I'll keep this short: the idea of doing an AU like this had been in my mind since Day One, but it wasn't until I found the great artwork of gokhan20 that it finally took form. I've had this story sitting on my desktop for months now, so I'm excited to finally publish it.

Special thanks and dedication to The Siege Perilous and Forlorn Hope, for encouragement, advice, and just being good friends.

The chilly air of the night blew past the young man walking down a broken path, encouraging him to grab the blue scarf around his neck and lift it to cover his face. He sighed, and shivered when he saw that his exhale was visible. It was way too cold to be out, he realized, but he had no choice. The farmer he had met on his way to The Town had been kind enough to drive him out as far as possible, but once they reached the edges of the forest, the old man turned and wished him good luck. The young man resented him slightly for it, but realized he couldn't really blame him.

The forest was famous for its werewolves, after all.

"I wonder how many of them are watching me right now," he wondered aloud. He checked either side, staring into the forest and searching for any sign of the creatures. Something like fur caught on a branch or teeth marks in the bark of the trees or evil canine eyes staring at him from the darkness…

Werewolves were one of the young man's least favorite creatures - mostly because they weren't creatures at all. They were human beings at some point, before something that was half-curse and half-disease got into their system and turned them permanently, irreversibly, into large, hulking, wolf-like beasts that felt nothing but hunger and rage. They were strong, agile, hostile, and could pick up a human's scent from miles away.

But all that wasn't why he hated them. He hated them because every time he killed one, he was forced to look into its eyes and watch as it, for just a second, remembered the person it had once been.

"No one said being a hunter was an easy job."

And that's what he was. The white-haired teen with a blue coat and a silvery sword on his back was a hunter. Not your run-of-the-mill hunter that hunted foxes or bears either. No, he was given training by the Church and a prestigious hunter's academy to hunt the dark races. Werewolves were one of them. Witches were another. So were giants, trolls, drow elves and, of course, his current target…

Vampires.

He was hunting vampire, which was why he didn't want to waste any time or effort on the wolves. Werewolves were dangerous, but at the end of the day, they didn't have the intelligence of a man. A vampire did. Maybe they even surpassed humans in intelligence.

The young hunter shivered again, but not from the cold. He could feel something out there; the hairs at the back of his neck stood up like they always did when he was being watched. "I can't wait 'til I get to that godforsaken inn the farmer told me about," he sighed. "Maybe they'll have some decent food with the bed. Last people gave me slop. Like, gee, thanks for the gruel. Sure, I saved your daughter from a man-eating plant, but I guess cooking a sheep is too much hard work."

He stopped his grumblings when he noticed something in the distance, by a signpost. His eyes squinted, but the moonlight didn't give him that much to work with. He reached into his pocket for torches, and lit one, and the orange glow showed him that the silhouette in the distance was… a girl?

"Hey!" he barked, and the girl looked to him. She planted her back on the signpost, and as the hunter got closer, her features came into his sight. She had thick auburn hair, tied in a long ponytail that went down to the small of her back. Her face was a healthy tan, save for a few pale freckles that almost seemed to glow in the soft silvery light. Her eyes were a fierce shade of brown, and they twinkled with reserve and curiosity. She was wearing brownish-red leather from head to toe, as if keeping with a theme, and as he got closer, he noticed how smooth and shapely her body was under her brown coat. Not skinny, not fat; she was fit.

"Hey yourself," she said. Her voice was a bit rough, but the hunter found himself enjoying it like a fine musical tune.

"My name is Lincoln, and I'm looking for an inn around here. Can you point my in the right direction?"

She scanned Lincoln up and down, and Lincoln saw her lick her lips. "I'm guessing you've heard of that story? You know, Little Red Riding Hood and her wolf? Did you think wearing the opposite color would make those wolves leave you alone?" the girl chuckled.

Lincoln scowled, unamused. "I wear blue because I like it."

"You ever think about wearing orange? Orange seems like it'll suit you."

"No, why would I- actually, what am I saying? Listen, lady, I'm looking for an inn. Can you help me?"

"My name isn't 'lady' ya know," she said. "It's Lynn. Short for Lynnda. I think. Dunno, it's been a long time since I could ask my mom about that name."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Lincoln in a voice that clearly indicated that he didn't care, "but as for the inn..."

Her eyes flickered from side to side, until they landed back on him. He gulped. Lynn was, though he didn't want to say it, an attractive girl. The kind he didn't see a lot of when he was training with the other hunter boys. So it was bad enough that after years of little to no female contact, he was staring deeply into the eyes of a fair maiden, but there was also something else at work. Maybe it was the flickering light of the match that made the shadows dance erratically on her face, but it seemed to Lincoln like her eyes were… not entirely human. Her pupils were more thin and slit-like, almost like a cat.

His thoughts turned to his silver sword, but he didn't act on his instinct.

"Yeah," she finally said, "I know where the inn is."

"Great. Can you tell me where to find it?"

Lynn frowned, and now her amber eyes were filled with something else…

Concern.

"Are you sure you want to go up there?" she asked.

"Better than being down here with the werewolves."

She shrugged, as if she wanted to say Okay, I tried to warn you, but was too apathetic to actually issue a warning. "Alright then. The inn is pretty close. Just keep walking until you get to a rocky path that goes up the mountain, and then from there you take a right, and that's when you'll get to the inn."

"Thanks. Say, if you know where the inn is, why don't you come with me?"

The girl shook her head, her ponytail dancing as she did. "No way, vampire hunter. The one there won't have me. She doesn't wanna let me in."

"Well, much obliged," he said, wanting to get this over with. "If you get hungry, I'll toss a piece of bacon down here for you."

"Bite me, loser."

He chuckled as though he won an argument and began strolling in the direction Lynn told him. He had scarcely taken a few steps when a thought occurred to him, and his face darkened. "Hey, how did you know I was a vampire hunter specifically?" he asked. He spun around, and found that Lynn wasn't there anymore.

Now he touched the hilt of his sword.

Could she have been… no, she couldn't have been, right? She would've… it would've been so easy for her…

Lincoln simply shook his head and began hurrying along the path. He didn't want to spend another moment in these haunted woods, and the withered trees, with their gnarled branches forming what looked like hands shooing him away, didn't want him around much longer either.

A loud howl echoed over the forest, and Lincoln broke into a run.

Sister Cristina had just fallen peacefully asleep when she heard a frantic banging sound at her front door. A scowl curled on her lips as she reached for her nun uniform. She walked towards the door as she dressed herself. "Coming, coming, patience is a virtue," the redhead called out as she got to the door. Her hand wrapped around the hefty wood keeping the door locked, and she lifted it before opening the door and finding a white-haired young man with his fist raised. He hid it behind his back and grinned sheepishly.

"I hope I didn't stir you from your sleep, sister."

"You must've stirred the whole neighborhood with that knocking."

"What neighborhood?"

"Why, my dear boy, the neighborhood of the forest. Neighborhoods aren't only composed of human beings. All the creations of God form one untied neighborhood, unified in celebrating his glory. Everything from the bird to the bee to the man to the werewolf."

"Uhhh… not sure I follow."

"Me neither," admitted Cristina with a shrug. "They just told me to say that. Are you hungry? Come inside before the cold gets in."

Lincoln stepped inside, and the door closed behind him. He shook his matchstick fire out, and the room darkened. Cristina went around lighting some of the candles that were hanging from the walls, and Lincoln followed her into the main room. He sat down on a musty pillow, coughing as a cloud of dust burst from it when he plopped himself down, and waited for Cristina to bring him some food.

She reappeared carrying a platter. "Do you like coffee?" she asked.

"At this hour? No."

That was partly true. Lincoln didn't like coffee at any hour.

She sat down to watch him as he practically inhaled the platter of meat. When he was done, he patted his satisfied belly, before remembering he was in the presence of a nun. He blushed and sat up straight. Having eaten from her food, Lincoln decided it would be polite to introduce himself. "Thank you for the hospitality. My name is Lincoln, and I'm a hunter. I've trained with both the Hunter's Guild and the Church."

"A hunter? What's a hunter doing out here?" asked Cristina with interest. Lincoln couldn't tell whether she was pretending for politeness or if she was genuinely interested.

"I'm looking for a town. We've had reports of vampire attacks in the area, and it was decided that it would be my first mission. And that I'd be stuck here for a while because vampires are supposed to be pretty hard to find."

"I've heard about those," said Cristina, nodding slightly. "Still, we're so far out into the sticks, I didn't think anyone in power still cared about us."

That was true. The Town was on the absolute border of the Kingdom, and it was, as such, very secluded and underdeveloped. Hell, the proof was in the name. It was called 'The Town' because it was the only town in the area. Lincoln himself barely knew a thing about the place, aside from rumors. He had heard the people there had built great walls with sticks and butter; that they married their children to the werewolves as appeasement; and that their leader was a three-eyed Jew who had his arms chopped off and replaced with tree branches. Lincoln doubted any of that nonsense was true, but he did hope the third one was. A three-eyed Jew with wooden hands would be a much more interesting leader than the inbred nobles he was used to.

"It's true the Town is far out of the way, but a hunter doesn't only fight for cityfolk in the Capitol. We fight for all mankind. We'd even fight for Frenchmen and Saracens if they needed our blades in the war against the darkness."

"How noble. Much like we churchfolk fight for the salvation of all mankind, regardless of borders."

"Right, but when you fight demons, sister, you use sermons and preaching. When I fight demons, I use a sword."

They both chuckled, and Cristina looked down to the metal cross that hung from her necklace, scraping against her pert bosom. "I haven't fought demons in a long time," she admitted. "I mostly tend to the inn. The town has their own priest. He does the sermons and prayers, so I've stayed up here alone."

"Don't they check up on you?" Lincoln asked, reaching for a cup of water.

"No, not really. Though I can't blame them for not wanting me around."

"I can. I don't see why they wouldn't."

Lincoln didn't know if it was wrong to think of a nun as attractive, but Cristina was. She was young, a little older than him, but she still retained her fresh feminine beauty. Lincoln, for the life of him, could not understand what town wouldn't want a beautiful woman of God around. Maybe they really are as messed up as the stories said, Lincoln thought as he sipped his drink.

"What about that one girl I met in the woods? Uh… Lynn was her name, I think," Lincoln said, scratching his white hair. "Doesn't she ever pay you a visit?"

Cristina's eyes seemed wide with fright. "L-Lynn? You know Lynn?" she asked, her face paling. "And she talked to you?"

"Y-Yeah, she did."

She grabbed him by his shoulders, startling him, and she dug her nails into his flesh. She looked into his eyes, and he saw that her pupils were manic and shaking. "Lincoln, you must understand something. This inn serves two purposes. One is to house pilgrims and passerbys, but it is also to keep me safe. And she is one of the many people I need to be kept safe from."

"Why? She seemed-"

"Lincoln, she's the vampire."

Lincoln's heart skipped a beat, and time seemed to slow into a pause. His brain flat-lined as his mouth went slack. He blinked once or twice, thinking about his encounter with the mysterious girl. Lynn, a vampire? No, she couldn't have been. Vampires are supposed to be pale, old, wrinkled men and women with long fangs poking from their mouths, with incredibly unpleasant attitudes to boot. Lynn was a bit of a bitch, but she couldn't have been a bloodsucking monster. She looked nothing like it.

Unless… unless the vampires on the border were different than the ones he had seen in his text book.

Vampires, unlike werewolves, came in varieties and types. They were less of a species and more like a collection of diverse blood-suckers that humanity had lazily slapped an umbrella term onto. It wouldn't be out of the question for the vampires in these parts to look like normal, attractive people. Lincoln had heard stranger. He heard, for example, that in Africa, there was a race of vampire that were basically flies with long wings and longer noses that they used to drink from people. Compared to that, a specimen of cute vampire girl wouldn't be out of the question…

He started to think about her eyes. Those striking, almond-shaped eyes... they seemed so inhuman.

"Oh my God," he breathed. "She said she couldn't come in here… because she didn't have permission… because she was a vampire all along..."

Cristina nodded. "Vampires are a dark, dark race. They're almost as bad as the godless Nephilim. They hate the sight of the Lord, and seek to drink the blood of His favored children. And it was in His infinite wisdom and generosity that He gave us gifts to fight them. They cannot enter a home if not invited, and they cannot stand the sight of the cross."

Cristina reached down to her own rosary, and lifted it to her lips, kissing it.

"Then, if Lynn is the vampire..." Lincoln's face hardened, and he looked over at his sword. He drew it, slowly, every inch scraping the scabbard as it left. He held it before his face to study his grim reflection in it. It brought him no joy to kill a girl that seemed his age, but then again, it wasn't a girl. It was a monster, a creature, a vampire.

Something was nibbling at the back of his mind, though. If Lynn were indeed a terrifying and demonic monster, why didn't she attack him in the woods? Why did she seem so… friendly? There was no guarantee they would see each other again, so why didn't she just strike him while his back was turned?

Maybe I'll ask her that before I chop off her bloodsucking head.

"…if Lynn is the vampire," he repeated, his voice slow and steady, "then I'll go after her right now. I believe vampires sleep during the day, so this may be my only chance to catch her before she retreats to her coffin."

Cristina seemed excited for him to go and extinguish the dreaded vampire that kept her inside for her own safety, but something occurred to her. Something flashed on her face. Lincoln couldn't tell exactly what it was, but it seemed… eh, he couldn't describe it.

"No, Lincoln, not now," she told him. "You're still weak and tired, and remember, the moon is full tonight. The werewolves are at their most crazed this night. I want you to sleep, Lincoln. Sleep, and tomorrow night you can fight her."

Lincoln frowned, but as he thought about it, he realized she wasn't wrong. He was feeling pretty drained, and he had just eaten a large meal. Plus, if he waited, he could spend the day learning about the threat he faced. She had fooled him once, so she might be able do it again if she wanted.

"Very well," he nodded, putting his sword away. Ngl I kinda wanted to kill something, he thought childishly.

"I'm glad to see they taught you reason at your training," Cristina told him.

"Yeah, right between the courses on magic and dead Greek people thought. Or, as they call it, philosophy."

Lincoln hated philosophy. It made him seethe.

She smiled lightly, fear thankfully ebbing from her eyes, and she made him a bed to sleep in. It wasn't much, really. Lincoln found himself lying down on a blanket, covering himself with another blanket, and laying his head on what felt like the hardest pillow in the whole world. His foot wiggled underneath the blanket, and he felt a wet spot above his foot. It didn't feel like water. It felt thicker.

Gross, Lincoln thought. And they did that with a nun around, too? Have these people no shame?

He didn't complain audibly, though. Maybe the blanket wasn't the best, but it was part of Cristina's hospitality and kindness. Without her, he would be outside sleeping in the dirt with the monsters. The ones that looked like wolves... and the ones that looked like girls.

"Good night, and God bless," said Cristina as she blew out one of the candles.

"Night," Lincoln called after her. When she left, he wondered if it was too late to rebrand himself as the strong and silent type. That's what a hunter should be, he thought. He once read a book about a hunter from Poland, with white hair just like his, who was strong and silent. Maybe he could be like that guy.

His mind was entertained by that thought and others as it tried to prepare the dreams he'd be having that night. When his eyes finally started to close, Lincoln didn't fight them. His eyelids sealed together and darkness was all he could see.

Well, darkness, and the face of a girl with freckles the color of moonlight…