Watch Me By Moonlight

Part 1

I can still feel it, on nights like tonight, when the full moon gallops riderless across a clear sky.  All the stars, the constellations I have known instinctively since the day of my foundling birth by the Order, all pale to insignificance beside that wonder of creation.

Throughout the whole of these long nights my eyes find no closure, my body no rest, no matter how weary or pained I might be, no matter what plans or purpose I may be pursuing.  Incessantly, at some imperative as far beyond my control as the beating of my heart, my eyes turn toward that pale white ghost, dragging my heart, my blood with them, and I feel it within me.

The savagery of the beast is diminished, suppressed to the point of non-existence.  My own hunter's instincts are still the only ones that control my actions, my strength still that of training rather than sorcery.

No, the beast that prowls my blood and turns my head to the heavens on these nights is not the bloodthirsty one that drank Anna's blood so eagerly, not recognizing the scent of its mate 'til the time for recognition was gone and all it could do was voice the keening cry of mourning that rose unchecked by dignity from its throat.

Dignity suffered often that night.  Even Carl, innocent Carl who takes some strange pleasure in cursing and has more pride than any friar less talented or in an order less needy would have been allowed… even Carl must have felt his dignity tarnished to hold a half-mad, half-frozen monster hunter in his arms.  Neither of us has ever mentioned that week, but I can sense that he thinks of it often, just as he worries over these current nights, when the full moon becomes the beginning and ending of my world.

He needn't fear, though.  Anna did slay the blood-hunting beast.  The beast that remained is one that might have been born in my own heart ages from now, the pure essence of the werewolf, untainted by the sins of man or beast.

Freedom.  A lust for the utter freedom of the werewolf rushes through my veins as the moon caresses my being, completely oblivious to my existence, unaware and immune to the effect it causes.

It was not duty or honor or vengeance that drove my wolf form at Dracula.  The beast that I became was not unintelligent, nor was it incapable of emotion… it simply had little care for mine.  No bloodlust, no heady intoxication of power, no pain launched me at the vampire's throat during that first drive.  It was the sense of danger that my wolf form drew from Dracula, a danger that it formed as much from the vampire's actions and stance as from my memory, a terrible danger that would not have touched life or limb that drove claws and teeth forward.

Werewolves were never created for cages.  They are creatures of freedom born for the night, creatures that become dangerous, vicious as their desire to remain free is tainted by a desire for power, the ultimate power over life and death.

For a man who has allowed his actions to be led by others his entire life, it was a heady feeling indeed, and I can't help but smirk as I wonder what pains Jinette and the Order would experience if they knew what new paths my mind had wandered that night, continues to wander three night out of every month.  Would they pale to know that their puppy had begun to not just gnaw at his string but to tear at it?

Would they try to kill the pup before he could become a danger?

If that were their intent, then they would fail.  There are no human hunters who can match me, of that I am certain, and the Order take their vows too seriously to deal with demons.  Their only choice would be Carl, and from him I know I have nothing to fear.

Carl is watching me again.  I can feel his gaze, can picture perfectly the look of mixed anxiety, pity, caring, and exasperation on his face.

He's finally begun to realize the pattern that determines which nights I neglect sleeping and keep watch the whole night.

"Van Helsing, I swear you have to choose the rockiest places to make camp!  No matter where I try to sleep I'm going to end up with a bruise."

The petulant note to the friar's voice is as much the cause for the short snort of laughter as the words.  Of all the things he might have said, that was the most unexpected… and thus the most expected and welcomed.

"So you've tried every strip of ground in a fifty foot radius, then?"  I would turn my gaze from the heavens to my companion, but my eyes refuse my command.  On these nights it seems that only mortal peril could break the hypnotic hold of that bright white orb.

"No.  I neglected the ones where the damned stones showed themselves like decent fiends."

Carl's voice trips slightly over the 'damned', but I know he's grinning happily to himself all the same.  How this man ever decided to enter the church is beyond me, but I still thank whatever angel or demon whispered the suggestion into his ear.

"If you're asleep you won't feel anything."

"Yes, but it's the getting to sleep part that's proving rather difficult."  A thrashing to my left accents the remark as Carl shifts positions yet again.

"At least the stones aren't trying to eat you.  Unless they do, I'm afraid there's not much I can do to help you.  Do holler if they sprout teeth, though."

Dead silence reigns for a moment, and I smile slightly, knowing that Carl will be searching his mind for any reference to flesh-eating stone monsters.  It's become a bit of a game—I either invent or describe a monster, and he tries to either call me on it or name it.

"Do you mean carnivorous stones as in the type I'm sleeping on, or carnivorous stones as in… I don't know… statues that someone brought to life?"

Silence is the only answer I'm willing to give, and for a short while my companion is completely still.

"Are you planning on taking the whole watch tonight, or will you give me a fair share?"

Any hint of a smile vanishes rapidly.  Carl will usually pursue a game to the point that I'm ready to slay him instead of whatever I'm hunting, and he tends to avoid tension just as avidly as some men avoid the plague.  For him to ask me that…

"If I'm tired I'll wake you."

Carl doesn't answer, but I can hear him moving towards my position as quietly as he can.  I school my features, careful not to give any hint that I hear him.  He pauses for a moment, hesitant, two feet to the left of me.

The step that ghosts him into my peripheral vision is the only one that is truly silent, worthy of any hunter.

Even with most of my vision centered on the moon as it glides across the sky, I can see the intense relief on his face, hear the sigh that accompanies it.

"No gold?"

Carl shakes his head, answering my wry grin with a shaky smile.  "No gold.  I'm sorry…"

"Don't be.  Now will you sleep?  If there're clear nights for the next two days, at least one of us will need to be rested."

Some of the relief drains away, but he nods anyway, moving back to the camp and settling down quickly.

It is over an hour before his breathing takes on the steady rhythm of true sleep.

No, there is no gold in my eyes… but still the same curse in my veins.