Bela watched Karl crank his garage door open with each tug of the chain. Already thoroughly bundled up for the road, Bela squinted from behind her ski goggles as the bright afternoon sun grew visible. Wind howled like a wolf in the night, seeking dinner. The freezing temperature crept forward through the door, sending a shiver down her spine.

She stumbled slightly to one side, thanks to Mut pushing herself into Bela's legs in a bid for attention.

Giggling, Bela scratched the dog's head with her gloved hands. "You keep Karl out of trouble, you beautiful girl." She received a lopsided smile from Mut in return, tongue lolling out in affection.

With a final pull, Karl opened the door fully, and the cold wafted into the structure unopposed. More chills rocked Bela's frame, but it was nowhere compared to last night's freezing midnight gales. Although still completely unpleasant, the cold was at least bearable. It was not as debilitating, so long as she wore all her layers. She had the shining sun to thank for that at this hour.

Bela was practically half a day behind schedule – but that was out of her hands. She had accounted for her drivers' sheer incompetence, yet they had a way of subverting her expectations in the worst conceivable way. They were tardier beyond all belief and had only just arrived at the factory. "Unbelievable," She muttered to herself; her glare fixed on the carriage on the dirt driveway.

Bela wanted to say better late than never and put it behind her – but it was still incomprehensible how they'd only arrived after the sun already crossed its highest point in the sky. The original plan had been, as discussed with the Duke, for them to arrive no later than dawn break. Maybe the vodka was to blame. Maybe it was their idiocy. More likely, it was a combination of the two. In any case, they were here now, and she could finally go home after her all-nighter.

Karl released the door chain and approached Bela. From behind his sunglasses, he scanned her up and down – examining the thick layers which insulated her.

He had been an invaluable source of information. Bela owed him big time. If another Uriaș marched into town and perished, Bela would be sure to resuscitate him to help pad Karl's numbers. Though it would be preferable if it wasn't Ethan who had to dispatch the next giant.

Bela extended her hand. "I suppose this is goodbye for now, Karl. It was a pleasure."

She was met with Karl's childish snickering, rather than a respectful handshake. He had to bite down on the chuckles. "I'm sorry – you just look ridiculous in all of that."

Bela narrowed her eyes, unsurprised by his behavior. She was already expecting the follow up.

Clearing his throat, Karl put on a straight face. He shook her hand and gestured beyond the garage door. "Mt. Everest is that way."

"You are such a comedian, Karl. Maybe when you get out of here, you can become a circus jester." Bela deadpanned back, even while biting down a smile beneath her scarf. "Or, you can become a meth cook, like you mentioned. You already look the part."

Karl laughed freely and grinned wide as he released Bela's hand. "If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. We're kind of in the shit together now."

As dangerous as the trip may be, one could not argue with the bountiful results. Karl gave Bela unimaginable headway in gaining insight into the happenings in the valley. While breaking Ethan out was not the wisest of decisions considering the state of the village and its surroundings, the information was a goldmine on its own while they bid their time.

A dangerous goldmine at that. If Bela was detected on the return trip, or the factory's main output was uncovered, both she and Karl would be in deep shit. Probably dead.

"I will definitely keep that in mind." Bela nodded.

Karl regarded her for a moment longer. Despite the sunglasses, she could see the thoughtfulness in his calculating eyes. He wore a slight smile as he asked, almost in wonder, "All that for Ethan Winters, huh?"

Bela suppressed the smallest shiver.

The wealth of information was a double-edged sword. After allowing it all to stew and digest for a while, the next step her brain took was to determine what to do with all she'd learned, and to figure out what she even thought about the revelations.

Ethan had been painted in a new light because of Karl's stories. A very bloody light.

While Bela felt that referring to herself – her very being – as a weapon was a bit too much, Karl had explained that, in Redfield's language, she was a bioweapon, as was every other moldy denizen in the valley. Taking her bloody past into account, it was fitting. She was a weapon in every sense of the word and sowed death whenever unleashed on the valley. Without a shred of humanity, she'd hunted, killed, and feasted. She was cunning beyond measure, and brutal without exception. Her folkloric title was not uttered in fearful voices for no reason.

Under Redfield's tutelage, Ethan was highly trained to kill bioweapons such as herself. Her bitter memories of their dining room standoff grew grimmer. The more she thought about it, the more aware she was of how utterly fucked she would have been if Ethan had opened that window.

The gigantic skylight in the library was a murder waiting to happen. Bela counted on Ethan's sense of patience and mercy that it wouldn't come to that with Daniela. Bela was similarly holding in a sigh of relief that Cassandra had not come to blows with Ethan while closer to a window.

Otherwise, Bela would be burying a sister.

Ethan was a killing machine, profoundly deadly with whatever weapon he got his hands on. He specialized in putting creatures like her in the ground and had the extensive body count to prove it beyond any question.

At the very core of things, nothing changed all too much as a result of that revelation. Ethan was still the same kindhearted goof she had grown so fond of.

But that didn't mean she couldn't stew over her near-death experience with ten times the intensity that Karl's information brought about. It didn't mean her hands could not shake with contained fear at the thought of Ethan putting their carpentry tools to deadly use.

How lucky she and her sisters were that Ethan had as much restraint as he did, and that there hadn't been a window in sight when fighting Cassandra. Repaying the kindness that he afforded Bela was precisely what brought her here to Karl's factory. It was long overdue.

"All that for Ethan Winters." Bela's response was simple.

Karl's face went from neutral to mischievous far quicker than Bela liked. She anticipated what was coming even before Karl wore a full-on smirk. It was the latest in the many jabs he'd sent since last night. "What's the deal between you two, anyway? Is that like, the dynamic with you and your boyfriend?"

The scoff came hot through Bela's scarf. "He is not my –"

"You sneak out of momma's castle to dig up dirt for him, and he – what," Karl snorted to himself – laughing at his own incoming joke, "Does he catch the fattest rats in the dungeon and present them to you? Kind of like a cat?"

Bela turned her back to the man in an instant.

She was not going to have this conversation. She took a page from Ethan's book – flipping Karl the finger as she exited the garage. It earned a bark – almost as if in goodbye – from Mut, while Karl cackled like a madman. As she stomped off the cement ramp, Karl called out, "Hey."

A light thump hit the back of her jacket, and snow puffed into the air. Bela turned to glare at Karl, standing at the edge of the door. He already held another snowball in hand, in case the first wasn't enough. Seeing as he had her attention, Karl tossed the snowball to the ground. His voice was serious now, and the prior teasing was absent. "You better remember what I told you last night. You look out for yourself, okay?" At Bela's small nod, he began stepping into the shade of the garage, adding, "Take care, ladybug."

"You too, Karl." Bela muttered, as the garage door's shutters were already descending.

The snow crunched underfoot as Bela's boots plowed the way forward. She rounded the side of the carriage to approach the door. As she did, she caught the eyes of her drivers, who looked decidedly sober in comparison to last night. Upon placing a hand on the carriage door's handle, she stopped.

Bela couldn't help herself.

"You're very late," She growled through her scarf.

The man with the salt and pepper stubble replied first, ducking his balding head, "Apologies for the delay, Lady Bela." He pulled his woolen coat tight over his stocky frame as he added, "We took a long detour to deal with a client."

The second driver was in the midst of lighting a cigarette when he scoffed. He plucked the unlit smoke from his lips to chime in, "A foolish client." His eyes rolled, and he combed a rough hand through his messy brown hair. The cigarette was stuffed back into his mouth as he grumbled, "Mastercard, my ass."

"We are lucky to get cell service on a good day, and this idiot thinks we accept card." The first driver joined in on the show of annoyance, even though Bela hadn't the slightest clue what they were moaning about. "At least he didn't offer to pay in food-stamps."

It earned a sharp bark of laughter from his companion. With Bela's terse half-smile, half-sneer unseen, she muttered, "Well, I hope their patronage was worth it."

"That remains to be seen." The driver scoffed before shaking his head to clear the line of thought. Motioning to the door, he urged her, "Please – come in, Lady Bela. It is far too cold for you to be out."

Bela spared the man a frown from behind her goggles, but ultimately followed along. She opened the door and pulled herself into the relative warmth of the Duke's carriage. The cabin was more spacious today. Less miscellaneous boxes cramped the interior. The soft whip of the reigns was all it took, and then they were off.

Sobriety was a good look for the two drivers. They almost looked like they knew what they were doing, and to whom it was they were talking to. The improved manners and the consideration of her aversion to the cold were all absent the previous night – which was over twelve hours ago now, Bela noted.

Which meant she'd been awake and fueled by palincă, and then coffee for about…

Bela blinked vacantly, staring at the now empty seat in front of her. Counting the hours was a challenging task with the fog of sleep deprivation in her mind.

Still – her advanced metabolism acted to her benefit. Bela was no stranger to all-nighters in her past life. Especially towards the end of it all, she had spent many sleepless nights monitoring her patients as they teetered on the edge of life and death. She knew all too well how it felt to run on fumes, barely getting more than a few minutes of sleep at a time.

In this current life, the mental haze and disorientation were nowhere near as severe. Her finer motor functions were still sharp, and could keep up with the mad science she performed with Karl. However, Bela was not keen on pushing her luck, and finding out just how well she operated on the lack of sleep for any longer than strictly necessary.

Bela wrapped her arms around her person and leaned her head on the side of the carriage door. It was as comfortable as she was going to get, so she allowed her sore eyes to shut. The surrounding sounds washed over her – the howling wind, the occasional birds chirping, the carriage's wheels crunching on snow – they all coalesced into white noise, giving Bela the chance to retreat into her mind for the moment.

She recalled the science fiction turned fact the previous night. All they were missing were the mad cackling and the boom of thunder.

Against all odds, Bela's initial plan had been a success. After the craniotomy and Bela's thorough poking around in the remains of Uriaș' brain, she was able to finalize the electrodes' designations. A few more burr holes were punched in with the help of Karl's hand drill, and the electrodes found their new homes. While Bela had been operating on Uriaș' brain, Karl had been tinkering with his casting machine. Dawn was close to breaking by the time the procedure finished, and Karl revealed the product of his labor – a newly fabricated metallic plate to cover Uriaș' brain. Karl was confident it would fare better against Uriaș' foes than reinstalling his 'regular ol' skull.'

The plate was drilled into place with titanium bolts, and it was finally time for Karl to snap the reactor back into Uriaș' chest. Karl wired the reactor up to a car battery, and Bela needed no special electrical degree to be alarmed by the hazardous setup. Karl had waved her concerns off, telling her that it wasn't anything he hadn't done before.

Naturally, Karl's statement was immediately followed by a shower of sparks and a loud, "Fuck!" here and there. How it was the man was still alive was a mystery to her.

Regardless of the questionable methodology, Uriaș was charging. Karl had relayed all the information Bela sought as they worked the night away, and it should have been time for Bela to hit the road.

But a quick check of Karl's security cameras revealed that the Duke's carriage was nowhere in sight. Walking home was out of the question, even if the weather was far tamer than last night. Bela was willing to bet prolonged exposure, even with her layers, would land her an icy grave.

So, she was stuck in the factory for the morning, just as she crossed the sleepless twenty-four-hour mark. Karl, apparently, was a bit of a night owl. He was perfectly content to continue his work despite the busy night of experimentation. Bela was hesitant to take a powernap somewhere in the factory – even if she'd completely let her guard down around Karl by this point – so she accepted the double espresso Karl pressed into her hands, and they stayed in the foundry.

Time trickled by quicker once Ethan's scrap with Cassandra and the Moroaice made it into conversation, and Bela presented Karl with Ethan's broken knife. With a casual shrug and a lopsided smile, Karl offered to fix it. The wooden handle was repaired and reinforced. The twisted blade was swapped out for a fresh one – razor sharp. And since Karl was always a little extra, he took an engraving tool to the blade, carving the Dimitrescu family crest onto the steel. He chatted Bela's ear off the entire time. Even with his attention split, his eye for detail was ever present. Now, the knife was safely tucked away in her pocket with a fresh sheath.

Bela had been on her third espresso when the reactor let out a sharp beep, and Karl's face lit up with excitement. She was made to stand a few feet back – a precaution – as Karl stood over Uriaș, doing God knows what with a pair of spark plugs. All Bela knew was that Karl was going to give him enough current to 'juice him up', and then the sparks began to fly, and the car battery sizzled and snapped.

Uriaș – dead for about two weeks – sat up, hands gripping the sides of the operating table.

And then Karl disconnected Uriaș from the battery, and the giant limply fell back down to the table.

The sense of wonder she felt over their success was mixed with a feeling of dread. Bringing the deceased back to life – to whatever degree – was still quite the feat. But to know her old friend would be up and about again? The gentle giant turned undead enforcer? It clawed at Bela's conscience. All she could do to soothe her mind was think of how, at least, whatever remained of his consciousness was long gone, and what remained of Uriaș was on their side. His towering body would not be used to terrorize hapless innocents.

Karl hadn't noticed her moment of distress. Instead, he nearly started to bounce off the walls with enthusiasm, giving Bela a hearty slap on the back and thanking her for the help. Due to the sleepless haze and having nothing but potent coffee to keep her functional, Bela was a little lost as to why disconnecting Uriaș from the battery was enough to knock him back out.

After the long night, Bela absolutely did not have enough brain cells to comprehend Karl's explanation of open and closed circuits, and all the additional nuances. In the end, all she understood was that the reactor was set up specifically to test the functionality of the electrodes – which was a success. With some tweaking, the reactor would be ready to act as an independent power source, and Uriaș would function mostly autonomously.

Keyword there was mostly – as Bela and Karl had discussed at length just how damaged Uriaș' sensory capabilities were. Karl had shown Bela the headset he intended to outfit Uriaș with, to ensure he was in control, and not a raving, wild beast. Karl was contemplating some form of manual control over Uriaș to prevent the extensive brain damage from biting them in the back. More references went straight over Bela's head of Kaiju this, and Pacific Rim that. No amount of her glaring got Karl to elaborate further.

All he did instead was berate her for her non-existent cinema knowledge.

That discussion was made over their gourmet brunch of Karl's own preparation. Burned toast, canned beans, beef jerky, and poached eggs (the one part of their meal which Bela could safely say was edible). The Duke's carriage had arrived shortly thereafter, and Bela promised to send him some actual food sometime, so he didn't have to live like an animal.

Of course, Karl argued that animals didn't know how to open a can of beans – but that was beside the point.

It had been a long, long night, and now Bela was just looking forward to arriving home and getting some much-needed rest. She could already hear her bed beckoning her to settle into its soft embrace. A bath was in order too, that was for sure. She was certain that the brain surgery and gasoline fumes alike had all manner of unpleasant scents clinging to her.

But first, she ought to pay the Duke a visit. She could both thank him for the ride, and submit a brief complaint about her drivers' behavior the previous night, and their tardiness today. After that was out of the way, a long bath sounded heavenly, and then maybe a quick power nap before picking Ethan up. He had survived Cassandra's games, and Bela was sure he had survived his stay with Daniela over the past twenty-four hours. Knowing his resourcefulness, he was thriving, and those ribs of his were un-broken by now.

Ethan could survive a few more hours while she got a little beauty sleep. She owed herself some Bela time.

Bela smacked her goggled face against the carriage door the moment a powerful rattle shook the carriage; a loud thump reverberated from the rear of the cabin. The entire carriage was tilted over to the rear right side. Bela glanced once out the window to the side – giving a glimpse that they had entered the village proper. Her eyes went to the assortment of coats hanging in front of the driver's seat.

There was a stretch of silence before one of the drivers let out a nervous laugh. His voice lowered to under a whisper, and it was only thanks to Bela's enhanced senses that she picked up the words.

"Is, uh… is this part of the plan?"

The other driver did not bother mumbling back, instead letting out a sharp grunt, "No. We need to fix this right now."

"Hey," Bela called out as the tension began setting into her frame, She busied herself adjusting the skewed goggles on her face. "What's going on?"

The first pair of boots hit snow, followed by another. The two men made haste around the carriage and towards the back; one voice called to her, "We hit a ditch and the wheel popped off. It will only be a moment."

The next question of what plan was hot on her lips – but Bela bit down on it. They were broken down in the middle of a lycan-infested warzone. There were equal chances of getting mauled to death, or having an actual rocket shot at their carriage while the vehicle was disabled. The sooner the drivers got the wheel on, the sooner they could leave. Now was not the time to question the hushed, nearly conspiratorial voice the man had used.

Bela would hop right out of the vehicle and help the two drivers herself, but that was tempting fate. With all she had learned of Chris Redfield, caution was essential. She was not eager to get a hole the size of a dinner plate shot into her chest.

Sharp curses of frustration and more expletives cut through the silent air. The carriage shifted slightly from its current skewed orientation, only to sink back down into the ditch.

Bela pressed her goggled face up to the window to get a better grip of their surroundings. From what little she could tell, they were flanked by several low houses, having broken down in the middle of a larger road. The town square wasn't too far off from here.

That was a good sign. Less odds that a stray rocket would blow their carriage to kingdom come. Yet it was no time to relax. From beneath her thick layers, Bela's skin prickled. The sense that something was off mounted with each passing second.

A shiver traveled down Bela's spine, and her already tense posture strained further.

It was quiet. The idle chirp of birds – sparse enough as is – were now absent. Even the wind's subtle whistling died down, leaving only her drivers' muttered curses and grunts of exertion.

The first wolfish howl echoed throughout the village, hungry and feral.

Fuck.

More howls and roars joined the starved chorus, and the two men's own panic grew audible in their curses.

"Igor, come on – put your back into it!"

It was followed by a scoff in return, "Too much mud, Mikhail! I cannot get my footing!"

The distant snarls grew in volume and number alike, and the dread piled in Bela's chest. "Fuck."

She was not prepared for this. Not in this weather. Not against so many incoming lycans – no fewer than a dozen if the howls were anything to go by.

The ice solidified in her veins, and her trembling hands had to grip the carriage upholstery in the effort to steady herself. She was trapped in here like a rat in a cage. Like a lamb to slaughter – there was little fighting she could do if the lycans tore the door off and lunged at her.

Not if, but when.

The lycans were mindless beasts, operating in ferocious packs. Bela and Cassandra had their fair share of run-ins with the creatures. The lycans didn't care who they found – everyone was on the menu, even her and her siblings. With the sun beating down on them, and the bitter chill still seasons away, Bela and Cassandra had dispatched them without too much fuss.

But now? The freezing cold nullified whatever advantage she may have, whether inside or outside the carriage.

Any blow she suffered could be fatal, with her swarm unable to displace the damage. Any sufficient chunk of lost biomass would do her in.

She couldn't stay in the carriage, and she couldn't escape into the open air. Swarming and flying in this shape was suicide.

There was no way out.

Two sharp raps on the door came, and Bela flinched. A gruff voice called, "I apologize in advance, Lady Bela."

The door swung open before she could so much as think of a response. One of the drivers stood at the doorway, with his face set into a firm frown. Loose snowflakes clung to his messy brown hair, and his coat was open now. The details had been lost to Bela the previous night. In the daylight, she could make out the body armor and the vest secured to his torso, holding several grenades and much ammunition. A large gun – an AK-47, she realized – was slung over his chest.

The man reached into the holster at his hip, and he drew a pistol. His hands moved in a blur, ejecting the magazine, verifying it was loaded, then sliding it back into the weapon. His thumb flicked over a tiny switch, then he tugged back at the top part of the weapon, inspecting it. He nodded to himself before turning the weapon around, holding it by the barrel; he extended it towards Bela to take. She was far too dumbfounded by it all to even notice the cold creeping into the carriage and trickling into her bones.

"Here – take this," The man said, shaking the weapon in emphasis.

"I – What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Bela's own voice was unfamiliar to her like this – raising as it was, laced in fear. "I don't even remember how to shoot!"

The man's brow creased in frustration, and he took a moment to cast his head over his shoulder – checking his surroundings. Then he looked back at Bela to tell her, "Gun is loaded. Just point and pull the trigger." He gave his vest a tap as he told her, "Aim for the chest if you can." He stepped back, leaving the door wide open and gesturing to the rear of the carriage – where the wheel had popped off. "Igor and I will try to get the wheel on and keep the wolfmen away. But this side," Mikhail – Bela made mental note of the names – pointed towards the driver's side of the carriage, "This flank may be left open. You stay in the wagon and shoot out the door at anything that passes. Okay?"

Bela's hands gripped hard at the seat, tearing the suede cushion. Her breathing quickened, growing shallower with every ounce of swirling dread that coalesced within her.

This was supposed to be a quick trip. A safe ride back.

Not an ambush in the middle of the destroyed village she had once called her home. Not when she was so sorely unable to put up a fight. Behind her scarf, her lips parted for a moment before stammering, "I – I can't do this."

The gun was all but pressed into her face as Mikhail brought it closer. "You can do this, Lady Bela." He spoke clearly – enunciating each word to ensure he was heard, "The Duke would not have provided his services to you if he did not think you to be capable."

It felt like a sore misjudgment on the Duke's part, and all the alcohol they both had consumed.

But there was no use arguing with Mikhail about that, so Bela accepted the weapon. "Okay," She let out, sounding about as shaky as she felt. She licked her dry lips, nodding and repeating, "Okay."

"Godspeed, Lady Bela." Mikhail stepped back. He took his rifle into both hands and pulled back on a lever on the side of the weapon. He turned to his companion, Igor, and his tone took a gruff turn. He was all sharp gestures as the words spilled out in Russian, and he proceeded to the rear of the carriage.

The howls grew closer still, and Bela found herself looking at the gun. The cold steel was unfamiliar in her grip, and its heft was foreign in her hands. There would be few bullets in the thing, Bela knew. Even with her limited, long-forgotten firearm knowledge, she knew she would need to reload, but Mikhail had not given her a spare magazine.

Maybe he had an inkling that she would not put it to good use, even after some instruction. With the mounting stress pumping blood all the way up into her ears, Bela felt such an assumption would have been correct. Under pressure, she doubted her ability to manipulate the gun and perform a reload. The sheer thickness of her gloves hampered the miniscule dexterity in her trembling fingers.

But there was no time to contemplate it now, as the first pops of gunfire rang out. Bela was flinching into the corner of the carriage's small cabin – as far away as she could get from the open door, and the bitter cold that flowed in. Each gunshot sent her wincing further into the seat, sending the few stray boxes crashing to the floor.

With shaking breaths, Bela instinctively brought her hands up over her ears – for what little it would do to block out the shrill cracks of gunfire. The drivers communicated in Russian, speaking in quick, loud barks which were beyond Bela's comprehension. Their foreign words mixed in with the whines of pain that came from the lycans.

Gunfire in and of itself was not something which typically caused Bela much panic. There had been the nearby skirmishes in her past life, and the hunters making short work of the wildlife, natural or otherwise, which wandered too close to the village.

In this life, many summers were spent carving a bloody path across the countryside, and not everyone was a pushover. Some met her head-on with guns, which did absolutely nothing to slow her and her sisters down. Not when the swarm could easily and instinctively avoid the bullets.

This was something else. Mikhail's rifle was cracking shots out in bursts of automatic fire, and even that was dwarfed by what Bela could only assume was a shotgun in Igor's hands. Her sensitive ears cried out as the battle stepped into full swing, and she was stuck in the carriage, more vulnerable than she had ever been in her entire life.

Across the open door of the carriage, a dark blur sailed down from the low rooftop

The tall, stocky, muscled figure rose to its full height. Its monstrous mouth hung open in a snarl, exposing all its bloody, jagged teeth. Claws – sharper than any blade – flexed at its sides. The lycan's fur bristled as it let out a guttural growl, white eyes locking onto her.

Bela held her breath still as she gripped the gun in both hands and yanked back on the trigger.

The pistol erupted with a flurry of lead.

Her ears rang viciously, blocking out all other sound. The muzzle flash was seared into her vision, leaving her blinking furiously to clear it.

The smoke of gunpowder was acrid and sulfurous, hanging in the confined space of the cabin. Stunned and reeling from her newfound deafness, Bela shook her head in the effort to clear the sensation; she waved a hand through the din of smoke, squinting at the lycan.

It had stopped in its tracks, dropping to one knee, but she had no idea how many bullets found their mark. It pushed off the ground, baring a ferocious snarl, only for a bullet to tear through its face and drop it back down.

Bela took in a sharp gasp of surprise as the white snow turned red from the pooling blood. One of the drivers had finished the lycan off. She hardly even knew how many times she tugged on the trigger – there was no telling how many bullets were left in the damn weapon.

Her breaths came in sharp and left just as quickly – teetering now on the edge of hyperventilating; her hot breaths fogged up her goggles, further obscuring her vision.

Bela couldn't help it. The tight space of the wagon, the unfamiliar weapon in her hands, the cold seeping in and stiffening her joints – it was enough to send her reeling. Gunfire thundered off to her side, joined by the maddening howls of the lycan horde; even with her ears ringing sharply, she could pick out the sounds, overwhelming her senses.

This was not the sort of fighting she was used to. The fights over the past decades could hardly even be called fights to begin with – because they weren't. They were hunts. They preyed on defenseless humans who barely fought back; those that put up a fight were killed just as quickly, as she and her sisters were nigh invincible in warm weather. Not a single scratch would mar any of them, thanks to the swarm displacing to avoid every bullet and knife sent their way.

There was no time to dissect her panic, as another lycan came sprinting from the left, towards the drivers. Bela raised the gun and fired twice – now wary of her dwindling ammunition. Her ears screamed in protest to no avail, and she didn't even hear her latest gunshots.

In the din of gun smoke, she could see the lycan skidding to a halt, sending dirty, bloody snow into the air. Crimson dripped from its torso as it fixed its attention to her, eyes alight with animalistic rage; all her shooting had done was irritate it. The lycan's arms spread at its sides, torn, ragged clothing swaying in the wind. It bellowed out what her deaf ears could only assume was a guttural roar.

Bela did her best to line the sights up as the lycan charged towards the carriage. She flinched at the last moment, shutting her eyes tight, grinding her teeth, and pulling back on the trigger. The gun spat lead, and after the sixth or seventh click with no recoil, she opened her eyes.

A fresh splatter of blood coated the wagon's step board, and the lycan's corpse left a macabre outline in the bloody snow just out the door.

With teeth gritted and every muscle in her body tensed, Bela had to make the conscious effort to uncurl her finger from the trigger. She looked at her weapon, finding that the top section had slid back and locked into place. It was empty now, Bela could safely deduce.

Even through the high-pitched drone in her ears, she could hear the howls continuing to echo throughout the village, along with the steady pops of gunfire. A glimpse out the window to her left revealed the occasional silhouette rushing past, followed by a slew of bullets in response. The air thickened with the coppery bite of blood with every lycan that dropped.

This was far from over, and her gun was empty.

Bela had to act. She had to act and do something – anything, or those two men – still alive, and seemingly leagues more competent than she had initially thought – would be surrounded and outnumbered. They would die, and she would be next when the lycans found her defenseless self pathetically cowering in the cabin.

Her head swiveled around, surveying the cabin for spare ammunition, or anything that could be used as a weapon. In her panicked haze, Bela held the gun aloft for a moment longer, not sure if she should just put it down or pocket it, or –

The knife in her pocket.

Bela haphazardly dropped the gun on the seat and tugged the knife free from her jeans pocket. She pulled the sheath off, allowing it to drop onto the cushion, next to the empty gun.

She turned it over in her gloved hands, getting a feel of the weight and length of the knife. Bela was far more used to her sickle. The weapon's balance, reach, and heft were all an extension of herself. The knife, fresh from Karl's foundry, was unfamiliar.

Yet Ethan had used the very same knife against countless foes and emerged the victor. It had been enough for him, and it had to be enough for her.

It had to be.

She took in a long, deep breath – as cold as it was, and as much as it seared her insides to be breathing it so liberally. She let it out slowly, and her eyes remained locked to the bloody snow outside the door.

Her voice was shaky, but saying the words aloud to her ringing ears helped them feel real, "Come on, Bela. You have not come this far," She drew in another inhale, shakily, "To die now."

Not when Castle Dimitrescu was such a short ride away – where Ethan was waiting for her. He was counting on her to come back alive, so she could slap him in the face with all the information she'd uncovered from this bountiful trip.

She had to come back in one whole piece, so she could help the damn man and his daughter.

Bela gritted her teeth together, and her hand tightened around the knife's handle.

They were just lycans.

Bela pushed herself out of the open doorway, into the cold. The fire in her resolve was the only thing she needed to keep her warm.

They were just lycans, and she was Strigoaica Bălaie.

Directly in front of Bela was a rundown house. The road continued on either side to her left and right – with the rear of the carriage to the right, where Bela got an eyeful of the large wooden wheel leaving an indentation in the snow. By the back of the carriage, Igor and Mikhail held their ground.

Mikhail stood in her immediate line of sight, and appeared to be working like a well-oiled machine in tandem with Igor. No longer wincing, she watched Igor take a knee around the corner of the carriage's rear. His shouldered weapon blasted out two shells, taking numerous lycans out of the fight and painting the snow red. In a single, snappy motion, he inverted the weapon, lowering it to his side. With his other hand, he slid new shells into the weapon – nearly slamming them in with his precise movements.

Igor tilted his balding head in the direction of the incoming lycans – passing through the closest house to charge at him. More Russian words called out, and Mikhail's response was instantaneous. His knee hit the snow to take a stable firing stance, and his rifle came up. Several bullets snapped out, earning howled pains from within the destroyed house. The weapon soon gave an empty click, and Mikhail didn't break his stride – easily drawing a fresh magazine from his vest, using it to knock the empty one out of the rifle.

It was Igor's cue to return the favor, shouldering his shotgun and blasting a cone of buckshot at a lycan approaching his fellow driver. Within moments, Mikhail was back in the fight, and they worked in tandem to repel the lycans on their side.

Bela was left to deal with the lycans on her side, while the two men had the work cut out for them defending the rear. She ought to give them some slack for their behavior last night. When they weren't drunk out of their skulls, they knew what they were doing. Thank God for that, or else she would probably be dead by now.

Down her open side of the road, the first wolfman emerged. It came rushing in a wild dash, maw split into a big snarl. It made a beeline for Bela, ignoring the frantically neighing horses at the front of the carriage; she and the drivers must have made for more appetizing prey. The lycan entered striking range, and its claws came swiping in.

Bela fell back on old, rusty muscle memory, and all the drills she ran with Cassandra.

She took a step back, as quickly as the cold and the thick layers of cumbersome clothing would allow it. Her right hand reeled in close to her body. Simultaneously, her free left hand swiped down, displacing the lycan's furry arm and ensuring it didn't pose a threat for the moment. The creature's forearm gave a sickening crunch, and the bone fractured on impact.

Even when practically a decade out of practice, Bela knew her reach better than she knew herself. She easily drew blood once she leaned forward and swung the knife in a wide horizontal arc. The thick crimson spurted from the lycan's neck, but Bela knew how hardy the creatures were. She couldn't take any chances. Not when any slip up could be fatal.

Bela pushed on relentlessly. Her free hand seized the front of the lycan's ragged, bloody clothing. Her knife – Ethan's knife – came crashing forward in a vicious stab right into the eye socket. She put her all into the movement – twisting at the hips, pushing from the balls of her feet – generating all the lethal power she needed.

The knife sunk into the lycan's head with surgical precision, and the force of the blow earned a loud crack from its neck. Its limp, lifeless form slumped down just as Bela yanked the blade free from its skull.

Of course, it was never just that simple. When it rained, it poured – or in Bela's case, when it snowed, it was a whole damn blizzard.

She had been staying close to the carriage in the effort to expose one less flank. Through the ringing in her ears, she made out the bare feet pounding on the snowy dirt.

The lycan lunged in from her right side, and she was forced to dodge – or more realistically, stumble clear from the attack. Her boots crunched audibly on the dirty snow in her panic; the sound mixed with the crack of splintering wood. Turning around to face her foe, she found that it had been carrying a hatchet in hand. The small axe was now lodged into the side of the Duke's wagon, right where her head had been only a second ago.

The lycan yanked the weapon free, just as Bela shifted her knife to an icepick grip, gloved fingers flexing over the handle. She lunged forward to meet it before it could take the initiative. The knife tucked in to her chest before she swung outward, hooking it at the lycan's armed wrist, pulling herself close and removing the threat of the hatchet at that range. Bela swung the knife in a short arc, slicing the lycan's neck open and spilling blood onto her dark jacket.

She jabbed it in the face once with her elbow to create a modicum of space. Then, like the previous lycan, she gripped the front of the dazed lycan's ruined clothing to steady it. Bela sent the knife careening into the lycan's temple. The sheer power of the strike tore the lycan's head clean off its shoulders, splattering the snow in red. Bela allowed the beheaded body to crumple into a heap on the snow. She swiped at the severed head to remove it from her knife, sending it rolling on the ground.

Just as quickly as the lycan had dropped, she was forced on the defensive as an entire pack of three descended unto her. The little hearing that she had recovered was drowned out by their enraged roars. Splattered in the blood of their kin, Bela had their full attention. They swung their claws in vicious swipes and made attempts to grab and bite her.

Bela could thank her jeans for giving her some freedom of movement to a degree her usual dress would not. She needed it with how closely she had to weave and duck from the numerous attacks coming in one after the other. It wasn't a sustainable pace – not with how bundled up and clumsy her upper body was. Not with how her hot breaths – growing colder by the second – fogged up her goggles and made the art of evasion all the harder. It was a far cry from the whirlwind of death she could be when unimpeded.

Another messy scramble had Bela knocking her back into the side of the Duke's carriage. All her staggering and dodging had spread the three lycans out – enough that there was only one to deal with, front and center, while the other two were a few feet away to the left and right.

Bela bounced off the wagon, coming in hard to smash her boot into the side of the lycan's knee. It howled in pain as the bone caved, and it dropped onto its still serviceable knee. She moved close, looping her left arm around the lycan's neck. With a vicious tug and a pull, its neck snapped.

She had little time to react to the lycan swinging from her right. She brought her knife hand up, twisting her body to block the lycan at the wrist with her forearm. Dropping the previous body, Bela swung the knife, tearing open yet another throat. A growl from the rear alerted her of the next lycan's impending arrival. It prompted her to dig the knife into her current quarry's bleeding neck and turn.

It sent the lycan flailing to the snowy ground in a bleeding heap. Bela advanced, throwing a kick at the last lycan, digging her boot square into its chest. It stumbled a few paces back before it regained its footing. Ever predictable, the lycan made to take a swipe at Bela, and she blocked the attack with her free arm. She shifted and locked the lycan's arm at the elbow with relative ease.

Bela twisted the knife back into a regular grip and sent it sailing into the lycan's side. Flesh tore and ribs shattered with every stab that Bela crashed into its body. The flurry of attacks was cut short when a clawed hand caught her elbow on the backswing. It put a dead stop to her momentum.

Glancing back, Bela found the previous lycan up on a knee, bleeding profusely from the neck as it gripped her elbow.

"Shit."

She released the joint lock in her current grapple, giving the creature a firm shove to create distance. Baring a snarl of her own from behind her scarf, Bela swung her fist down like a hammer, aiming for the lycan's head. It hit the snowy dirt hard, and Bela's boot came high before smashing down onto its skull, splattering its brains.

The last lycan recovered sooner than Bela could have accounted for. Its left hand came swinging, and there was little Bela could do – not in these clothes slowing her down, and not without her swarm. Not with the bodies littering the ground and preventing a quick stumble away.

Bela raised her arms up to protect her head and neck.

The lycan's claws tore through her thick layers with ease, and ripped her flesh open.

Bela staggered back as her arm seared with unimaginable heat – as if the site of the wound had been doused in gasoline and set ablaze. She knocked her back against the carriage while she stumbled, gripping the arm. She released a sharp grunt; the only thing that stopped her full-on screams were her jaws locking shut, grinding together hard enough to hurt. There was only a moment to take in the sight of her trembling arm – the ugly, warped skin, carved out in the shape of claws and turning dark at the edges. Never in her current life had she experienced such indescribable pain.

The next moment, Bela was ducking in last-minute evasion. She stepped to the side as the lycan – bleeding from the side of its broken ribs – tore through the carriage's wall.

Ringing set into Bela's ears once more, coalescing with the blood pumping in her icy veins. This time, it was not gunfire in the tight space that had brought it about – but rather a certain quiet, animalistic focus that honed Bela's instincts; the same senses that had guided hundreds, if not thousands, of hunts.

The knife shifted back into an icepick grip in Bela's gloved hand. She saw the tensing of the lycan's left arm – the muscles rippling and contracting to produce the movements.

Bela swung into the lycan's attack, impaling the knife right into the palm of its hand. She pulled back, keeping the arm taut as she sent her arm crashing down with all her might.

The elbow snapped, and the lycan's arm popped right out of the shoulder socket. It howled in pain, and Bela's body moved nearly of its own accord – freeing the blade from its hand before cocking back. The knife came crashing down – aiming for the head.

Its mouth was open – and the blade sunk handle-deep into the lycan's lower jaw. Bela's left hand shot forward, turning so she could grip the upper half of its jaw. With a final heave, Bela tore the lycan's mandible off in its entirety, sending the jawbone flying into the filthy snow underfoot. The body fell backward, crumpling into an unceremonious heap. She stepped forward for good measure, cocking her foot back, yelling, "And stay dead, bitch!" Her boot sailed in an arc, crashing into its head, and snapping its neck in two.

Bela was left breathing heavily as she scanned her surroundings. The ragged breaths soon turned into panting and gasps for air when no more lycans swarmed the carriage. Only she and the dead remained.

She snapped her head to the rear as the realization sunk in. Relief doused her frazzled nerves at the sight of Igor and Mikhail alive and dripping blood. They gulped air down, staggering around the fresh battlefield of lycans. They appeared momentarily lost – simultaneously swiveling their heads around to survey their flanks, and checking their weapons. It was as if they weren't sure if they were meant to secure the area, or put the guns away and pack up.

To hell with securing the area – they had to get out of here.

Bela wiped the knife down on the closest lycan's filthy rags; she dumped it on her seat in the carriage. She shuffled her way over to the rear as the long-forgotten cold made its home in her body. "Get the wheel!" Bela yelled.

The two men turned their gazes to her. They took a moment to look her up and down, and all the blood she had gotten on her jacket. Then, they slung their weapons and hurried over to the wheel. Bela positioned herself at the back of the carriage. As she had seen people in her village do all the time, she pressed her back to the hardy surface, bending her knees and gripping the undercarriage.

With a soft grunt, Bela pushed off the muddy snow. Her boots dug into the soft ground, but with her inhuman strength, it was easier to regain her footing and push. The carriage soon raised to its normal level, and Igor and Mikhail rolled the wheel into place with haste. A moment later and the wheel was secure, and the repair job was complete with a few well-placed kicks locking it to the axel. They wasted no time rushing to their respective spots before any more unwanted attention came their way. Igor and Mikhail performed one last sweep of the perimeter before returning to the helm, and Bela slammed the carriage door shut once she was inside.

With the adrenaline wearing off, the stinging, burning pain of the cut was making itself known. Bela set her jaw in place, locked firm. Instinct and habit alike had her tearing a scrap of fabric free from the closest miscellaneous coat hanging from the ceiling. It came free with little fuss, and Bela wrapped the wound tight, ensuring it was compressed, for whatever that was worth.

She had never received a wound like this in her current life. The lack of blood was one thing, but the hideous, twisted skin was another. The biomass had been sheared off her body, as the swarm was unable to displace to avoid the lycan's claws.

Bela kept her damaged arm tucked close to her body, clutching it like her life depended on it.

It was nothing some heat and blood couldn't fix. Hopefully. Because truthfully, Bela did not know the slightest thing about damage to her body. The human body, sure – she was quite well-versed in treating their injuries and ailments. Her own body was a mystery, as she had never taken a hit as hard as this, ever. Until she could sort this out, she had to keep it hidden. If her mother found out, what awaited Bela was worse than any lycan and their filthy claws.

She let out a quiet, bitter laugh to herself.

At least all her regular dresses were long sleeved.

Ethan was glad to find that his shoes had thoroughly dried out. After sitting in the hallway for a day, the pair of fine shoes were free of any bloody wine from yesterday's encounter. That was unless Bela had made some sort of preparations to ensure his shoes were tended to – which he would not have put past Bela, if not for the shaky ground they stood on. The only indicator that these shoes had been through hell and back was the faint, coppery, almost fermented smell that clung to them.

But prisoners could not be choosers, and Ethan had since learned to not fuss about trivial things like this.

Instead, he followed closely behind Daniela as they stepped down the stairs leading into the great hall. It was in much better shape than he and Cassandra last left it. If he hadn't been intimately involved in the hall's thrashing, he wouldn't have been able to tell that only yesterday, it was a bloody battlefield. All the wrecked furniture was gone, as were all the puddles and streaks of bloody wine. The entire hall was neat and tidy, and the marble floor appeared newly polished.

Said new polish seemed literal – as Ethan noticed some maids in the room. They talked to one another and departed the hall through one door off to the side. From where he stood at the base of the stairs, he could make out two of them rounding the corner and exiting his line of sight. They wore the usual dresses, with the white aprons draped over their dark garb. One carried a bucket in her hands, while the pale brunette had a mop slung over her shoulder.

Ethan did a double take as the last wisps of dark hair disappeared from view.

Not a single maid in this castle walked around with their veils off. And that pale skin – the only people in the castle with skin like that were –

"Was," Ethan craned his head as they walked, even though it was futile now to get a glimpse around the corner. "Was that…"

He was going to sound ridiculous. All the exsanguinations must have been causing hallucinations and brain damage.

Daniela turned around without a falter in her stride. She backpedaled slowly, smiling curiously at Ethan. "What's that?"

There wasn't any reason Cassandra should be walking around with the maids and carrying a mop – but that had to be her. Sure, maybe the maids were pale from being locked up in the castle – but the Dimitrescu sisters all shared a certain pallor. And that face – even from a distance, the sharp angles of Cassandra's jaw were unmistakable.

Ethan would know. He had been forced to stare up at that face while she carved his arm up like a turkey dinner.

"Was that Cassandra on cleanup duty?" Ethan kept his head trained around the corner they had passed.

Daniela followed Ethan's gaze for a second, finally coming to a halt. She stopped in the center of the spick and span hall. "And here I thought one Dimitrescu sister was enough to satisfy you. Is three your magical number, Ethan?"

"Gross." Ethan curled his lip, getting a fit of giggles from Daniela.

They were out of sight now, so there wasn't much Daniela could deduce for herself. Her eyes went back to Ethan, and she teased, "Are you seeing things?"

Ethan raised his brows in a show of exasperation. "I hope not. But normally, those maids of yours don't go walking around with their veils off, right?"

"They don't," Daniela responded, "But it would be odd for Cassandra to join them. Her assignment should have ended last night, same as Bela."

Maybe Lady Dimitrescu had been feeling particularly nasty, and extended Cassandra's – and possibly Bela's – sentence in cleaning the castle. If he wasn't hallucinating, then Ethan could get some petty satisfaction from the knowledge her punishment may have been prolonged. He only hoped Bela had not been dragged into it as badly as her sister had.

There was little else to explain it unless he really was just seeing things. Ethan was already losing his mind, that much he was sure of, given his attachment to his captors. Hallucinations were the natural, logical next step to his insanity. A few more weeks in this castle and he might earn himself a new imaginary friend. Hopefully they would be friendlier than Cassandra.

Leaving Ethan to stew in silence, Daniela skipped over to one corner of the hall – to one of the tall ceramic and gold vases tucked away. When she stuck her hand in through the top, it brought Ethan's contemplations to a grinding halt – because what on earth was Daniela doing?

Her tongue came out between her lips, and her eyebrows furrowed together in concentration.

"Uhh," Clearing his throat, Ethan bit the bullet to ask, "What are you doing, Dani?"

"Making a withdrawal."

The nonchalance of her statement earned a short laugh from Ethan. What a waste his college degree had been. He could have been smashing pottery and making bank, but instead, he spent years jabbing away at his keyboard and pretending he knew what he was doing.

"Oh yeah, how did I not realize that earlier," Ethan clapped a hand to his forehead as the sarcasm flowed, "That's usually how my own visits to the bank go."

Daniela stuck her tongue out in reply, making a face. He watched as the expression soon morphed into frustration, and he couldn't help but ask, "Find anything good in there, Link? Any diamonds?"

Daniela pulled her arm free, and her face was aghast. "It – it's empty! That was my birthday money!"

The concept of the sisters celebrating birthdays was a new one. Though perhaps it wasn't all too strange if he had to really think about it. Speaking softer and avoiding poking fun this time, Ethan suggested, "Lot of vases around here," He craned his head to the different ornamental pots in the vicinity, "You sure you got the right one?"

"Positive," Daniela grunted, taking quick, loud steps over to the corner across her vase. She came to a stop halfway there – realizing there was no matching white and gold vase tucked into the corner. Her mouth opened and closed, thoroughly flabbergasted. "I had another stash here just the other day!"

Huh. There had been the sound of something shattering when Ethan fired a round through Cassandra's torso.

Ethan kept that information to himself, lest he earn Daniela's rage.

The simmering redhead turned around, hands balled into fists at her sides. "Those thieving little," She cut herself off with an agitated huff, stomping past Ethan and leading the way to the next set of steps. The stairs ran down to the similarly grand hall. The same place Bela had first stuck that sickle in his leg. The entrance to the Duke's Emporium awaited below.

The pout Daniela wore was, admittedly, a cute look on her – especially when it wasn't directed at him, and nowhere near as bloodthirsty as his close calls. He fell in step behind Daniela, and spoke up once they landed in the hall, "Someone dipping into your piggy bank?"

It didn't take her long to approach another vase, snaking her arm in through the opening. "Yes – those criminals I call my sisters."

Ethan bit down on his lip to avoid laughing at her expense. This brand of squabbling among siblings was so mundane, you could almost forget how atypical the Dimitrescu sisters were at heart. You could nearly pretend the blood-soaked cellar several floors down didn't exist.

"This is Cassandra's stash," Daniela grumbled, pulling a hefty sack from the vase. She tossed it in the air a few times, as if weighing the heft of it. Judging by the shape and sound, it was a mix of bills and coins alike. "It's only fair, since those thieving hooligans love to snatch Lei from wherever is most convenient."

"I don't judge," Ethan grinned, adding, "As long as she doesn't somehow blame me for her missing wallet, you carry on."

Daniela flashed him a small mischievous smile of her own before pressing on to the Duke's room. The door opened, revealing that little had changed in the room since the last time Ethan had been here. The shelves were well-stocked, and the Duke took up his spot by one wall, cigar in hand, and a bright smile on his lips. The only noticeable difference was the empty table to the far end, where the scale replica of Castle Dimitrescu had once been on display.

The Duke clapped his hands together, his smile growing ever wider, "Ah! Lady Daniela and Mr. Winters! What a pleasure it is to see you today. Come in, come in!"

"Good day, Duke!" Daniela returned the greeting, giving the large man a quick curtsey.

Ethan raised a hand in greeting, "Hey. How's it going?"

"Splendidly, Mr. Winters." The Duke pointed towards Ethan's sweater with a free hand, "I see you are wearing the sweater again. Truly – I am happy you are so fond of it. Lady Daniela certainly has an eye for fashion, no?"

Daniela giggled, biting down on her lip as she eyed Ethan. "It is a good fit on you, Ethan."

Ethan glared down at the sweater, and the cursed Romanian Girlfriend text that adorned it. Having Daniela and Bela conspiring to buy him clothing was a match made in hell. He could only imagine how worse it would get if Cassandra was involved in the mix.

Would the humiliation be turned up a few notches? Was there a gimp suit in his future? Or would the sisters strap him into a leather harness and force him to go full Van Darkholme on this castle? Would he wrestle everyone in sight and show them who the boss of this dungeon was? He was optimistic of his odds against the sisters, but he didn't like the idea of wrestling Lady Dimitrescu herself. His title of dungeon master would not last long if it came to that.

"Yeah," Ethan grumbled, casting his glare towards Daniela, and then to the Duke, "Didn't really have a say in that."

It got a short laugh from the Duke. "If you take a liking to this fashion, remember – there is always more here for you to choose from." He took a quick puff of his cigar before asking, "Now, what brings you to my shop? Is there anything I can help you with?"

Considering Ethan was here for Bela's sake, it was fitting to toss the question out while he was at it, "Have you seen Bela around lately?"

The Duke tilted his large head to the side, pursing his lips. "Seen her? Afraid not, Mr. Winters." He took the time to ash his cigar before taking another drag. "May I be of service some other way? Are you in the market for anything?" The Duke turned his head to Daniela, raising a large hand in gesture to her, "What about a book for the lovely lady?"

Daniela eagerly stepped up – nearly skipping – over to the Duke's table. Her hands clasped together, coming up to her chest. She bounced up and down as she announced, "I have a request!"

"Oho – do tell, Lady Daniela!" The Duke grinned back.

Ethan pointedly tuned them out. He did not need to hear Daniela's newfound fascination with Fifty Shades, and the Duke being all too eager to oblige. It was little surprise when he reached for a low shelf to his side, and procured the entire trilogy in a neat box. He was prepared for anything, after all, and that included further deepening the grave Ethan had dug himself. The teasing would never end at this rate.

Instead, Ethan approached the Duke's table to go over his wares, hoping for inspiration to strike him. What instead struck him was the recollection that he was reliant on the Dimitrescu sisters for his purchases. Ethan's wallet was long gone after Chris shot up his house. Considering how much time had passed, some punks probably picked through the remains of that house and uprooted the safe on the second floor. Credit cards and bank accounts were currently a thing of the past, too – thanks to all the witness protection bullshit.

Fuck.

He wasn't just broke. He was broke, broke. The only thing he had to his name, not funded by Bela, were his beat-up shoes. Even his damn underwear had been paid for in Dimitrescu coin. That idea of posting up at a train station and begging for change wasn't as far off as he'd first thought.

Maybe after breaking Chris' nose, he could get that boulder-punching asshole to unfreeze his assets back in the States.

But unfortunately, Chris was not around to throw hands with, and all he had was Daniela. He could already see where this would go, but the topic had to be broached.

"Dani," Ethan caught the redhead's attention, as she was in the middle of unpacking the book set to inspect each novel. Looking like a kid on Christmas morning, Daniela raised her head to meet his eyes, still smiling wide. "Could you spot me today? I'll pay you back… eventually."

The mischief in her playful eyes was, to say the least, somewhat alarming. Biting her lip, Daniela released a sultry laugh. "I can think of a few ways for you to repay me."

"Oh dear." The Duke pressed a scandalized hand to his lips.

Ethan did his best to appear pleading before her – pressing his brows together and frowning softly. "Please."

Daniela laughed again, loaded with far less innuendo. Her smile was decidedly good-natured when she winked at him. "Don't worry your little head about it, Ethan." Then she cackled and added, "Besides, it's not my money we're blowing. Feel free to get yourself something nice and pricy. Throw in a diamond necklace while you're at it."

Returning the smile, Ethan reached over to give her shoulder an appreciative squeeze. "Thanks, Dani."

She blew him a kiss in reply, and Ethan scrunched his face up in a show of displeasure. A final giggle, and Daniela turned her attention back to the books, leaving Ethan to peruse.

Similar to before, there were the stacks of clothing and other miscellany in the shelves behind and around the Duke. On the shiny, newly polished table in front of the Duke, Ethan noted a large beautifully ornamented jewelry case. Curiously, he pulled the cover open.

Within the beige padded interior were all manner of bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and all the other bits and pieces in between. Some were simple pieces of gold or silver, while others were absurdly bejeweled, making the Rosemary bracelet in Ethan's pocket look like a toy.

"This series is a bestseller," The Duke chimed, wearing a rather fond smile as he watched Daniela excitedly leaf through the first few pages.

Ethan felt a tug on his sleeve before Daniela asked, "Will you pleaaase read this to me?"

"Nope," Ethan didn't look in her direction. It was safer that way, to avoid the puppy dog eyes she would flash him. "Not a chance."

A quiet humph, and Daniela continued her inspection of the book, while the Duke gave a slight laugh. She mimicked his low voice, "I'll pay you back eventually." Daniela rolled her eyes. "Promises, promises."

Ethan gently bumped his elbow to her side, earning a soft giggle from the redhead. He turned back to the jewelry case.

The precious metals in the case sparkled and reflected the warm light back at Ethan. Staring at the selection, he knew that apology jewelry was a bit much – especially from him to Bela, considering he wasn't exactly romantically involved with the woman. Not to mention, he didn't want to bankrupt Daniela,

Well, technically it was Cassandra's money, but Ethan did not doubt that Daniela would reimburse her sister once her own missing funds were located. It was ultimately still Daniela who was paying for him out of the kindness of her heart.

Assuming she wasn't going to use this against him for sexual favors – and Ethan knew Daniela was more decent than that. She didn't strike him as the creepy Hollywood director type. So, aside from the hurricane of teasing that awaited him, he didn't have to worry too much.

Ethan's own wedding band caught the light from the nearby candelabras as he looked through the jewelry case. What remained of his ring finger was embarrassingly stubby, and it was a wonder the ring hadn't slipped off by now. If he had to get into another brawl with Cassandra, or grapple any more Moroaice, the wedding ring may not be lucky to escape unscathed yet again.

Better to avoid bloodying it altogether the next time he got his hands wet. Knowing this castle, the next incident wasn't that far off.

Ethan picked a simple chain from the case – the most mundane, ordinary thing he could find, to avoid breaking the redhead's bank. He secured it in one hand; it could be paid for along with Bela's apology gift once he figured it out. His eyes returned to scanning the shelves, yet as of that moment, nothing was sticking out, or jumping at Ethan.

There was still the pocket warmer idea, as dumb as it sounded on paper. Surely, there would be some use Bela would find for them.

"Duke, any chance you got some of those pocket warmers? Or hand warmers?" Ethan drew a small square with his hands, "You know, those little things that heat up when you take them out of the packaging?"

"Ah, you are in luck, Mr. Winters!" The Duke tugged a drawer open, pulling up a colorful box, stamped in Japanese lettering. "This was imported by a friend!"

Ethan ignored the cutesy caricatures of bipedal animals clutching onto hand warmers and wearing little jackets. He didn't think too hard of how it was the Duke had Japanese pocket warmers in the middle of nowhere in rural Romania. These weren't quite the same ones Mia had gone crazy for when they first arrived in the country, but they looked on point.

"A dozen individually wrapped warmers in this box." The Duke rested a hefty hand on his midsection. "Shall I add it to your bill?"

Ethan spared Daniela a glance; he felt like a child looking at their mother for approval before adding sweets to the grocery cart.

Daniela was already thoroughly engrossed in the book, eyes rapidly scanning each page before flipping to the next. Her mouth hung slightly open as she devoured the words whole.

"Sure, add that," Ethan decided.

"Wonderful," The Duke's cheery voice came in reply. He shifted in his creaking seat to reach for his clipboard on the table. "I'll go ahead and add that chain you picked out as well."

As the Duke struggled to grab hold of his clipboard – and Ethan nudged it in his direction to help the man out – the shine of glass caught Ethan's eye. Behind the Duke, nestled among the stacks of jeans, sweaters, and hoodies, was a jar.

"What's that over there?" Ethan pointed at the jar in question. The Duke, clipboard in hand, struggled to turn and follow the line of Ethan's pointer finger.

After a beat, his expression lit up with delight. "Ah! Some of my best men secured this for me."

With his massive hand, the Duke grabbed the jar with ease. Pulling it into full view revealed the generous helping of sand nestled within the glass.

Bingo.

There was no topping this – as serendipitous of a find as it was. Ethan had no idea if he would ever take Bela on a stroll on the beachside. But if he didn't, then he could at least take the beach to her – or at least, some sand. She could feel for herself what that was like, rather than rely on his oh-so poetic descriptions. It was perfect.

Ethan could feel the grin on his face, try as he might to bite it down.

He could already hear Johnny Depp's voice cheering: "I've got a jar of dirt!"

It didn't help him keep the smile off his face.

The woes of witness protection aside, traveling was easy for Ethan. Mountains, oceans, jungles – he could toss a dart at a world map and figure out how to venture over there. For Bela, it was far from simple. The sand would go a long way to giving her a glimpse of the world at large. Save for an actual vacation beyond the valley, there was no better gift to give Bela.

"It is highly illegal to take sand from Italy, but that didn't stop them," The Duke chuckled to himself, setting the large jar down onto the table. He gave the glass lid a fond pat. "It took a car chase and a two-hour standoff with the Polizia, but they pulled through."

Ethan raised his brows, his previous elation now subdued in favor of incredulity. "What? All that for some sand?"

The Duke laughed once more, taking a puff of his cigar before giving him a knowing smile. "But is it just sand, Mr. Winters? You tell me."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. It was not just a jar of sand. Not to him, anyway. Not to Bela, once he handed it over. How the hell the Duke was picking up on his interest in it – that was another mystery to add to the pile. The guy knew a lot. More than he let on.

The Duke added, nonchalantly, "Disregarding, of course, the Korken. That is special."

"The what?" Ethan narrowed his eyes.

"The jar, Mr. Winters – that is from Ikea." The Duke stated rather matter-of-factly.

It got an unexpected laugh from Ethan. "Wow," He cleared his throat, "You really do have everything, don't you?"

"But of course! My men were unsure if the Korken or the Vardagen would be more fitting." The Duke gave the jar another pat with his meaty palm, then gently nudged it closer for Ethan to take a look. "I'm glad they went with the Korken – the lid is much more secure, as you can see."

Ethan stared at the Duke for a while longer as the absurdity of it all trampled his fading sanity.

He was in a castle, equal parts gothic and baroque, held prisoner by shapeshifting bioweapons. The surrounding area was populated by werewolves and ghouls – ruled over by a nine-foot-something noblewoman who wore bunny slippers, a hobo with powers to rival Magneto, a creepy talking doll, and an ugly-ass toad thing, who all then answered to the elusive bitch herself, Mother Miranda.

Under their feet in that moment were hundreds, if not thousands of human lives neatly bottled up and organized in shelves. The vampire bug-woman to his side would pass off as a nymphomaniac if she actually did get any action, and now – now, a man larger than Ethan's first car was explaining the finer points of Ikea's glassware.

What the fuck had become of his life?

To ground himself back in reality and the insanity that came with it, Ethan took the jar into his hands; he closely inspected the contents. The white, powdery sand within appeared as pristine and untouched as the beaches Ethan visited with Mia and Rose. Sticking a hand into this would be just like playing around at the beach – maybe digging a hole in the sand and making a moat for a sandcastle.

"You just… conveniently have this jar of sand on hand?" Ethan's bewilderment had to be voiced. It was all too perfect. "You just let your guys get into trouble with the police to get some sand?"

"Not for the sand, dear Ethan." The Duke smiled, rolling his cigar between his fingers. "But for all the weight it carries."

Ethan held the Duke's gaze for a while longer. The only logical conclusion Ethan could reach was that the Duke had somehow learned of Ethan's argument with Bela, and anticipated his desire to make it up to her – including a gift. He then, for whatever reason, also knew about Bela's interest in the world beyond the valley – and what sand felt like.

And he sent his employees to steal some sand from Italy of all places, if he was to be believed.

All of that had, maybe, occurred before Ethan and Bela's argument even took place. There was no way the Duke's people stole sand from Italy and shipped it here to the middle of bumfuck nowhere that quickly.

But then again, here Ethan was questioning the logic of how things worked in this valley – the same valley where vampire bug-women, wolfmen, and giant assholes with hammers roamed the land. Logic came to this valley to die. The less he questioned things, the more his aching brain would thank him.

With an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, Ethan then nodded, "Okay, add it to the cart, buddy."

"Would you like your order to be giftwrapped?" The Duke set his cigar down on his ashtray.

Ethan avoided looking at the hefty man too suspiciously.

"Yeah. What gave it away?" Ethan asked.

"Oh, nothing – that is just my intuition." The Duke beamed wide and winked, "Part of my first-class customer service policy."

"Lucky me," Ethan muttered. The Duke's response was as good an explanation as any in this crazy place.

Smiling cordially, the Duke asked, "Do you care for anything else, Mr. Winters?"

"I suppose the C4 is still off the table, right? What about some pipe bombs?" Ethan immediately received a light smack on the back of the head. He winced, rubbing his head and shooting Daniela a side-eyed glare. Smiling and content, she continued leafing through the book as though nothing happened.

"I'm afraid that is a no, Mr. Winters." The Duke chuckled.

Ethan's hand returned to his side, and he raised his brows to add, "That's all for me, then."

"Very well." The Duke gave a soft grunt as he bent over, retrieving a gift box tucked out of sight. Ethan took that time to slip his wedding band off and secure it to the new chain. After a moment of fiddling with the clasp, the chain was wrapped around his neck. Ethan tucked the ring underneath his sweater where it was safe and out of sight.

By then, the Duke had procured the gift packaging – a simple, blue square box. The large jar fit snugly within, alongside the smaller box of pocket warmers. The lid settled at the very top, and the Duke's large yet nimble hands got to work tying a red ribbon in place. Ethan admired the man's handiwork and choice of color. The red matched Bela's pendant. The blue would have matched her eyes too, long ago.

Ethan didn't bother questioning the Duke's brilliant foresight, and simply appreciated the good service.

A paper bag was produced as well, and the Duke chimed in, "Shall we pack up those books, Lady Daniela?"

Daniela, completely absorbed now, raised her head from the book, eyes wide. Her pupils snapped towards the paper bag – then to the obnoxious bow atop the giftbox – and then to the Duke. The connection was made, and she grinned ear to ear, "Yes, please!"

The small sack of Lei landed on the table with a metallic clinking, and Daniela got to counting. When the Duke relayed the bill, Ethan noted it wasn't too bad – even if the Duke's employees risked jail time and possibly being shot by the authorities to procure some of these goods. Dying over a jar of sand would be a first; Ethan hoped they at least received hazard pay for their efforts.

In time, the transaction was wrapped up; Daniela and Ethan carried their respective purchases in hand as they took their leave.

"Thank you so much, Duke!" Ecstatic did not begin to cover Daniela's upbeat mood. She was positively radiant with happiness. She hugged the bag of books close to her body, as if her life depended on it. "I can always count on you to get the best selections!"

"Oh, it is always a pleasure, Lady Daniela!" The Duke smiled back. "Do visit again if you are in the market for anything! You as well, Mr. Winters!"

"Yeah," Ethan raised his giftbox. "Thanks for this."

As oddly specific and well-timed as this was.

They filed out of the Duke's Emporium, and not a second later was Daniela pressing to Ethan's side. Her lashes fluttered as she turned up the puppy dog eyes. "Ethan, are you sure you won't read this to me?" She played with the sleeve of his sweater between her finger and her thumb. "We could recreate some of the scenes in this book. I'll even let you call me Miss Steele."

"Not in a million years, Dani." Ethan shook his head as firmly as he could, hoping the heat in his cheeks would stay away this time.

"Hmph," Daniela huffed. "You're no…" Her eyes left Ethan's face, looking past him and towards the stairs leading back to the great hall; tension seeped into her frame, "…fun."

Ethan turned, following the path of Daniela's gaze.

A figure stood at the top of the stairs, positively decked out in winter gear. A dark blue down jacket with a fur-lined hood. A thick scarf. Ski goggles. Heavy duty gloves. Jeans – likely flannel-lined. Boots fit for winter and all-terrain traversal. Snowflakes clung to the figure, coating the hood and the shoulders.

The figure's jacket was, quite notably, covered in dark blood.

Clarity sunk into Ethan's mind with each step the figure took down the stairs, and with it was a hammering blow to his racing heart.

The hood was pulled down, revealing radiant, golden blonde hair – wavy, but tangled in some places. The scarf came down next, unveiling usually pale cheeks, flushed pink; her typically dark lips lacked a shade or two of healthy color. The gloves – also bloody – were pulled off and stuffed into pockets. Finally, the goggles were tugged away, just as she reached the bottom step.

Bela Dimitrescu's honey golden eyes landed on him, and then on Daniela.

"Bela!" Daniela was off in an instant, running to her sister. Her arms spread wide to envelope Bela in a big hug, only for the former to skid to a stop in front of her. Daniela's jaw dropped as she looked Bela up and down, taking in the sight of her, "Did – did you come from outside?" She took in a conspiratorial gasp, then with her free hand, pointed at her clothes, "And is that blood?"

With a mischievous smile, Bela pressed a finger to Daniela's lips, producing a shushing sound. "I was just doing some errands," Quick to shift the topic, Bela moved her hand to the side, running her fingers through Daniela's hair, "Did you just wake up? Your hair is a mess."

Daniela pouted. "I haven't seen you all day and that's the first thing you have to say?"

Bela smiled with such fondness for her sister that it made Ethan's heart ache to watch. She pulled Daniela into a hug, planting a kiss to the redhead's cheek. "I missed you, sweetheart. How have you been?"

It earned a soft giggle from Daniela, who nuzzled right into Bela with an equally sweet smile. She pulled back just enough to look at Bela. Daniela bounced up and down, brimming with giddiness. "Oh, sister – I've had such a wonderful time with Ethan. I've not been this happy in so long!"

Bela's eyes landed back on Ethan, and he felt his world go still. Licking her lips, Bela didn't take her eyes off him as she asked Daniela, "Really now?"

Ethan felt his legs move with a mind of their own – drawn to Bela.

"Yes!" Daniela enthused, "We had so much fun! We fixed up the library, and we did some painting, and –"

Bela had been outside.

Outside, in the freezing cold, where death was a misstep away.

Where lycans prowled around every corner, and Chris and his goons weren't far, looking to shoot every mutant in sight.

Bela had been outside, on a trip that was not even remotely safe, and was covered in blood.

"Errands?" He couldn't help but cut in. His voice interrupted Daniela's excitable recollection of the day's events.

Slowly, Bela pulled out of Daniela's embrace. With eyes still locked to Ethan, she gave her sister a squeeze on the arm, stepping past her. Ethan's gaze flicked down for just a moment – to those hardy boots she wore; boots which did not produce the signature sharp click of her heels.

Ethan's wildly hammering heart did not relent. On the contrary, it only picked up in intensity as Bela neared, and finally stopped just an arm's reach away.

A faint, odd scent clung to Bela's clothes. It was a mixture of all sorts of things: coppery blood, some hints of artificial chemicals, and the sulfurous bite of gunpowder.

At this distance, Ethan could see the dark circles under her eyes – a fair indicator she had been awake for some time.

Which meant she may have been outside for some time as well. Exposed to all the incredibly lethal threats. But she was alive, and here in the flesh. Covered in blood, which was either someone else's or –

Ethan clocked the dark cloth wrapped around her right arm, subtly contrasting the blue of her coat. It was a makeshift bandage.

Bela was hurt.

His heart sped up, beating against his ribcage in a frenzy. The relief she was alive competed with the dread of seeing the injury.

She spoke up first, repeating above a whisper, "Errands."

Ethan's hands fidgeted at his sides, resisting the urge to reel Bela in for a hug then and there. Saving him the trouble, Bela moved first, even if it sent his stomach spinning all over again. Her hand reached out, settling on his cheek.

He pretended not to lean into her touch so obviously.

But he was always bad at pretending.

Bela brushed the space beneath his eye with her thumb, and it took him a second to make the connection – that she was making note of his black eye.

And naturally, once Bela began an assessment, she didn't stop until it was complete. Her warm eyes traveled down, settling over his neck, where the bruises were turning purple, and yellowing at the edges. They trailed down further still – checking his overall condition. He had looked properly fucked up the last time they'd seen each other, after all.

Ethan's hand eventually settled atop Bela's wrist, fingers easing onto the insulated fabric. Those ever-observant eyes landed on his hand – also bruised, after his close call with Daniela. He tried to turn the attention from himself for a change, because he was fine, really – and it was she who was covered in blood, had a bandage on her arm, and had been outside. Gingerly, he squeezed her wrist to get her attention. He had to swallow hard to find his voice again.

"What happened out there?" His voice was soft, and he pointedly glanced at her bandage. "You okay?"

Bela, master of deflection, just slid her gloved hand past his cheek, over to the back of his head. Her amber eyes looked into his – focusing on him like there was nothing else around them. Casually, she whispered, "You have some dried blood in your hair."

Ethan refrained from pointing out the far more obvious blood splattered on her coat.

Instead, he gave her a little smile and shrugged, "Must've missed a spot there."

Bela let out a soft, breathy exhale – a ghost of a laugh. She gave him a warm smile. "Let's get you cleaned up."

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Do please those fave and follow buttons, and send me a comment to let me know how you feel about this chapter, and how hyped you are for the full reunion! Love hearing from you fellas as always!

Once more, I was dancing around my tiny apartment with a knife in hand and un-rusting my old knife classes. I'm more of a longsword boy HEMA practitioner, but hey, I've won second place at a knife tournament before with little training. I even had the bruises on my ribs to show for it. Those wooden knives bruise like mf! It was fun translating that into writing, and dialing it up to eleven given Bela's strength. Lucky for her, the worst she got was a slashed arm. Things may not have worked out as well for her, Igor, and Mikhail if she took that right in the face.

(10 cookies to whoever guesses where the drivers' names came from, without Googling it)

Of course, shoutout to AO3's SneakyHint for giving the inspiration for the 'sand as a gift to Bela' idea, many, many months ago. It's a beautiful idea, and would have been a shame to pass up on it, and so it made it to this chapter here. Also another quick plug of the TV Tropes page they so graciously put together: tvtropes (dot org) / pmwiki/pmwiki. php/Fanfic/BloodandWinter

I know I'm teasing you guys here, but rest assured, the next chapter's already being polished, and slated for the regular release next weekend. Right on time, just before Valentine's Day, eh? I'm positive you'll enjoy it just as much as I enjoyed writing it. The reunion is a whole mini-arc on its own. That special treat I keep mentioning every few author's notes as well? It's coming next update. Don't skip ahead to the end and spoil yourselves. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I think that's it for now. As always, thank you so much for all the support. As tiring as writing can sometimes be, it's also just so fulfilling to hit the right beats and read your warm reception of my work. This story wouldn't be here, and as regularly updated, without all of you fellas. I'll catch you soon now. Stay safe out there!