Eternal Night (I) Chapter 6: Demons & Monsters, a van helsing fanfic

Happy Friday to all, but ESPECIALLY to the people who reviewed this week (because ya'll are the actual MVPs here, let's be real): RavenHuffle, Scarlet Empress, She-Devil Red, Aegystine Valeska, and Riona Winters. Thank you for taking the time to do that, on top of reading!

I think a lot of folks often forget that those of us who write fan fiction don't get any kind of compensation for this, and as a reader, you're basically consuming someone's hard work and passion for free. So when I say that it means a lot when you take the time to share your thoughts, impressions, encouragement, commentary, feedback, etc. via a review... I know it may seem like such a little thing, but it really does mean a lot.

So thank you.

Guess I need to bake some more Dracula-shaped cookies ;)

Well, it's been 374 years since Francesca and Dracula properly collided, and at long last, their paths are finally going to converge once again... for real this time. No teasing from me, I swear. Although, considering where the two of them are presently at in their own personal journeys, well... you'll see (that's so ominous sounding. Oh well. #sorrynotsorry)

Enjoy!

Chapter 6
Demons & Monsters

Three Weeks Later

Frankie leaned back into the sofa as she skimmed over the words on the screen of her laptop for the sixth time, a fresh cigarette between her fingers. With only one more week to get as much information on this Jack Belinskaya as she could before she was supposed to interview him, her anxiety had left her already shot nerves torn to ribbons. She hadn't properly worked – at least on an assignment of this magnitude – in ages, and the dozens of smoked cigarette butts and empty whiskey bottles littered about the flat served as a damning reminder.

There was a dull ache in her head and she felt foggy, lethargic, and so goddamn insecure about everything. She hated herself for that. Normally, the woman would be feeling at least more confident at this stage, but every passing evening left her more nervous and uncharacteristically full of self-doubt.

She knew she had the skillset to get what she needed out of this man – she was her father's daughter after all, and her talents when it came to true empathy, or even straight up manipulation if that's what it ended up requiring, made her one of the best in her field.

But the depression lingered and her present state of isolation wasn't helping.

Of course, it also didn't help that she had never interviewed anyone directly blood-bound to Dracula before and she couldn't help but wonder – what if Jack was immune to her inherent gifts of trust and persuasion? What about her more unnatural talents? What would she do if he was?

Rémy had made it abundantly clear that Jack was the most critical member of the Dracul Sânge; that if she could win him over, he'd give her access to the others.

That was a level of pressure she didn't need at this state – not with everything else going on in her life.

Frankie closed the screen of the laptop before propping her feet up on the coffee table with a heavy sigh. She looked about the dimly lit flat, the silence that surrounded her oppressive.

She hadn't seen much of her brother since their spat a few weeks ago. He was sometimes around during the daylight hours, making it a point to give her space, and while she appreciated the consideration, the woman was finding the abundance of solitude more like isolation.

She couldn't seem to shake the pervasive sensation that she was a stranger in her own skin.

Frankie had been out of stasis for over a month now and still, normalcy eluded her. She lacked direction, motivation, focus, drive…

There was this nagging thought in the back of her head telling her repeatedly that she'd feel better if she actually fed instead of drowning in booze, but the flashbacks and gut-wrenching shame that followed frightened her far more than anything else did right now.

To distract from the persistent depression, she had opted to devote most of her waking hours to researching up on this Belinksaya character and what history the Veritas resources had been able to dig up. But after three weeks of studying the same face for often hours at a time, now more than ever did she need some kind of diversion.

She didn't want to stare the abyss of her future in the face anymore – not when it felt like it was finally starting to stare back at her.

She wanted to feel something other than apathy, loneliness, and crippling self-loathing.

Perhaps a trip to Carmen's was in order.

Resolute, she cleaned up her things and placed the files in a safe hidden within one of the walls, before making her way down to her bedroom to change out of her clothes and into something a little more suitable than yoga pants. Currently indifferent when it came to her appearance, she surrendered to her present ordinariness, grabbing the house keys, strapping her favorite pair of throwing knives to her back beneath her jacket, and then she was out the door.

Rémy wouldn't be too happy with her walking to Carmen's all by herself in her present condition, but she'd deal with his disapproval when it came.

To mute the incessant chatter of her thoughts, she turned on some music, something with a quick tempo that she could walk briskly to as she navigated the familiar alleyways and narrow streets of Budapest. The fresh air and exercise had her feeling just a little bit better and for the briefest of moments, she considered contenting herself with that miniscule improvement so she could then turn around and go back home. But in no time, the flickering neon sign of Carmen's in the night air kindled something in the woman that she had been suppressing for weeks – a need to be around other people.

Swallowing her instinct for self-pity and introversion, she forced herself to move forward, the soft tap-tap of her boot-clad feet against the pavement drowned out by the sound of loud music and conversation coming from within the establishment.

The first thing she noticed upon entering was the crowd, her chest tightening a little as a well of anxiety bubbled beneath the surface. She breathed in slowly, steadying her nerves before crossing the threshold in silence, bee-lining it to the bar in the back and to her spot near the wall which – thank the devil – was empty. She only hoped she could make it all the way there without getting noticed.

Carmen was standing alone behind the counter, cleaning off glasses and taking orders while trying to keep an eye on Vesper at the same time, the teenager continually peeping her head through the window between the front room and the kitchen. Vesper was the first to notice that Frankie had arrived and the sound of her shouting the woman's name surprisingly carried over the otherwise chaotic drone of the other patrons. Carmen was the only one who turned her head at the sound, immediately offering the newcomer a warm smile.

"Come on in, hon. I'll be with you in a sec!" she assured her.

Vesper disappeared from the window soon to reappear through the door that led to the back hall. The girl masterfully weaved her way through the horde of visitors.

"Carmen has been making me stay in the kitchen all night! I'm missing all the good stories! But now that you're here, she just might let me sit out here with everyone else!" she explained, grabbing the woman's hand and dragging her through the crowded room.

The back of Frankie's neck prickled in awareness and she turned her head slightly to find her brother's gaze on her. Rémy was already rising to his feet and sending her a disapproving look as he made his way over to her, excusing himself from his table of friends.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked after hugging his sister. She gave him an affectionate kiss on the cheek, a sign of her concession. She didn't wish to quarrel with him anymore.

"I took the back roads, and I have protection with me," she explained, opening her jacket so he'd see the twin blades strapped to her person. He rolled his eyes, but nodded his head, clearly not wishing to argue either.

"All right then. I guess that's better than being totally alone." He tenderly squeezed the back of her neck and lowered his voice so only she would hear. "You okay?"

She offered what smile she could muster but shook her head.

"No," she answered genuinely. "But staying busy helps… at least somewhat. I'm still not pleased with you for a few weeks ago, but I'm tired of being left to my own devices."

"I was just trying to give you your space. I wasn't avoiding you, I swear."

"I know, and I appreciate that. I do. But I've spent so much time in solitude as it is. Right now what I really need is to be surrounded by people."

"Well, you've come to the right place," he said with a chuckle as Vesper started to pull her again in the direction of the bar. Rémy returned to his table after Frankie and Vesper sat down. Carmen joined them shortly thereafter.

"Hey stranger! Glad you decided to come visit. The usual?"

"Please. And keep them coming."

"Vesper, what did I say about being out in the front?"

"That I have to stay in the back because you can't watch me," Vesper groaned impatiently.

"And what happens if I can't watch you?"

"I can get kidnapped or hurt and if that happened, you'd never forgive yourself," she answered without missing a beat, as if the response had been previously rehearsed.

"That's right. So get your hiney back in the kitchen and your nose in your books."

"But Frankie's here! She can watch me… not that I even need watching! I'm a teenager… not a goddamn toddler!"

"Vesper…" Carmen warned. The teenager gave a huff and slipped off the barstool, shoving the door open and appearing on the other side of the window, now in the kitchen.

"There. Happy?" she retorted.

"Not with your attitude."

"Ugh, you ruin everything. And why do you get to keep Frankie all to yourself?"

Carmen smirked, pouring the woman in front of her a drink.

"Because she was my best friend before she was yours, that's why. I have seniority."

Frankie didn't laugh, but she smiled a bit, reaching for the offered glass before nodding at the girl beyond.

"Vesper, I'll be back there in a minute, alright?" she promised. Pleased that she had won at least a small part of the fight, Vesper disappeared back into the kitchen. "So, you weren't kidding when you said weekends were busy. I don't ever remember them being like this though."

"We've definitely acquired a few more key players over the last couple of years," Carmen explained.

"And people still meet here every weekend?"

"Same time, same place. Rémy wanted to change the location because, as you can see, we're crowded."

"But it's tradition!" Frankie exclaimed. "He's not still thinking about it, is he?"

"No. We had a row and he wised up and dropped it."

"I'm glad someone is having a positive influence on him," she said with a wry grin.

"Well, when everything went to shit and you went under, something changed in him. I don't know quite how to describe it – he's been a lot more determined, focused…"

"My brother? Focused? Are we talking about the same Rémy?" she teased.

"Ooh, speaking of which – I have news! He acquired an interesting new recruit recently," Carmen added. "Loaded with connections and information. Man seems starved for knowledge about the council's monstrosities. He and Rémy have been virtually attached to the hip the last couple of weeks. I'd say I feel bad for Lily, but I don't."

"That would explain why I've hardly seen him lately, and when I do, he's usually in and then out again," Frankie replied. "So who is this new recruit that my brother has become so enamored with? Is he here?"

"You mean you haven't met Mr. Sex on Legs yet?" Carmen asked, leaning across the counter as she lowered her voice. Frankie nearly choked on her drink as she sent her friend a bewildered expression.

"Mr. what?"

"Rémy's new friend? The one with all the connections? Have you met him yet?"

"No. Rémy hasn't brought anyone by the flat, except for Lily, though I asked him not to do that anymore. The two are so damn loud."

"I didn't need to know that."

"Sorry."

"Seriously though – I'm shocked you haven't met him."

"Well, stop leaving me in suspense, woman! Point him out to me."

Carmen stealthily motioned toward the table in the back corner where Rémy was situated, he and his friends all playing poker and drinking. Frankie slyly turned around. She recognized all of the people at the table save one – the dark-haired gentleman sitting on her brother's right.

"His name is Vlad Leinhart. He showed up three weeks ago and has been here every night since. Claims that he's from the north side of Budapest."

"The north side?" Frankie repeated, making sure she heard Carmen correctly.

"Yes. Has a lot of dirt on the nobility and shit in that quarter. Recently relocated to the west side of the river near lycan territory."

"What the hell is someone like that doing all the way over there?"

"I haven't gotten all of the particulars yet, but he ran into your brother and they got to talking. They were in here for hours after I closed. Were still talking when I got up that afternoon to get ready to open."

"And my brother isn't one to stay up past noon for just anyone… Do you know anything about him? His history, or maybe where his interest in the alliance came from?"

"You'd have to ask him about that yourself. He's very private – sort of like you in that respect." And she winked. "But anything regarding the government, the council members, Dracula's old court, Augustine's new one, maps, blueprints, codes, security details… you name it, he's got it – or at least a connection who does. But so far, anything Rémy has asked for, he's been able to deliver on – and then some."

Careful not to openly stare at the man sitting beside her brother, Frankie began to study the male in question a bit more closely.

He was tall from what she could tell, well over six feet. Though seated and with Morene leaning against him, effectively obscuring some of Frankie's view, from what was visible of the man, he was what she considered perfectly proportioned for a male: effortlessly masculine, impeccably dressed – not too muscular, but not too lean. He was solid – a warrior build.

With artistically chiseled facial features, an aristocratic nose, and the faintest lines of maturity on his otherwise cleanly shaven face, there was no doubt in Frankie's mind why Carmen called him "sex on legs." He was a frightfully good-looking man, arguably the most attractive she had seen in a long while. But if she knew any better, a man blessed with that kind of appearance was undoubtedly conscious of his good fortune. And from what she could tell by the carefully distanced look in his eyes, there was self-assuredness about him that she wasn't sure what to make of.

But one thing was for certain:

He was quite the specimen, and he was fully aware of it.

Realizing that she had been staring, Frankie turned around in her seat and returned to her drink.

"Whatever," she finally said, doing her best to sound as disinterested as possible.

"Whatever? That's all you have to say?" Carmen exclaimed, adding more scotch to her glass.

"I'm sorry, but any man who looks like that, through the laws of nature, has to have some kind of deeply rooted, unforgivable character flaw to balance all that out."

"And I'm sure you'll unearth it, as you usually do. Must you crush my dreams, woman?"

"By all means, dream away – though I wouldn't go getting your hopes up. Looks like Morene has already sunk her claws into him."

"I almost feel sorry for the guy."

Frankie's chuckle was hollow, amused but not moved.

"Oh, that reminds me - I wanted to tell you something else about him," Carmen remembered. "The two of you have something in common."

Frankie placed her hand on the counter dramatically as she sat up a little straighter.

"Please tell me he has a terrible track record with past relationships too!" she teased.

"No – not that. I honestly have no idea. But he likes the same drink as you."

"That was anti-climactic."

"It was the weirdest thing. His first night here, he literally walked straight up to the counter and ordered exactly what you get every single time, word for word."

Frankie's befuddled expression said everything and Carmen groaned in exasperation.

"He likes the same scotch as you! You know – my special brew with the werewolf venom?"

Frankie rolled her eyes.

"I'm not the only one who likes it."

"It's all he orders."

"You're seeing coincidences where there are none."

"I don't know. The way he just immediately gravitated toward it… it gave me the craziest sense of déjà vu..."

"Carmen, I know what you're thinking and I'm just going to nip that in the bud right now. You're not setting me up with him. I'm swearing off relationships from here on out – male, female, non-binary… werewolf, human, vampire, witch, fae… all of it."

"Even if it's just for fun?"

"Especially if it's just for fun."

"When did you get so goddamn boring? I was hoping for the grand comeback of Frankie Chase. You could show those pathetic children over there how a real woman plays the game."

"Yes, because love and seduction is always a game," she declared sarcastically. "Thanks. I love you, too."

"Well, you swearing off everything under the sun aside, the point is your brother has really taken to him."

"My brother takes to everybody. All you have to do is mention the alliance or the war, curse Augustine a few times, and he's in love with you."

Carmen laughed.

"So that's how I can win his affections?"

"I'm telling you, it isn't that hard."

The smile on Carmen's face suddenly disappeared when she noticed a mildly intoxicated Rémy openly flirting with Lily whose giggle could be heard over the rest of the noise of the tavern.

"If I wasn't so in love with your brother, I would drag that unworthy puta out into the street by her hair," Carmen muttered.

"I still think you'd be doing him a favor if you dragged that particular one out, and her friend while you're at it."

"Not everyone can be as forbearing as you," the Spaniard replied with a patronizing pat on the woman's cheek. "Though it's a pity Leinhart has been so easily taken in by the likes of Morene. He seemed like he wasn't the type when I first met him – you know? Like he had standards and taste. I'm rather shocked he'd settle for someone so cheap."

"All right, let's reel in our own insecurities and cool it with the misogyny," Frankie interjected, silently chastising herself for feeding into her own demons, even as Carmen did the same. She was better than that. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Morene may not be the most… admirable woman of our acquaintance, but I have it on good authority that – for starters – the woman is anything but cheap."

Carmen scoffed at that.

"That's highly debatable."

"And to her credit, she's proven herself surprisingly clever and resourceful. Who knew six years ago when we first met her that she'd rise so high?"

"Wouldn't have happened if you hadn't left."

"I suppose we'll never know."

"Well fuck Morene and her qualities – I still say that's some serious waste of a good man."

"Yes, well, I didn't ask – and I don't care. I don't care who fucks who in this bar, so long as it doesn't impact me."

"Yeah… right… and I'm Mother Theresa. Okay, Frankie – you can sit there with your whiskey and denial all you want, if it makes you feel better."

Frankie smirked, but offered no reply, quietly nursing her drink as her friend moved off to the side to take care of another patron. When the Spaniard was effectively distracted, Frankie used the opportunity to stealthily turn her head so she could steal another glance at this Leinhart character.

She'd never admit it aloud, but Frankie found herself agreeing to a certain respect with Carmen.

It was a pity a man who looked like that would go for such an easy conquest like Morene – not that Morene was particularly vicious or insipid, but it was evident just by looking at the couple that they were totally incompatible. If he had merely been a pretty face, she could have understood the pairing better, but there was an unspoken depth and mystery to Leinhart that Morene lacked entirely – not to mention maturity. The way he held himself, the pride in his posture, the confidence in his eyes, the way he seemed to effortlessly command the table with just his presence…

The woman had always prided herself on being particularly adept when it came to determining a person's character based on a few outward factors – chiefly body language. What fascinated her most, however, was that although Leinhart encouraged Morene's attentions, it was on a very superficial level. There was no sincerity in his expression when he looked at the woman, no genuine pleasure in his eyes; and when he did touch her, it seemed an act – a well-executed one, of course, but an act nonetheless; as if he was wholly unmoved by Morene, or Lily, or – in truth – anyone around him.

Frankie found this a little odd, but she was quick to remind herself that all of this was none of her business after all, so she returned to her drink.

Still, her brain persisted – there was something about the man that spoke experience and natural authority and without even realizing it, Frankie began to get tangled in the web of his aura, attuning to him in the way one would keep an eye on someone through their periphery. And the longer she lingered thus, the more lulled she felt by his presence, as if that subtle act of surrender was the most effortless thing in the world.

"So I've been meaning to ask… how's that top secret assignment that I totally know nothing about coming along?" Carmen inquired cheekily after she finished helping one of the other guests. The sound of the woman's voice jolted Frankie out of her own thoughts.

"The interview is in less than a week and between the two of us, my anxiety is through the roof. I may stop back here afterwards to get a drink."

"You know my door is always open for you."

"Good, because I'm sure I'll need a session with my therapist when I'm done," and she raised her half-empty glass with a sly grin.

"Are you taking someone with you? Just in case?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

"Are you sure? You haven't done an interview like this in a long time, Frank."

"I'll be fine. Besides, I can always call Lyra if I need anything. She's often in that part of town, and I still haven't seen her yet."

"You know that's not what I..." but they were interrupted.

"Hey, Frankie!" Rémy shouted from across the room.

The woman in question turned slowly to face her brother.

"Yes?" she asked, her tone at a much more reasonable level than his.

"Come over here for a sec, will ya?"

She nodded reluctantly and slipped off the stool, looking over at Carmen.

"What did you give him?"

"His usual…"

"How is he this buzzed right now?"

"Can we blame Lily?" Carmen asked with a wink.

Frankie had to bite her tongue to keep from smiling as she made her way over to her brother's table. She stood on his left, between him and Danny, and Rémy wrapped his arm around her waist.

"What can I do for you? Other than ask you to take it easy on the liquor?"

"Frankie, I wanted to make sure you knew everyone as there's a few new faces here."

After the introductions were made, he motioned for her to pull up an empty chair.

"Why don't you take a seat, play a round or two? You were always better than the rest of us and Leinhart is bleeding us dry over here."

"Unintentionally of course," Leinhart defended with a faint smirk.

Good lord, that man had a delicious voice - pleasantly deep with natural dark and rich undertones that she immediately felt in the marrow of her bones. Frankie had to internally shake off the warm tingling sensation that had settled over her at the sound.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not really feeling like poker right now."

"Ah, come on!" her brother protested. "You said you needed to be surrounded by people and I can't think of a finer group of friends in the whole of Budapest!" and his words were followed by a rousing "hear, hear" by most of those in attendance – all except for Leinhart, who only continued to scrutinize her in silence.

His gaze was intense – as if a single detail of her person was incapable of escaping his notice. In truth, it left her feeling a little self-conscious.

"I'm going to have to respectfully decline. Maybe next time," and she tried to make her escape, when Lily started to laugh rather drunkenly.

"Respectfully decline," she mocked. "Oh Frankie, you're always so proper and old fashioned."

"Well, I'd much rather be accused of being old fashioned than lacking in class entirely," was her composed and mostly disinterested rebuttal, but Lily, oblivious to the implied insult, laughed.

"Oh, Rémy, you're not pathetically old fashioned like your sister, are you?" she asked, licking her lips lustfully as she grabbed the lapels of his shirt. "It's so boring…"

"Not where you're concerned, my little kitten," he declared before kissing her. Frankie closed her eyes briefly and visibly cringed, turning away so she could grab hold of her composure and forcefully drag it back.

"I think I'm going to be sick," came Carmen's nearly inaudible grumble from across the room.

For the sake of her friend and to cure her own second-hand embarrassment at her brother's behavior, she placed her hand on Rémy's shoulder and squeezed it hard.

"If you're going to play tonsil hockey, do it in the hallway where the rest of us don't have to watch... The hallway, brother, please."

Rémy and Lily immediately got up, still all over each other as they stumbled toward the back door that led outside to the alley, laughing amongst themselves. Frankie, remaining a model of self-possession, was ready to excuse herself when Danny spoke up.

"How are you doing, Frankie?" he inquired with genuine sincerity. "We've hardly seen much of you the last few weeks."

"Not that anyone missed you," Morene muttered under her breath, though not quietly enough for it to go unheard by the others. "After what you did to Derek, I'm shocked your brother is even speaking to you."

Danny tried to silence the woman in an attempt to lessen Frankie's humiliation, but it was no use. The words had hit their mark. At the sound of Derek's name, Frankie visibly winced, a flash of pain etching across her features. Still clinging to her sense of restraint – although perhaps a little more desperately now than she had previously – she returned her attention to Danny, answering his well-intentioned query.

"I'm alright, Danny. Thank you for asking."

"That's right, the black widow is just dandy! Killing time, waiting for her next victim," Morene sang before knocking back another shot of blood-laced vodka. "But you can't have Leinhart, here. He's already taken," she purred.

Frankie's patience momentarily slipped as her brows furrowed angrily over a darkening expression.

"Tell me, Morene, when was the last time you saw the Spider?"

Her question had its intended effect.

A sudden chill fell over the table.

"You know I don't work for that monster anymore."

"Oh?" she taunted with a blatant lack of sympathy. "Does he know that?"

Those in attendance fell quiet as they watched the exchange of looks between the two women, the stark differences between the pair of brunettes becoming clearer as the tense silence lingered. Where Morene now shrank away in intimidation, eyes dropping to her lap, Frankie stood tall, still boldly glaring at the one who had insulted her. Though visibly angry, she wasn't exactly spoiling for a fight, so she remained as poised as she could, given the circumstances. One hand was resting on the back of the empty seat her brother had previously occupied, while the other had found a home on her hip – a visible show of dominance.

Frankie knew Morene's history. The woman before her had once worked for one of the biggest vampire brothels in Budapest. Being in possession of the kind of connections Frankie had could be burdensome on occasion, but in moments such as these, it had its advantages. Morene knew without Frankie needing to remind her that though the woman had lifted her out of perdition, it would take a snap of her fingers to put her back in it.

Not that Frankie would ever do such a thing.

But Morene didn't need to know that.

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" Frankie stated evenly and the female before her nodded submissively.

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

An eerie and awkward tension lingered at the table until the sound of Lily howling Rémy's name in pleasure from out back dispelled it and everyone started laughing again. Frankie was about to take that opportunity to make her exit when the newcomer, Vlad Leinhart, finally spoke up.

"I didn't know the infamous Rémy Chase had a sister," he mentioned.

She turned to look at him, brows furrowed over in suspicion at his choice of words.

"Infamous?"

"Yes. Your brother has quite the reputation in certain circles – being the leader of this little rebellion after all. He's the man that the authorities can never seem to find. In some cases, it's as if he doesn't even exist, except for in the imaginations of his enemies. He isn't anywhere in the census files – and I daresay, neither are you."

The corner of Frankie's lips twitched as she took a step back towards the table.

Maybe she was spoiling for a fight after all.

"It makes our work easier, being untraceable, anonymous…" she explained, arms folding under her chest. Stalwart. Defensive.

"Difficult to see, impossible to grasp?" he offered.

"Like a shadow in the night."

His expression shifted when she had said that, a flash of recognition, followed briefly by confusion, then suppression. It was a nuanced change, easily missed, but she had no interest in dissecting that at present – not when his eyes were pulling her in the way they were.

Frankie would never admit it aloud, but there was something about Leinhart's voice that she liked far more than she probably should have.

His tone had a rich baritone register, not too deep, but just deep enough to where the sound left something humming inside of her. His accent was a Romanian-Hungarian blend, but he spoke English flawlessly – articulating every syllable with exactness, as if he had given his words great thought before ever speaking them – yet his cadence belied any deliberation that may have taken place.

"I have lived in Budapest for a fair number of decades," she continued, curiosity leading her to take another step forward. "Since before the last war – but I, too, have read the files the council keeps and never in my life do I recall coming across the name Leinhart, though the name Vlad is common enough. I believe I heard that you're from the northern territory, Mr. Leinhart? An interesting assertion, as you aren't listed in the census either. It would be strange indeed if that were the case, as passing pre-registration is a requirement if one wishes to reside in that part of town. Perhaps you could explain how you managed to bypass the system? Or better still – why. What have you to hide?"

It was a baited request.

And Leinhart's smile was pure charm.

"Ladies first," was all he said.

"I have my reasons."

"As do I."

"Suspicious."

"And your reasoning is – what? Somehow accomplishing some other varied response? I have no ulterior motives, Miss Chase, other than the fact that I value my privacy. But I've given you no reason to doubt me."

"My brother may respect your discretion, but I'm afraid I'm less inclined to satisfaction." She paused, giving him a moment to reconsider. When he didn't, she continued, "How am I supposed to believe that you don't work for the council, or for Augustine? How can you even be trusted?"

"A fair question," was all he said.

"I wonder if it will ever be answered."

"Only time will tell."

"How fortunate, then, that we have so much of it to spare," was her dry retort, clearly put-off by his secrecy. But the man remained unmoved.

"Fortunate, indeed," he agreed, and that was all he had to say on the matter.

The entire table had stopped talking by this point, everyone watching as the two went back and forth as if they were casually dueling, feeling one another out.

"I understand you live in the west side now," Frankie clarified, the stall in the conversation not nearly as unnerving as the way he was watching her, his eyes not missing a single thing.

"Yes."

"And in a less attractive location than what you were probably accustomed to."

"A small price to pay for some degree of freedom."

"But it still leaves your motives unclear. One's immediate assumption for such a drastic change in locale would be that you are hiding from something, or perhaps someone."

Leinhart shifted just slightly in his seat as though she had hit a little too close to a nerve, though not quite reaching her mark. He tried to draw attention away from the unintended move by leaning toward her a little to reassert dominance.

"I can assure you, I am hiding from no one."

"I have a difficult time believing that."

"That is your choice, of course, but my reasons for relocating are my own, and at the end of the day they are none of your concern."

"Anyone who associates with my brother is always my concern."

"Rather overprotective. Do you not trust his judgment?"

"In many things, but for all his qualities, my brother has a track record of having a questionable taste in… associations, from time to time," and she momentarily broke his gaze to glance over at the hall in which Lily and Rémy had last been seen. "Prudence will always be more commendable than blind faith."

She would have ended the conversation there, but this Leinhart clearly wasn't done with her yet.

"Do you trust anyone?" he asked her.

Frankie returned her attention to the man, not caring for the way in which his charming smile became more and more sinister with each passing exchange.

"Certainly not you, if that is what you're wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Then yes, I do trust some… but they are few and carefully chosen."

"I wonder what that says about you."

"One has to be wary in times like these. Discretion is a necessity for survival."

"Yes. Especially for a sister who isn't on file."

Those words tasted far more threatening than she cared for and she sent him a hard look.

"Are you younger or older than Rémy?" he suddenly asked.

"Younger."

"By how many years?"

"I don't see the relevance…" but he cut her off.

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

"Oh, so you're insulting me now."

"Not at all, madam. Only taking note of your evident lack of experience and the wisdom that would otherwise accompany it – something an older sibling tends to naturally possess."

By this point in the conversation, Frankie's dominance had started to wane.

Leinhart was proving himself a more skilled opponent than she had anticipated and she was having trouble keeping up with him without showing her frustration. He was clever and very much in control – something she would have respected if a proper acquaintance had been established, but it had not. They had barely known each other five minutes, and already he was questioning her experience, her reliability, and even the basis of her pride – if she was reading between his lines correctly.

But it was not in the nature of Francesca Chase to surrender so easily – and she so desperately wanted to take down the arrogant smile that was still plastered to his face.

"Well, since you are clearly the most superior among us," she announced with a mocking bow of her head, "please do share with us humble peasants how many years of experience you have, that we may better wallow in our inferiority."

There was a pause.

"Two-hundred and eighty-five years short of a millennia."

"So 715?"

He merely shrugged. "A woman competent in mathematics? How refreshing."

She ignored the baited remark.

"That means you were born in 1422."

"Yes. What of it?"

"That's the same year as Dracula."

Although her stating this fact hadn't been part of her strategy, she was surprised to find that when she had uttered their sovereign's name, the man visibly tensed as if the comparison made him uncomfortable. He was quick to regain his composure, of course, but she had managed to strike him and that was all she cared about.

"Coincidence," he replied at last.

"You seem to be having a lot of those today," Frankie replied smartly. Clearly he didn't understand that last comment of hers, but she wasn't in the mood to elaborate. She'd take her small victory and that would be the end of it. The woman curtsied, the irony in her smile not lost to anyone.

"Mr. Leinhart."

"Miss Chase."

And then she made her exit, turning on her heel as she returned to her seat at the bar.

The air lightened notably after the two had ended their little repartee, and with its conclusion, all resumed their game of poker, picking up where their previous conversations had left off – all except for "Vlad Leinhart."

No, Dracula was far too busy staring across the room at Rémy's mystery sister, the one who had not existed before tonight.

He had reviewed the files Bernardini had given him on the noteworthy alliance members, and per that information, Rémy had no family in the city whatsoever. Apparently the report was false because Rémy had lioness of a sister with a sharp tongue and quick wit he hadn't been prepared for. Though her arrogance was rather off-putting, there was something about the woman he could not put his finger on; something in the way her eyes had sparkled during their banter.

There was something about her that was familiar.

Dracula was suddenly unable to shake the feeling that he knew this female, though the details escaped him. But wherever that feeling came from, one thing was for certain – the woman was on to him, he could feel it in his bones. He'd have to be more careful around her, for if she discovered what he was really doing here, who he truly was – it could not only put him in danger, it could potentially overturn his whole purpose for faking his death in the first place.

"So what do you think of her?" Morene asked him quietly.

"Of who?"

"Francesca Elisabeth Chase," she muttered with thinly veiled disdain. "Rémy's self-righteous bitch of a sister."

"I don't particularly care for her," he stated simply, "though it's probably too early to form a definitive opinion on the matter."

"Too early? Are you kidding me? Take it from someone who knows – she's a hell-spawn demon sent to ruin the lives of everyone in her path."

"I don't know – I've met my fair share of demons, and most proved to be far more interesting than first impression suggested."

"You haven't fallen victim to her too, have you?"

Dracula glanced down at Morene, intrigued by the tone her voice had taken – as if she was disappointed at being alone in her disdain.

"I am not so easily ensnared," he assured her with a ghost of a smile. "Besides, I never said I liked her – I only said I wasn't ready to decide."

"It shouldn't be that hard of a decision to make."

"Why do you say that, my dear?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a calculated move of manipulative reassurance.

If he was going to get information about Miss Chase, the best place to start was with an insider.

He looked deep into Morene's eyes, ensnaring her will with tremendous ease as he softly caressed her throat, the nail of his finger running seductively over the jugular vein. The woman licked her lips hungrily as words and secrets tumbled from her lips without thought.

"Sometimes it feels like everyone is in love with her," she began, voice so low he had to strain to hear her. "Most of the folks here adore her; and the few who don't at least respect her – though not nearly as much as her brother does. I used to like her too until a few years ago when I realized how monstrous she was."

"How is it that you're the only one to have noticed?"

"Rémy has always been really protective of her. Only a few of the people here know her really well, but they're all extremely loyal, which makes it hard to get the others to see her for what she really is."

"Who are these others you speak of? You mean people like Danny," he started, lowering his voice further. "Who else?"

"Carmen, her slut of a friend Lyra – who is hardly ever around these days, thank God – and Derek was really close to her, too, before he died."

"I heard you mention this man's name before. Who was he?"

"Derek Mikelson was best friends with Rémy and Frankie for decades – a really sweet guy, too, and I always got the impression that he and Frankie were really close, even when she was dating someone else and I tried for years to get him to notice me. But he always carried a torch for her, though nothing ever came of it. She probably thought she was too good for him," and Morene scoffed a little before leaning in a little closer when he encouraged her to tell him more.

"So a little over five years ago, Rémy and Frankie's aunt comes to visit – she's not from Budapest but she somehow found a way in. Lily told me that Rémy told her that their aunt got caught by law enforcement, and when they discovered she wasn't registered as a citizen, they tried to take her in. When she resisted arrest, they executed her on sight. Frankie then swoops in and single-handedly slaughters everyone in the square – law enforcement mainly, but a few civilians got caught in the cross hairs and the few who survived her rampage were severely injured. Rémy, Derek, and Danny arrived on the scene to help – but then she killed Derek in cold blood."

"What? Why?"

"Nobody knows. She went into stasis after that happened and hasn't been around for half a decade, until recently."

"But why would she kill someone who was supposed to be a close friend?" he inquired, trying to make sense of this information. "I can understand taking revenge on the officers that murdered her aunt, but the rest doesn't make sense, unless maybe she suspected him of betraying their confidence."

"I can't say for certain, but Derek would never. He was fiercely loyal. I tried asking after it happened, but they kept it very hushed up, the whole thing, which makes it all the more suspicious. But Rémy has forbidden anyone to speak of it, and no one is allowed to get close to her anymore, no matter the temptation."

"What do you mean?"

"I have it on good authority that all of her relationships end rather terribly."

"How so?"

"The men either go missing or on a few occasions they've turned up dead."

His eyes widened.

"What?"

"Well, the vampires do, anyway – and I hear that some of the human's she's slept with have been found with their blood completely drained after a night with her. A text-book definition of a black widow, that one. I'd steer clear if I were you."

Dracula finally looked away from Morene for a moment so he could steal a glance over at Frankie who was seated alone at the bar, her back to him. A strange tale, he thought to himself, taking a drink from his glass. Very strange indeed. I wonder how much of it is true? He released the woman at his side from his spell as he continued to watch the younger Chase sibling from across the room with growing interest. Morene, completely oblivious to what had just happened, repeated her earlier question.

"So what do you think of her?"

"Of Francesca Elisabeth Chase?" he clarified with a sly grin, returning his attention to Morene.

Little did he know that the very person whose name he had spoken had heard the syllables leaving his lips and she had now turned her head somewhat to look back at him. Dracula had made a point to lower his voice considerably so only Morene would hear, but Frankie had already tuned her ears to their conversation and had in fact heard every word that had been uttered since her departure from the table.

"Yes, what do you think of the infamous Frankie?" Morene giggled, scooting closer.

"Upon first acquaintance, I find her to be self-important and condescending."

"So you think she's a bitch?" Morene laughed wickedly, approving of his answer. Frankie, on the other hand, found herself feeling thoroughly offended. That was all he had gleaned from their earlier repartee?

"Your words, pet. Not mine," was all he would say, and he took another sip of his drink.

"And what of her appearance?"

"It would not be gentlemanly of me to comment on that," Dracula explained. "Although, between the two of us, she's nothing singular or extraordinary – rather sickly looking, actually. Almost to the point of causing concern, that is if I cared an iota for her well-being."

"She does look rather run down, doesn't she?" Morene agreed. "I guess she doesn't usually look this bad – Rémy says she hardly ever feeds these days, though I have no idea why. It's not like she ever felt guilty for bleeding Derek dry. I think she only went into hibernation because she couldn't bear to show her face around here after she murdered him, the psychotic slut."

Upon hearing this, Frankie's grip on her glass grew so tight that it broke in her hand. The incident only caught the attention of Carmen, who was standing on the opposite side of the counter. The Spaniard sent her friend a concerned look.

"Woah, woah, Frankie!" she whispered a little harshly. "Que demonios, woman! Those glasses aren't cheap, you know. What, did you forget your own strength?" but the lightness in her tone vanished when she saw the look in Frankie's eyes.

The woman's irises, which usually only glowed violet, were rapidly turning into a frightening shade of red as the whites of her eyes started to darken into a horrific black around the edges.

"Hey, sweetie… Deep breaths, girl. Deep breaths," Carmen whispered reassuringly in Spanish, reaching across the counter so she could hold Frankie's shoulder. The touch seemed to soothe the female somewhat and with an exertion of will, Frankie got a better hold over herself, though just barely. "What was that about?"

Frankie then proceeded to tell Carmen all she had overheard.

When she was done, her friend's cheeks were flushed, irises glowing as her own temper got the better of her.

"That little…" Carmen began, but she was too furious on her friend's behalf to finish her sentence – or the slew of insults that followed under her breath – in English. "Shall I kill them both for you?"

Validated by Carmen's anger, though not exactly thirsting for that level of violence, Frankie grabbed her arm when she went to march over to the table in the corner where Leinhart was seated.

"That won't be necessary."

"But that puta…"

"… is not worth your energy."

"Oh come on, let me do something! Give me a bit of your blood so I can throw it in her face and watch her skin melt off."

Frankie glanced back at the table in the corner for a moment, quietly observing the way in which Morene and Leinhart continued to whisper to one another.

She hated to admit it, but she found herself more disappointed in Leinhart's behavior than Morene's, though the latter's was absolutely inexcusable. Which is why she released Carmen's arm as a sign of her consent for her friend to intervene. She watched as the dark haired bartender silently grabbed a bottle of holy water that she kept in a locked cupboard for special occasions, the liquid concealed in an old vodka bottle, before marching over to the table in the corner, interrupting the poker game.

"Any refills, boys?" she asked. When she had finished taking the orders, she turned to Morene. "And what about you?"

"I'll take another shot of vodka," she announced.

"Just a shot?" Carmen mused, revealing the bottle in her hand. "Why not the whole bottle?" and with lightning reflexes, she snatched Morene's hand and slammed it down on the table before dumping the holy water onto the woman's skin, holding her down so she couldn't escape.

Morene shrieked as the blessed liquid scalded the flesh of her arm and when Leinhart stood to put an end to the attack, Carmen had already released the female's wrist, satisfied.

"If I ever catch you insulting or spreading vicious lies about my best friend again, next time it'll be your face," and she turned to walk away, more than pleased with herself.

Morene stood so abruptly, she knocked over her chair, fangs out and eyes ablaze.

"How dare you touch me, you filthy Spanish cunt!" she screamed. Her words hit their mark as Carmen turned slowly, a deadly calm washing over her as she glared daggers at the woman across from her. Her reaction was Morene's reward, and the female continued, mockingly, "It's no wonder you two are best friends! Frankie's a fucking psychopath and you're a stupid whore that no one wants!"

Before Carmen could respond, Frankie had flown across the room, looking more like a blur of shadow than anything remotely human. She grabbed Morene by the back of her head and with more savagery than was probably necessary, she threw the woman's face down into the table, shattering her nose and fracturing the bones in her cheeks, the force of the blow causing the surface of the wood to splinter.

Vlad attempted once again to intercede before any more violence could occur, but Frankie saw him coming. She grabbed his oncoming hand and twisted it back and away from her before lifting her foot. She kicked him square in the chest, the force of the blow sending him flying back into a wall and then to the ground. He was on his feet in seconds, ready to put her in her place, but when she whirled around to face him, she unleashed a deafening roar as if warning him to stay out of this.

It was then that he noticed the way her eyes had started to go black around the edges, irises glowing with a kind of ferocity that he had never seen before in any of his kind.

Flabbergasted, and maybe even a little curious, he remained rooted to his place.

Morene let out a cry as she gingerly tried to assess the damage to her face and the noise brought Frankie's wrath back to her as she stalked toward the woman. Bending down, she picked her up off the floor by the throat and then slammed her back onto the table, hovering over the female as she cried out for someone to help her.

"You have some nerve, speaking of that which you cannot even begin to comprehend," Frankie snarled. "You may not like me, and that's just fine. You can hate me until you're blue in the face… but if you ever, ever talk about Derek or Cecilia like that again, I will revel in permanently dismembering you, starting with that forked tongue behind your teeth," and she reached for a broken piece of glass on the table as if she planned to use the shard as a knife, but then she scented her own blood pooling from her slit palm and her expression darkened.

"Frankie, stop. You've made your point," Danny said when he saw the glass puncture her skin, but Frankie only continued to glare into the terrified eyes of Morene. She lifted her palm, revealing the smear of blood and she brought it close to the woman's face.

"Or maybe," she continued, her tone a chilling taunt, "I could just teach you that lesson right now and leave you with a more permanent reminder."

"FRANCESCA!" Rémy shouted from the back hall and everyone turned to look at him. Lily stayed safely behind, watching from the shadows, but Rémy stepped out into the room, now beside Leinhart who hadn't moved from his spot. "You made your point. Let Morene go," he warned.

"But…" Carmen began, ready to defend her friend, but he interrupted her.

"I don't care what she did. Let her go."

Frankie was fully prepared to argue, but her gaze found Leinhart's and something about the way he was looking at her calmed her rage significantly. She was still angry, but no longer dancing on the brink of insanity. Her brows furrowed somewhat as she suddenly recalled where she had seen this man before – the one in the street from three weeks ago, the one she had bumped into when she and Rémy had been fighting.

Even then, a single look from him had abruptly calmed her, and now, once more, something about his gaze silenced the raging demon within that was begging for revenge.

However, with the loss of her wrath came a sudden wave of reason and she looked back at her brother, finally recognizing the fear and disappointment hidden behind his own fury. Then she took in the faces of those surrounding her, their anxiety, their concern… their pity.

A chilling silence lingered in the air as Frankie healed the self-inflicted wound on her hand before releasing Morene, who stumbled away, running into the arms of Lily who reached out for her.

"You monster!" Morene screamed.

Carmen turned in the direction of the hysterical female, about to jump to Frankie's defense, but with a single look from her friend she fell silent.

There was no point in arguing.

In that moment, Frankie felt like a monster. In her mind, that was exactly what she was – a creature, sub-human, defective and broken beyond repair.

They had no idea – no idea at all.

"I'm sorry, Rémy," she whispered. She then looked at Morene, sincerity in her expression. "I'm sorry." The apology was hushed, but audible.

A tense silence continued to loiter in the air for some time, even after Frankie paid Carmen in cash for the damages and then left the bar.

When she was gone, Carmen, Danny, and Rémy exchanged looks, the three of them all seeming to be on the same page as they disappeared into the kitchen in the back, leaving the rest to quietly discuss what had transpired. But while everything gradually returned to a state of normalcy, Dracula remained rooted to his spot, his eyes fixed on the door where the mysterious Francesca Chase had just made her exit.

Well, as far as first meetings and impressions go, I'd say that could have gone a hell of a lot better, don't you think? *cackles manically in the distance*

I WAS NOT EXAGGERATING WHEN I SAID THIS WAS A SLOW-BURN, YA'LL. Those two are going to EARN their HEA. But considering where they do end up, honestly, I find it all worth it. Will be interesting to see if you guys agree, though. Time will tell.

DON'T BE A LURKER! Let me know what you thought of the latest installment. Next chapter goes up Monday. Have a lovely weekend!