Eternal Night

(I) Chapter 23: Return and Report

The sound of the cab door shutting was still ringing in his ears as he stalked out of the street and into a neighboring alley, away from Francesca and her utterly baffling hot-and-cold temperament. Dracula couldn't even begin to wrap his head around what had just happened.

How on earth was she still fighting him... and more importantly, why?

He had been so close!

He could taste the remnants of her weakening resolve on his tongue, the delicate aroma of her blossoming arousal. The soft noises she unconsciously made as he had so carefully caressed her face were suddenly amplified in his head – those divine sighs and sensuous whimpers. She had been there, right in the palm of his hand only to inexplicably leap out of his hold like some kind of fiendish rabbit bolting away from a wolf. What was worse – her absence had left him with whiplash and a painfully unsatisfied feeling of tightness in the center of his chest... and elsewhere – a bit lower – if he was being wholly honest.

She had hit the nail on the head, though, when she had said she was growing on him, but she had no idea just how much, nor of the alarming rate at which it was all occurring. He hadn't really noticed until these last few hours when their shared company had been so pleasant and effortless. But now she was gone, locked away in that cab, whereas he was here, out in the cursed rain.

Covered in blood.

Reeking of werewolf and sewage.

Dejected, starving, and sexually frustrated beyond belief.

Could this morning get any worse?

Well, his lack of a physical reaction to the stunning stranger who had just accidentally bumped into him reminded the vampire that things were in fact worse than previously assumed. The prophecy and Frankie's bewildering person had been one thing, but Lilith's emasculating curse proved an entirely different matter. As he watched a beautiful nameless female making her way down a side street by herself, he couldn't help but mourn all those times before when he had been an agent of his own free will.

If he had not been bound to the chains of prophecies and curses, he would have pursued that now long-gone mortal. She probably would have proved an easy conquest, but it would have salved his wounded pride and oh how he needed that right now.

His stomach rumbled suddenly and in a moment of pure instinct, Dracula recognized that although he could not fulfill his more "baser instincts" as Francesca had referred to them, he could at the very least feed, and so he diverted from his previous course, tracking the unsuspecting human from earlier a few blocks ahead. It took little time at all to catch up to her, tempting her into a poorly-lit alley after catching her attention, ensnaring her will with ease, and partaking of the fountain that soon became her wounded throat.

Throughout Dracula's unnaturally prolonged existence, feeding had been synonymous with pleasure. And while the nameless mortal's blood fulfilled the hunger of his body, he was left wanting after he patched her up and dismissed her from his presence with a silent wave of his fingers.

All he could think about was Francesca Chase – those violet-blue eyes, that dark mahogany brown hair, and her divinely sharp and wicked tongue.

Dracula wondered absently as he wiped the excess blood from his mouth what his intended would taste like and a memory stirred – she had mentioned that she did not cavort with her own kind because they were incapable of keeping their fangs to themselves. But why would that matter? Perhaps she was one of those vampires with a rare blood type, the kind that was so delectable, so delicious to the taste, a weaker man would be unable to stop himself from bleeding her dry.

Vladislaus' lips pursed into an arrogant smirk as he continued to wander through the streets of Budapest. If that was indeed Francesca's concern, he could easily put that to rest for he was no ordinary man. But if this were the case, why not just come out and say so? Why the continued secrecy?