Van Helsing slowed his stallion as he rode into the south side of Buda, the more palatial and well-kept half of the city of Budapest. Alexsei and Carl weren’t too far behind, both of them on horseback. With it only five days before Christmas, Budapest was bitterly cold; Carl shivered under his multiple layers of clothes, and even Van Helsing could feel the bite of the cold through his coat. Only Alexsei seemed immune to the chill, despite the fact that he only wore his worn navy coat over his threadbare shirt and leggings.
Carl glanced over at Alexsei as they rode through the streets, heading towards Vilkova Cemetery. “Alexsei, how is it that you can run around in nothing more than those worn and ratty clothes and not be freezing?”
“Simple,” Alexsei responded. “It’s the lycanthropic blood in my veins. Supernatural creatures are far less susceptible to the cold than humans.” The faintest hint of a small-his first smile in days-creased Alexsei’s lips. “It also rather helps that the blood in my veins is naturally a few degrees warmer than mortal blood…”
“Hmm,” Carl mused. “Sounds as though being a werewolf isn’t so horrible…”
“Painful transformations, uncontrollable rages, and constant bloodlust…I think I’d prefer being a human, or, in my case, something similar to one…” Van Helsing commented from the front of the trio. After a moment of awkward silence, however, he realized his mistake and glanced over his shoulder at Alexsei. “No offense to you, Alexsei.”
Alexsei waved his hand nonchalantly; the comment had not bothered him. “It’s all right. You’re correct about what you just mentioned…transformations are always painful, and the rages and bloodlust are all a part of being a werewolf.” He sighed, his eyes staring ahead rather blankly. “One gets used to it after a few centuries…”
Once again, the group faded into silence as they moved through the city. They were off in their own worlds, yet, they were all thinking the same thing: They were all thinking and worrying about Catherine. Time was going fast…their three weeks had dwindled to almost two weeks. Time was fast running out for Catherine…
The trio arrived at the gates of Vilkova Cemetery about half an hour before sundown. Van Helsing expected questions from the gatekeeper-after all, what would three grown men be doing in a palace cemetery half an hour before sundown, besides unsavory deeds such as grave robbing? However, the gatekeeper-a rather small and slim figure shrouded in a heavy black cloak that hid both their body and face-simply nodded, letting them pass without question.
“We’ve made Alana’s deadline, haven’t we?” Carl asked anxiously.
Alexsei nodded. “Just barely. It’s been five days since we left Rome. She’ll be expecting us…We can see what it is she wants, and why it is she’s doing what she’s doing to Catherine…”
Something snapped audibly nearby, startling Carl so much he nearly fell from his saddle. He looked around nervously. “What was that?”
“I’m sure it was nothing, Carl,” Van Helsing said calmly. “I can assure you, there’s nothing coming to get us-”
“GABRIEL, LOOK OUT!” Alexsei yelled suddenly, but his cries came a split-second too late. Van Helsing caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision field, and whatever it was, it blindsided him, sending him from his saddle and tumbling to the base of a nearby tombstone. He quickly got to his feet, his hands going for the twin revolvers at his waist. He could hear Alexsei and Carl dismounting behind him, coming to his side. His keen hazel eyes darted around the graveyard, searching for whatever had attacked him; his senses had sharpened drastically now that he was the hunter.
A screech rang out in the air, a horrible and peculiar screech. It sounded like the shriek of an enraged vampire, but there was something…wrong about it. There was a most peculiar undertone to it…almost like the snarl of an enraged werewolf. A large, misshapen dark shadow passed overhead…and something landed less than ten yards from the trio.
It was like nothing any of them had ever seen before. It appeared to be a werewolf, which towered over the entire group at roughly six and a half feet tall, and had the same slim, sinewy build of a human female. The werewolf was covered in thick, brown fur that seemed to have a bit of reddish tinge to it. But…then came the unnatural things. For instance, the werewolf’s eyes were not a burning yellow color as every other werewolf’s eyes were…no, they were a haunting blood-red color, full of fury and untamed ferocity. The werewolf snarled, showing off a mouthful of dangerously sharp teeth…but the canines were unusually sharp and pointed, another strange feature for a werewolf.
But perhaps the strangest part of the werewolf’s features were its vast wings; a pair of leathery, bat-like wings spanning at least twenty-five feet from tip to tip, if not more. The wings were a deep tan in color, with dark lines through them where the bones and veins resided. Towards the bottoms of the wings, where the bones and veins ended, were sharp pinions; pinions also crowned these vast wings. The wings seemed to have grown out of the werewolf’s back, starting near the werewolf’s shoulder blades and ending far down the back, near the tops of the legs.
Clearly, this was no ordinary werewolf.
“W-What in t-the n-name of a-all that is g-g-good and h-holy is t-that?!” Carl yelped, pointing at the creature with a shaking finger.
“I don’t know, Carl…” Van Helsing replied quietly. He had never seen a creature like that in his entire existence. That rather bothered him, the fact that he currently had no idea as to what he was up against.
Suddenly, the creature lunged, aiming for the hunter. Upon instinct, Van Helsing ducked; the creature soared over him, snarling angrily, missing the top of the hunter’s head by mere inches. However, Van Helsing made a critical error: He forgot about the creature’s wings. The fact that the creature could change directions in midair greatly improved its reaction time…It changed direction quickly, then came back towards Van Helsing, sharp teeth bared…
A snarl rang out in the air, and a blurred black shape collided with the winged monstrosity, knocking it out of the air. It was a fully-transformed Alexsei; he took the winged wolf to the ground, clawing at it and snarling something fierce. The creature responded with its own awful shriek, and engaged in battle with Alexsei. For what seemed like hours, but may have only been minutes, Alexsei traded blows with the beast, while Van Helsing and Carl stood to the side, unable to help at all. His twin revolvers rested in his hands, but Van Helsing didn’t dare fire; the chance he could hit and potentially kill Alexsei was too great for Van Helsing to risk.
They both seemed evenly matched; Alexsei may have been less powerful than the creature, but he had three centuries of experience as a werewolf to make up for that. They were fast coming to a stalemate in their battle…
And then…then creature brought its claws down diagonally across Alexsei’s face, shredding through his pitch-colored fur and the skin underneath as if it were papyrus. By sheer luck, Alexsei had turned his head just enough that the claws missed his left eye. Five long gashes appeared along the left side of Alexsei’s face, starting near his large, slightly tapered ears, traveling downward, passing just under his left eye, and stopping only after they crawled over his muzzle. Alexsei howled in pain, putting his human-hand-like paws to his shredded face, which was presently gushing blood. This gave the creature the opportunity it needed-it pushed Alexsei aside, slamming him into a nearby headstone, before lunging at its original target: the hunter.
The creature pounced for the hunter, taking him to the ground before he could even think duck out of the way. Both revolvers were knocked from his grip, though not before he had fired off a shot from both guns. A bullet winged the creature’s arm, but that hardly fazed the creature; all it seemed to do was enrage the creature even more as it pinned Van Helsing to the ground. The creature’s long, razor teeth gleamed before his eyes; its ruby eyes shone like jewels from Hell’s pits as it leaned in towards the hunter’s throat, bathing his face and neck with its hot breath…
Another dark shadow passed overhead, followed by the soft whoosh of wings disturbing air. A small tap, one that sounded like boot heels descending upon stone, echoed out not too far away, and a female voice rang out.
“Nickelia! That’s enough!” a cold, commanding voice with a Romanian accent thick as molasses called. The creature, which had been only heartbeats away from tearing out Van Helsing’s throat, glanced upward, then stood.
As it stood, something peculiar happened. The creature seemed to be losing muscle mass and stature in the space of heartbeats. The feminine physique stayed, filling out more as the moments progressed, while the thick, strawberry-brunette fur retracted, until there was just enough to cover the head, and even that changed; it grew out, tumbling out the shoulders. The vast wings wrapped themselves around the body like a cocoon, and as soon as they did, even that changed: They instantaneously draped around the body, becoming a blood-red dress with a plunging neckline, fashionably slit sleeves, and black trim around the collar and the slits in the sleeves. When it was all said and done, a young woman, approximately eighteen years of age, stood over the hunter, a foot on his chest, but her striking emerald eyes focused on whoever it was who had just joined them in the graveyard. Van Helsing twisted his head slightly, to see who had just called off the creature-or girl-who had called off the attack on him.
It was as if he was staring at a dark reflection of his beloved Gabrielle. She had the same long raven hair as Gabrielle, and the same pale skin, delicate features, and sinewy build. But her eyes were not Gabrielle’s soul-piercing gray, but a brown deep and cold as a winter’s night. She wore a dress like that of the creature-girl but a rich purple in color, not blood-red; she wore a black cloak over it.
She may have looked similar to Gabrielle, but she was clearly not Gabrielle.
Alana Tremarie, the hunter’s mind told him.
Alana surveyed the scene in the graveyard: Van Helsing, pinned to the ground by the mysterious creature-girl, who he could’ve sworn was named Nickelia; Alexsei, who had regressed into his human form and was clutching his torn and shredded face, still gushing blood, and Carl, who was trying to help Alexsei tend to his bloody mess. A smirk played out on her blood-red lips.
“Ah…very well done, my pet” she cooed to the creature-girl. “Very well done…”
The creature-girl smiled, and Van Helsing caught a glimpse of sharpened fangs under her lips. “Your words are too kind, Mother…”
“Mother?!” Carl gasped in shock.
Alana grinned, showing off her sharp fangs. “Yes, you pitifully mindless friar. Nickelia is my daughter…”
It took a moment for Alana’s taunt to completely sink in and unveil its hidden meaning to the hunter. But when it did…it filled the hunter with a rage the likes of which no one had never seen. He started to try to fight his way out from under Nickelia.
“You wretch!” he shouted at Alana. “You vile wretch!”
Alana’s lips instantly dropped into a frown. “Oh…still as sharp with the tongue as always, I see, Gabriel. But you really should know better than to speak to a lady that way…”
“Shall we teach him a lesson, Mother?” Nickelia asked eagerly.
“Ah, my thoughts exactly,” Alana purred. “You may do the honors, my dear daughter…”
Before Van Helsing knew what was happening, Nickelia had him by the throat, her emerald eyes glowing blood-red around the edges. She grinned at him, then, with strength un-thought of for a girl so small, she tossed Van Helsing across the graveyard. Pain exploded in the back of his skull, and ripped up and down his spine as he struck a large tombstone.
The last things he heard before he was overtaken by darkness were Alexsei and Carl’s yells, mixed with the maniacal laughter of Alana and her stolen daughter.
