Miles And Miles ... - Van Helsing -

"Miles and miles," he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp. "It’s always miles and miles."

"It’s him," Van Helsing corrected, drawing a silver-edged kukri. "And he’s tired of running." Van Helsing - Miles and Miles ...

Van Helsing stepped forward, his silhouette sharp against the rising moon. He didn't feel fear; he felt the familiar, cold weight of duty. The road was long, the journey was grueling, and the destination was usually a grave. But as the creature lunged, Gabriel met it mid-air, the silver flashing like a fallen star. The miles were behind him. The fight was now. "Miles and miles," he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp

Van Helsing didn't look back. He was watching the way the mist swirled in the valley below. It wasn't moving with the wind; it was pulsing, like a slow, grey lung. He knew that rhythm. It was the breath of something ancient, something that didn't need to breathe at all. "We don't have three days," Van Helsing said. He didn't feel fear; he felt the familiar,