Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 7: The Art of Discontentment

A few evenings later found Frankie seated in the alliance war room.

There had been a heated discussion going on between the various members of their band of rebels for some time now, all trying to agree upon the next course of action when it came to the threat of a resurgence of the anti-vampire virus. The last few nights had been filled with seemingly endless sessions of dedicated strategy as the core members poured over three-dimensional holographic maps of the factory district while reviewing sentry plans, security details, the number of people the Spider's men had abducted in the last year, where they were housed, what they would do if any of them were still alive.

The group had been quick to put together a series of plans of how to go about their upcoming venture, who would join in on the action, what weaponry they would bring, where they would retreat to if things went awry. But the room proved consistently divided on which course to take the longer they reviewed their options.

Rémy led the discussion night after night, eager to finalize a strategy quickly instead of going one more evening with the current threat still in existence. But while everyone else seemed fully engaged in the conversation, his sister had been mostly quiet – maybe even a little distracted. Unbeknownst to all, her mind had become more agreeably engaged with that of the man seated at the other end of the table.

Frankie and Vlad hadn't really had a moment alone since the events of a few nights prior when she had paid a visit to the Spider. And due to this general lack of one-on-one interaction, she found herself falling prey to old habits as she began to question the motives behind his present behavior. The man was sociable enough, always considerate of her whenever she entered a room, but beyond the usual pleasantries, it was as if Dracula had suddenly made the decision to keep his distance from her and it left Frankie wondering why.

For instance, when she had arrived earlier that evening, she had been surprised to find the man there before her, already engaged in conversation with Danny and Damon – Carmen's in-home security detail and now close friend. Their eyes had met for a moment when she had first arrived and the air that had passed between herself and his majesty had been pure electricity – the distance between them only seeming to intensify that tension. But unlike before, when he would have slyly excused himself in order to engage with her, he had remained rooted to the spot, guarded, restrained, with just the twinge of indifference – or perhaps she had imagined that last part.

He had nodded in acknowledgement of her presence upon her arrival, of course, but that had been all.

Frankie was surprised at her own reaction to his sudden lack of open interest, astonished that she should care so much. As she had watched him carry on in his discussion, she couldn't help but wonder if the man knew.

Was he doing this on purpose?

Was this part of some new game, a strategy – to make her crave his attention while denying her the pleasure?

Was this a ploy to get her to bend to his will and come to him?

If so, she was loathed to admit it was working; and while a small part of her resented him for it, she could not deny the cleverness of the strategy (if it was indeed such a thing). Frankie had often applied similar techniques in her own days as the dominant and manipulative la sirène.

Leave them wanting... make them come to you, her maker had taught her.

It was strange to be suddenly on the receiving end of such Machiavellian practices – but that was only if the intentions behind his behavior matched her assumptions. Frankie recognized that there was a very good chance that her own conflicted interest, sexual frustration, and general state of mild insecurity could have her projecting ... but what if she was right? What if he was trying to manipulate her? Were his actions as calculated as she believed?