Note: All characters belong to the creators I have no ownership of them
Chapter one: The Hunter Blackston
Winter had set in and no one payed attention to the rider that came down the lane looking at the once standing Talbot Hall. The stranger wore a fedora of sorts but their face was shadowed by the fading sunset. Only their eyes showed and they were emerald fire, keen and sharp. Taking in the burning wreckage with a thoughtfulness of some traveling archeologist with the mind to unearth a mystery long past. Long Copper like hair tied up and back with the sides down either side of a pale but almost oval face. Female both in shape and body beneath the weathered traveling cloak. Seated upon a strong Roan of chestnut color now cinnamon in the fading light, she wore not the clothes of a lady but of a riding gentleman so to speak. Long boots, form fitting but comfortable pants, with a long sleeved shirt that had a vest that conformed to her curved form, long jacket moving with the breeze stirred upon the moor.
Upon each arm were leather forearm bracers most common to archers in the long past. Shin guards on the boots leather and metal. Gloves adorned her delicate hands that gripped the reigns with expert tightness of an experienced rider. Her ears pierced not once but thrice. A gypsy cuff was in the top most left of her ear as she wore upon a silver chain the silver coin and metal of Saint Columbanus. The saint was kneeled and depending on the person gazing at the metal one could say it looked like he was warding off the wolves around him to others it would be more like the saint praying as his end was about to be loosed upon him.
The young rider gently dug in her heels and coaxed the horse to go for the town, which had the roads and quickest way, she wanted to get to London and the train was the fastest. She was wary around people as they were her, strangers were not welcome here. If they knew not from whence you came you were as good as sin here. She ignored the small village town's inhabitance; she had a higher purpose and urgent matter to pay attention to. The old Vicar looked her over and began to ask questions with his assembled mass not too far behind.
"Who are you?" He asked it sharply the suspicion was not hidden from his voice. The young woman did not answer. She fit a slender cigarillo to her barely pouted thin lips and struck a match upon the saddle, the light caught in her emerald fire eyes and made them glow in its dance before she took a long draw and flicker its life out. The light slowly fading off her eyes again putting her in the twilight of the darkness, but her ignoring of the Vicar only made his face go hard as he debated the dangers of pursuing his advances. "Why do you not answer, perhaps you are a beast that rides through to afflict what has been cured!" She bit the end of her cigarillo watching the Vicar and the restlessness he caused in the men looking away and to the tracks. The train was coming. She straightened and ignored the Vicar once more looking over the letter again that had been addressed to her from a childhood friend. The red seal broken having once bore the symbol of the house of Conliffe.
She ignored the man's inane chatter over revelations and repenting as the stage hand pulled back the door for cargo and took the offered reigns. "You'll be the Beast Hunter Blackston?" She inclined her head moving her coat to put the letter back in her inner satchel the belt that nearly hung sideways off one hip had a row of silver bullets carved upon by such ornate design of different cultures. With twin berretta pistols that bore also elaborate designs. At the small of her back was a curled whip with silver tassels at the end of each cat of nine tails. In the saddle was a rifle of expert timeless craftsman ship. Along the vest in twin holster like sashes were delicate sword knives of steel and silver. Each hilt bore the medallion symbol of saint Columbanus. She wore a bracelet that was weaved of some material but it was native American Indian in design. The other was oriental. Maybe from China, a sign of travel in far off lands.
She glanced to the old Vicar, the look of her sharp eyes as the moonlight caressed upon her face made Pastor Flick flinch. The right side had twin scars that ran parallel to each other. One over her right eye the other along the end of her eye but they both ended before the start of her lips yet not deep enough to blind her. It marred the beauty she had but at the same time enhanced it. Ms. Blackston tipped her hat to pastor Flick and the other men around him before passing the conductor and boarding the train for London sitting at a window seat. They had all gone about their separate ways and only the Vicar still stood there at the platform. Watching her as she watched him, mumbling his silent complaints and prayers that whatever had summoned the young hunter would stay in London and not bring back the disaster and cursed despair back to Blackmoor.
She settled back into the seat and pulled down her Fedora and let it cover the expanse of her vision, legs crossing as she did her arms letting the noise become background pretending to sleep as she sifted through her thoughts. She had seen the papers, heard the stories, of a man gone beast. Of the timelines and theories, oh she believed in what Gwen had spoken of. She had seen it firsthand but not in England. No she had seen it in Ireland when a man had, like Sir John Talbot, returned from India. She bore the mark of the encounter. Reading the letter of her friend she learned of another that had been bitten by such a creature. His name was Francis Abberline, a detective of Scotland Yard, a man who had seen the impossible but did not believe the warnings that now the Goddess of the Hunt would call him out as the new beast upon the fullness of her reign in the black sky.
It was foolish, but the moon would be full and rise in less than a week and she was given till then to find this man and decide his fate. Not all men who became beasts were truly evil; some could live and atone with the sin put upon their soul. She fell asleep as the train moved onward in its journey to London.
LONDON, TRAIN STATION
DECEMBER
Many Patrons waited for the train to pull up and get on for destinations elsewhere. It was here where the dark beauty Gwen Conliffe waited for the arrival of her friend, one who hadn't been able to come to save poor Lawrence Talbot from the releasing sins of a silver bullet she herself had fired. The side panel doors were opened for the cargo as horses were lead off by stagehands. All except for a deep chestnut roan that was lead off by a young woman in the oddest attire for their day and age. Immediately Gwen took in her form and recognition was instant. "Rhea," She said to herself and moved through the crowd as politely as possible. Coming to the end of the ramp as she did with the roan, her heart beating a little faster, she hadn't seen Rhea since they had been children though they kept in letter correspondence almost all their life.
She cleared her throat gently to venture a soft, "Rhea?" Her eyes hopeful that this was indeed her friend but the smile faltered a moment when the woman locked eyes with her and she saw the scars. "Gwen," she said with a smirk and light roughness to her voice from disusing it so much it seemed. She gave Rhea a tentative smile and watched as she mounted and took the proffered hand mounting behind her. Rhea rode through London not caring for the looks of the other people in the streets, they could stare all they wanted for all she cared. Settling in at the home of the Conliffe's she sent letter to Scotland Yard requesting the presence of a one detective Francis Abberline. She then went into the basement of the Conliffe home and set to work on the iron wrought door to replace it with the one she had ordered previously.
It was near nightfall when she finished and went upstairs to clean up, sitting upon one of the chairs. Lost in thought as the rain drove on with the threatening promise of snow fall, paying no heed to Gwen as she answered the door and allowed in the person from the step outside.
Francis Abberline had read the request letter over and over again thinking and turning over this strange news in his mind. Like a puzzle that was long left undone and he had finally gotten around to finishing its mystery. The penmanship was neat and flowing without pause or breaks, whoever wrote this could have been an accomplished artist or writer. He was thankful regardless of the cool rainy evening, lately he felt as if he was catching fever or that the world around him had grown too hot, his shoulder was itching but not as badly as an hour ago when he had wanted to tear off the bandage. To scratch until the flesh gave under his fingers and cease its maddening march. Yet the detective composed himself as he saw the shadow grow upon the window pane of the door to the Conliffe home and shop.
She was still the same as she had been the day he had met her during that whole affair with the Talbots. She let him in as he took off his hat and coat as was polite and followed her inside. The house and shop had not changed much since he had raided it but was repaired of any damage. There by the fireplace looking out the window was Gwen's friend who had requested him. She was actually very young of twenty to twenty-two. Pale fair like she didn't see much sun. She had soft curve to her face that made it almost oval, ending in a flat but not pointed chin. Face soft but no longer that of a child he could see the soft start of raised cheekbones, delicate brows having the slightest arch to portray intelligence upon her countance, lips not too thin but having the slightest pout to them. Face passive and calm with a blank tranquility as her emerald eyes that burned more than any flame was lost in the rain and embers of the firelight.
Copper bangs streaked upon her forehead and over a spot or two of those eyes the sides of her hair down while the rest was pulled up and back with a leather clip bearing the crest of the house of Blackston. It was a winged knight whose wings sheltered over a beast rather saving it or slaying it he couldn't tell. Her dress was unusual; he let his cold sharp blue eyes travel to take her in more. She was very lithe and curved. She wore long leather boots that buckled off to one side. Her pants were black and fitted to her legs like a second skin yet were comfortable as they were form fitting. She wore a white and black tasseled shirt with a black vest over it with delicate gold etching in designs of a griffin on both sides, both taloned paws raised and on the hilt of a sword. It fit her form and was comfortable but accentuated at the same time. Not causing discomfort or hiding her full but average bust. He finally noticed her twin firearms on the table beside her with her whip and belt hanging up with a secondary holster belt of knives. Her hands were still gloved with the leather bracers. Fingers interlaced, her ears were also pierced in odd fashion and it made him grip his cane. The wolf of silver of the sword cane ever watchful was little comfort to Abberline in the presence of this strange woman who felt like a hunter.
"Rhea," Gwen said softly trying to break the strange woman from her thoughts and she didn't turn. Speaking with softness but every tone carried authority of wisdom of some strange kind in her being that he found himself unable to look away or listen to the world around him. "You may go Gwen, please take a seat Mr. Abberline." She gestured to a chair for him already prepared and he thanked her for the offer watching Gwen take her leave. "I know you have questions Mr. Abberline and I will try to answer them." She arched a delicate brow. "I know of your tale and experience with the Talbots, I I had an encounter in Ireland. The beast is in men but only with the bite of a werewolf and wolfman can coax that primal destiny we have put behind us when we decided to become civilized creatures."
Abberline listened carefully and gripped the cane a little at the pointed remembrance of his experience at Talbot Hall, something he was reminded with everyday as it was with the healing wound. He hoped this was not a person out to get a story; he had had enough of those already upon his return to London where he had to explain everything to his superiors and the public at large. His thoughts stopped on this accusation the moment she looked at him squarely, eyes meeting and locking. Abberline's hand twitched, the right side of her face bore twin scares that tailed a different tale altogether but ones he knew well enough in his pursuit with the beast. Rhea just watched him without change of expression though she watched him. He saw the firelight reflect off her medallion of saint Columbanus.
"I have a feeling you didn't come here and request me then for just a friendly chat." He mused; he felt the weight of her gaze and for the first time in a long time Abberline wanted to squirm out of his skin and leave. She arched a brow. "No, I did not. You Francis Abberline of Scotland Yard were bitten by the Wolfman Lawrence Talbot, you bear his mark." She said it with such finality he nearly flinched as he gripped the sword cane just a little harder feeling the comfort of its weight in his grip. Looking away from her gaze he licked his dry lips as if lost in thought and picked up his tea that Gwen had put down for him. He looked up and nearly jumped, Rhea Blackston was there and she pulled his jacket and pushed the shirt. "Now," she said with authority both Gwen and Mr. Conliffe grabbed his arms with all their strength as she cut apart his bandages. He stared, hit with such confusion until his mind caught up with everything that was happening and started to struggle with startled outcry.
He watched as she held a knife but he didn't think it was silver yet still that primal instinct in him that was all survival, kill or be killed, kicked in at the sight of the sharp metal. Yet she put it down tearing the bandage as he winced. "Oh my god," Gwen breathed and there where Lawrence had bitten there were faint markings almost the entire wound was closed. It shouldn't have been. It didn't seem to faze Rhea who took out a vial and poured the clear liquid over the wound. Abberline gasped, it was colder then snow and made the wound feel on fire but ate at it, numbing his arm and shoulder his mind felt a strange haze after a moment, like the world was seen through a fog of glass. "What have you done to me?" She traced and examined the wound to bind it with bandages that smelt of sage and other plants. Natural, "Giving you a chance," she said without pause and took off her medallion to slip it around Abberline's neck. To do so required her to be close, Abberline in his daze could hear the heartbeats in the room. Mr. Conliffe's heart was like a rabbits running from the fox, Gwen's wasn't as fast but it wasn't normal either. Yet Rhea's was soft, slow, calming. Abberline could hear it, taste the salt and sugar in her blood, and smell her skin. It was vanilla and yet somehow winter, like the forests when it snowed he had seen and been to in his travels and childhood.
He felt heavy but caught her arm breaking Gwen's grip she gasped but Rhea didn't move as she felt Abberline lean almost falling forward that he was in the crook of her neck. She looked up at the top mirror that caught the reflection of the mirror beside the fireplace she could see Abberline's blue eyes dazed and lost. She held a hand up and out they let go and she titled her head her neck was exposed running fingers in Abberline's Auburn hair also brought him closer. She could feel his breathing on her neck go deeper as a shiver chased down his spine. She felt his weakening grip as a groan pulled from him; the maddening itch finally stopped and left him alone. "Sleep now Abberline, your safe now." Abberline heard her words in that fog of a daze and they were so tempting that he gave up his consciousness to the welcoming blackness.
Gwen watched as she slowly pushed Abberline back into the chair and with the help of Mr. Conliffe got him upstairs to her bed she was going to use and tucked in the detective. Downstairs she collected things and burnt his old bandages examining his cane in her hand as she felt the reassuring weight that was a comfort of stability. "What did you give him?" Gwen asked softly and Rhea looked to her gently on the landing. "Morphine and Wolf's Bane, "With that she said a soft goodnight to Gwen and stepped into the room to sit in the chair by the window watching the Sleeping Abberline in the soft crescent of the moonlight.