Ride out on horseback to hunt William alone.
From Create Your Own Story
With Madeline still whimpering and Lord Kellar bent over his daughter, trying to comfort her without success, you slip out of the room unnoticed, moving swiftly towards the guest room that holds your belongings. You snatch up a large-caliber revolver, already loaded with silver bullets, and holster it on your left hip. A long, straight, wickedly sharp sword goes into its sheath on your other side, and a lantern is grasped firmly in your leather-gloved hand.
Now armed and ready, you hurry into the hall and down the stairs, making your way quickly but silently through the mansion. Near the back door, however, you suddenly bump straight into Lord Kellar.
"Anastasia..." he says, frowning as he looks at your weapons.
"It is the only way," you almost whisper, not able to meet his gaze.
"But alone?"
"I cannot ask you to help kill your own son. Besides, you have Madeline to look after."
"Then some of my men..."
"They are not trained for this as I am. You have enough injuries in your house already. No, this one is upon me." You turn and begin walking towards the door, knowing that this is the only way you can control your emotions enough to end the conversation.
Your ears barely pick up Lord Kellar's words as you open the back door. "Good luck, Anastasia. God knows you will need it..."
At the stable, you select a brown stallion and quickly saddle and mount the animal. You take one last look at the dim lights in the Kellar mansion before heading out to your grim duty...
At first the trail is easy to follow, the bloodstains still fresh on the ground. But soon they fade and disappear, for werewolves heal swiftly, and you follow the footprints in the moonlight, cursing as the path leads to bare rock. It takes all of your extensive training to keep on the werewolf's trail as you search for the faintest signs of broken branches or other disturbances.
The trail leads straight into a dense forest, the trees looking grotesque and twisted. Ignoring a whinny of protest from your horse, you urge the animal into the woods, the dark green canopy above gradually blocking out more and more of the moonlight. Then the fog, that damnable fog, rolls in, and you shiver. You continue following the trail with the light from your lantern, but it is as if there is something evil in the fog itself. As wisps of fog curl through the air near you, your lantern suddenly goes out. No amount of effort can bring it back alight, and you curse again, softly...but perhaps not softly enough.
You take a deep breath. You are Anastasia Van Helsing, slayer of monsters, not some scared little girl. You're not afraid of the dark. You wait for your trained eyes to adjust to the lack of light. Though it is almost pitch black, and the fog is very dense, you can just barely make out the outlines of the nearest trees. You start to feel slightly calmer...
The loud, savage, animalistic growl comes from out of nowhere. The sound is close, alarmingly close, and yet you can see no signs of movement. Your revolver is in your hand, the muscles in your thick forearm clenched as you grip it tightly.
The snarl comes again, and your horse panics. You feel yourself being bucked upward into the air. Taking advantage of your extensive gymnastics training, you throw your body into a back flip, landing elegantly on your booted feet, but the horse is already gone. When the growl comes a third time, you feel like you can pinpoint its source with accuracy, although you still cannot see any sign of what it is.
