A/N: Apologies for the delay in updating - something else took over my mind for a while. I needed the break - this fic is starting to feel a bit epic, and was in danger of completely taking over my life! Sorry!

"He's alive," Holmes gasped, and, scooping Watson into his arms, he staggered to his feet, lifted his friend easily, and placed him on the bed. Gently lying Watson's head down on the pillow, Holmes loosened his collar and tie, checking his temperature and breathing, all the while keeping a close eye on the Countess, working one-handed, the other hand keeping the special gun trained on her at all times. Watson was freezing, his lips tinged blue with cold; his breathing shallow, pulse weak. Holmes was already tucking a blanket around him even as the Countess stood, and folded her arms, frowning.

"He cannot be alive," she scowled, "the longest a wolf ever survived in my nets was ten minutes, and he has been tied up for twice as long as that…"

"Watson is no ordinary werewolf," Holmes replied, realising the incongruity of the statement even as he worried silently at the doctor's unresponsive state, "as you would have realised had you given him a chance!"

"I do not give wolf-kind chances!" snapped the Countess, "I kill them before they can kill me!"

Holmes crossed around to the other side of the bed, so that he could sit on it without disturbing Watson, despite his apparently comatose state. Holmes leaned back against the headboard, crossed his legs in front of him on the bed, and fixed the Countess with his most piercing glare, keeping the gun pointed levelly at her chest.

"Madam," he said, in an icy, dangerous tone, "I know what you are, and what your husband was before you killed him in cold blood. I have my suspicions as to your two loyal guardians, who seem neither one kind nor the other. I can deduce the long-standing animosity between your two species; that much is glaringly obvious. What I do not know is the reason for this apparently senseless conflict."

"I am surprised your own pet dog hasn't told you."

"Watson is nobody's mere pet, and I would thank you not to speak of him as such! His conversion is very recent; if there is a reason for your feud then it is unknown to both of us."

"Then he is indeed unique – I had thought that the hatred we share was instinctive by now."

"You avoid the question, madam!" Holmes snapped, "I would ask you, for once, to give me an honest answer. What have you to lose?"

"What have I to gain?" she rejoined, "you may think that you have the upper hand here, Mr Holmes, but one does not reach my age without having a few tricks up one's sleeve…"

"I would advise against trying any of those supposed tricks, madam, while I still possess this gun."

The Countess threw back her head and laughed, revealing her unnaturally sharp fangs, before she grinned at him, dangerously.

"You do amuse me, Mr Holmes; perhaps enough for me to enslave you to my side for all eternity," she told him, her voice holding an edge of malice, "very well… I will tell you what you wish to know, if only because it will amuse me to see your reaction…"

I remember all too well, sitting in the Countesses' room upon that old bed, with you lying beside me, old fellow. I could not believe the effect that the silver had upon you, but more remarkable to the Countess was that you were still alive. You are different from other wolves, Watson… and I am thankful for that fact.

The Countess was old, older than I had imagined… she was experienced, and clever; that much was clear. A vampire does not live as long as she without being intelligent, as so many were burned at the stake or hunted down by Slayers in darker times, before vampires and wolves passed into the realms of folklore and mythology. I believe that a theologian once said that Satan's greatest trick was to convince the world that he did not exist… it is a vampire's greatest defence that the world no longer believes in them.

At first, I thought that I had gone mad, Watson. I gave up cocaine shortly after your Change, thinking that your warnings had come true and that I had finally damaged my mind beyond repair. I scarcely dared to believe what was happening, fearing incarceration in Bedlam, to be pointed out and jeered at by the two-penny public… but it was all true.

I have since observed the varying powers that vampires possess – I have seen those that can fly, or change their shape, or place thoughts in a man's mind as if they were his own. But until we met the Countess, I had no idea of what they are truly capable of.

Holmes leaned over Watson, trying to get a response from the unconscious man, even as the Countess spoke.

"I am Spanish by decent," she told him, "I was turned to darkness in the year of our lord 1638, when I was barely one score years and four. I married the man who brought about my conversion and we travelled here, to this country; we spent many years together. We lived and fed well until he was killed by a Slayer… the word means nothing to you?"

"I can deduce the meaning from your inference."

"I thought that you might. It is a dead profession now, I am glad to say, since our kind are now widely believed to be a mere myth. I, however, survived. I met another noble of mixed English and Spanish decent, and, hiding my nature from him, I married him. That was the Count Jeremiah Joseph de Silva… he was not a mangy werewolf then. I came to know that he was bitten by a wolf but six months after our wedding, in some clandestine agreement he had with an elderly uncle of his to take over the territory when the old man became too infirm to defend it. He did not reveal his nature to me at all!"

The Countess broke off her narrative to slowly pace the room, watched by her loyal dogs. Holmes remained sitting calmly on the bed, absorbing the information she poured out, his hand resting on Watson's shoulder. The doctor's skin was still a deathly pale-grey, but he was breathing evenly, and Holmes kept the majority of his attention on the woman before him.

"So; my fine young husband was turned cur, before I could make him into a noble blood-lord," the Countess spat, folding her arms and glaring across at Holmes, as if the perceived slight was his fault. "Little did I realise it at the time, though he no doubt realised my true nature the moment he first scented me after his change – their sense of smell is one of their few advantages over my kind. So, unwittingly, I allowed myself to lie with him as a dutiful wife should; it was only when one of those unions had an unexpected side-effect that I knew something was amiss… under normal circumstances, a dead womb such as my own should not bear fruit. I realised nothing until my skirts grew tighter and my blood-hunger drove me to feed on the cattle of neighbouring farmers on an almost daily basis. I was so very nearly discovered…"

"Isaac and Ishtar," Holmes commented, and the two hounds looked across at him in response to their names.

"My dogs," the Countess confirmed, an edge of disdain in her voice, "born mongrels of vampire and wolf, with all of our weaknesses and none of our strengths. Their human form is too deformed for words; their wolf-form little more than skinny mongrels. Still, these two at least are fairly strong, and loyal to their mother, aren't you, curs?"

"Yes, mother," the two half-wolves whined in unison, dipping their heads momentarily.

"I knew that something was amiss with my husband's nature as soon as I realised I was pregnant. I fled my home in my seventh month, and hid in the Scottish highlands. I found a farmer's cottage, feeding first on him and his family, and then on his cattle. After I gave birth, I then hunted for my… offspring… to feed their blood-hunger until they were old enough to do it for themselves… of course, as soon as I gave birth to… to puppies! I discovered the feral nature of my betrothed. I was violated by a filthy mongrel! I would have tied them in a bag and dropped them in a river, as one should with a mongrel whelp, but I decided that they might be useful to me in my hunt. I swore an oath at that moment to kill him and any other member of his race for what he had become and what he had done to me. During my hunts he has begged me to reconsider, claiming our species could live in harmony, that humans were our real enemy, but he was wrong. Their kind are fit only as pets, aren't you, you flea-bitten whelps?"

"We are loyal and obedient mongrels, mother," Isaac confirmed, and Ishtar whined in agreement.

"Good boy, Isaac."

On the bed, Watson stirred and groaned. Holmes gently gripped his shoulder, silently willing him to stay down and stay quiet; he doubted that the Countess de Silva would allow his friend to leave the room alive without some convincing.

"Vampires and werewolves are at war," Holmes said, aloud, hoping to continue gleaning information from his suddenly talkative hostess, "why?"

The Countess responded with a lazy shrug; "That, Mr Holmes, is not the business of a mere mortal. Unless you would like to be turned to our ways… you would make a most noble blood lord."

"Madam, I have no desire to drink the blood of my fellow man," Holmes replied, disgusted, "though I admit to some curiosity as to what you intend to do now? I cannot prove that you have murdered your husband as you killed him while he was in wolf form. Even I would have an extraordinarily difficult time in proving to Scotland Yard that you were a vampire married to a werewolf, whom you subsequently murdered while he was in wolf-form. I would certainly find myself on the way to Bedlam before I could finish my tale."

"But I cannot let you live," the Countess pointed out, "especially not your cherished pet. He may have somehow survived my silver leeching-net; I doubt he would fare so well against a silver bullet. Were I to let you go, no doubt you would hunt me down and slay me as you first intended."

She folded her arms, as if daring him to disagree with her. Leaning forwards on the bed, the detective pointed a thin finger at her.

"I have only ever killed in self-defence," Holmes declared, firmly, "loathe as I am to allow a criminal to walk free, it would not be the first time that I have done so, whether by choice or circumstance. And I can assure you that Watson has no interest in your ancient war, no matter the politics behind it. You are quite safe from us, Madam, provided that you leave London and give me your word that you will not return."

In response to a very slight movement from his companion, Holmes glanced down at Watson, who was watching him through half-closed eyes. Holmes was pleased to note that there was some colour returning to his face, though he was still terribly cold and pale.

"I find it hard to believe that you would allow me to leave so easily after you came here intending to kill me, Mr Holmes," Countess de Silva fixed him with a stern glare, "and your dog can stop pretending to be asleep. Bid him to sit!"

She laughed, a shrill, unpleasant sound, as Watson slowly levered himself into a sitting position, slumped back against the bedstead. He fixed the Countess with a dark glare, but said nothing, and instead growled low in the back of his throat. On the floor, one of the wolves… dogs… hounds… Holmes did not know what to call the poor half-bred creatures… growled as if in reply. The Countess frowned.

"What does he say, Isaac?" she snapped, "Does he conspire with his human master?"

Isaac whined, wordlessly, ears flat against his skull like a scolded puppy. By the door, Ishtar gave a dismayed yelp as the Countess got to her feet, anger crossing her countenance. Holmes felt Watson tense beside him, as the Countess drew a riding-crop from the umbrella stand by the door. Both Isaac and Ishtar visibly cringed, whining.

"Do not deceive your mother!"

The Countess raised the riding crop above her head, and Isaac cowered, terrified. Holmes could see that, like the netting, the riding crop was laced with silver decoration. Watson growled again, shifting slightly on the bed; the sound was odd to Holmes's ears, incongruous with Watson's usual easy-going temperament.

Holmes was on the verge of questioning the doctor's strange behaviour, when a sudden, powerful shove sent him off the edge of the bed. With a yelp of protest, Holmes found himself sprawled face-down on the dusty, wooden floorboards.

"Watson!"

Holmes groaned as he levered himself up from the floor, his head still pounding and the bruise on his cheek throbbing in tandem. He quickly recovered himself and scrambled to his knees just in time to see his friend in mid-leap, transformed to wolf, teeth bared, even as his torn clothing fell away in tatters. With claws outstretched, Watson tackled the Countess and slammed her to the floor, standing over her, effectively pinning her arms to the floor as he stood over her, teeth bared in a snarl. Holmes slowly got to his feet, fastidiously brushing dust from his black suit.

"I am certainly glad to see that you are feeling better, old chap," Holmes commented, retrieving the revolver from where he had dropped it, "but I do wish you had found a less dramatic way of demonstrating it. And you accuse me of having a penchant for theatrics! Now, madam…" Holmes crouched down next to the Countess, who hissed at him in wordless fury, "What are we to do now…?"

Holmes held the gun pointed down at her, standing over the captive vampire, as the Countess's eyes narrowed; "You wouldn't dare…!"

"Madam," Holmes purred, "believe me when I say I would. I have been educating myself on a lot of folklore since Watson's transformation. I would use this gun on you without hesitation, just as I would use it upon an enemy werewolf."

"He would," Watson confirmed, with a growl, "I have seen him do it."

Holmes adjusted his grip on the revolver, even as the Countess struggled ineffectively against Watson.

"Isaac! Ishtar! Tear them apart!"

The two half-breeds whined and cowered; tails between their legs, too terrified to act. Watson growled low in his throat; Isaac barked at him and then whined. Holmes had a feeling that a conversation was taking place; one that he was not privy to. The Countess hissed her fury, but quieted immediately when Holmes knelt down and pressed the gun meaningfully to her throat.

"It seems, Countess, that our roles are reversed," Holmes told her, meaningfully, "We find ourselves at the same impasse you reached with your husband… either capable of killing the other, depending on who intends to make the next move…"

"Then we must bargain," the Countess concluded, after a moment's pause, "let me go, Holmes, and I will leave London and I will not come back… in your lifetime, at least. This much I am willing to swear to."

"I would bind you not to take a further human life," Holmes told her, "I know you can survive on cattle animals…"

"And Isaac and Ishtar stay here," Watson said, bluntly, "You have no need of them now that your husband is dead."

The Countess laughed; "Do you really think I would give up my most nourishing food and my loyal body guards? Fool! Mangy dog! I will whip the flesh from your hide with a lathe of silver!"

Holmes heard a low growl, and at first thought it was Watson. Then, he turned, and realised that it was one of the half-breeds; Isaac. Holmes could easily identify him by a distinctive patch of white fur on his nose. Ishtar, of a generally much whiter pelt all over, hesitated, and then joined in with a toothy snarl.

"We are not dogs," Isaac growled, "not mutts or mongrels or curs or hounds or slaves… not flea-bitten, not useless, not weak… we are wolves!"

The Countess snarled a curse at them all, and Holmes found himself vaguely amused by the transformation from elegant lady to spitting, hissing alley-cat. The Countess did not have to change her shape to make an even more marked transformation than Watson was capable of.

Isaac and Ishtar hung back, pressed together, whining and growling quietly as Watson continued to pin down the Countess.

"Your answer, Madam," Holmes demanded, "Will you agree to our terms?"

"Holmes," the Countess said, firmly, "I will destroy you for this."

Watson yelped in amazement when he found himself pinning down nothing but black smoke. The Countess's laughter hung in the room as the black cloud dissipated around the stunned Watson, gathered in the air above him, and evaporated up the chimney.

Holmes dashed to the window and flung it open, leaning out, just in time to see the black wisp of smoke reform and solidify back into the human form of the Countess, resplendent in her mourning black. Standing beneath him on the ground below, she glanced up, waved to him, and disappeared down an alley-way.

Holmes swore, and thumped the windowsill. There was no way that he could catch her now.

It is not a trick that I have seen any other vampire perform, but it was effective. I believe that each vampire develops a very specific set of skills, where wolves generally have the same characteristics. As a vampire grows older, their power increases – we have heard mutterings of vampires who have lived since the time of Christ, but I have seen no evidence to support this… I hope I never shall – the very idea fills me with a cold fear, Watson… I hope that you will not think me a coward for my fear… but such a vampire could well destroy the world.

Ducking back into the Countess's room, Holmes found Isaac and Ishtar cowering in the corner, even as Watson got to his feet, shaking himself off.

"Sorry, Holmes," he groaned, "I haven't quite pulled myself together yet. That silver net nearly did for me. How did she do that?"

"Do not dwell on it, old boy," Holmes replied, with forced nonchalance, "So. There is another vampire loose in London. The question falls to me; do I have to hunt and kill her? I must say I find the idea slightly abhorrent; I am a detective, not a…a vampire slayer."

"If we don't stop her, she might carry out her threat to kill you," Watson pointed out.

Holmes made a non-committal noise, as he crossed to the settee and sat down. Watson sat on his haunches, watching him silently.

"I find this situation most… frustrating, Watson," Holmes admitted, at length, "I have revelled in the pursuit of knowledge, but knowledge of the supernatural? Preposterous, yet here I find myself…"

"You are talking to a werewolf, Holmes," Watson pointed out, with a growl of a laugh, unable to keep amusement out of his tone, "but the Countess… what are we to do about her?"

"Mother," Isaac whined, softly, mournfully.

Ishtar gave a low growl and a yip, whining. Holmes glanced across at the two large dogs; each was only about half of Watson's size. Still; they were big, for dogs... They sat together, side by side, heads bowed. Watson also looked across at them, and growled something. Ishtar nodded; an almost comical gesture for a dog to make.

"Sorry," Isaac murmured, in an old, yelping speech, with the hesitancy of someone not used to speaking, "mother rarely let us talk people-speak. People-speak is for intelligent people, not stupid animals…"

"Isaac, isn't it?" Watson said, kindly.

"Yes. This is my sister, Ishtar."

Isaac moved his head and gently licked his sister's nose. Isaac had a single patch of white fur on his nose, but overall his coat was mostly dark brown dappled with grey. Ishtar was a much lighter colour, a chestnut brown with grey and white fur. They were both extremely thin, with patchy fur and large, terrified brown eyes.

"The Countess is really your mother? You are half-vampire?"

"Mother says we are too much dog and not enough vampire," Ishtar hung her head, "we cannot fly, or change our shape – we can do people-shape but mother said it was too much moon-wolf-shape. We cannot do what our sister…"

Isaac gave a sharp, terrified bark, and Ishtar flinched – both of them backed up against the wall, heads flicking quickly around the room as if looking for some unseen terror. Watson, despite his canine appearance, managed a very human-looking frown; "Your sister? There is another half-breed?"

"Not allowed to talk about it," Isaac shook his head, fearfully, "Not allowed…"

"Not allowed," echoed Ishtar, as terrified as her brother, "Dangerous to talk about her. Not allowed."

"You can tell us," Holmes said, encouragingly.

Isaac whined, pawed the ground, and shook his head. Watson sighed, and tried another tack.

"I see. Very well… tell me; what happens to you at full moon?"

Ishtar cocked her head to one side, questioningly. Isaac glanced at her, and then at Watson; "Nothing happens."

"You do not change, or get… different?"

"No. We get… hungry… but nothing happens. We eat, we feel better."

Watson made a thoughtful humming noise, and then glanced across at Holmes. The detective folded his arms, looking down at the two cowed half-wolves.

"Your mother… Where will she go?" Holmes demanded.

"Don't know," Isaac replied, holding up one paw in a submissive gesture, "mother has abandoned us! Mother will hunt us and kill us like the dogs we are!"

The two of them dissolved into a low, wordless whine, which Watson silenced with a sharp bark. They looked up at him in canine surprise; ears alert, heads on one side. Holmes, had he been reading one of Watson's florid stories, would have expected a simile involving a pair of bookends to describe their appearance…

"That's better," the doctor-wolf said, at last, "you're wolves? Fine. You want to live here? Fine. But you work for Holmes and I now, not your mother. You can live in this city, and roam wherever you may, but there will be rules. You will not hunt, kill, or hurt any human being – there are plenty of rats and strays for you to feed on. You will not be seen by humans in daylight. You will not bite any human to turn them wolf, nor any dog or other creature. You will only speak human tongue to Holmes or myself. You will follow any instruction from Holmes as if it had come from me. You will come to us when we call – Holmes will summon you with three blasts on this whistle… Holmes?"

To demonstrate, Holmes took his high-pitched dog whistle from his pocket, and blew down it. The sound it made was barely audible to him, but all three of the wolves flinched. Watson shook his head, and turned back to the twins. "In return, we will feed, shelter and protect you if and when you need it. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir!" both of them barked.

"Good! Now go – out through that window. Track your mother's scent, find out where she is hiding, and call for me as soon as you find her. Go!"

And so I come to Isaac and Ishtar, the Countesses' poor, abused children. I have taken any number of orphans, street urchins and cast-offs into my collection of Irregulars, but these two hounds are in a class of their own…

The effects of the silver net had not quite worn off for you. Exposure to silver leaves you so weakened, my dear Watson. I remember my first experiments with smelting silver to cast a bullet – several hours later you returned and fell into a dead faint at the fumes in the room! It is like a fast-acting poison to you, whether it breaks your skin or not. I do not know why you should be do affected by it, but then again I do not understand how a man can become a beast just because the moon is full!

Oh, my dear fellow – I wish that I were able to explain more to you about your condition, and to help you… but all I can do is record my recollections and observations…

I hope that, one day, you will find true peace..

On Watson's barked command, both half-wolves leapt cleanly through the window, scrambled down the fire escape, and were gone. Holmes raised an eyebrow as Watson sat down again, turning his attention back to the detective.

"I will assume that you believe that they can be trusted," Holmes said, dryly.

"They've been waiting to follow another wolf all of their lives," Watson replied, glancing over his furry shoulder at the open window, "I think their mother deliberately kept them apart from their father to avoid them forming a pack."

"And now there is a pack of wolves in London," Holmes realised, "albeit a small one of only four, if you count Hemmingway…"

"A pack of wolves which works for you, Holmes," Watson reminded him, with a long yawn and a very canine stretch, which left deep claw-marks in the floorboards, "Damn, Holmes – that's the third suit I've ruined in as many weeks. I'm going to have to start carrying around a change of clothes!"

"Well, we can't stay here all day," Holmes remarked, getting to his feet, "we should probably follow the Countess, if we can. How are you feeling, old chap?"

"Fine, Holmes, just fine…"

"Excellent. I appreciate that you will have to keep that shape for now; do try to look like a domesticated pet, will you? We are bound to be observed, I should like to be able to pass you off as a normal hound."

"Oh, thank you very much," Watson snorted, jumping out through the window, as Holmes followed, "I do so enjoy being taken for walkies."

Holmes reached the bottom of the fire escape, just as Watson bounded gracefully past him, and then paused, glancing over his shoulder.

"Come on, Holmes, do keep up," Watson called, mischievously, "Or should I just shout 'heel' every time you fall behind?"

Holmes could not resist. He drew himself up to his full height, assumed a stern expression, and pointed imperiously to a spot just behind his own foot.

"Physician," he commanded, "Heel thyself!"

It took you a long time to accept what you are, Watson – many people would assume that the benefits you gained were worth the very few disadvantages. But how could they… how could I… ever hope to understand what you were going through? I know that changing forms caused you unspeakable pain, and that you could no longer touch silver made so many small things impossible to do. I recall one evening dining at a restaurant, and you were completely unable to eat because the cutlery was silver!

But by this stage, you were forming your pack – Hemmingway, despite his protestations, was afraid of you and would not dare cross you. Isaac and Ishtar adored you for freeing them from their mother's tyranny – between them, these three wolves were ultimately loyal to you. This does not surprise me – you are a trustworthy fellow, Watson, and an experienced commander.

What surprised me was that you chose not to be the leader of the pack.

You gave that role to me.