Eternal Night

(I) Chapter 8: Jack Belinskaya

"Whatever you say, boss," the bouncer said and he moved aside, allowing Frankie to slip in.

The handsome stranger standing in the doorway silently offered to take her hand before wrapping her arm around his, leading her into the dimly lit corridor of the pulsating nightclub. Although she had studied Jack Belinskaya's picture for weeks now, she hadn't quite prepared herself for the man at her side – that picture did not do him justice.

"Why don't we go somewhere more private," he offered, motioning to a flight of stairs.

Desperately struggling to suppress the anxiety tightening in her chest, Frankie nodded her head once and permitted him to lead her up to the second floor, down a hall and into a room where two intimidating looking men stood guard outside. The moment the door was shut behind them, the chaotic madness from down below was nothing more than a barely discernible murmur. The room Jack had taken them to was poorly lit and relatively bare, consisting only of a table and two chairs on opposite ends, the single lamp overhead offering very little light. There were no windows and only one door, which the man promptly locked as soon as it shut behind them.

He must have sensed her apprehension because he laughed suddenly.

"You are perfectly safe," he assured her, meeting her across the room in three strides before extending his hand. "Perhaps you would feel better with a more proper introduction?"

Frankie glanced suspiciously at his hand for a moment or two.

She had no idea how he could detect her anxiety – she was the picture of utter calm and composure. Deciding that her nervousness was presently unwarranted, she took his offered hand with what confidence she could summon. With her hand now in his, she found that the physical touch had her feeling significantly more at ease... which was rather inexplicable. She even caught herself smiling a little without meaning to.

He then bowed over her hand, lips inches from her knuckles but never meeting them.

Very old fashioned...

His grip was firm, but gentle, long fingers all but swallowing her entire hand in their grasp. He was quite tall and handsomely built, roughly the size of Mr. Leinhart she noted absently, not sure why she made the comparison. She quickly brushed it aside as soon as the man opened his mouth.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself. My name is Jonathan Belinskaya-Drăculea – but everyone calls me Jack. And you are Francesca Elisabeth de Chacier," and he exerted a playful breath. "That is quite a mouthful of a name, Francesca."

"Miss Chase will do just fine for the present, Mr. Belinskaya," she corrected, but that impish gleam in his eyes remained as he held up his finger in an "ah-ha" kind of fashion.

"You will call me Jack," he replied with resolution, motioning for her to take a seat. "And I will call you by your real name, since I do not yet own the privilege of calling you mother, unless you'd prefer if I called you by that title?"

She went notably rigid when he said that and her reaction made him chuckle softly to himself as he took his seat.

"But maybe it's a bit too soon for such familiarity," he noted. "My apologies if I've made you uncomfortable."

Frankie struggled to relax in the wooden chair as she set up her recorder on the table, along with his file, her notebook, and a pen.

"Delayed perception is better than none at all, I suppose," was all she offered in reply, her words coming out with a tad more bite than she had intended.

"Ah, and there's that razor wit I was warned about. He'll like that."

Assuming this cited he could only be Dracula, her instinctual defensiveness kicked in.