A/N: Hello! Tis Aurora here! Well, welcome to the first chapter of Serpent's Moon, a Van Helsing fanfic! Not much to say, really... um, well, yeah, I can't think of anything. So, with no further ado, Celtic Aurora and Dr.Lust present to you the story!

Chapter One: Daughter of Luna

Budapest, Hungary- 1890

Budapest- the city divided by the mighty Danube River, and the jewel of Hungary. Or, at least Buda, the more lavish half of the great city was. Pest was better known for its slums and dark back alleys where anything could- and most likely would- happen.

Despite the late hour, people still roamed the streets, most of them anywhere from slightly tipsy to flat-out drunk and falling over themselves. However, amongst all the drunkards, there were a few simple, common people- including a woman in the prime of youth, and a young boy trailing behind her.

At first glance, they both appeared to be foreign, perhaps Turkish or even Egyptian in descent. The young woman had thick hair in a rich, chocolate shade and exotic honey skin that her drab peasants' clothing couldn't hide at all. Her plain clothing also failed to conceal her curvaceous, athletic frame, hard as she tried. Her keen hazel eyes darted around, taking in her immediate surroundings, as though she expected someone to come and meet her… or attack her…

The young boy following her stopped as something in a shop window caught his eye. He was young, no older than nine or ten. Like the young woman, his features were of Middle-Eastern descent; he had the same honey skin as she did, and the same chocolate-brown hair that was sort of everywhere and out of his- and her- control, no matter how much it was combed. But his eyes…his eyes were different, unusual for his heritage. They were a breathtaking shade of blue-green, almost like sea glass, or perhaps the distant waters of the West Indies.

The woman glanced over her shoulder and saw that the young boy wasn't keeping up. She gave a small sigh. "Amir… please try to keep up, darling…"

The young boy, Amir, looked over at her, a sheepish and apologetic look on his face. "Oh, yes! I'm sorry, Mother…"

Mother…

The word lingered in the young woman's mind, ringing in her ears. Her throat became uncomfortably tight, making it hard to swallow; her vision started to blur oddly as tears stung in her eyes. She gave a small shake of her head.

No… not here, not now, not ever…she scolded herself mentally. This is no time to start pathetically weeping like some sniveling damsel, Sahara. Pull… yourself… together…

Mother…

Amir slipped his small hand into Sahara's, and she held it, making sure he was keeping up with her. She led him down the road, her eyes still darting about restlessly. She felt as though there were eyes on her back, as though someone was watching her from the shadows…Her son's hand still gripped tightly in hers, she slipped into a small, inconspicuous tavern and claimed a table in a dark back corner as her own.

While Amir looked around the tavern curiously, watching the other patrons, Sahara placed her elbows on the table and let her temples rest in her palms, her eyes closed, an image of defeat. That word, that one little word, had triggered so many memories, memories of a night that was much better left forgotten. But it triggered something else, too… a burning rage deep in Sahara's core, a fiery anger that overpowered the pain from the old, unhealed wounds. And there was one more thing: A desire for vengeance on the one man responsible for ruining what in her life was good, the man who had taken nearly everything from her and left her desolate…

Nine years previously…

The moon was full, the night was cool, yet peaceful. In the wicked forests outside of Budapest, where few men dared to tread, a small group made their way into the forests, heading deeper and deeper but with no fear at all. The group consisted of two women, two men, and, strangely enough, two massive, dark-furred, wolflike creatures trailing along at the back of the group-werewolves.

Everyone-even the two hell-hounds walking in the back like sentinels-was chattering contentedly, and the two young men occasionally bantered back and forth with playful arguments. However, one of the two women was dead silent, traveling behind the others rather nervously. She was young, no older than seventeen, maybe even sixteen, and she was at least seven months pregnant, though she tried to conceal her swollen belly with loose clothing. She walked with her head down, her beautiful chocolate hair hiding her striking face.

The other woman seemed to notice this; she fell into step beside the young girl. "So, Sahara…did you enjoy the hunt tonight?"

She looked up, her eyes wide, almost resembling a young, innocent child, and she nodded. "Yes. It was… enjoyable…"

The woman smiled and gently put a hand on Sahara's shoulder. "I can sense your hesitation, Sahara. What is wrong, child? You know you have nothing to fear amongst Nikolas, Konstantin, and I…"

Sahara shrugged. "It's not that I'm scared of you, or Father, or Konstantin, Mother. It's more… I'm not yet accustomed to the life of a werewolf…"

By now, the entire group had come to a stop. Sensing that the conversation was really more of a "family" discussion, the two werewolves in the back-Willem and Mikhail- respectfully slipped away to give them some privacy.

"It's only to be expected, Sister," Konstantin said, giving her a kind smile. "After all, until our pack found you, the only example you had to follow was that renegade who did those unspeakable things to you-" Konstantin's handsome features hardened in anger. "But don't you worry, Sahara. Mother and Father and I can help you become accustomed to werewolf life…"

"And you won't find it too much of a burden?" Sahara asked, her brow furrowing a little. "To help me become accustomed to the lifestyle of a lycanthrope? And to being a mother, too?" She gently rubbed her swollen belly. "I'm not exactly prepared for that, either…."

"Find it too much of a burden?" Nikolas asked with a chuckle. "Of course we wouldn't! We took you in. We love you as if you're our own daughter, and we wouldn't trade you for anything. Konstantin and I can help you adapt to the life of a werewolf, and Natalia can help you adapt to motherhood once the child is born…"

A smile split her young face. "Thank you so much!"

Willem and Mikhail slipped into the back of the group once more, sensing that the personal part of the conversation had passed, and they all began walking again. Sahara joined in the conversation this time, a broad grin on her face that nothing could force to fade away.

And then came the scent of blood and death…

At first, they ignored the overpowering smell, assuming it was from a dead animal, or perhaps a vampire out feeding. But before long, they realized it was lycanthrope blood… It hit them hard, and it only seemed to get stronger as they got closer to their pack's habitat…

They passed through the trees, into the clearing their pack inhabited… and found a scene of utter devastation before their eyes. The members of the Wavaer pack lay on the forest floor, covered in blood-their own blood. The causes of death were evident: Some of the pack had died by the sword; they sported huge, bloody gashes or missing extremities. Others had died by the gun; their corpses were far less bloody, sporting a small hole near the heart or in the head. Sahara gasped at the sight of the carnage, and Natalia put a hand over her mouth. Nikolas and Konstantin looked troubled, and both Willem and Mikhail's hackles rose as they observed the massacre.

Sahara's sharp hearing picked up the sounds of something whistling through the air. A flash of silver caught her eye; she gave a gasp. "Look out-!"

But her cry came too late. The silver blur-a silver-bladed dagger- came whistling through the air and struck Mikhail in the left temple. Blood gushed, matting his dark pelt; he collapsed in a heap, slowly regressing into his human form. Willem gave a snarl of outrage and bared his lethally sharp teeth… but suddenly gave a high-pitched whine and dropped to the forest floor, regressing just as his fellow guard had. A second silver-bladed dagger embedded in his back spoke as to how he perished so quickly…

"Keep a wary eye out!" Nikolas called. "The assassin is still among us-!"

A loud report rang out, just as a dark, shadowed shape dropped from the trees. It landed with the grace of a cat, then raised its arm, pointing what appeared to be a revolver at Nikolas. Nikolas gave a strangled gasp; red began to blossom across his ragged white tunic. He remained on his feet for a minute longer, then he collapsed in a heap on the forest floor.

"Nikolas!"Natalia screamed.

"Father!" Sahara cried.

"Murderer!" Konstantin accused, pointing to the dark shadow. The dark shadow moved forward, having been acknowledged by the young werewolf, and, for the first time, they saw the person responsible for the slaughter of their pack.

They couldn't see much of him, as he was draped in a volumous black duster. But he looked formidable, tall, and muscular, a revolver in one hand and a massive broadsword in the other. A wide-brimmed fedora cast shadows over his face.

"Why?!" Natalia cried, tears streaming down her face. "Why?!"

"It isn't a task I wished to do," he said. His voice was deep and rough, yet still so mellifluous. "But my superiors informed me that your mate's back was out of control. I did what I had to do…"

"Did what you had to do, did you?!" Natalia cried, a note of hysteria rising in her voice. "Well, then, you'll forgive me if I do what I have to do!"

Human fingernails began to lengthen into lethal lycanthropic claws; Natalia's eyes glowed yellow in the dark clearing. Konstantin looked worried, and he stepped between his mother and Sahara. "Mother, please…"

"Konstantin, take Sahara to safety!" she ordered before turning back to face the stranger. Too terrified to watch, Sahara clung to her "brother", burying her face in his shoulder. She was ashamed of her cowardice, but fear had won out over her pride. However, when she heard the screams, she couldn't help but look up.

The stranger's broadsword was buried deep in Natalia's stomach, and blood soaked her tattered, stolen dress. Her face was contorted in agony, and the scent of burning flesh proved that the broadsword was, indeed, made of silver. The stranger yanked his sword out, and Natalia's form joined the rest of their fallen pack members.

Suddenly, Konstantin wasn't holding Sahara and trying to comfort her. He was charging towards the stranger, claws raised high, murder in his eyes. The stranger tried to dodge him, but his claws dug into the man's shoulder. The duel between the two began, with the man slashing at Konstantin with his broadsword, and the latter retaliating with his claws. Sahara stood, watching and hating the feeling of helplessness she felt.

For what seemed like hours, but may have only been minutes, her "brother" seemed to be winning. But, in a moment when the stranger had been distracted, Konstantin chose to take his eyes off his foe.

"Sahara, go! Run! Get as far away as you ca-!" His words were lost to a chilling scream as the point of the broadsword erupted from his chest. Tendrils of smoke rose as the caustic silver burned his flesh. After a few moments, the stranger roughly yanked his sword out and began towards Sahara, leaving Konstantin to die from his wounds.

Panicked, Sahara began to move backwards. Within her, her primal instincts were starting to arise, but she didn't know whether she should fight or flee. But she knew that preserving her life and the life of her unborn child were top priority.

Less than ten feet from her, the man stopped. Even though he had not once removed his fedora, she could see his face better now. It was unshaven and careworn, yet youthful and ruggedly handsome. His mouth appeared stern, and his eyes…they were a beautiful shade of hazel, but full of wolfish cunning at the same time. His gaze seemed to root her to the spot. She couldn't approach him, nor could she run from him.

"You… you killed them!" she accused in a whisper. "You killed them…"

He said nothing, only kept looking at her. His gaze seemed to linger on her swollen, pregnant stomach for the longest time, but it also lingered on her horrified face.

And without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving Sahara alone amongst her dead pack members.

"Mother… Mother?"

Amir's voice broke Sahara's reverie. She lifted her head from her hands and found her son staring back at her with those intense blue-green eyes of his.

"Mother, are you all right?" he asked, concern in his voice.

She smiled, then reached out and ruffled his messy hair. "Yes, Amir, I'm all right…" she told him, her voice tired and weary.

"Mother… those men over there keep looking over here… I don't like the feeling they're giving me… I don't think they're good people, Mother…"

Sahara glanced in the direction her son was pointing in. Halfway across the room sat a table full of men. They all wore the same clothes, and what they wore bore a startling similarity to…to what the strange, shadowy man in her memories wore…

Unconsciously, her hands clenched into fists on the table top. A bile of bitter hatred rose for the man from her memories…the man whose face was now plastered all across Europe…

"Mother?" Amir asked, curious and slightly fearful of the rage emanating from Sahara.

She stood up and held out her hand. "Come along, Amir. We're leaving…"

He nodded, sliding from his chair and taking his mother's hand. Sahara led him out of the tavern and into the fetid and waiting streets of central Pest. She headed north at a steady lope, heading towards Buda; Amir struggled to keep up with her long strides.

She could sense others nearby, others that weren't simply going about their own business, but following her. Her jaw clenched in annoyance, and, with no word at all, she reached over, grabbed Amir, and swung him up into her arms, resting him on the curve of her hip, just as she had when he was a young child. He rested his head on her shoulder…but then started to tremble slightly.

"Mother…" he murmured nervously. "Those men from the tavern… they're right behind us…"

Just then, two of the men from the group darted out in front of Sahara, forcing her to a stop. She eyed the two coolly, and felt the presences of the other men as they surrounded her. One man stepped forward, his hand going to his waist every so often, fingering the revolver holstered there.

"Sahara Milena Wavaer…" he said with a smirk. "Caught you at last…"

A/N: All right, what did you think? Please review!