Well folks, the day has *FINALLY* arrived. If the chapter title isn't a big enough indicator of what's going to happen in this chapter, then I don't know how to help you, haha!
The details of the blood-binding ceremony definitely pull from the tradition of hand-fasting, but, as you'll soon see, there's a lot more to it than that. Hopefully it proves effective. This is a moment of huge significance for the sake of the plot, yes, but also when it comes to Frankie (and Dracula's) individual journeys/arcs. I chose to focus predominately on Francesca's experiences throughout the ceremony, though, since the repercussions for her are much greater (and far more important).
I only hope I did my job well. ENJOY!
CW: lots of making out... like... a lot, a lot ;)
Copyright © 2022 TSM. All rights reserved.
Chapter 7
Bound
Frankie helped herself into Vlad's flat, as was her usual habit these days.
She immediately noticed the man himself was in route from the kitchen into the living room, nursing a glass of blood as he went. He looked up briefly at her, acknowledging her arrival with a basic enough greeting.
The woman provided a faint reply, entering with little ceremony as she casually shut and locked the door behind her.
She had changed out of her earlier clothing – what she wore now so nondescript on the surface, he never would have guessed in a million years what lay just underneath. Her outfit was comprised of a pair of flawlessly tailored trousers that hugged her ass like high-end yoga pants, but without betraying any seam or outline of underclothing beneath. Her blouse was basic – soft, charcoal gray, and low-cut so just the hint of the harness straps of her bra were visible, but no more than a hint. She shed her coat from her body in one single fluid motion, then her shoes, until she was moving barefoot across the hardwood floor with purpose in her eyes. She tossed her phone onto the nearby sofa as she approached.
He missed her expression as he placed his half-empty glass onto a nearby end table.
"So I was speaking with Feng this evening about how we can approach our Basilio problem, and I think…"
And then there were no more words.
She had taken his face in both of her hands before pulling him down to meet her. She even rose up onto the balls of her feet to ease the distance, body swaying forward a little to lean against the hard line of his front.
Her lips were soft, but firm against his mouth. Determined.
One kiss.
Then three.
He pulled back a little, but only to say,
"I take it you'd prefer to talk about that later then?"
She answered him with the faintest of smiles and then another kiss. Her tongue touched his as she eased into his mouth, taking advantage of his silent gasp of pleasure, and she could sense the delightful shiver that spider-crawled down his back, all the way along his spine and straight into his cock. When the kiss broke that time, his irises were glowing, fangs noticeable behind his lips, his gaze hungry.
Vlad's voice was warm and dark, like smoke.
"Definitely later, then."
Her lips curved in that way that made him weak every time before he quickly descended to partake of her more fully. Her hands smoothed down his front before curling against his ribs, then to the exquisitely sculpted muscles of his back. His threaded into her hair, angling her head until they best fit. With one hand cradling her nape and the other resting in that space between the front of her throat and collar, she opened for him in a way that was purely instinctual.
The heat and silk of his tongue drove a groan from deep in her throat, a keening, pleading sound that only made his kisses hotter, heavier.
"Touch me," she whispered, the words coming out more like a plea than a command. "I need you to touch me… I need your hands on my skin…"
He obliged without hesitation, slipping his fingers behind the front of her blouse to press his palm against the top of her breast where that lovely dragon brand resided; the other glided up underneath the back of her shirt to smooth over the dip in her spine. He teased her with gentle caresses – up, then down, side to side, tracing, charting, memorizing.
He ran the tip of his fingers along her collarbone just as his mouth moved down, a sort of guttural growl left to vibrate against her throat as his lips pressed to her skin, parted, panting. A slick wave of heat slid between her thighs at the sound.
"More," she pleaded, fingers in his hair now as he nibbled and sucked at her neck.
One of his hands skimmed across her collarbone again before boldly dipping behind the cup of her bra until he all but held one of her breasts in his hand. His touch was light – so light it made her quiver – and when he finally cupped her fully, palm rolling the weight, he returned to her mouth, nipping at her lips before kissing her deeply.
She cried out against his mouth when he took her nipple between two of his fingers, pinching once, twice.
"Too much?" he taunted, knowing perfectly well she wanted more, but he had also noticed the way her irises had begun to glow red – a sign that they would indeed have to stop soon, or her inner demon would come out to play.
A pity, really… he had been enjoying himself.
"Oh, iubito," he said with a sigh and then he pinched her nipple once more, a little firmer this time, making her gasp, her hold on the roots of his hair tightening, "Your body is so needy right now." He almost sounded appreciative of the fact. Vlad ran the tip of his tongue over the shell of her ear, ever the tease, before whispering, "You know, I could smell how wet you were the moment you walked through the door… such a pity it should go to waste."
Frankie actually groaned that time, struggling, fighting so hard to keep her dark passenger at bay, to keep it leashed. She wanted this, needed it. She wanted him so much that the denial actually hurt. Deep inside, her entire sex ached, her neglected channel quivering, clutching at air, and the purity of her desire soon gave way to frustration.
Frustration with herself, with her blood-rage, with this entire situation.
"I hate this," she growled. "I hate this wanting… always wanting, but there's no reprieve, no release of the pressure."
To his credit, his response was genuinely sympathetic.
"I know."
With great regret, he slowly released her breast, removing his hand from her blouse, but he never stopped holding her. Having her so close to him was a relief and utter hell in one fell swoop – because it wasn't close enough. This would never be close enough.
"I've been thinking about that a lot this last week, actually," he confessed suddenly. "About us, about your reservations with being blood-bound."
Her brows immediately knitted with shame.
"Vlad, I…"
"No, no… hush. I didn't bring it up to make you feel guilty," he assured her. "Your hesitation is perfectly valid and as I've said before, I don't hold it against you." Her heart cracked a little at that, at the generosity of his understanding, but she never made an attempt to reply. "I only mention it because it has given me a great deal to think about, to consider. All I want, more than anything, is for you to feel safe, dragă."
"And I do feel safe. I feel safe with you," she insisted with newfound urgency. "But I…" Frankie exhaled her annoyance, stepping out of his hold abruptly. She raked her fingers through her hair and turned her back to him for a moment to collect herself. Her little snarl spoke volumes. "When did I get so neurotic? My fears are so irrational, so unfair to you – to both of us. And the worst of it is, I know they are, but I can't seem to quiet them…"
Before she could get too carried away in her vexation, he reached for her wrist and gently brought her back to him.
"Do you remember that nightmare you had last week?"
Frankie turned to face him before releasing a heavy sigh of defeat. She nodded once.
"I didn't mention this before, and perhaps I should have. But I saw it too… in your mind."
"I suspected as much," she said. She didn't seem angry or disturbed by what he'd done. "I could feel you there after the fact… in a strange sort of way, it was the only thing that helped bring me back down, having you there."
"And yet, there's this part of you that's still afraid that one day I'll take advantage. That perhaps not tomorrow, but somewhere down the road, I'll use you up, take everything you could possibly give of yourself, and then leave you utterly powerless. You fear being stuck beneath me, stuck in another loveless marriage. Only this time, it's forever and there would be no Spanish devil to save you."
Frankie's expression communicated to him everything he needed to know, and while she immediately began to deny the accusation, her eyes told a different story. But he gently held his hand up in request for her silence.
"Your concerns are not entirely unreasonable, or unfounded," he explained. "You've spent the majority of your existence in a fervent struggle to maintain your autonomy, to keep from ever being an object, a possession. What your husband did to you when you were mortal, and then the way Eduardo took advantage of you… even what Augustine did – control, that emotional distance. It's your safety net, a security line that saves you from the cruelty of men."
Dracula reached out and gently caressed her cheek with the back of his finger.
"But it also denies you the truest and rarest form of intimacy."
"I know," she whispered mournfully.
"I know you do," he said with an empathy that he hadn't realized he was capable of. "I can feel it in you – those two sides of you at war whenever we're close… whenever I touch you." His fingers gently brushed over her lips with sudden thoughtfulness. "The side that longs to surrender and soar… and the other that's so afraid to let go, and not because you fear the fall, but because you fear what happens if you hit the ground, that no one will be there to catch you. It's easier to deny yourself the leap, never trusting anyone to hold any sort of influence over you. Better to live an eternity moving from one dalliance to the other than to give anyone the power to hurt you, to trust that they won't."
He could see the tears now pooling in her lower lash-line and it made his heart ache for her.
"I'm not sure I like how easy it has become for you to read me," Frankie said with a chuckle, deflecting a little. Vlad smiled sympathetically, coiling an arm around her waist to bring her fully back to him before tenderly gathering her unshed tears with a gentle press of the side of his finger – every touch slow, soft, soothing.
"I do have an unfair advantage," he confessed with a slight grin. "Sometimes looking at you is like looking into a mirror – only this reflection before me is far stronger and braver than I could ever hope to be… and certainly more beautiful."
Her laugh was sheepish and she went to divert her gaze to the floor in modest embarrassment, but he brought her attention back up to him with a finger beneath her chin.
"I understand your fears, Francesca – and I do not hold them against you. Not now, not ever." And he sealed the promise with a feather soft kiss to her brow. "But in the spirit of full disclosure," he continued with a sudden husk in his voice, "I don't think I can bear another hour being denied you. You know that I've been drawn to you from the start. It's getting to where I can barely control myself around you."
"You're not giving yourself enough credit. Your restraint has only continued to impress me. Especially just a few minutes ago."
"Oh woman, you cannot even begin to comprehend how much it physically pains me to keep myself from devouring you," and he kissed her once, slow and deep, just to help emphasize his point. The caress of his tongue in her mouth had her sex unspooling even more liquid heat between her thighs. "I want you," he murmured against her lips, a slight rumble to his words. "And believe me, what I desire is so much more than sex… I want all of you, Francesca. I want to know the taste of you, the feel of you, the weight of your soul." He sealed the words with another kiss. "Every inch." A kiss to her temple. "Every noise." A kiss on the other. "Every secret desire." One to her jawline. "Every kink and perversion and fear." One to the side of her neck where her pulse would have been had her heart still been beating.
Although for a moment there, she thought it had started up again.
He brought his mouth to the lobe of her ear and he nipped it lightly between his teeth.
"What can I do to subdue your uncertainty?"
Her sigh was a blend of mourning and pure, unadulterated desire.
"If only I knew."
He drew away from her suddenly, the absence of his kisses and that firm wall of his body leaving her to ache anew.
But then he revealed a small black box that had been hidden from behind one of the throw pillows on the sofa. He lifted the lid and removed what was inside.
A pair of handcuffs.
Frankie, still a little lust-drunk, chuckled in genuine amusement at the gesture.
"For me?" she asked teasingly.
"No… for me," he said, and to prove his sincerity, he closed one of the cuffs around his wrist.
Her smile faltered a little.
"Don't tease me."
"I'm not," he replied, grabbing the back of one of the chairs from the dining room table and he placed it in the center of the room before he took a seat.
With surprising expertise and agility – as if he had done this before – he weaved the chain between the splat and stiles of the chair before cuffing his other wrist.
And just like that, he was bound, completely at her mercy.
"Well?" he asked expectantly.
Frankie studied him for several long moments, torn between suspicion and that mischievous smirk that was tugging at the corner of her mouth. She circled him slowly, eyes making a leisurely appraisal of his gift.
"What are they made out of?"
"The same material used to forge those chains that kept you bound in the basement of your uncle's old mansion. If they were strong enough to restrain your demon, they should – in theory – be strong enough to hold me."
"So you can't just break them off?"
"Not without great difficulty. There's a key in the box, so technically speaking, you get to decide whether or not I stay confined or if I'm set free," and he motioned with his head for the box he had left on the sofa. She found the key at the bottom, adorned with a single deep indigo ribbon.
That violet-blue color forever to be associated with Venice, that fateful night when they had first met.
She gave way to that smile from earlier, now standing in front of him.
"Well? Does this help?" he asked.
Frankie situated herself onto his lap, straddling his waist as she brought her arms up to wrap around his neck.
"It's certainly intriguing," she confessed. But then her expression grew a little grave. "Why are you doing this?"
"I want to help you overcome your reservations… if I can. If you'll let me," and he lowered his head a bit to catch her eye. "For one, you've spent the better part of your existence hearing the tales of my infamy. I think even if we took away Augustine and your abusive ex-husband from the equation, there would still be a part of you that was terrified that if you gave yourself to me, if you allowed me to possess you in every sense of the word, that you would, in time, become just another name on an endless list of conquests."
While he said that last part with a degree of good humor, and she let out a silent laugh, she also rested her forehead against his, meeting his gaze with a look of earnest.
"I hope you believe me when I say that you having a prolific sexual history doesn't bother me nearly as much as you think it does."
"Oh, I wouldn't be offended if it did. I am fully aware of my reputation."
She chuckled.
"Yes, but mine is no better. I'm not exactly holding the moral high-ground here."
"Hmm, I suppose that's true…" and his gaze turned suggestive. "You wicked thing."
"You really have no idea," she promised him, brushing the tip of her nose to his, teasing him with a promised kiss, but denying him the caress he so clearly sought.
"Perhaps we should compare notes sometime."
Frankie hummed her approval as he leaned his head forward a bit to close the distance, using his mouth to draw her into him as his hands were still restrained. The kiss was unhurried and deep, a savoring. And while he longed to hold her against him, to touch her, he forced himself to submit to her pace, yielding to her lead.
Before the kissing left him too heady, he whispered against her lips, "I love you, Francesca. You, and only you."
Her face crumpled a little at the declaration, deeply moved by the utterance, and she caressed those lips of his, tracing his words with her fingers as she committed them to memory.
"And I you, Vladislaus. More than you will ever know."
The kisses that followed were far more tender than before, adding a new layer of intimacy between them.
Frankie's heart swelled.
"Did I ever tell you the reason why I ran from you that night in Venice?" she asked suddenly between kisses. He shook his head. "It was the first time I ever wanted to abandon my sense of control, my discipline, my restraint – all of it. I had spent those earlier years of immortality dominating men, making them crawl for me. But the way you looked at me that night, every touch had me craving something different – an equal. My equal, the one who could grant me liberation in a release of control. I wanted the baring and joining of souls, the shattering intimacy, the consuming sense of one-ness that most couples only ever dream about. I ran because I wanted all of that with you – a complete stranger – and it terrified me. I wasn't ready."
Her words and the feather-light caress of her lips against his face came to a halt as they sat there, brow to brow, nose to nose.
"I want it now," she whispered. "Every time I'm with you, I want it. When you kiss me, when you touch me… even in those moments just before the dawn when you're holding me in bed and we fall asleep mid-conversation… I want it. You make me want to let go."
Frankie's throat tightened suddenly, her eyes pricking with emotion.
She took his face in her hands.
"You once told me you wanted to possess me blood, body, and soul. I want you to. Prophecy or no prophecy, I want to be yours, Vladislaus, just as I want you to be mine, and mine alone."
Uttering the words aloud had a power to them that was now washing over her in a wave of resolution and she scooted up on his lap a little, back straightening, her gaze fixed.
"I choose you, Dracula. I choose to be with you – not out of obligation, not because a higher power demands it, and not because we are both so unbelievably sexually repressed right now." He had to stifle his laughter at how painfully accurate that last part was, but other than that, he remained silent, not daring to interrupt her. "I choose you because I want to be with you. You took a leap of faith for me that night at Vilkova…" and her face grew more pensive, contemplative. And then he saw it – that flash of resolution. "Now it's my turn."
Frankie made quick work of the first three buttons of his shirt, nimble fingers moving with expertise as she pulled the material aside so she could see the lion brand on his chest. She caressed it thoughtfully and then bent her head down to press a kiss to the spot.
Vlad had to suppress the groan in the back of his throat, the feel of her breath on that already sensitive patch of skin almost too much.
But then she was kissing her way up to his collar, then the side of his neck.
"Marry me?" she whispered.
When she felt him go stiff at the query, she looked up to find his eyes wide with astonishment, but there was no trace of refusal or hesitation in those swirling blue orbs. She smiled a little.
"I want to be blood-bound to you. Right now… before the sun rises."
"Are you sure?" he asked carefully. "Once the rite is complete, it cannot be undone."
The cynical part of his brain half expected her to back down, but he was secretly gratified beyond measure when she didn't.
"I'm certain."
Dracula actually sighed – but whether it was in relief or disbelief, she couldn't quite tell.
"You know, it's strange. I haven't done the marriage thing in literal centuries… and yet, I do believe this is the only time I've actually looked forward to it."
Frankie wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him.
"That will make two of us," she replied with a smile and a brief kiss. "So what do you say, Dracula? You can have all of me… but I'm taking all of you in return. Can you live with that?"
"There is no other woman I'd rather belong to," he said, and though she kissed him as a reward, she also couldn't help but giggle against his lips.
"You do realize how totally clichéd that sounds, right?"
Vlad smirked.
"Yes, but it's working, isn't it?"
Frankie merely laughed in reply, content with kissing him. That is, until a thought crossed her mind and she pulled away abruptly.
"You're not just saying yes because you want sex, right?"
"That you would even ask me that is insulting…" he insisted, though with no small degree of mirth. "Normally I'd punish such impertinence, but as I'm still handcuffed to this chair..."
Francesca's reaction to this bit of information was everything he could have hoped for.
Her expression turned suggestive and she inched the rest of the way up into his lap until she was flush against his semi-erect cock. The friction her movement created had him biting his tongue in an effort to at least appear sedate. But then she whispered in his ear, lightly tracing the shell with her tongue.
"For the record, I would gladly fuck you in this chair, with or without the blood-binding."
He went fully hard just then and she felt it, her smile pure devilment now.
"While I appreciate the consideration of having an out, my dear, you'll recall, I've already made my decision. But if you're getting cold feet…"
"I'm not! I swear it… I just want to make sure we're both on the same page here; that we're proceeding for the same reason, for the right reasons… eyes wide open and everything."
Dracula leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her throat.
"Does this feel wrong to you?" he murmured.
"No," she breathed, lightly shaking her head.
"Has it ever felt wrong?" he persisted, running the tip of his tongue slowly up her neck, tracing her jugular. She shivered against him.
"No."
"Then trust your instincts. Trust me."
When their lips met that time, their kisses were all tongue, until she took advantage of his bound state and moved down to lightly nip and suckle the side of his neck. He groaned, a deep, lustful, frustrated noise that broke off at the tail end into a small growl.
"Get my phone," he insisted, voice completely graveled now. "Call Antón. If we're going to do this, we do it properly and with a witness."
Noting his phone on the side table behind her, Frankie, still seated in the man's lap, tightened the hold of her thighs around his waist and then leaned all the way back to reach for the mobile device – consequently providing him with a staggeringly suggestive view as she did so.
Oh! She was flexible… Ideas. So many deliciously wicked ideas.
When she was upright again, she quickly called Bernardini, wrapping one of her arms around Vlad's neck again as she waited for the Signore to pick up.
"Vlad!" came the Italian's voice on the other end after just one ring. "Twice in one night – this is rather unprecedented…"
"Hello? Antón? This is Frankie."
There was a pause on the other end.
"Francesca?"
The unspoken question of why do you have Dracula's mobile hung in the air, but rather than get into the gory details, she instead dove right in to the point.
"Yes. Terribly sorry for the confusion. I'm sure Vlad would have called you himself, but he's a bit tied up at the moment." The look Dracula sent her was smoldering. "Listen, I know that the sun is due to rise in… oh, roughly an hour or so, but we were hoping you could come over… as soon as possible if you can manage."
"Is everything all right?"
"Oh! Yes, of course. We're just in need of a witness and Vlad said to call you."
The silence on the other end this time was much longer than the first. Frankie pulled the phone away from her ear to make sure that the call hadn't dropped. It hadn't.
"Signore? Are you still there?"
"Yes… sorry. I – I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Excellent! When should we expect you?"
"Give me fifteen minutes."
And then he hung up.
Dracula immediately started to chuckle, a devious noise.
"I think you may have broken him," he declared. "Antón has never been the sort with want for words."
Frankie smiled and was about to move in for another round of kisses to help pass the time when it was her phone that started ringing. They both frowned at the intrusion as she reached for her mobile still resting on the sofa beside them. She had every intention of silencing the damn thing when she noticed who was calling.
Her brother.
"Don't you dare answer that," Vlad began, but she covered his lips with her finger and picked it up anyway.
"Hey Frank! I had just run home to grab a few things and noticed how empty the flat was. Where are you?"
"Oh, you know – out."
"I can see that, but where?"
"There's something I've been meaning to do for a while now and it couldn't wait," she said, the double entendre not at all lost on Vlad. "In fact, I might be unreachable for the rest of the week."
Dracula's shock at that bit of information mirrored the exclamation of surprise she received from her brother on the other end of the line.
"What? Really? Why?"
"Seriously? That's all I get? That's barely even four days…" Vlad began, purposefully keeping his voice down, but she quickly covered his mouth with her hand.
"It's a long story, and I'm afraid I don't have the time to get into it right now," Frankie continued, desperately trying to ignore the way Vlad was now licking her palm. She went to remove her hand, but he caught a finger between his teeth and then drew it in between his lips. The caress of his tongue against the digit nearly stole her breath. "Besides, my dearest brother, the whole lot of us have been under a world of untold stress lately, especially with what happened with Basilio last week. I think we could all benefit from some well-deserved R&R. That way when we reconvene on Monday, we'll be clear-headed, well-rested…"
You and I probably won't be getting much rest, comoara mea, came Vlad's voice in her mind, the words almost a purr.
In response, she gyrated her hips, grinding against him until he had to bite down on his tongue to keep from moaning aloud.
Oh, woman, the second I am free of these cuffs, I'm getting even with you…
"Well, I can't argue with that," Rémy replied, though he didn't sound wholly satisfied. "But seriously Frank… what's going on?"
"I'm terribly sorry, Rémy, but something huge just came up," she answered, the bland and disinterested tone she was using not at all matching the way she lustfully looked down between her body and Vlad's, eying the sizable bulge in his trousers. "I'm going to need to go take care of it now."
"Frankie!"
"See you next week!" and she immediately hung up, tossing her phone onto the nearest sofa. "Now then… where was I?"
"I believe you were saying something interesting about taking care of…"
But before he could finish his sentence, then his phone started to ring again.
Vlad actually yanked at the cuffs that time, as if he had intended to break out of them so he could smash the infernal mobile device to pieces to put an end to these infuriating interruptions. But the chains held. Frankie laughed when she noticed that it was her brother calling again, this time with the intention of speaking to Leinhart. Before Dracula could tell her to just send the man to voicemail, she picked it up and put it on speaker.
"Yes?" was the only reply Vlad could muster.
Curt. Short. Inconvenienced.
Rémy, naturally, missed the hint entirely.
"Hey, Vlad… are you anywhere near my sister at the moment?"
Dracula swallowed hard as Frankie teasingly ran her tongue up the side of his neck before nibbling the lobe of his ear.
"Uhh… no. No, definitely not," he lied, trying his best not to sound as distracted as he felt. "Actually, I left her with his majesty about thirty minutes ago."
"Really? What happened to you being mediator?"
"They didn't need me this morning, evidently."
"Oh… well, I guess that's a good thing? Sign of progress or whatever…"
Frankie moved her hips once again, rubbing herself against that thick rod now pushing down one of his pant legs and the strangled noise that came out of him almost had her giggling.
Devious little minx.
"One can only assume," Vlad managed to grind out. "Listen, I'm really sorry to cut this short, but I'm kind of in the middle of something important… did you need something from me?"
"No, not really. I had just gotten off the phone with Frankie and she sounded odd – like she was hiding something. Was hoping you could provide some insight, but if you can't…"
"I'm not exactly your sister's keeper…" Yet.
"No, no… of course you're not. I don't expect you to be. Well, if she was in any sort of trouble, I'm sure she would tell me."
"She's perfectly safe where she is, Rémy. I give you my word."
"Thanks, Vlad. I trust you. Hey, so listen… Frank mentioned she was planning on taking the rest of the week off, so I figure the rest of us might follow suit? Lord knows I could use the time to myself…"
Dracula would have replied, but he was too busy kissing Francesca, her tongue in his mouth and the delicious friction she created every time she moved her hips against him… it was almost too much.
"So yeah… I figured I'd just let you know," Rémy continued awkwardly.
"I appreciate the consideration."
"It's no problem. Well, I better let you go…"
But Frankie had already hung up the phone before the poor man could finish, tossing the device aside as she started to move down Dracula's body slowly, kissing his neck, his collar, the bit of chest she could reach from behind his shirt. And then she slid off his lap entirely, situating herself between his legs. She rested her hands on his parted thighs and pushed them further apart to make a bit more room for herself.
"You're so tense," she commented suggestively, smoothing her palms over the hard muscle.
"Oh, you're definitely not getting any sleep now," he declared when her thumbs grazed just a half-inch from his straining cock. And then she leaned further in between his legs, her breasts pressed against his abdomen as she placed a kiss in the center of his pectorals, right over his heart.
"Neither are you, your majesty," she crooned. "Not if I have anything to say about it."
Instead of teasing him further, however, she stood suddenly. Retrieving the key to the handcuffs from where she had left them on the arm of a neighboring sofa, she moved to stand behind him.
"But playtime will have to wait just a little longer," and she crouched down to unlock his bonds. "Besides, the Signore will be here any minute, and I don't think he needs to see his king rock hard and handcuffed to a chair."
"He's seen me in far more compromising situations before."
She laughed.
"Yes, well… let's spare him this one, hmm?"
Antón Bernardini was clearly struggling to conceal his enthusiasm as he finished unpacking the small box of items he had brought with him. Frankie lingered somewhere where she could stay out of the way, but close enough to study the items as he set them up.
Two candles – one for each of them.
A small dagger, the blade short, the hilt simple and nondescript.
Three silken cords, about a meter each in length, each comprised of deep, rich color – one in blue, one purple, and the other crimson.
A small cup which had been carved of dark polished granite, several thick veins of quartz running along the sides.
And lastly a container, almost like a compact, filled with a fine, strangely luminescent white powder.
Once everything was set up, the Italian turned to Francesca, a pleasant smile on his face.
"So you're taking the plunge," he said expectantly.
"I suppose I am," she replied, still studying the items he had set up on a small end table that had been moved in front of the fireplace. It almost looked like an altar. Bernardini sensed her unasked questions and he took her hand, patting it gently.
"Don't worry – I'll explain what all of these are for soon enough. I take it you haven't attended a formal blood-binding ceremony?"
"I have, though it's been at least two centuries since, and I fear I hadn't paid much attention to the particulars."
He shrugged.
"That's all right. It's really not all that complicated. I will warn you that there may come a point where you start to feel… different, for lack of a better description. But that's to be expected when you're dealing with blood magic."
"Is it… painful?" and she looked to Vlad. He had just rejoined them and had taken a place at her right.
"The worst part is probably the blood-letting at the beginning, but its brief, and nothing you can't handle," Dracula explained with a reassuring hand on her lower back. "If you want to wait to do this…"
"No. No more waiting," she insisted. "I was just curious," and she turned to Bernardini. "What do you need us to do?"
Us.
They were doing this – together.
Vlad felt that familiar swelling of pleasure in the center of his chest, though he made a point to at least somewhat conceal the true extent of his feelings in his face. But not even he could hide the affection in his eyes when Frankie took his hand in hers.
Antón looked between his king and future queen and sighed quietly, his smile still in place.
He lit the two candles on the makeshift altar.
"Before we begin, I hope you'll both indulge me for a moment as I say how deeply honored I am that you've asked me to officiate this ceremony this morning," he added as he placed the lighter back in his pocket. "I know – or at the very least, I can imagine – what it has taken… what you both have had to endure and sacrifice to get to this point. I also know that this wasn't an easy path that brought you here," and he send Frankie a sympathetic smile, "but in all my centuries of living, I don't think I've ever come across a more complementary pair than the two of you."
"You don't have to butter us up anymore, Signore. We're already committed to doing this," the woman teased. "Besides, I think it's safe to say we wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for your meddling." The Italian laughed through his nose as he looked to the floor shyly.
"I'd apologize for my shamelessness, but I have zero regrets on that score." He then looked to his old friend. "I just wish… I wish they could be here. To witness."
Frankie didn't need him to elaborate to understand who he was speaking of.
The Dracul Sânge.
She could feel the lingering grief radiating from Vlad in silent, poignant waves and she squeezed his hand in reassurance. He squeezed hers back, but kept looking forward.
"Shall we begin?" the Italian asked after clearing his throat of emotion.
The couple nodded and the ceremony began.
The actual blood-binding rite – like most rituals – had undergone a great deal of alterations and embellishments over time. But Bernardini's execution of the service was true to the original. After all, this was no ordinary binding. He would be knitting together the souls of the father of the vampire race, and a woman of prophecy, his undying queen. Nothing but the strictest adherence to tradition would suffice.
He started by explaining the significance of the rite, that it was so much more than just symbols of unity and fidelity. It was also literal. He demonstrated this by lifting the blade from the little table and handing the hilt to Frankie first with instructions to cut open her palm and allow the blood to flow into the granite cup in front of her.
This was the blood-letting. An offering of herself, her essence, her very life's blood, for the sake of the union. When she finished, Vlad followed suit, his dark blood oozing from his wounded palm and into the cup.
Antón took just a pinch of the strange white powder from the compact and dusted it into the granite chalice. As he used the tip of the blade to stir the blood together, he asked Vlad to take Francesca's injured hand in his own – palm to palm.
They did as he instructed, though the contact of open wounds coming together smarted; but overlaying the sting was a sensation that instantly caught Frankie's attention.
The faintest hint of something almost electric started to dance up her arm.
Before she could steal a glance at Vlad to see if he had felt something similar, Bernardini had picked up the blue silken cord from off the table. He started to bind their hands together.
"The blue is for harmony within your union – for you are now one body," he explained. He finished tying an intricate knot, and with the final tug, he said, "The sign of the bond."
Next, he took the knife in his hand again, followed by a silent gesture for Vlad to give him his free palm. Vlad obeyed without question and Frankie watched as Bernardini took the blood-soaked blade and ran it across Dracula's open hand. The cut was deep, but the mixing of their blood on the edge seemed to alter the hue of what then retreated from his wound. The crimson was still dark and thick, but the shade had lightened somewhat, the red just a little more distinct than it had been previously.
"Offer her your hand."
Dracula did as he was told and Frankie took his wrist.
"Do you give yourself to her freely and of your own will?" Antón then asked his sire. "Will you protect her? Will you honor and forever strive to be worthy of the great gift of her love and unconditional trust? Will you embrace the darkest shadows of her soul? Will you bare your own shadows to her in turn, that she may never feel alone?"
Vlad nodded, holding Francesca's gaze.
"Yes."
The Italian then looked to Frankie and asked, "Do you accept him – all that he is, all that he once was, and all that he may ever be with you at his side?"
"I do."
"Then feed."
She brought Vlad's open hand to her lips and first poured the blood that had pooled in his palm into her mouth before pressing her lips around the cut to suck the rest from him. It was the first time she had ever tasted him before, and from the instant it touched her tongue, she noticed the difference.
His blood made her mouth tingle – like the sparkle of champagne. And when it slid slowly down her gullet and into her stomach, her insides felt carbonated – as if his blood had set off sparklers inside of her, just beneath the skin. That feeling spread slowly like a wave of clarity and power the likes of which she had never felt before. Even after she finished drinking from him, that feeling continued to spread.
She was only half aware of Bernardini cutting into her hand now so she could offer her blood to him in turn. The same words and covenants were recited, and as he had done, so too did she promise her complete and unyielding fidelity.
But that power continued to wash over her, through every vein and down each nerve ending until she could practically feel the change in her down to a molecular level.
She could feel him, sense him – more than ever before – and the sensation was almost overwhelming, but by no means unpleasant. If anything, it felt right, as if she had always been missing this piece of herself and was at last being reunited with it.
The sight of him feeding from her upturned palm sent a delicious silken heat through her sex, and the way he held her gaze as he did so proved deeply erotic. But it wasn't enough to fully distract her from that sparkling sensation that persisted inside of her.
As Vladislaus finished feeding, Antón had taken the violet cord from off the table to wrap their hands again, fastening them tighter together – closer. "The purple is for wisdom and compassion – for you are now one heart." He closed the bond with another intricate knot. "A sign of surrender."
At last, they had come to their blended blood in the granite cup, the liquid still swirling slightly as Antón brought it up between the pair, holding it with both hands.
"The last sign is that of fidelity. But before I tie the final cord, you both must enact the final rite." He took the dagger in his hand and dipped it into the cup. "Please kneel before the altar and lower your heads."
Frankie knew what was coming next.
This was the one part of the blood-binding ceremony that hadn't been altered or adjusted, even after all these centuries. Every vampire that was blood-bound performed this piece of the ritual, and with Vlad's hand still fastened to hers, she gently fell to her knees at his side and tilted her head down, moving her hair away from the back of her neck in anticipation.
Bernardini carved the letter "F" in a beautiful script onto Vlad's nape first, dusting the open wound with the strange white powder, which helped it to form a distinct scar that would never fade and could never be removed.
Then it was Frankie's turn.
Two precise cuts formed the "V" at the base of her neck, and then it was dusted with the powder. At the contact, her skin tingled, as if the Italian had poured stardust onto her flesh. It mingled with her blood and the already strange, carbonated sensation that was still rippling through her suddenly intensified.
And then she was aware of something new – a tangible link – like someone had threaded a piece of ribbon between her ribs and through to her very soul. At the other end was the palpable presence of another. Too curious to help herself, she lightly tugged at that new invisible connection and she felt him, Vladislaus, at the other end, lightly tugging back.
Soon, she could sense him sliding down that bond, this new bridge between them, all shadow and sensuous fire as he flooded in on a wave through her mind – warm and cool all at once. It was strange and a little frightening, and yet, it felt right.
Antón had returned to stand in front of them, still holding the granite cup in his hand, the blade finally discarded on the table.
"The final rite – the sign of equality." He motioned for them to stand. "First, you must drink. Francesca…"
Bernardini handed her the cup. She studied its contents briefly as she slowly brought it up to her lips. The dark crimson liquid swirled, thick and decadent, with the faintest sheen – undoubtedly from the strange powder. She drank deep, making sure to leave enough for Vlad, though stopping proved a test of her will. His blood was unlike anything she had ever tasted before. It danced on her tongue and left her feeling warm all over. And as their combined blood settled in her stomach, she felt that ribbon-like bond from before thicken, hardening into a cord of iron.
She could feel him – his presence, his aura, his thoughts and feelings, as clearly and as tangibly as she could feel the heat of the fire in front of them, the smooth polished granite of the cup in her hand, the wet, sticky decadence of blood still on her lips.
Frankie quivered slightly as she placed the cup in Vladislaus' waiting hand.
Dracula finished the remaining contents in a single breath, his irises glowing. That bridge between them grew stronger, cool and coiled tight, like woven steel… unbendable, unbreakable.
They were irrevocably connected now – in mind, in spirit.
But as she watched Dracula hand the cup back to Bernardini, she sensed something else – the physical distance between them. Their hands were still bound together, but it was as though the very blood in her veins cried out for him now, every molecule of flesh achingly aware of the distance. There was too much space between them. She needed him closer to her – more than his palm against her palm, his fingers entwined with hers.
Antón picked up the final piece of rope – this one a deep, scarlet color. He began to wrap it around their already tied hands and Frankie could feel the magic in that silk the moment it touched her skin. She could sense it in the air around them, in the blood still on her tongue, oozing from her, from Vlad, from everything – as if the entire world were filled with magic and she was only just now recognizing it. It flooded her, saturated her, and with every twist of the cord around their hands, she felt that magic settle around her, around Vladislaus – until they were pulsating with it, like beacons in the night.
"Red, for the blood that binds you. From this day onward, you are one – one in blood, in body, in soul. Complete for eternity. Stronger together than you could ever be apart. True death may separate you in the flesh, but nothing can unmake the sealing of two souls. You are one, and one you shall forever remain."
With the final knot tied, Frankie felt something suddenly swell inside of her – an energy that had not been there previously. It was light and it was power, and as the cords began to glow almost blindingly around their hands, that feeling grew. It spread through her like wildfire, like electricity in her veins, like… like magic. It left an extraordinary sensation to run through her, as if the blood in her veins had been replaced with hard, glittering ruby vines that were now tunneling deeper and deeper, setting in roots.
Down, down, down they grew until they hit a wall of obsidian somewhere in the very center of her – a thick, impenetrable door, sealed shut. Behind it, she could feel something more – a pulsation of power the likes of which she had never felt before. And it sang to her – a siren song of constellations and star fire, of blood and fury and delight… of an ultimate and everlasting freedom.
She wanted it.
Desired it above everything, and for the briefest of moments, she was possessed with the thought as a voice that sounded very much like her own called to her from behind that door.
Free us, it cried. Free us!
She clawed along those smooth, liquid black walls, searching for some way to get inside and set it free… she had to set it free!
"Francesca? Are you all right?"
Frankie jolted a little at the sound of Antón's voice, suddenly being pulled out of herself. She blinked twice before realizing she was still in the living room of Vlad's flat, and the cords around hers and Dracula's linked hands had begun to fade, as if they were melting into their skin.
Soon, they disappeared altogether.
She merely nodded, too stunned for words by what had just transpired, by what was still reeling through her, just underneath the skin.
"The union has been accepted and blessed," Bernardini announced once the cords had vanished from around their still linked hands. "It is now sacrosanct and infinite, immutable and everlasting. You are now bonded, blood and soul."
Bound.
She was now blood-bound to Dracula.
The King of the Undying.
Which made her officially his queen.
A queen.
She was a bloody queen!
Frankie waited with baited breath for the shock to settle in as the realization washed over her, but all she felt was calm. Peace. Stillness.
And then she noticed something else, something she hadn't realized until now.
The moment the cords around their hands had begun to glow, she had instinctively reached out a mental hand to feel for her dark passenger, wanting to check in with that old inner demon of fear and rage and hunger to make sure that it wasn't planning to break free and leap out at any second.
But to her eternal surprise, it was nowhere to be found.
There was no cage.
No monster.
No insidious fury or unquenchable bloodlust waiting to hijack her brain, to tear her asunder from the inside out.
There was just… her.
It was gone. Her blood-rage was gone.