Hi! So, this is a reposting of my previous story of the Van Helsing Chronicles, with some changes to better help the story flow. It takes place during the 3rd season. I hope you like it. Please feel free to review, I gladly accept all constructive criticism.Thanks!

No copyright intended. I do not own Supernatural or Van Helsing.

The Van Helsing Chronicles

Book One: Bloodlines

Chapter One:

Then:

The one-star hotel room on the outskirts of New York City wasn't anything special. Quite and small, two queen sized beds, chipping paint on the wall, the smell of cheap beer and day old food was subtle but noticeable. A dining table had been set in the front corner of the room, just to the right of a large window, with curtains open just enough to let in the dim light of the moon. The table was littered with news paper clipping, old books on ancient demons and witchcraft, and a computer.

It was there that Dean Winchester sat, staring blankly at the computer screen as he clicked though website after website, trying to figure out what kind of evil he and his brother, Sam, were hunting. They had ruled out several options, but where no closer to solving the case.

Arianna. Arielle. Aria. Ariel.

Those four names dance around in Dean's head over and over, taunting him. Every time he closed his eyes he could see the faces of the girls the names belonged to. All pretty girls, ages ranging between twenty and twenty-five, with dark hair and round brown eyes, staring up at him with looks a mix of shock and horror. Their eyes asking the same question: Why didn't you save me?

For nearly a week Dean and his brother had fallowed their murder from the Glades of Florida to New York, trailing after the bodies unable to save the next girl. The deeper they investigated, the more confusing this case became. Satanic symbols had been carved into the girls, but all the symbols meant nothing. They were completely random, but there had been reports of sulfur and flickering lights the day leading up to the murder, suggesting that a demon was behind the killings, yet they had found jack shit about it.

Releasing a sharp breath, Dean clicked on the MySpace page of the latest victim, Ariel Strode. A picture of the girl popped up on the screen, her bright smile darkened by her death. Dean quickly scrolled through her page, all the post where happy-go-lucky, just like the others. Also just like the others the investigation had revealed that all girls had solid reputations and no enemies to speak off. No one could figure out why these girls were targets.

Dean pursed his lips, his attention shifting from the computer to the beer bottle he had placed beside it. He'd nearly forgotten about it during his research, and now his mouth felt dry at the thought of the golden liquor sliding down his throat. He took hold of the neck of the bottle and lifted the rim to his lips. Raising the bottom, he parted his lips and barley anything came out. Dean pulled the bottle from his lips, gazing at it in annoyance.

Dean placed the bottle back on to the table and leaned away from his computer. A long overdue yawn escaped his lips, but he didn't bother covering his mouth as he rubbed his tired eyes. A dull ache had formed behind them hours ago, pulsing as it grew, reaching his temples and behind his ears. He had attempted to drown out the pain with a glass of whiskey before the beer, but neither had helped. Exhaustion was a large contributing factor, and with no leads maybe he could finally try to catch up on some sleep.

Dean slouched down in his seat until the back of his head reached the back rest. Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean closed his eyes. As tired as he was, this position was just comfortable enough for a quick nap. Relaxing his muscles, he heaved a sign, and that's when he felt it.

The all too familiar sickening feeling settled in the space beneath his ribcage. Another girl was probably going to die soon, was dying, or was already dead, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Frustration and anger filled him, making him agitated. Dean sat up in his chair, grumbling under his breath. Using his legs he pushed his chair backward, the sound of metal scraping against hardwood broke the silence around him as he stood.

Dean felt restless, needing to hurt or kill something, anything, to get a release. He walked toward the bed and picked up his gun, which he had finished cleaning earlier. The familiar weight of it sat perfectly in his palm as if it had been made just for him, the cold metal a relief against his hot skin. It was his favorite gun, given to him by his father. Even now it calmed him, soothing away the agitation and replacing it with confidence. Dean had always been good with a gun.

Dean tucked the gun in the pack of his jeans, letting the weight settle before turning to the mini-fridge. He crossed the room in two long strides and pulled the fridge door open, reaching in and pulling out an unopened beer. He twisted off the cap and took a long swig, downing almost half of it before coming up for air. Heaving a reluctant sigh, Dean returned to his seat at the dining room table, scooting the empty beer bottles aside for his new one.

He existed the MySpace page and clicked on the police report just as the hotel door opened. He glanced up lazily as Sam entered the room, swinging the door shut behind him with a bang.

"Another one?" Dean asked, his face falling at the downcast look Sam gave him as he took the other seat across the table. Even though he knew the answer before Sam said anything, there was still that little speck of hope that reluctantly hoped.

"Ariaden," Sam confirmed grimly, sliding low in his seat, "They think she may have been the first. Her corpse was discovered in buried Tampa. Body is at least six days old."

"Damn it," Dean mumbled. He ran his hand across his face, his callous fingers sliding roughly across his stubble covered chin, "What is this guy doing? What's so special about these girls?"

"Dean, I don't think it's the girls," Sam said. He sat up straight in his chair, eager to share the first real lead they had, and held out a manila folder, "I think it's the name."

Dean raised his eyebrow at his brother questioningly, but took the folder from him and flipped it open. It was filled with recent news paper articles on strange deaths and events that had happened across the East Coast in towns that each one of the victims had died in. He flipped through the articles until he found a photo of a young girl tucked into the back. She was model beautiful, with long wavy auburn hair, a toned figure, full lips, just like the other girls, but it was the warm chocolate eyes of this one that caught Dean's attention. Even in the candid picture she seemed to be staring through him, seeing more then he wanted her too.

Dean cleared his throat, trying to brush off the feelings of desire he felt, and said, "She's cute. Who is she?"

"Flip it over," Sam said. He smiled at his older brother, unable to hide his excitement.

Dean did as told and turned the photo over and found a messy scribble of worlds, barely readable, across the back. He read the words out loud, "True Bennett. Salt Lake City, Utah."

Sam nodded, "I looked her up. There is a girl in Salt Lake matching True Bennett. I took this file from one of the cops at the station. A tip led them to an apartment they think the killer was staying at."

"Okay," Dean drawled, still confused, "But what does that have to do with these girls? It's not even a similar name."

"Cause get this, True Bennett didn't exist until a little over a year ago," Sam said, beaming with pride in his discovery, "Maybe she changed her name. I told the cops here we'll look into it."

"So she's in hiding?" Dean asked, before taking a swig of his beer, "Changed her name, and whatever is doing the killings is trying to find her?"

"I don't know, maybe," Sam shrugged, "All I know is that each article is about cases we would have looked into."

"You think she's a hunter?" Dean scoffed, lowered his gaze back to the photo of the girl. She didn't look like she'd be a hunter. He didn't wait for Sam's reply before saying, "Guess we're going to Salt Lake."

Now:

Salt Lake City, Utah

The scent of decaying leaves and rain hung on the cool autumn breeze that blew strands of my hair across my face. I smiled slightly to myself, tucking my numbing fingers into the pockets of my jacket, looking down at the sidewalk as my combat boots crunched over dead leaves. I turned my attention to the trees, filled with brilliant shades of reds and yellows, the dim light of the setting sun casting the world with a brilliant gold, the sky shades of pink and yellow. It was truly beautiful.

I've spent the majority of my life trying not to be defined by the darkness that I hunted. I wanted to live in the light, but here in the dimming glow of the sun, searching for evil, is where I felt the most at home. Here, I was free. I breathed deep, excelling slowly, loving the feeling.

Dressed in my usual hunting attire- black shirt, black cargo pants (loaded with weapons, salt, and holy water), and black combat boots- I walked down the streets of Rose Park, passing the occasionally pedestrian who hurried past me with not so much as a head nod in my direction, and completely aware of the shadow that larked several yards behind me. There was a certain amount of power in knowing something what someone else didn't. In this case, the creature behind me had no idea what he was getting himself into.

I wasn't what you would consider a normal girl, though on the outside you wouldn't be able to tell. With my painted nails, styled auburn hair, and Aeropostale clothing I blended in, but on the inside, I was a hunter. The Last of the Van Helsings, born and raised for the hunt, and as such I had the responsibility to do the job, even if I had to do it alone.

I strolled effortlessly around a corner, fallowing the gentle curve of the sidewalk, and flipped my hair over my shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of my assailant. He wasn't particularly tall, maybe a few inches taller than my own 5'5, dressed in baggy dark and dirty clothes. The man had pulled a hood over his eyes, blocking out the upper half of his face. He appeared stocky; though there was some weight in the broad shoulders. If it was just fat or muscle, I couldn't tell. I smiled to myself, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me. It didn't matter how short or how heavy he was. Vampires where always stronger then they looked. He could be a stick and still snap my neck if he got his hands on me, but he wouldn't. He'd want to keep me alive.

In the past seven days, seven bodies of young women had been found scattered across Rose Park brutally beaten, with bite marks and completely drained of blood. Even an amateur hunter could deduce that this was the work of a vamp, who was probably a newbie himself. Being this sloppy was bad for the lifeline, hunters for miles would pick up the scent of this case and be here faster than Bubba J could chug a beer. Lucky for me, I got here first.

I slowed, approaching a skateboard park. I changed direction and begun walking across the cement flooring, down one of the small hills toward the center. It was oddly empty for the time of day it was. Cool air blew the stray hairs that hadn't made it into my ponytail across my face, ticking my skin. The setting sun cast a brilliant shine of color across the sky, and the sounds of singing birds preparing for the night created a soft symphony around me. It was nice; I closed my eyes basking in it while centering myself. I would have hated to be locked inside on a day like this.

Rose Park was no newcomer when it came to crime, but perhaps the brutality of the murders was enough to keep people away. That worked for me. No audience was better than trying to answer the hundreds of questions that would follow the beheading that was about to occur. Plus, I'd feel the need to stick around and help clean up the mess or something, and blood was hard as hell to get out of clothes.

I stopped in the middle of the skate park, keeping my back toward my assailant and reached into my pocket, pulling out my razor floss. I wrapped the dull end of the wire around my palms to the pounding of my heart from the anticipation. Adrenalin pumped through my veins, strengthening me, preparing me. It was exhilarating. I waited for the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end, alerting me to the danger behind me, before I turned to face my attacker.

The man loomed a few feet behind me, his head hung low and wringing his hands together like an addict waiting for his next fix. I hesitated, considering the fact this guy might not actually be a vampire, but just a human looking for trouble. I had to make sure I was about to kill the right guy. Ever so slightly I moved my hand, sliding the tip of my finger across the razor floss. The wound it gouged was no worse than a paper cut, a drop of blood pooled around it before dropping to the ground. Like a shark the man's head whipped up, flashing a row of sharp teeth. I smiled. The vampire snarled and rushed forward.

I spun, round house kicking the vampire in the head, making sure I didn't cut myself with my razor floss. I had plans tonight and couldn't afford any bruises or obvious cuts. He whipped away from me, stumbling, before whipping around and lunged for me. I dropped into a crouch and spun again, knocking his feet out from under him. The vamp fell to the cement with a frustrated growl. He rolled to his feet and charged again.

I slid my right foot back to steady myself. The vampire reached his hand for me and I quickly dodged, ducking under his arm. I turned my body away from him and slammed my elbow into his nose. The vampire stumbled, and I couldn't help my smug smile. The vamp recovered and whipped his hand back, nearly smacking me across the face, but I leaned back just in time. I stepped back and slammed my foot against his chest, knocking him back. When he reached for me again, I wrapped my razor floss around his wrist and pulled the wire tight, slicing hand from arm. The vampire let out a horrific screech that echoed around us, falling to his knees and clutching his nubby forearm. I was running out of time to remain unnoticed.

Eager to end this, I stepped up behind the vamp and wrapped my wire around his neck, pulling it against his skin. The vampire clawed at the wire, gashing his neck with his claws, his skin being sliced to the bone. I drew the wire back beheading the vampire. Arterial spray gushed from the hole in his neck, droplets raining down around me, as body and head crashed to the ground floor. I wiped at the blood on my face as I turned from the gruesome mess and bolted back across the skate park.

I slowed only as I approached my little red Volkswagen several blocks way. I slipped my car keys out of my back pocket and unlocked the door, satisfied with a job well done. Sliding into the driver's seat I reached for my phone I had left tucked way under the seat. Clicking the On button to light up the screen as I started the car, I glanced at the five missed calls I had. They were all from the same person. I checked the time, it was nearly seven.

"Shit," I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. I was so late. I started the car and raced across town.

I parked my car Fast and Furious style and jumped out of the seat, not bothering to lock the door. I raced into the apartment building that stretched above me, not pausing to take the elevator. I rushed to the stair case, taking the steps two at a time, until I reached the third floor. I nearly ran down a little old woman who was staring at me with wide eyes. I bit back a smile, remembering that I was still covered in vamp juice, but didn't stop. I reached the apartment door I was staying in and unlocked the door. I took a deep breath, reading myself for the onslaught, and stepped inside.

Claire, my roommate and best friend, walked out of her bedroom wearing nothing but a towel as I strolled into the living room. I paused to explain the blood, but she cut me off by pointing to my room, "Go, bathe, hurry."

I smiled at her, feeling my love for her bubble warmly at her understanding, and did as I was told. Claire had moved into her own apartment shortly after she graduated college, much to her father's dismay. She made sure to get a two bedroom for whenever I came to visit, which I had filled with my clothes and other essentials... like makeup. The apartment was modest, decorated in white and gold. There were pictures of landscapes and family photo of Claire and her parents on the walls and fake flowers on table tops. It felt more like my home than any other place I had lived before. I loved it.

I undressed as I closed my bedroom door behind me, tossing my clothes to the side. I kicked off my boots while starting the shower, and wasn't fully out of my bra and underwear when I stepped into the still warming water. It was only when the hot water cascaded around me did I slow down.

The vampire I had killed had been too easy. Either I was just that good, which was highly possible, or he was just that bad, which was also possible. But I had never liked easy. A sinking feeling of doom always seemed to nests in the back of my mind telling me that there was something more to this. Something I had missed. All the signs had pointed to a single vampire, no clan. So why did I feel like I had missed something? I tried to push the feeling to the back of my head. The job was done, that was that.

I scrubbed myself as if I was covered in a thick layer of dirt, watching the water run from pinkish to clear, then washed and conditioned my hair before shaving my armpits, legs, and bikini line. Rinsing my hair one last time, I shut off the water and stepped out into the steamy bathroom. I grabbed the towel hanging off the back of the door and dried my hair, before tossing it to the side and grabbing the blow-dryer and finishing off the last of the wetness. I walking back into my bedroom, found my costume, and dressed quickly.

I was wearing a mermaid outfit with an aqua-blue, clam shaped, silky bikini top, that had a string of white pearls dangled from the bottom of the bikini in three even layers, each on half an inch longer then the last which stopped an inch from my navel. The bottom of my mermaid outfit was a tight, aqua-blue skirt that hung just low enough on my hips, and just barely hiding my anti-possession tattoo that I had inked on my right hip, with a triangular slit up the front that stopped about mid-thigh. Light blue fabric trimmed the rim of the skirt evenly morphing into a tail that hung down the back. I topped the look off with high-heeled clear Cinderella style shoes, which I slipped on as I made my way to Claire's room.

I entered her room, my apology on the tip of my tongue, but Claire just pointed for me to sit in front of her vanity mirror she had placed on her dresser. I did as Claire stepped up beside me, reaching for the eyeliner. She grabbed my chin gently and turned my face to her.

"That was a lot of blood," Claire said softly, leaning forward to put on my eyeliner.

She was dressed as a sexy clown fish. Her strapless orange and black dress stopped just below the base of her butt, with a black tutu around the rim. She also wore orange and black striped knee high leggings and black heels. Her blond hair fell in waves around her shoulder, her blue eyes dusted with a white eye shadow, lips pale pink, and just for good measure, she dusted her light skin with a body mist that made her look shiny. She looked smoking hot.

"It wasn't mine," I assured her.

Claire and I had met on a job my father had brought me on ten years ago. Claire's own father had been possessed by a demon. My father managed to save Claire and her father, but not in time to save her mother. Since we were both fourteen, and I had lost my own mother several years earlier, Claire and I bonded quickly. I had fallen in love with her stubborn attitude, and awkwardness like she never fit in anywhere, just like I never felt I did, but it was her not caring about my looks or profession that truly locked me down. She didn't care if I could snipe a guy a hundred yards away or that I spoke Latin. She cared about me, for who I was. And though she out grew her awkwardness, she'd always be my best friend. Her concern for my safety, however, was almost suffocating.

"The vamp is dead then?" She leaned back to make sure my makeup was even, "And you didn't get hurt?"

I nodded, "Nothing to worry about."

Claire sighed, and finished my makeup, changing the subject to a brighter topic on whether or not mermaids where real. I let her blabber on as I enjoyed being pampered by her. When she had finished, Claire moved to my hair. She brushed it out, and I gazed at her work.

My dark brown eyes were lightened a few shades with light neutral eye shadow, my cheeks where a rosy pink and my lips glossy. Claire did a good job. I smiled at my reflection, feeling cute.

"You're going to be the sexiest damn mermaid at the whole party," Claire said.

She delicately twisted my hair to one side of my head and slid a clam hairpin against my head locking long, thick, auburn strands into place. She brushed my hair over my right shoulder and fluffed the waves elegantly. She grabbed a bottle nearby and began lightly glittering body mist over my sun-kissed skin. I looked like mermaid Barbie. I straightened my bikini top so that it was seated perfectly straight over my cleavage. The pearls gently rocked back and forth as I moved.

Smiling, I twirled around to check out the back of my outfit, "We are going to kill it tonight."

Claire laughed and wrapped her arm around my shoulder. We smiled at each other's reflecting, "Goddesses among men."

My smile grew, "Damn straight. Thanks again for inventing me to this fundraiser."

Claire's father was a big time executive who loved to have fundraisers every chance he got. I guess it was his way of meeting partners and making them feel important. The reason for it didn't matter, as long as a profit of partnerships could be made. It was still my kind of event. Getting to dress up and be girly was something I rarely got to do. For Claire, though, I was never busy.

"Thanks for coming!" Claire said happily, "I would have died if I had to go alone."

Claire gave me one last smile, showing off her perfect white teeth before she turned on her heel and marched over to her bed, while I fixed my lipstick. In the reflection of the mirror I watch her fling the covers from side to side before dropping to her hands and knees to look under the bed. I watched her with one eyebrow raised as she stuck her hand under the bed feeling around. When she didn't find what she was looking for, Claire straightened with a sigh. She sat back in her heels and flung her hair back over her shoulders.

"Can I help you find something?" I asked around a chuckle.

Claire glanced up at me, "Have you seen my handbag?"

I couldn't help throwing my head back and laughing, "You left it on the bathroom counter this morning."

Claire sighed as she pushed to her feet. She walked toward the bathroom, mumbling under her breath, "Why do I always take it to the bathroom?"

Giggling, I took one last look at myself in the mirror. Feeling sexy, I turned away while Claire fussed around in the bathroom. I made my way to the kitchen. I planned on drinking tonight so I had to get hydrated while I had the chance. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a cup out of one of the cabinets. I turned on the faucet just as the doorbell rang. I groaned, dropping my head. It was like nine at night, who came around that late?

"True, can you get that?" Claire called from her room.

"Yeah," I called back, setting the empty glass on the counter by the sink.

I sauntered across the carpet of the living room. The person on the other side of the door knocked impatiently, so I slowed down to barely a crawl. I lifted my legs high, over exaggerating my arm movements, as if I was walking on the moon. There was another knock at the door again just as I reached it. I swung open the door fully intending to yell at whoever it was, but my voice died in my throat.

Well, damn.