Chapter 2

Under The Stars with Blankets and Castles

The sun eventually did leave the sky, leaving them with only the residual humidity to remind them of the season. But even the sticky air couldn't take Emma's mind from her favorite part of their end-of-date ritual. Stars blinked high above, a blanket softened the ground beneath them, a breeze tickled their skin, and Emma was snuggled into Killian's side. His arm cradled her shoulders providing a solid pillow for her head while the fingers from the same limb alternated between scratching her scalp and tracing patterns somewhere on her arm. She'd never tell him that this –this calm intimacy– was the thing that helped bring her to some sort of a center in herself.

(Even if Killian had a high chance of reading her brain anyway; his ego survived well enough on its own and didn't need the inflation from her verbal conformation.)

There was supposed to be a meteor shower at some point tonight and Killian had planned accordingly, but it was still hours until the lights would stream across the sky. So they lay next to each other, quietly breathing in the world around them. Well she was quietly breathing… Killian… well every now and then Killian's arms and torso would tense up as he took a breath deeper than required for someone laying down. She knew he was trying to come out and say something to her, but either kept losing the words for what he had in his head or he was talking himself out of it entirely. If she had Ruby or Graham here, she'd bet ten bucks that it was both in play. (Emma was always a fan of easy money.)

It was the fifth intake of failed speaking that had her breaking ground for him. "Killian?"

The freshly taken air left him in a breathy, "Aye?"

"We've got some time before falling stars give us a show…" Funny enough, he tensed further under her head. "We should probably come up with something to eat up the time…" He froze. It took her a minute to figure out where his mind had taken the suggestion, and while she wouldn't be against that particular method (she really wouldn't be), knowing how many sentient wolves were in the area curbed that appeal pretty quickly. "Could you tell me about another constellation? Or a story? Any story?"

His breath left him quickly again, and if he was anything but what he was, she'd worry about oxygen deprivation. "A story Swan?"

Emma smiled; she didn't have to see his face to know his eyebrow had gone up. "Yeah… I like listening to you tell stories."

"Have a thing for my voice do you? What would you say has the most appeal Swan? The accent that grabbed your attention for our first meeting? Or perhaps it's the rumbling timbre that rolls through you as you snuggle further into my side? Perhaps it's the extensive vernacular that pleases your auditory receptors?"

Emma huffed. "Mostly it's the long winded rambles that would burn through the next few hours without a problem."

Killian chuckled, "So all three then?"

She lightly smacked his stomach causing him to laugh just a little harder. "Tell me why your wolf has white eyes."

He stilled, breath catching in what was obviously a painful burst of memories. "Aye… a story then."

"Killian–"

"It's alright Swan. When I was young…"

"Pfft. Like what? A million years ago?"

The hand that couldn't decide between petting her head or her arm moved inward to pinch her side. "I said when Swan, doesn't matter how far back. Now, when I was young, I had dreams of being in Her Royal Majesty's Navy. Grew up on the docks you see, wanted nothing more than to one day captain my own ship and sail off on adventure and duty. But I was born Irish and the world only saw us as the trash of civility. Considered to be thieves before any quality of character could be ascertained. A few would break the stigma, but only a few, and those men were usually of 'noble' birth. Though to be fair, even the nobles were seen as thieving Irish in circles outside our little island. But I wouldn't be deterred; I had my piercing eyes set on being a sailor." Emma snorted which caused him to chuckle. "And I got there, a merchant sailor and sometimes a privateer. Then one night, after we made dock in Pembroke –that's in west Wales love, I met a woman. Older than me, but with eyes wide as a maid. She wasn't… a maid I mean. She was a married woman, but unhappily so. A common plight for women then, but then a female's pleasure was seen no different than to be taken care of like a cherished pet. And it was the lucky few that ended up a cherished pet. She didn't have that; she had… something else. As I said, the captain had docked us, and I was taking my shore leave in a tavern where I met her. Some bloke was forcing his attentions on her, not violently, but it would have been that way if someone didn't stop him. So I did. Clean right hook to his jaw and the blighter was gone. She looked at me like I had done something magical. I was unaware to her marital status and she was beautiful, so I tried my charms on her. I had already proven my honorable intentions as a man; perhaps she would reward me with a shared drink or allow me to walk her home. I wouldn't have said no to more, but the previous wanker had revealed she wasn't a slag therefore making 'more' an unsiutable option. She allowed me that shared drink, and some conversation. She didn't come from anywhere of standing… letting me know she was only a spinners wife. But she had this spirit in her… my travels hadn't taken me all that far yet, but it was farther than her lot in life would have allowed and any story I gave her was met with rapt attention. We parted ways that night, innocent in our shared time."

He breathed for little more than a minute, Emma letting him have time with his memories.

"A few weeks passed and the crew landed at the same dock delivering cargo of some sort. I crossed paths with her in the market place. There's a look to a freshly abused woman, even if there aren't marks to show it. She was skittish to say anything or even look at me. But I was eager to share another tale, so I informed her I'd be at the same tavern for the night should she wish to hear it. I know what you're thinking Swan… a sailor to shore only wants for one thing. And yes, I wanted for it, but that first conversation… I discovered I enjoyed the focus of a woman as much as what could be between her thighs. I was addicted to the high it gives, and she gave me so much of it Swan… so I waited. She didn't show until the last hour before I had to get back to the ship. Her eyes –always so expressive were her eyes– her husband had gotten to her again. I offered her my help before she had a chance to greet me. Not sure even now what I could have done, but the words were out and I stood by them. Blasted woman began crying, and I got lost even further. I tried to hold her, console her some way, but she wouldn't risk her husband finding out. She couldn't even stay, but she promised that if I made port again, she would find a way to come to the tavern. She liked the stories you see, they gave her an escape from her situation at home. I agreed so long as she managed it without risk to herself. She promised… I wish I had been as able to read lies then, but I don't know if I would have listened. I liked playing the hero for her, however little I was doing."

"You hadn't figured out how to read lies yet?"

He sighed next to Emma, shifting his hand again to play with strands of her hair. "I wasn't yet a werewolf. I was human and a young male. As confused as any lad when faced with a damsel in distress."

Emma angled her head to look at him as best she could. "How old?"

"Four and twenty. A man by any standards back then, but I knew nothing of the world I lived in other than life at sea and the brief glimpses of other cultures whilst in port."

"What was her name?"

Emma felt him swallow down through his chest. "Milah."

His voice was low and thick and suddenly Emma wasn't so eager to learn this story. "Its ok Killian, you don't have to tell me anything else–"

He squeezed her with his arm. "No Emma. I picked this tale, it's one you should know from me and not from the stories others have compiled since then."

"That bad?"

He nodded. "I sent word however I could over the next six months whenever we landed on that dock, or when we had extended leave and I could make my way there for a night or two. We stayed in full view of the townsfolk, scandalous as it was for a married woman to be seen fraternizing with an unwed man, and a sailor no less. But we did it so none could accuse her of anything worse. I worried at first that so many eyes would then eventually speak to her husband, but I learned quickly that the man wasn't well thought of in that town. Notorious for taking out his initial anger on messengers of bad news and such. Try as we did to keep things platonic, love crept its way into our hearts. My captain thought I was a daft git for it, and he was right. There was a skirmish out at sea that took my captain's life, and being his lieutenant, I was given my dream of captaining my own vessel. I would rather have kept my captain…"

"Loyal even then…"

He huffed. "Yes well, Liam wouldn't let me be otherwise. Older brothers tend to demand rather than ask."

Emma startled and struggled against his arm that tried to steady her. It took some pushing to get her elbow beneath her enough so she could prop up and see his face. She didn't ask anything, or give a face for him to read. She could be made of stone and he could tell her what she was feeling.

He huffed again, knowing he'd opened the door to another story another time. "Liam was my brother and my captain. When he died, I took his place. And when he died, the only thing I had in my heart was rage. Rage lead to dangerous choices and in those days, dangerous choices were usually met with a hangman's noose or a blade. But I was born under a lucky omen and escaped death every time it arrived for a dance. A month I did this, and finally the grief was too much to bear alone. So I went to my Milah, hoping that this story would be one she'd listen to for my sake instead of hers. And she did of course. Compassionate woman that she was, opened her arms and held me for hours as I wept out the worst of my pain. In doing so, my heart had room again for love, which burned as bright as the pain it still held. Dangerous choices…" He breathed, hard and through his nose. "We had each other that night. The next morning I begged her to leave with me. I was captain now, and she could come along and pose as my wife. Christ I think I even proposed twice in that rambling… she quieted me with a kiss and smiled for me, told me that before the next night was over, she'd be with me on the ship."

He brushed a few fallen strands behind Emma's ear, looking to her eyes but seeing something long gone.

"It was wrong, to beg a married woman to leave her life. Utterly dishonorable of me, the repercussions to her reputation would be irreversible. Liam had been right all along, and it took further pain and a few decades as a wolf to finally hear him. But I was in love, and she was unhappy. I was in pain and unwilling to be alone and… I just… I needed her, as much as she needed to know the kind and loving touch of a man. As promised, she was on my ship before the next sunrise and I had my crew pull us out as soon as her feet landed on the deck. I didn't want to chance her husband finding his bed empty and mine full. We were clear of England when the sun was fully birthed, headed on our way to Paris." Killian finally connected with Emma's eyes, winking with a half-felt smirk on his lips. "Wanted to be impressive you see. We didn't stop roving the European shores for a long time, and where we were once privateers for the local merchants in the Kingdom of Great Britain, to the rest of the world we were nothing short of pirates. We tried to keep honest work where we could, but that pesky language barrier made such endeavors difficult. Milah didn't mind the dishonesty of what we had become; she very nearly thrived on it. Sheltered as she had been, her soul was bright in the tavern where we met. But out there on our own, working as hard as any of my men, picking up new skills in each new port… Emma she all but glowed. It was like something had woken up within her.

"After a handful of years, we felt it was safe to return home, certain that whatever outrages her husband had managed would be over with. Still, I erred on the side of caution and made for London rather than her home port. The adrenaline of it all got the better of us, and as base it is of me to say, I wore the poor woman out. She opted for remaining in our cabin over getting a hot meal and a drink somewhere. I should have stayed with her, but I was feeling restless and opted to roam about the streets with some of my men. We were on our third tavern when an old man approached my table, asking if I was captain of Liam's Revenge. Short and limping, hair like greasy straw and graying with age, eyes large in his head and wider still in his pleading. He introduced himself as Robert, a spinner from Pembroke. I was a bit into my cups by then and didn't make the simple connections. I antagonized him for bothering to come to my table at all, mocked his physical appearance for all I could and finished by outing him as an aging cabin boy turned whore. He pleaded again his name and profession, asking if I might know his wife. She had gone missing some years back he had said, and he had been told she was seen heading to the docks the night before. So he had begged the harbormaster for a list of ships that had been there, and mine was one of them. He begged a third time if I knew anything. My drink addled brain finally caught up and knew him for what he was, so I claimed ignorance of such a woman and boasted that I never bothered learning the names of the women I enjoyed anyway. He left us then, and that was when I should have stayed away from Milah. As soon as the man left us, I had my crew filter away from the table one by one, milling about before ultimately leaving the tavern to head back to the ship. The crew loved Milah almost as much as I did, and they all knew of what her husband had done to her. Our minds were all on making sure she was safe that we didn't bother too hard to watch for being followed, or to wonder at the coincidence that her husband was in the same part of London at the same time we were."

He turned his head to the stars once more, closing his eyes for reasons Emma could only imagine.

"He was there at the docks when we reached them, looking different, but it was him. His walking stick and limp were gone, as was the disgusting nature of his appearance. His clothes looked like they belonged to a man of wealth rather than a spinner. His eyes were the same, too large for his head and wide like he was in the middle of a hunt. He asked for his wife again, so I lied again. This time I claimed Milah had died of a pox a year prior, blaming superstition in lieu of speaking of the dead. He seemed to believe me this time, his face falling just a touch in grief. And like a light switch, his mood changed again and he challenged me to a duel at sunrise for stealing his wife. I took the challenge, arrogant in my ability and as a chance for my crew to get Milah out of London and away from him again. I left instructions with my crew that they were to sail out until the horizon only saw an outline of London town, to return in a week's time and seek me out near the Tower. To see if I had been caught and hung or if I was hiding out in the gutters. If I was dead, they were to take Milah wherever she desired so long as it wasn't anywhere in Her Majesty's kingdom. I found a dark corner to lurk in waiting for the sun to come, but then he showed early, the sky not even starting to brighten yet. I fought him anyway when he antagonized me, so eager to prove I was the better man. I couldn't have known then… he beat me. Not fairly mind, but in the end that hardly matters when I was on my knees before him and both his blade and mine were scissored across my neck. I was ready for the sword, ready to meet up with my brother in the next life, but my torment was to continue. Milah was there shouting at her husband to stop his actions… that I should have known, that she would have figured out something was wrong and that she would be able to talk my men out of my orders and into her own. Her husband dropped the swords and walked to her, berating her for leaving him, for making him worry about her suffering the life as a pirate's whore. It was my fault that she spoke up for herself, she had changed herself into something stronger during her life at sea; his browbeating tactics wouldn't work on her anymore. So she blurted out that his abuse was too much to bear when she never loved him. It was the plain truth, but like most men in that age, he couldn't handle her as a self-aware woman.

"He was between Milah and me, and I was viewing him from behind and kneeling on the ground. I had been trying to shuffle quietly to retrieve a knife from my boot, not wanting to provoke him into hurting her before I could intervene. He did something to her, and to this day, I'm still not sure what it exactly was, but he reached out and touched his fingertips to her chest. The color drained from her face and I swear I saw her dark hair fade and sink against her skull. I shouted and ran to her side, forgetting to injure him completely. She was still breathing, but only just. Her eyes –those wide and beautiful eyes– were sunken and fogged over. She told me she loved me on the air leaving her lungs."

Emma was crying; tears long since falling as his story closed. Killian looked to her again, shifting his body and moving his free hand to cup her face, thumb swiping away the wetness on her cheek. He studied her face for what seemed endless minutes before he smiled at her, though how was beyond Emma's comprehension.

"Crying for a woman centuries gone… such as brilliant woman you are. Milah was my first love. And for a long time –a very long time– I couldn't fathom anyone else. There has been the occasional dalliance to scratch the preverbal itch, and I even tried to have a relationship a few times, but none of them were her. I couldn't pass that final threshold that would bind myself to them. Ruby… Ruby had even entered a heat once, quite unexpectedly, and the instinct of a male wolf around a female in heat is pure carnality. I shouldn't have been able to think, much less find the ability to turn her down. I couldn't see it through, and neither could my wolf. I had long since given up the idea of finding anyone, finding love, until I met you."

A few more tears crashed from her eyes. Somedays, he was just too much. But any less and Emma knew she wouldn't be nearly as interested. So she did the next best thing, she settled back to his side, nuzzling her face into his shirt to hide the blush. And maybe wipe the rest of the tears away. He resumed combing through her hair, encouraging her to cling tighter to him. She had a general idea of how the story ended, but like all stories, assuming the end never works well.

"Killian? What happened next?"

He stiffened, like she thought he would. He always tries to hide away the scarier parts of him. "The point of the story Emma, was to let you know how much you've affected me, how much I've come to love you. I abhor the idea of you thinking this is just something I'm stuck with. I'm in this for the long haul, that however fast or slow we go about it, is ok because I'm not going anywhere. I know you're wanting to take a particular step forward, and that I keep hitting the brakes. It isn't from lack of interest –which is absurd frankly– but from a stronger need to make sure you've healed properly. And before you try telling me you're ok, I'm going to remind you that you still have nightmares and they are more intense the nights we attempt to share a bed for simple sleep." This time it was him that moved to hover, "I loved Milah, most ardently. And for almost 300 years, her ghost held my heart. I don't know if you stole it from her, or if I did just before putting it at your feet. Perhaps Milah kept it captive waiting for a lass as stubborn as she was to come along to hand it over to. All I know is that it's yours now, and proving so with physical vigor is a step I can wait a very long time to take."

Emma smiled. "Killian? What happened next?"

He sighed, looking as put out as he could. "Confess my heart to you; claim my good honor with willing to wait for sex and all you want is to know how I dealt with him?" Emma nodded and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder with a groan. "That part of the tale is better left for another time."

"Are you serious? You haven't even answered the question of why you have white eyes when you wolf out!"

Killian chuckled, "Aye I know. But I had to tell this tale to tell that one. But we both can only handle so much emotional upheaval in a single night, so it'll have to keep for now." He raised his head to look over her face once more, "Think you can leave it at my declarations of love and my virtuous abstinence darling?"

Emma snorted. "Virtuous my ass. You might be concerned about my nightmares, but that isn't why you're not putting out. But fine, you don't wanna tell me, I won't push. Can't blame a girl for having her own itch to scratch though, I was just hoping I could use your fingers to do it."

His lips crashed to hers, his warmth pressing from his body to hers. His lips trapped hers while he breathed deep, letting the flavors of dessert seep from his kiss to make her beg for more. A hand drifted to cradle her cheek as its thumb settled on her chin to open her up further. Hips pressed to her thigh on a groan while the hand he balanced on dug through the blanket to grip the earth below. Her head began to spin, tipsy from the taste of him, from the feel of him. His hips pressed again… and again… his body demanding her attention. A hint of tongue teased her mouth, and all the while his hand softly cradled her face. Holding her in place with such gentility while the rest of him pushed the limits of public decency. He pulled his mouth back, probably to catch a breath or two, but she chased him without letting the kiss stop. A whimper from her throat, another groan from him, and he was back where they had started. The fingers teasing her hairline in a sweet caress, easily itching to card through her hair.

He always had a soft hand for her, a touch of reverence against the baser push of needs.

He broke away from her mouth, whispering in anxious urgency. "Emma… sweetheart…"

Sweetheart…

His hand petting her…

My sweet girl…

Her head spun wildly, she couldn't keep up with what she didn't want to remember and what she was desperate to get on with. There were walls around her and baby powder on her skin, she was outside with the stars twinkling in bored vigil. Hands explored unwanted as water sluiced down her skin, arms banded around her body and moved her around like a doll. Her eyes squeezed shut as air refused to enter her lungs, her stomach lurched closed against the taste of lemon-flavored fish. Her ears rung with the crack of the cane against her backside, sounding each time like Killian's voice crying out her name.

Then there was nothing.

When The Council had asked Belle to be a personal assistant to Gold, she took it for the joke it should have been. But Blue had been earnest with the position, causing Belle to all but scream her rejections. It took The Sorcerer divulging probably more than he was sanctioned to, to even get Belle to listen. Deep down, in a secret part of herself that she rarely acknowledged, Belle wished she hadn't… not even for such an old friend as Lin. Gold was selfish and destructive and would never care about the fate or fortune of others. How was she to work with the man without compromising her own morals and principles; to say nothing for the sad fact that she'd be living with him and helping him complete the actions she normally condemned him for. But Merlin –stoic as ever in his calm demeanor– convinced her that the risk involved was worth her investigation. Who better he had argued, than the wolf that could quiet the beast in all creatures to reveal the intent of the person underneath. And what better adventure, he had tempted, than learning about a creature that couldn't be fully affected by her strengths, forcing her to rely on her wits and instincts.

She bloody well should have known better than to listen to a man known for charming those around him to do as he saw. He wasn't wrong –and that was the rub of Merlin's charms– but Belle had time now with the one called Mr. Gold, and all she wanted was to run for home. Away from his odd behavior, away from the odd chores he set before her. Her job here was to assist him on a personal level –schedule meetings and appointments, make sure he had what he needed when he needed it. But he treated her more like a house servant than anything else, setting her to dust and wash the various collections he had about his various homes. Belle herself had only been to three of those homes, though she was certain there were more strewn over the globe. He was a greedy and possessive Fae, more so than any wolf Belle had encountered. He felt comfortable only among his things, and his things were only to be kept within walls he owned. He didn't trust his things to be in one location, nor did he trust a basic staff to take care of them while he was away. Which only made the mystery of why he wanted a personal assistant even bigger.

He had moved her to his castle –somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland if she read the stars right, though not likely to be within fifty kilometers of anyone else, if anyone else could even see the place to begin with– after two months at his New York penthouse. At first, she took it as a blessing. More rooms and hallways to avoid him with. More history to pass the time with. But the separation from Pack ties began to take its toll. She was used to traveling all over the Americas, and parts of Europe even, to help wolves in need of her abilities. But she always was allowed to touch back with her pack to help her own wolf keep centered. Those two months in New York had her close enough to pack that the issue hadn't arisen. But with an entire ocean and god knows how much Fae magic between her and them, the strain of being alone in a castle was getting to her. The woman might be content to sit near a fire with a book and a cuppa, but the wolf needed interaction of others. It was causing nightmares at night, bringing her to tears before she even awoke. The nightmares caused her to seek him out if he was home, needing just a modicum of interaction from another living creature to sate the wolf's needs of its social constructs. The interaction caused Mr. Gold to berate her for howling at the moon all night, and disturbing him during the day for her ridiculous need for cuddling. He would go on against her species, belittle her intelligence down to primitive and instinctual rutting's over anything else. To turn around and take her to the nearest town, insisting that provisions were needed once again, with her eating him out of house and home –the kitchens were never empty. He would let her do the shopping, the interactions with the locals; as far as letting her chat up at a storefront here and there so long as it didn't go on for too long. He'd stand back, keeping watch while she soaked up the connections available.

Her mind shouted the word "abuse" at her, for his harsh behaviors and soft recompense. Lord knows how many humans and wolves she'd counseled through similar. But there lay the enigma. Why abuse her at all? Belle could understand the harsh words if he believed them; he was a vile creature and she expected no less from him. So why did he take measures to give her what she ultimately wanted without accepting guilt? A truly hateful thing wouldn't be bothered to care for her well-being, and yet he seemed to. And that was Belle's true problem. Having this puzzle of a man before her, feeding her curiosity without realizing he was doing so. It was the reason Belle had remained in the position, that mystery. Not the persuasion of The Council, not the chance to see if this creature had more in store for one of her oldest friends. Her abilities calmed the world around her, leaving a hole and thirst for adventure; a wanting for the conflict she abated. And that wanting was in constant conflict with the need to survive. So this was new, and Belle loved new feelings as much as she loved old things with history. In a word, her time with Mr. Gold was addicting. Down to a chemical level where the rationality of the brain was drowned under hormones and instinctual reactions.

She was becoming addicted to the sensations her abilities denied her.

She was becoming addicted to being around a Dark Fae.

Which is why she was becoming desperate to run away, before she couldn't go without.