladislaus answered.

"You did remind her of our theory… that the blood-binding could very well cure her blood-rage?"

"She knows," was all he offered by way of reply. He fell silent for a moment before adding, "I am entirely at her mercy, Antón… and I'm not ashamed to admit that that level of vulnerability makes me want to crawl out of my own skin."

The conversation that followed was brief and far less intense.

When it was over, the Italian walked his old friend to the door and bade him good evening with a reassuring pat on the shoulder and every promise that things would work out. Though Vladislaus didn't acknowledge the encouragement directly, he did offer his friend a small but grateful smile before departing.

The moment the door was shut and bolted behind him, Antón Bernardini leaned back against it with a heavy exhale of relief as a petite figure stepped out of the shadows.

"That was close, my girl… too close," he chastised gruffly.

Tempest finished making her way into the center of the foyer. It was only after she had stepped into the light that the Italian noticed her cheeks were stained with rusted tears.

That fatherly censure immediately fell from his face as he met her with open arms. She immediately began to cry once more, her whole body shuddering. He kissed her brow affectionately.

"Now, now, my sweet… there's no need to make yourself upset."

"I didn't realize how much I had missed him," she said softly, voice quivering. She took a breath to steady herself before accepting his offered handkerchief. "He looks the same, and yet… different, somehow."

"It's probably the concealment charm."

But Tempest shook her head.

"No, not that… something else. There's a softness in his countenance that wasn't there before, a tenderness." She finished wiping her eyes as a smile crept up into her face. "He really loves her, doesn't he?"

Antón nodded.

"Yes… I believe he does."

Francesca was seated on a crate in a corner, watching as Danny continued to give Vesper her archery lesson.

When the man had regained consciousness after his ordeal, he had been eager to make himself useful in some way, to drown out the horror of what he had endured by staying busy. But with everyone still on lockdown and the city still quietly being evacuated in handfuls of civilians at a time, revenge against the Spider had been put on hold.

News of Rémy and Carmen's new relationship spread like wildfire, and while Danny was just as happy for his friends as the others were, there was an unspoken disappointment that had taken root in him at the news. Damon had barely been dead for twenty-four hours, and Rémy had chosen then of all times to confess his undying love for a woman who had pined for him for decades, yet he hadn't ever acknowledged in that way?

Needless to say, it didn't sit well with Danny. While Frankie and the others were more ready to just let it go, he was not.

His final conversation with Damon only continued to play over and over again in his mind – his fondness for Carmen, in spite of her heart belonging to another. His devotion to Vesper, the way he had looked on her as a daughter, like so many of them did.

Damon's final words had undoubtedly been meant for Carmen – at least, that is what Danny had assumed – but what that message was supposed to be he would never know. That scream as he met true death continued to haunt Danny's dreams, and undoubtedly would for the rest of his life.

It certainly would haunt Francesca.

She and Danny hadn't spoken directly about what she had done for him – easing the burden of his trauma by taking a portion of it onto herself when she absorbed his memories. But she did know that he was grateful for it, and that her doing so had only strengthened the unspoken bond between them.

It had also made the man far more attentive of Vesper and her needs – or perhaps that had more to do with him feeling directly responsible for Camilla's death. Whatever his motivations, since he had been denied his immediate revenge on Basilio, Danny had relocated himself down to lycan territory to keep an eye on Vesper and start her on training with a bow and arrow – in memory of Damon.

Vesper, who had also been unusually quiet and withdrawn since the incident, was more than grateful for the distraction when Danny had offered it to her. And so they spent their evenings – for hours at a time – at the underground range, practicing form, working on her aim, talking quietly amongst themselves about nothing in particular.

Not exactly eager to third-wheel it with her brother and best friend, and seeing as how Vlad had gone to visit Bernardini, Frankie had contented herself to spend her evening in quiet observation of Danny and Vesper's lessons – though truth be told, she felt utterly useless doing so.

"Her aim is getting better," Tristan pointed out conversationally, the lycan prince making his way over to her. He leaned against the large crate where she had been sitting, his back partially to her as they both continued to watch the dhampir shoot arrow after arrow. The girl was getting closer to the center of the target with each one she shot off.

"She's a natural," Frankie declared with a note of pride and the werewolf chuckled.

"More like unnaturally gifted," he teased. "First firearms, then throwing knives… and now this. Doesn't that seem like the wrong order to you?"

"Guns are easier to use, and far more accessible," she explained, missing his invitation for banter.

"I'd argue that one's claws or teeth are the better option…" he said with a shrug.

"Better or just preferred?" she asked knowingly. He looked back at her with a smile.

"The more intimate the weapon, the better. That's what I always say."

"I'm inclined to agree," she replied.

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence as they continued to watch Vesper shoot off another round of arrows. At least a third of them made it in or very close to the bullseye. Tristan whistled as if impressed.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side!" he called out to the girl as she went to clear her mark. She blushed scarlet at the compliment but said nothing, diverting her gaze down to the ground as she quickened her pace. Frankie lightly smacked her old lover's arm in rebuke.

"Stop flirting with her. You're going to scare the poor thing," she said, making a point to keep her voice down.

"What? She needs to get used to the positive attention of men sooner or later," he argued quietly, that roguish grin of his fixed in place. "It's bad enough she hardly has any friends her own age."

"She's barely sixteen."

"I lost my virginity at thirteen, and she hasn't even had her first kiss yet… or so my sources tell me."

"Excuse me? Your sources?"

"You know I can hear you two, right?" Vesper called out, her fists filled with arrows as she made her way back to Danny who was holding her bow. "And for the record, I have had my first kiss. I just keep that sort of stuff to myself…"

"I beg your pardon?" Frankie replied. "When have you had the time to lock lips with anyone?"

"I had to entertain myself somehow in France while you and Vlad were making googly eyes at each other twenty-four-seven," the girl declared, earning a snort from Tristan and a questioning look from Danny.

"We were not making googly eyes at each other, missy. And last I recalled, there isn't anyone even remotely near your age bracket for you to be snogging with on the estate…"

"The estate, no, but in town…" and the girl sent the woman her most impish grin as she took her bow from a dumbfounded Danny, nocking one of her arrows.

"Does Carmen know?" the man asked, suddenly finding his voice.

"Nope!"

She then pulled on the bowstring, aimed, and released.

Direct hit in the bullseye.

The three adults were too stunned to say much of anything.

But Vesper merely smiled and grabbed another arrow.

"I'm not a child anymore, Frankie," she declared.

"She never said you were," the werewolf immediately defended, but the dhampir had cut him off before he could gain too much ground.

"No, but all of you still look at me and treat me like I'm this delicate, breakable thing."

She loosed another arrow.

Another direct hit, this one sliding in right beside its twin.

"It's why you're here, isn't it? To keep an eye on me, even though I'm in the literal safest place in all of Budapest… it's like I'm still not safe enough for you," and she motioned with her head to Frankie. She then looked at Danny. "And you – you've spent the last week doing nothing but archery lessons with me instead of talking about what happened to you and Damon and my… my birth mother, when I know it's been eating you up inside, even if Frankie absorbed your memories."

She picked up another arrow, nocked it.

"I didn't know my mother, and I don't resent any of you for that. I know that she gave me up to keep me safe, that you and Carmen and Rémy… that all of you have bent over backwards just to keep me out of his hands."

She released the string and the arrow flew.

It settled into the target beside its siblings – a cluster in the center mark.

"But Basilio is a monster. Not some misunderstood beast with a possible redemption arc. A monster. He tortured and murdered Damon. He tortured and murdered Morene… and Lily. He killed Raul. He tortured Danny. He even got to you," and she motioned to Frankie with one of her arrows. "And you're supposed to be untouchable. My whole childhood, I was convinced that nothing could hurt you… but then he broke your heart," and she sent Tristan an accusatory glare, "and Aunt Cece was murdered, and somewhere in between the Spider got his hands on you as well." She lifted her bow and took aim. "If that wasn't bad enough, he also tormented and raped and enslaved my mother for pretty much her entire life, so not only am I the product of violence, I also have that monster's blood running through my veins."

"He might biologically be your father, but that doesn't make you remotely like him," Danny insisted. "You have more of Camilla in you than you ever did of him."

"We offered to get your mother out countless times, but she refused to leave," Frankie explained carefully. "She was convinced that she was of more use to you in there as a spy."

"Yeah, well… fat lot of good that did any of us."

"Vesper, your mother sacrificed everything for you," Danny interjected sternly. "She endured his abuse because staying close to him meant keeping him away from you. Whether that was literally speaking or through feeding information to the alliance… Everything she did was for you. Your mother was a hero. I'm only standing here today because of her."

"And it got her killed. He killed her. He may not have pulled the trigger, but he's as much to blame for her death, if not more so. He's responsible for the suffering of countless people in this city, most of which don't even have voices anymore."

Once more, another arrow soared flawlessly through the air. Her fourth bullseye.

"I get that Augustine is the big bad and he needs to be taken out. And I understand that evacuating civilians out of the city takes precedence over everything right now… but… Frankie… we can't risk losing any more of our family to Basilio. Don't you see? He's the bigger threat. Yes, Marcus Augustine is your arch nemesis and he deserves to die probably more than anyone else on this miserable planet, but the Spider is the weapon he wields against us. An unchecked weapon. And I'm tired of him threatening or hurting the people I care about and feeling powerless to stop it."

She glanced over at Danny briefly before going to nock her fifth arrow into the bowstring. But then she paused, arms falling to her sides.

"I know that you think I'm still a kid; that you all think I'm this naïve, ignorant…"

"Nobody thinks that," Frankie assured her.

"Maybe, but that hasn't stopped you from sheltering me. I can't…" Vesper's voice cracked with sudden emotion. That was guilt in her face – survivor's guilt. Frankie knew that look anywhere. "I can't keep letting you all risk life and limb for me while I just sit back and do nothing. I was born into the alliance. I've literally grown up with it, have been raised by it. And it's left me with revolution and a thirst for reckoning running through my veins. I want to fight, Frankie. I don't want to hide in lycan territory while the rest of you risk everything. I want to help."

The girl quickly wiped the tears from her face before they could tumble too far down her cheeks, sniffing once. Danny placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression fractured with a similar grief.

"I don't want her sacrifice to be in vain," she then whispered. "I don't want my life to be a waste." Vesper lifted her gaze from her feet to look up at Francesca who had gone utterly silent. "Carmen will say no – you know how she is. But you…"

"Don't ask me that," Frankie pleaded.

"I'm not a child," she insisted with sudden zeal. "And I'm not asking for permission. I'm asking for your blessing." With the back of her hand, Vesper wiped another stray tear from her face before returning to her position, lifting her bow to take aim. Once more, she released, and once more, her aim was true. "I want to fight, Frankie. I want Basilio's head on a spike, and I want to help you guys bring him down."

"I hope you don't have any delusions in that head of yours that involve facing off with him…"

"I'm not stupid enough to think I'd stand a chance if I did," the girl said with a bit of a laugh. "But I still want to help. That's all. Just let me help. Give me something to do."

Frankie looked to Danny and then Tristan, her eyes pleading for help, for either man to say something, anything.

But they remained silent, stalwart… as if they supported the girl's decision already.

Francesca sighed, that familiar weight of duty and responsibility starting to settle over her shoulders again.

Lord, she was exhausted.

"I'll think about it," was all she would concede, sliding from her seat on the crate to the ground, idly wiping any dust from her bum. She then made her way over to the girl as she picked up yet another arrow. "But in the meantime, I want your word that you'll stay here until you're told to do otherwise. Spend all your time training if you want, but you stay here and you don't give Tristan or anyone else any trouble. Promise?" and she held out her little finger.

A pinky promise.

They hadn't shared one of those since Vesper had been maybe eight or nine years old. Perhaps utilizing it now was a little manipulative on Frankie's part, a tug at the bond they shared, the respect she knew Vesper had for her. She had no qualms when it came to taking advantage of that right now – especially if it meant keeping the girl appeased and safe simultaneously while she figured the rest of the situation out.

The dhampir exhaled through her nose before relenting, lifting her hand and curling her little finger around the woman's.

"Fine – but only on the condition that you don't broach the topic with Carmen without me there. I can speak for myself and I want to be the one to tell her."

"That's a conversation I can't wait to hear," Tristan said with a big of a smug grin.

Vesper flipped him off, earning a laugh from all three adults; even Frankie, in spite of the disapproving look she sent the girl.

"Very well, but I'm going to add the stipulation that you stick to training and training only while you're here – no lip-locking or canoodling of any kind."

The girl laughed.

"I love how you say that like you think you can stop me."

Frankie affectionately pinched Vesper's nose, earning a chuckle and a light swat of the dhampir's hand before she went back to her archery. The woman glanced over at Danny, grateful for the smile on his face – even if there was still a tremendous amount of grief hidden away behind his eyes.

"Then I'll leave you both to it. And Danny? You might want to move the target back a few yards. Looks like she could use a bit more of a challenge."

"Already on it."

"You heading out, then?" Tristan called over, still leaning against the crate. Frankie looked back at him with a smile and nodded. "I'll walk you to the surface."

Francesca arrived at her flat about an hour later, having stopped by Carmen's on her way just to check in. Her best friend and brother were otherwise engaged, but she had managed to catch Jacob and Lyra just as they were heading out to drive to Vilkova to reinforce the wards and protections around the estate.

She hadn't realized she had been headed to her apartment until she had arrived. Why she had felt the need to come here, she wasn't sure, but never before had this place felt more foreign to her than it did in that moment. All of her books, her furniture, trappings and décor – they belonged to a different woman than the one she was now. A different Frankie from a different life.

Home wasn't here.

Home was where Vladislaus was.

Perhaps that was why she had come here – to remind herself.

Her conversation with Vesper, coupled with all that had happened in the last month – the path before her was growing more dark and narrow, where briars of thorns, steep cliffs, and thick shadows were just some of the many obstacles now lying in front of her. The pressure only continued to mount with every passing day, the responsibility, the weight of it all. She didn't want to fail them – her friends, her family. But she didn't want them to get hurt either.

She had never showed as much, but her conversation with Vesper had unnerved her.

It was true, the dhampir was no longer a child – hadn't been for some time.

But the girl had no idea what she was asking for, had no concept of what it was like to live with your hands forever stained in the blood of others, to bear the weight of their souls when they died because of you. Francesca wanted to spare her that… but she had realized in that moment, she couldn't.

She couldn't spare Vesper the ugliness of war – not anymore; and not when she had seen so much of it already.

Francesca moved silently through the flat, absentmindedly looking at her possessions, idly running her fingers over fabric and wall. She eventually made her way into her bedroom and took a seat on the edge of her bed, eyes wandering, though she looked at nothing in particular.

With a heavy sigh she realized that more than anything in that moment, what she craved most was something solid and sure to anchor her, someone to hold her steady as the storm on the horizon slowly inched closer and closer. Frankie knew it would be here soon, knew it would devour her, maybe even swallow her whole. She understood that even more difficult decisions would need to be made in the coming days – and not just the one involving Vesper.

And for the first time in her life, Frankie had no desire to make those decisions, to endure any of it, alone.

She wanted her steady foundation, her soft place to land.

And she wanted to be the same for him.

As if on cue, she felt her mobile phone vibrate in her coat pocket – Vlad's alias, Mr. Leinhart, appearing on the screen.

Speak of the devil…

"Hey," Frankie said by way of greeting.

Vlad's salutation was similar. She could hear glasses clanking in the background, as if he were putting away the dishes from earlier that evening. The idea of the king of the vampires doing menial household chores made her smile.

"So I dropped by Carmen's a little while ago and was told you had just left for home, but I'm here and you're not…"

"Yes, sorry. I had to take a detour," she answered a little lamely.

"Everything all right?"

Frankie stood and wandered over to her open walk-in closet, absentmindedly running the material of some of her clothing between her fingers.

"Yeah, I just… needed a walk to clear my head, sort through some things."

"And how is that working out for you?"

"Miserably," she said with a short laugh.

She opened her mouth to continue, but speech failed her momentarily as her eyes fell onto a racy set of lingerie hanging up in the intimates section of her wardrobe. Black. Lace overlay. Built-in harness straps that were more fashion than function.

It gave her an idea.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, misunderstanding the nature of her silence.

"No," she replied after some consideration, still studying the skimpy little number. "No, I think I'd like to try something else."

"Oh?"

"Yeah – I'll explain when I get home. See you in twenty minutes?"

"Works for me. Should I move the furniture out of the living room?"

"No… not tonight."