He raised himself off of her, a slightly embarrassed position. She pulled herself to her knees and hands. He offered a hand to her which she ignored, rising to her feet, wincing at the deep gashes left by the chains, still dragging at her.
She tossed back her hair, and looked Van Helsing right in the eyes, her gaze fixed in a penetrating stare. How long they stood there neither was sure. Suddenly she turned on her heel, and started walking away.
"Uh uh! Uh uh!" Van Helsing found himself calling incredulously. "Where do you think you're going?" He rubbed his fingers, stiff from the blow of the chains.
"Anywhere but here," she called over her shoulder, angrily.
"Turn around and get back here!" he called like he was speaking to an insolent child.
"Bite me!" she called.
"I've proven I can beat you," he called stalking on after her.
"Barely," she snapped back, pulling at one of the chains that had snagged on a tree.
"All the same," he came up behind her. She was still trying to yank herself free. The chain suddenly pulled free, and hit squarely on her gash. She grabbed at the wound, several choice swears issued from her lips that Van Helsing could only assume she'd heard in the bar.
"Well that was ladylike," he said plainly.
"Like you're such a gentlemen," she combated rounding on him. "I can still feel your knee in my back!"
"Sorry about that," that much was true, he spoke it as such. "But how many times do you think I come across a target who's telling the truth?"
"Only as much as you believe they are; which at this rate…" she trailed off turning on her heel again.
Van Helsing put a quick hand to her shoulder, stopping her. "Hey if you want to be a lady you have to say 'please excuse me'." She listened to this pompous banter, and let out a quick laugh, shrugging off his hand.
"I'd give you an etiquette tip; but I'm sure I won't be able to stop at just one." She tried to take a step and faltered, going to her knees, clutching at the slash in her right side, gasping.
Van Helsing acted on instinct. He bent and put her right arm over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" she snapped as he lifted her, her entire weight on him. He leveled her feet to the ground, an awkward position as he was several inches taller than she.
"What's it look like?" he asked conventionally and comfortably.
"Get off of me!" she snapped.
"Oh stop it," he said without an ounce of sympathy.
"Or what?" she challenged.
"Or I'll carry you," the threat wasn't empty.
"What are you a murdering hunter or a gentlemanly saint?" the sentence was dripping with sarcasm. "Make up your mind…" a cry issued from her lips as he bent and grabbed her legs. As he stood she slid onto his shoulder, squirming weakly from loss of blood.
"Told you," he said, she could only manage to fight back faintly for a few more moments, before her head started swimming and she was fighting just to stay conscious.
"So who are you?" Van Helsing asked at length.
She sighed, too tired to fight. "My name is Rosalyn Calcavanti."
"What is that, Italian?" he asked, conventionally as if they were speaking over dinner at the home of a mutual acquaintance.
"Yes," she resigned.
"Where'd you get the werewolf scratch," he asked as they entered the deserted town.
"It's not a-" he cut her off.
"Don't lie to me," he said less pleasantly. He wound his way through the town. He advanced on the building the city was putting him up in, nice place really; when you considered he'd been sleeping on the ground for a week to get there.
She sighed again, "it's a rather long story."
"My favorite kind," he said pushing open a door. This late at night on a full moon all of the townspeople were holed away in safety. Thusly he let himself in with his guest, and climbed the stairs to his room.
It consisted of a sitting room with a small library, a bedroom beyond a door, and an open kitchen and dinning area. The place was comfortably furnished. He was staying in some sort of a guest room in city hall. So it was of a modest variety of fancy. He entered the rooms and set her on an armchair. He put his hand on her forehead and forced her head up, pulling back her hair. She looked defiantly but weakly back; as soon as he opened his lips to let off a smart remark she shot off ominously, "not a word."
She was very pale; he shrugged and crossed immediately to his bags to grab his first aide supplies.
It took a few minutes for him to pick the locks of the chains still bound around her wrists. As he did she began to nod off, fighting to stay awake. As her head stayed down a moment too long and Van Helsing snapped his fingers in front of her face. "Hey, don't fall asleep yet."
She shook her head, "sorry." Her head shot up, and she spoke with new sarcastic vigor, "Wait, no I'm not."
Van Helsing nodded his head a sarcastic look on his face, "cute."
"So who the hell are you supposed to be, hell being the operative word?" she asked.
"Like you said, my name is Van Helsing," he ripped at the fabric he'd cut through on her upper arm. The wound wasn't deep, only making it through skin and a small layer of muscle. He applied a dressing to it and bound it shut.
"A title and surname, what's the first?" she asked.
He glanced up at her face, nothing malicious there, it was an innocent question.
"Gabriel," it was easier than telling the truth.
"The mighty archangel, it's a strong name."
He grunted in response, and started to clean the wounds at her side. He couldn't help whistling. It was more of a purple and black bruise than a cut but it was still bleeding like it had been a dagger. He knew how hard the chains must have been swinging to have broken the skin when they were blunt. He started drawing a rag across the wound to clean off the blood.
She swiped at his hands. "I'll get it," she said viciously. He shrugged, and sat on the arm of a chair conversationally, waiting patiently for her to finish. He started flexing his fingers where the chains had smacked into them. He seemed to catch a little remorse in her stare when she saw him doing it, but she said nothing. Eventually she finished, and started to stand, still weak she fell back into the chair clutching at her head.
"Don't bother," Van Helsing brandished the key to the locked door. He would have preferred having this little powwow somewhere besides his residence; but he had figured it might have come to this.
She sighed, "What do you want?"
"Answers," he responded simply.
"Yes well you won't get any," she said getting a little fire back into her voice.
"I don't want this to get unpleasant," was his only response.
"What's to know?!" she yelled, instant anger welling up in her. "Yes I was scratched by a werewolf; but I don't turn. I'm not the creature you're seeking, can I go now?" Her face was angry but Van Helsing remained calm.
"I want the story, not the punch line."
"Why?! It doesn't help you with your investigation."
"It might, besides I'm curious."
"You'll get nothing out of me," she responded rebelliously but with a certain dignity, holding her head high, despite the difficulty.
Van Helsing shrugged, like it was a pity but nothing more. He made his way over to the small kitchen, and grabbed the first edible thing that met his hand, a piece of bread. He started making some semblance of tea he found in a cupboard.
He caught her reflection in a pot in front of him. She had buried her head in her hands, and was, unless he was mistaken, sobbing quietly. He felt a little pity for her; but ignored it.
Van Helsing was a good judge of people. This was his appraisal from what little he did know about her: from her attitude, when she was banished from her pack she must have fought back. This was a girl who had the lesson that the only one you can trust is yourself taught to her many times. She was stubborn and proud, so she had lived in an environment where she had had to protect herself and she was suspicious of anyone that she didn't see with a clear motive. Her life must have been terrible. When he'd given her help after she'd stumbled she'd been distrustful and confused. No amount of force would crack her; she would stand merely on principle until death.
She lifted her head and looked out a window, wiping at her eyes. The rain started, she had senses like nothing he'd ever seen.
When the hot drink was finished he poured a cup and handed it to her. Her gaze was plainly distrustful, and she didn't try to hide how confusing this was to her. "Thanks," she muttered and took a sip. If she had been crying she was good at hiding it.
Van Helsing waited. Another sigh, she buried her head in her hands, "if I tell you can I leave?"
"Yes," sometimes a cup of tea did more than a knife to the throat could. Normally he wouldn't have cared about some girl, but he had lost his chance to finish of the werewolf killing people and he wanted answers.
"Fine," she pulled her knees to her chest, setting her head on her knees, setting the cup on the arm of the chair.
When she spoke to Van Helsing she wasn't looking at him, she just stared out the window. "It starts out a long time ago, almost fifty years ago. My parents," she hesitated, "my parents were both of my kind. I was conceived in their human state, so when I was born no one knew what to expect. My parents were proud of what they were; if I couldn't turn I might as well have been dead to them. As it turns out, I could. I got older and I took my place in the pack.
"My pack was one of the first to turn together; we'd go into a clearing, far away from people, and hunt the three nights of the full moon. As I got older, one night I wandered away from the group, I got lost for a short time. But it was long enough to find a scouting party of people," she hesitated and her voice turned cold with regret. "I killed them all. When I woke up and saw what I'd done, I panicked. I ran. I left clean, left my pack, left everything behind."
"I went to a new town and," she hesitated and Van Helsing could tell she was mentally editing her story, "and there I decided I was never going to turn again. I got bigger chains, went far, far away from any people and chained myself to a tree." Suddenly her glare shifted accusingly toward Van Helsing, "you have no idea what its like to try and resist turning. It's painful, its heart wrenching, basically it's to suffer temporary insanity."
"But after a while I got the hang of it. When one of the pack found me, they thought I'd gotten lost," she explained. "He was so happy to have found me. When I told him I'd left," she couldn't suppress a shudder, and she shamefully buried her head in her arms again. "He attacked, I was stronger; but whether out of pity or anger, he scratched me." She sat in silence for a moment, until she lifted her head from her lap again; her face was set and cold this time.
"I don't pretend to understand how turning works when you're a half-Were or when the moon isn't full, or it's hidden, all I know is I can turn, and trust me it is oh so tempting at times," her gaze was contemptuous. "But I don't."
"Then why go out into the forest and chain yourself to a tree?" he asked respectively.
Her gaze was an insult to his intelligence, "for the safety of these people. I won't mess something up and kill all these people. I know there's been another Were around on the full moons, I can sense him. I would have done something myself; but I'd be putting these people in danger. It's easier to stop turning when you're away from other Weres, or you can hear them calling. As long as I'm away from the temptation that is other Weres I am safe though.
Van Helsing nodded, and tossed the key into her lap, before turning and entering into his own room, without a second thought to the Were who could doubtless find her own way out.