Eternal Night

(I) Chapter 40: Wicked Game

With the remnants of the day sinking behind the horizon, the city slowly began to come to life as another night approached. The normal hustle and bustle of the population of Budapest was quick to disrupt the quiet of the day as the mortals went home for the evening and the undead left the safety of their households to go about their business. By the time the light of the sun passed into memory, the underground metro was alive with swarms of people coming and going, making it near impossible to move without getting repeatedly bumped into.

Yet Frankie hardly noticed the constant intrusion of her personal space as she stood motionless in the center of the moving crowd. She was hopelessly lost in the mire of her thoughts, each one conflicting in nature.

Though she had just received a call from Rémy informing her that he was out and about and would meet her before the next train so they could travel back to Carmen's together, all she could think about was Leinhart – or rather, Dracula. What would she say to him when their paths inevitably crossed again? How would she act? What was she to do?

The truth of it was, Frankie had already made up her mind regarding what had to be done.

She couldn't bear the thought of leading him on only to break both of their hearts when it came time to tell him the truth – that they could never be, that it would never work. She was too damaged, too afraid, and too skeptical when it came to the prophecy. She had so many questions, so many doubts, and the fear of being wrong, of making a mistake had all but paralyzed her.

Frankie had often prided herself on being brave and strong-willed, but in that moment she felt anything but. She knew in her gut that this course of action was cowardly, but she wasn't ready to let her armor down, to indulge in the kind of vulnerability that such a relationship required, that it deserved. Besides, despite her intense physical attraction to Vlad Leinhart – no, Dracula, she internally corrected again – despite that attraction, there was nothing else to their present relationship that warranted the risk.

His virtues aside, he was still who he was. He had done monstrous things with far-reaching consequences that had all but destroyed her life; and while a part of her was already well on its way to forgiving him, there was another part that feared to let go of her long-held spite. It had been a part of who she was for so much of her life – what was she without it?

The pain of introspection had her hardening her heart as she pushed all of those tender feelings down, down, down.

No, she resolved silently. If he wanted his throne back and his half-brother dead, he'd have to find another way or just do it himself. She would have no part in it.

Frankie was weary of losing loved ones, of sacrificing her own sanity for the sake of a man she wasn't even sure could ever love her anyway. She was tired of hurting and a relationship with Dracula surely had pain and suffering written all over it. So the woman clung to her weak rationalizations, ignoring their crumbling foundations as she willed her heart to turn to ice.

She would not be moved, she would not be manipulated, and she would not be controlled.

Francesca Elisabeth de Chacier belonged to no man – nor would she ever; and if she had to hurt him in order to effectively push him away, to keep him safe from her, she would do it.

Then all of a sudden, as if the very universe had openly balked in response to her resolution, she felt him somewhere behind her – that electrifying of the air that sent shivers through her entire body from the crown of her head to the tips of her fingers, toes, and breasts. Despite her inner protests, Frankie could not ignore the profound ache in the center of her chest where her silent heart resided. It was as if he was reaching for her and her traitorous soul was reaching back and she could have died in that moment from the agony that tore cruelly through her.