Disclaimer: I only own what you do not recognize, unless otherwise specified and that includes the plot.
Summary: Gabriel Van Helsing is the most infamous monster hunter of all time; he is virtually unflappable, until, a woman who calls herself Phoenix enters the picture. Now he's been flapped, but the really strange thing is that he doesn't mind.
She stood, her muscular body cut hard against the cold winter wind. Her long leather coat blew around her knees; her long dark hair was wrapped up in a bun, tucked beneath the wide brimmed hat that she wore. Her eyes were dark also, but covered by a pair of tinted glasses. Her tan hands stretched and her fingers danced. She was starting to get impatient waiting for her prey to show. She would wait all night though, if that's what it took to get the monster that hunted her current home. She took a deep breath of the cold wind, wishing it wasn't so harsh on her nose; summer winds were so much easier to handle. But she wouldn't complain, it wasn't her style.
Then the scent she had been searching for crossed her sensitive nose. The werewolf was near, she could tell, somewhere between a half and quarter of a mile. She slowly closed her slightly twitchy hands over the worn handle of her most beloved pistol. She waited patiently, still not moving, hoping that she would recognize the werewolf before he got to her.
Then there he was. At least nine feet on his hind legs, his coat a deep grey, almost black, his eyes a piercing yellow green and his howl shook the very foundation of packed earth beneath her feet. He was an elder, there was white surrounding his muzzle, but no red, and she took deep relief in that.
She slowly removed the pistol from its holster and cocked it. The werewolf immediately looked in her direction and she held her breath knowing that if she moved, he would most likely kill her before she could get a shot off. Not that she didn't have faith in her monster hunting skills, but she knew werewolves and vampires and gremlins and warlocks and she knew when she'd win and she knew when she'd lose. And if he turned just a few inches before she could get a shot off, then she was just going to be a heap on the forest floor and the red surrounding his muzzle.
The werewolf started to move and she didn't hesitate she lifted the pistol and fired off two of the six chamber rounds. The first hit his shoulder and the second hit him in the chest, right where his heart would be. It didn't stop him, he kept coming at her and she let out another two rounds of her beloved silver bullets. The first hit his hip and the second his arm. He fell to the forest floor and she let out a loud sigh, relieved that he had finally gone down, usually only one bullet struck down her opponents.
She took a step closer to see whom the victim of the horrible disease was, but he wasn't turning back into a human and she watched the limp body in fascinated horror. She bent over him and looked down just as his wide eyes snapped open. She started to leap back but she wasn't quite fast enough and his right paw caught her shoulder, leaving five very long and very deep scratches that went through her leather coat, black button up, and then her tan skin, her blood spurted out like from a fountain and she gave a cry of pain as she clutched her shoulder on instinct, dropping her pistol. She hit the ground hard and rolled out of the way as the werewolf started to stand and almost trampled her. She gave him a roundhouse to the back of his knees and he tumbled to the ground with a yelp. She scrambled to her feet and swept up the pistol with her good arm. She raised it and let off the rest of the rounds of silver bullets. Every shot hit the intended target and when he hit the ground he stayed there; his body slowly morphed back into the man he had once been and she kneeled next to him, prayed for his soul and crossed herself before reaching into her pack at the bottom of a far tree and covering the elderly man's body in a soft blanket. She sighed deeply; at least it hadn't been a child this time. She crossed herself again for good measure and walked through the dark woods in silence; headed back to her hotel for a long bath and some medication for her newly acquired scratches that would only add to the many lengths of scars that littered her body.
Van Helsing waited for the werewolf that was supposed to be hunting this village. He had seen the corpses and saw the calculation in the bites. Whoever the werewolf was, it knew what it was and took a pleasure in the kills. The bodies weren't maimed telling his experienced eyes that the werewolf had been such for a very long time; it was not new to the art of killing.
He had been waiting for almost eight hours and he knew that it would get light soon. He had yet to see a single sign of a werewolf or anything out of the ordinary in the dark that surrounded him and he congratulated himself on making Carl stay back at the hotel. The monk had a hard time staying patient, he was too easily spooked and often wanted to leave the dark to go back to the light and safety of the villages before they had even truly begun hunting.
Yet, maybe it wouldn't have mattered, it looked like the werewolf wasn't going to show, and as he started off for a new spot a little closer to the village he heard it. The all too familiar howl of a werewolf and the small part of him that was still laced with the curse from the fight against Dracula howled in return, begging him to find his brother. He shook off the small urge but headed towards the sound anyway to kill the monster that had been stealing children and murdering the parents. He heard shots ring out and a small spike of fear went through him, he had warned the villagers to stay away, but it sounded like someone had not headed his plea.
When he reached the source of the sounds it was not what he had expected. There was an elderly man dead on the ground, and a dark figure was covering him gently with a blanket. Van Helsing caught the sight of six bullet holes in the man's body and crossed himself.
He watched as the dark figure gently tucked the edges of the blanket around the body, crossed itself and prayed quietly for the man's soul. The figure sighed and as it walked away Van Helsing noticed three things. It crossed itself a second time, it was bleeding profusely from its shoulder and it smelled of something spicy yet flowery that he couldn't place.
He waited patiently for the dark figure to leave before he knelt next to the old man's body and confirmed his thoughts. Silver bullets, this man had been the werewolf. He stood, sent a small prayer to the heavens above and then made the short trek back to the village and his hotel.
She preferred to room alone, her companion knew that, but he also knew that if she needed him she'd come and stay with him; it looked like it was going to be one of those nights as he watched through the window as she came closer to the hotel, her shoulder bleeding and a thoughtful look on her face.
He turned from the sight of his charge and pulled out his extensive medical kit. He set it on the bed as he left his room to fetch some warm water and a rag to clean her cuts.
She walked into the hotel intent on getting a hot bath and some well deserved sleep. She weaved her way through the hallways and carefully opened the door to her room, being very careful and wary of her injured shoulder.
She nudged the door open and stepped into her room; it wasn't overly large or overly impressive, but it was clean and that was all she wanted. She kicked the door shut behind her and with some difficulty managed to remove her many weapons and the better part of her clothing and get a better look at the marks on her shoulder in the mirror.
She peered into the mirror, half-hoping that she would see something other than what was staring back at her. Her hair was long and slightly ragged from not being clean; her skin was tanned from the sun, and her eyes. Her eyes had been damaged in a fight two years before. A large scar ran through her left, leaving it permanently scarred and unable to see color or far away. Her right eye looked untouched but it was just as scarred. She couldn't see close with it and the colors often got mixed up, though she could most of the time tell which colors were being switched.
Her torso was covered in scratches and bites from the many monsters she had killed over the years, some scars were thick and brown and ugly, others were thin and white, barely noticeable against her skin but there all the same. And now her once untouched right shoulder was covered in red blood and five long scratches. She groaned as she tried to move it, and found that it was futile. Her right arm wasn't going to be the same, at least not for a while.
There was a knock at her door, and she quickly threw her black button up back on, tearing the cuts on her shoulder even more, before answering it. There stood her companion, his bright blue eyes staring at her and her torn shirt in concern.
'I'm okay, just a werewolf scratch.' She attempted to sound nonchalant, but he could hear the pain in her words.
'I have first aid in my room, come on.' He gestured her into the hallway and she followed him willingly. He led her down a hallway and then down a flight of stairs, where they passed a man. He was tall, over six feet, dark hair and hazel eyes. She locked gazes with him, her glasses back on, and he stared right back at her, unabashed in his interest. She averted her gaze as they passed on the same stair, but he continued staring for a few more steps before turning his head away.
Van Helsing walked through the dark, and now, safe woods, half of him glad that he hadn't had to kill that man, and half of him wondering if that was really a good thing. Whoever had killed the wolf had known it was the right thing to do, and was therefore on his side. Yet, the more pessimistic side of his brain countered, the person could have accidentally come across the wolf and only killed him in self-defense. But then why bless his soul with a prayer and cross yourself to hope he got into heaven, and who just carried silver bullets? The person who he didn't even know was starting to confuse him.
He sighed in relief as he reached the hotel and walked into its warmth. He needed sleep after a fruitless night of hunting, but he knew he would have to talk to Carl, who was sure to be waiting up for him to see how it had gone. As he walked up the stairs towards the floor his room was on he passed a pair of people. The first was a man who was just a bit shorter than himself, with straw colored hair and bright blue eyes filled with worry. The person behind him was a woman with dark hair, and eyes that were hidden behind tinted glasses. She wore a black button up that was ripped at the shoulder, but it wasn't a fashion statement, he could see the blood.
They locked gazes as they passed and Van Helsing couldn't seem to breath as they did so. There was something very familiar about this woman, and then it hit him, the scent of the dark figure. Something spicy yet flowery, it was perfume, the same perfume the woman passing him was wearing. Her shoulder was damaged just as the dark figure's was, and she was wearing a silver crucifix around her neck, a religious woman. She was the dark figure. The dark figure was a woman, meaning that it had been a woman who had killed that werewolf and covered him with the blanket. Was she a fellow monster hunter or just someone caught in the crossfire? He had a feeling there wasn't going to be much sleep in his future.
She sat heavily on her watcher's bed and waited patiently for him to bring the bowl of water. He dipped the end of a soft rag into the warm water and dabbed at her scratches. She hissed in pain and felt the urge to move her shoulder out of his range, but ignored it, knowing that it wouldn't make a difference, he would hold her down and tie her up if he had to.
'Didn't I tell you to be careful?' he scolded her and she nodded in slight amusement, it was so funny to her that he thought he could tell her to do anything.
'Yes, Michael, you did.' She replied to him, as he pressed harder against her shoulder.
'You're lucky it didn't bite you.' He reminded her and she nodded, no amusement in her gaze.
'I know.' She thanked God everyday that had yet to happen, because she knew that the day it did, Michael would have to use her weapons for the first and last time, he would have to make sure that she didn't hurt anyone.
'There.' He finished bandaging her shoulder and handed her one of his own button ups, which, was two and a half sizes too big but she pulled it on anyway and he assisted her in buttoning it.
She surveyed her image in the mirror on his wall and was as satisfied as she was ever going to be. You couldn't see the scratches or bandages, which meant that she could go to the village looking just as tough as she had when she'd arrived.
Most people regarded her with shock when they learned she was a woman, most thought she was a man, and she had yet to reach a village where anyone had even entertained the thought that she might be a woman, and she liked it that way. If no one knew of her true gender then she could still get jobs, still get paid for her vigilante work.
'You'll be as good as new in a few days, maybe a little more than a week.' He told her gently as he placed a calm hand on her uninjured arm.
'Good, I got wind of a vampire problem a couple villages over.' She replied and he sighed exhaustedly.
'Are you ever going to rest?' he asked her.
'No, not until every creature of the night is destroyed.' She answered with venom and Michael nodded, he knew her reasons and he knew that they were the most noble reasons you could have, but that didn't stop him from wishing that she would take a vacation every once in a while.
'Goodnight Michael.' She told him as she started towards the door, he replied with his own goodnight and she slipped out the door, up the stairs and down the hall to her own room. She nudged open the door, kicked it shut, flopped down on the bed and pulled the covers up and around her, intent on getting a few hours of sleep, she'd get her bath in the morning before she left.
Van Helsing entered his and Carl's room, and it was no surprise to him that Carl was up and waiting, a first-aid kit next to him and a book in his lap.
'Oh, Van Helsing, how did it go?' he asked him nervously, surveying the look on his friend's face with worry.
'The werewolf won't be bothering anyone.' He told him and Carl smiled.
'Oh, so you got him then?'
'No.'
His smile faltered and he looked at the other man with a confused expression.
'What?'
'I didn't get a chance. There was someone else, a woman, she killed him.'
'A woman?' asked Carl, his surprise not hidden in the least little bit.
'Yes, the wolf scratched her, but she got him with six silver bullets.'
'A woman?' asked Carl again, still trying to get his brain around that fact. A woman hunter wasn't unheard of, Anna was an example, but she had been a special case, in fact, the only case of a woman hunter that Carl had ever come across in his readings and the only one that Van Helsing had come across in his years of fieldwork.
'Yes Carl, I'm sure it was a woman.' And with that said he launched into a detailed account of everything he had seen that night, including the woman he had passed on the stairs.
'She was wearing glasses, but we locked gazes anyway, and she was wearing the same perfume as the dark figure, and had the scratches in the same place, it had to be her, Carl, the question is, where did she come from, who is she working for, and why?'
'Can't we just go back to the Vatican, job done?' asked Carl, knowing the answer but asking the hopeful question anyway.
'No, I have to find her, and find out who she is.' Replied Van Helsing as he put his weapons away, pulled off his coat, hat and belt, toed off his heavy boots and flopped into bed. Carl did the same, and soon the room was filled with the sound of his heavy breathing but Van Helsing lay there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking all about the woman he had passed on the stairs and wondering who she was.