Eternal Night

(III) Chapter 11: A Mother's Love

Marcus Augustine sat alone on the veranda just outside of his private chambers, tucked away in the shadows of a stone colonnade. His gaze rested on nothing in particular as he surveyed the city of Budapest below. He had spent many an evening over the last several decades in this very spot, taking in the glittering metropolis. For years, he had always felt untouchable in this place, master of all he beheld.

How differently he felt now.

An uneasy tightness had long-since settled in the center of his chest, a dull throb of anxiety humming imperceptibly just beneath the surface. Hindsight, he was loathed to admit, was indeed always twenty-twenty, and in this present moment, the mistakes of his past had never been more clear. He had always boasted of knowing Dracula, his brother of circumstance, better than most; had proved it by being able to predict nearly every move, every reaction of the former king over the last few centuries. Usurping his throne had been a delicately planned affair, but it had all happened almost too smoothly, and perhaps that is why Augustine now found himself struggling to hold onto it all. He hadn't accounted for the most crucial piece of all.

He could anticipate the thoughts and actions of Vladislaus, but Francesca Chase was an entirely different matter.

Marcus had been so certain that he had broken the woman, that he had removed her entirely from the board all those years ago in that Roman dungeon. But in his hubris, he was learning all too late that he had unleashed her instead – the delayed reaction still manifesting itself, even after all this time. And in a play that was so clever he had to give credit where credit was due, Dracula had placed his undying bride at the front of the little army of rebels. His little test at Váci Street had proven as much. Vladislaus would have never barreled head first into such an obvious trap, nor would he have arrogantly swaggered into yet another setup in conjunction with Astrid Feng.

Of course, the Francesca of Váci had not been the same as the one who had slaughtered Ildar with unbelievable ease just a few weeks later. Another oversight – that Dracula hadn't shied away from her power as he had hoped, but that he'd nurtured it instead it, honing it into the weapon it was now.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Marcus glanced down at the decorative leather cuff on his left wrist, the hand-made piece that hid the brand Mariella had gifted him with before he had had her executed – the runic symbol for death.

His death.

The death that now loomed like a shadow in the corner of every room, waiting, biding its time.

Marcus could see clearly now that his days were indeed numbered – especially if the rumors were true.

Francesca and Vladislaus had been blood-bound.

The chit's blood had had no effect on the dragon – all that hard work and careful planning utterly wasted – thank you again, Mariella.

He scowled as his gaze continued to scan the city down below.

They were hidden away somewhere down there – the happy couple, plotting, scheming, amassing more power. As if Dracula needs any more power...

"You know if you keep making that expression, your face will get stuck like that," a familiar feminine voice lilted mockingly. He only barely flicked his gaze in its direction, his glower deepening when he noted the flash of red hair.

"If you don't have anything useful to share with me, I'd recommend you leave. I'm not in the mood..."

"You rarely are these days, from what I hear," Lilith replied, ignoring his advice as she took the seat nearest to him. They dwelt in tense silence for a moment or two before she added, "I take it by your present disposition that you've heard the news."