Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 23: Dark Passenger

The sky had darkened considerably in the last hour, the clouds above thick and ominous looking with the scent of rain on the wind, promising a storm. But Dracula hardly noticed the sudden turn of the weather, his attention instead fixed on the ground as he walked aimlessly through the narrow paths of the hedge maze, brows furrowed in a mix of concern and growing irritability.

He had half a mind to leave the de Chacier estate this instant and head back to Budapest to take his present grievances directly to the source. Nothing would have given him greater satisfaction than to beat Marcus Augustine within an inch of his life – even if the villain was technically incapable of meeting true death at his hand, the violence alone would have been enough to at least placate him temporarily.

His expression softened some as his mind then turned to Francesca.

He could still hear the echoes of her pleasure in his mind, could smell her on his skin, taste her in his mouth and his entire body ached anew at the deprivation. The man slowed to a halt as a soft wind moved through the air, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from the gardens just beyond the thirteen-foot walls of foliage that now surrounded him. The aroma reminded him of her, and all it did was deepen his agony while heightening his desire in a single swell of feeling.

Even now he was acutely aware of the distance between them, that harrowing space which extended beyond the purely physical. The recollection of how she had looked at him before banishing him from her room – the anguish, the distress. Those unshed tears that had welled at her lower lash line haunted him.

She may not have feared him personally – in fact, a part of him wondered now if she ever did – but it was clear that she feared what he made her feel, and what the consequences of those feelings could be.

He mulled the possibilities over in his mind.

He'd be lying if he said that some part of him didn't still long for her surrender, though that coveted capitulation had come to cover more than just the initial want of her mind and body. No. His desire extended far beyond that now. He wanted her to surrender her errors and flaws to him – this inner demon inside of her that she feared so much. He wanted her to choose to be fragile in his hands, to rely on him... to trust his strength along with her own. To let him help.

However, Francesca's will was just as strong as his – perhaps even greater. Her heart was a sturdy fortress, heavily guarded by lingering questions, unspoken suspicions, and the thick scar tissue of past trauma and losses. She was stubborn and spirited, but also deeply damaged, controlled by a fear of herself and what she was capable of. In a strange sort of way, he could appreciate her motive for caution; partly because he related so deeply to her hesitation, her fear of losing control of her freedom, her own independence, her autonomy.

But there were hints, moments where he could sense an unspoken longing in her, a wish to surrender to someone utterly and completely, to feel safe enough to do so. But was this truly the case, or was he merely projecting his own desires onto her? It was true, there was a growing part of him that inexplicably ached to let her in. Their conversations in the last twenty-four hours alone had only intensified such feelings. But he also wanted to be that person for her. Did she wish for the same?

"Ah! There you are," someone called from the other end of the foliage-lined path, interrupting his train of thought, and Vlad looked up to find the Spanish devil himself standing in the center of the trail. "Mr. Leinhart. Good afternoon."

Eduardo was dressed to perfection, of course, not a stitch out of place. He leaned against the cane in his hand – something that was clearly ornamental in nature – while smiling a little knowingly.