Night had fallen, and the sound of cracking wood in a fireplace filled the space. The cottages insulation was poor, but a fire and sheep-wool blankets kept the cold out just fine.
Ging Freecs had not built this home, but he gladly had taken it for himself when he left his true home shortly after the birth of his only son. He didn't need much, except for clothes on his back and food in his stomach.
Of course, there had been times when even that hadn't been a given. Fingertips swollen from cold weather, and not knowing when a fresh meal would cross his path. An existence almost not worth living, an existence that he knew he wasn't the only one suffering through it. An existence and a curse.
He wondered if his son had already started showing first symptoms of lycanthropy, reminisced his own claws and teeth growing, sharpening, and the ever-growing need for raw, fresh meat. His first hunt, his first successful kill, the first taste of flesh freshly separated from a living organism. The nostalgia got cut short by Gings' stomach rumbling. Three more days till the next hunt. Got to stay patient if I don't want to get my ass beat., he tried to convince himself. But someone else had started taking livestock from Yorknews farms. In some parts of the country, hunting in a werewolf's' territory was an open invitation for conflict. Even though Yorknew wasn't Gings official territory, having someone else reap his prey would cause problems in the long run.
He had kept a schedule. Not by choice, of course, but it worked. Set days for when he could reap livestock from certain marked farms, neatly organized with little patterns as to not raise suspicions. It kept him fed without causing too much trouble for himself or others. But now someone else is causing trouble for me. Reaping at the same farm as the unknown threat would become too much of a trouble for the farmer, and multiple livestock going missing from different farms in a span of a few days would make people more alert and willing to set up traps. Not to mention the rumours that sheep weren't the only thing going missing. Ging bitterly chewed on the inside of his cheek.
Suddenly, frantic knocking startled him out of his chair. An angry mob- no, my son- no, my sister-, no-
"Ging! Please open, Ging!" The familiar voice pulled him out of his panic. Cheadle Yorkshire, the person who (begrudgingly) saved him from deaths door. It had been a couple of years already, but this had been the first time he had heard her voice so strained, so…fearful.
Ging opened the door, and immediately got pushed aside. The door snapped shut, and the younger woman pressed her shaking body against it, as if trying to prevent it from breaking down any second. She was pale, gasping for air, hair and clothes messed up. The people not a fan of the new church tax? Before he could even try to snap a remark, Cheadle gasped once more for air, "I want to take that favour you owe."
It had been a couple of years ago. Ging had been run out of yet another village and had been wandering the mountains for days. A streak of unsuccessful hunts had left him with little strength, causing him to eventually collapse in the deep woods.
Maybe dying in nature isn't so bad. I can listen to the birds, that I can't catch, mocking me. The sun is gonna keep me nice and warm. These mushrooms can use me as fertilizer, so at least someone can eat. These shoes can use me as soil to trample on- Shoes?
"Hey, are you okay?" A young woman had crouched down and turned to look at the weak man. She was clad in white, and next to her stood a basket with freshly picked mushrooms.
"I think I'm dying." Ging tried not to get dirt in his mouth while mustering the energy to speak. "I haven't eaten in days."
He could feel her mustering him from head to toe. His headdress hiding his ears had most likely come undone, his claws had gone uncut for weeks, and his fangs were uncomfortably shifting over his lips when speaking.
The young woman's brows furrowed.
"Spare silver bullet, ma'am?" Gings dry throat ached when he spoke, but he wanted to at least die with a sly grin on his lips.
"Do you only eat meat?" Her soft voice didn't match her calculated tone.
"It's the only thing that gives me energy."
"Do you eat humans?"
"Never, not once in my life." He didn't miss a beat in his reply. Whoever this was, he wanted the person to witness his death know he had some semblance of honour. Through all struggles, all desires and hunger, never had he attacked a human.
"Do you want to live?"
The rest of the day was a blur. Ging didn't remember how she had helped him up, practically carried him to a small chapel. He didn't remember if they had talked at all on the way, if he had even answered her question.
But he remembered the smell of fresh blood. Remembered the woman walking into the small backroom of the chapel and presenting him with a plate of raw meat, still holding a bloodied knife, and placing a second plate on the altar.
They exchanged names after Ging had come back to his senses. It took 3 plates of freshly cut lamb, and an entire pitcher of cold water.
"My name is Cheadle Yorkshire, newly admitted High Priestess of Yorknew." The line sounded practiced and yet stilted.
Ging licked the plate clean of any leftover juices. "Well, Cheadle Yorkshire, what gives that you'd risk your newly admitted position for a dog like me?"
She grabbed the plate from him with a grimace, before disregarding it to the edge of the table. "Isn't it the virtuous thing to do, to help someone in need?"
"You know what I am, I could easily turn this village into a slaughterhouse."
"A dying man rarely lies; you could have attacked me on the spot."
"So you assume."
Cheadle hesitated, "So I assume. I've never met someone of your… affliction."
"I guess most werewolves are better at surviving than I am." He scratched his beard that had already gotten past a tolerable length for him.
"Do you have a place to stay?"
"I saw a pretty comfortable cave on my way."
Cheadle rolled her eyes, "So you want to go back into the woods, and potentially starve, again?"
"Maybe I'll die of thirst for a change."
For a few seconds, there was silence. Ging grew uneasy under Cheadle's sharpened gaze, until she finally sighed, and turned to look out of a small stained-glass window.
"If you'd be offered help, shelter, and secure food income, would you take it?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Would you offer it, free of charge?"
"Nothing in life is free, Ging Freecs, not even gods grace. But all that I ask of you, is that someday you'll return the favour. Don't be useless to me."
Ging waited for Cheadle to have taken a couple of deep breaths, though her eyes were quickly darting around. "What the hell happened?"
"Someone is after my life- I mean, I think I know who abducted all those people, and he tried to take me with him and, oh Lord, he must be-" She stumbled over her words between gasps and clutching at her heart, as if it took all of her strength to recall what happened. Finally, she raised her head, starring directly at the werewolf.
"I think we are dealing with a vampire. Maybe a full covenant of them."
Ging felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up, and grinded his teeth. Suddenly he felt hyper aware of an invading presence, closing in.
He looked out of his window, and deep in the woods, shrouded in darkness, glowing eyes looked back at him. Unmoving, unblinking.
"They are not going to attack you here; invading werewolf territory wouldn't be in their favour." He drew the dusty curtains close, as if they were a second barrier.
"Let me stay here until dawn regardless." Cheadle's breathing had seemed to have calmed down and took a step away from the door.
"Is that the favour you're asking for?"
"No" The Priestess straightened her posture, "I am asking you to eliminate Pariston Hill."
Ging raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't seem very, you know" He waved his hand around, "Virtuous? Righteous? Forgiving? Holy?"
Suddenly, she stepped forward, fists clenched, until she was only a few inches away from his face. "That monster is merely disguising himself as a human; God has abandoned his soul when he first tasted human blood, and once again when he chose to attack and threaten a holy Priestess. There is no redemption for this monster, death is the only solution to such a pathetic existence."
"And you want me to be the executioner?"
She pressed her index finger into his chest, "You owe me, Ging Freecs. Take his life and save your own and those of everyone living here."
"Only in exchange for four things, which will help me with this task, your holiness." He brushed her finger away quickly.
Cheadle leaned back again, mustering his face. "What do you need?"
"A stake, a cross, holy water, and of course" Ging flashed a grin, "a 'please'."
"I should have let you decompose in the dirt where you were laying!"
"But you didn't! Now give me what I need, it's of utmost importance for my mission." He indulged happily in getting a rise out of the young priestess.
"You are vile, dirty, and almost as inhumane as Pariston, so please go and get him and yourself killed!" Her voice was still at a controlled volume, but Ging could easily tell that he had successfully robbed her of her last nerve. She pushed past him and headed into the small guest room. The door closed behind her, and a lock clicked.
And Ging suddenly realized he had just been hired as a hitman by the church.