Van Helsing - Miles — And Miles ...

Beside him, Carl—the friar whose nervous energy was the only thing keeping them awake—tripped over a jagged root. "Technically, Gabriel, it’s leagues. And if my map is even remotely accurate, which, given the cartographer was a madman in a dungeon, is a coin toss, we are still three days from the Borgo Pass."

The distance between them and their quarry had shrunk from miles to yards in a heartbeat. From the tree line, a shape detached itself—a towering mass of elongated limbs and pale, translucent skin. It moved with a sickening fluidity, blurring the line between man and beast. Van Helsing - Miles and Miles ...

They had been tracking the shadow for weeks—a trail of exsanguinated livestock and villages silenced by a terror that left no tracks. This wasn't Dracula; this was something more feral, a remnant of the Old World that even the Order of St. Dumas whispered about in hushed tones. Beside him, Carl—the friar whose nervous energy was

"Miles and miles," he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp. "It’s always miles and miles." From the tree line, a shape detached itself—a

As the sun dipped behind the peaks, bleeding a bruised purple across the sky, a howl ripped through the air. It wasn't the clean, sharp cry of a wolf. It was layered—a discordant chorus of a dozen voices trapped in one throat.