It was the year 1903, of October. You were riding out west, in the frontiers of America. You were a hunter, still following the Belmont name. Granted you weren’t killing vampires out here, but you found Wendigos and all sorts of other bad mumbo-jumbo.

You sat back against a tree, your horse munching on the grass next to you as you positioned your hat over your face, clearly intending to get some well deserved shut eye. The cold weather nipped your skin. The sound of the leaves falling gently and the wind swooshing lulled you. You let out a soft yawn.

Soon the sound of shuffling nearby caught your attention, but it didn’t sound very aggressive, so you didn’t reach for your gun yet. But you lifted your hat to look at who was approaching.

Long pale blond hair with unkempt curls was in your face slightly. He had golden eyes, pale skin, pointed ears, and sharp fangs. It was the Dhampir, Alucard. You never personally met him, but your father spoke quite a bit about how the Dhampir has been helping your family for generations. You weren’t the last of your generation by far, having multiple siblings. But you were the only one of them who traveled on your own, wasn’t married, and didn’t have any kids

The Dhampir gave a soft smile in greeting before sitting down next to you

“Hunt well?” He asked, his Transylvanian accent soft, and his voice even softer in greeting. He knew who you were, at least by blood.