A/N: I have never been interested in writing anything supernatural before, I do not delve into the realms of vampires and werewolves. Rarely do they interest me. But kiszaa's gifsets on Tumblr grabbed my attention and I knew that this was something that I had to do. I am getting ready to take the second of four finals that span from today to next Tuesday and afterwards I am free of school obligations until the end of January. Hopefully the chapters maintain a steady update pace, but I can't make promises. I hope you all enjoyed the prologue as the feedback seemed to suggest. I certainly enjoyed writing this chapter.

Much thanks to Sheryl, kiszaa, Bekah, Porsha, and Janelle for their support and plotting help. And without further ado.


The Mark of the Hunter


It was one of those days that made her wish she'd worn long sleeves underneath her leather jacket instead of the standard tank top. Usually impervious, her red suit of armor was letting cold seep in to settle like a sheet of ice on her skin. It was only October in Boston, but the overcast skies and the wind from the bay served to keep the air thin and cold. Shoving her hands deep into her jeans pockets, she hoped to keep the cold from reaching her any further. No one else seemed to notice though; as people weaved in and out of the heavy foot traffic she wondered how many of them had grown up here, with skin thicker than Phoenix sun called for. It was much easier to spot the tourists, wrapped in scarves, chattering incessantly and snapping pictures of buildings far too old to remember their own history. Most of them had been gutted and renovated. Even the outsides had subtle changes only the true revolutionaries could pinpoint. She, personally, didn't care that much.

Into one of these buildings she turned, jogging up concrete steps that badly needed a power wash. It didn't matter; no one ever came here to visit. Heat smacked her in the face once she stepped through the glass door reading 'T.C. and G.M. Private Investigators.' Underneath, in smaller print, read 'Capital Economy Bounty Hunters for Hire – 3rd Floor.' That's where she was headed. Grateful that her building had working heat, she tugged the beanie from her head. Blonde curls fell forward in a cascade and she shook her head to settle them into place around her shoulders. It hadn't been a ponytail kind of day.

Her booted foot tapped impatiently as she waited for the decrepit elevator to slowly creak its way down to the ground floor. After her last hunt had ended in the mountains just north of Seattle, she'd hung around the western state to investigate some rumors. Strange activity seemed to be happening out in the forests. Vampires. Her true prey. This breed was what she called 'Pretty Boy' vampires. She'd only run into them once before, during an excursion in Italy. Deceptively beautiful, they hid in the shadows not because the sunlight burned their frozen skin, but because they sparkled. They were so damn good looking she'd forgotten what she was doing a couple times. But then she remembered the sparkles. What self-respecting vampire coven sparkled? Thinking back to it, she still chuckled. But her office had called her back for another hunt before she'd been able to clear them out. Begrudgingly, she'd left them to take care of themselves. Seemingly, a war with the neighboring werewolf tribe was about the break out. She'd go back to clean up the scraps later.

A solid minute after the signal dinged, the door finally slid open to grant her access to the third floor. She strolled past clerks in pantsuits and other hunters milling about in jeans and hoodies. They, at least, had no dress code. She'd received word that her boss had been replaced with none other than her old juvie warden. Some people might find it strange, but she was oddly relieved at the news. A little knock on the door and she peeked inside the office, the smile on his face delightful. "Emma Swan."

She let her own smile reach her eyes, green today, "The one and only."

He stood to give her a hug, "Never thought I'd see you on this side of the law."

She had the decency to look offended at his joke. "That was ten years ago. I appreciate the vote of confidence."

He winked at her.

"When did you get promoted?"

"Couple weeks ago," he said. "I got tired of dealing with high school drop outs. None of them could live up to your infamous legacy."

Emma rolled her eyes, "I was a great inmate."

"I know," he returned to his seat, beckoning her to do the same. "When you weren't causing a scene. Sit down, sit down."

She kicked back in one of the cushy visitor chairs. "So how do you like Boston?"

"Nothing like home. I miss that Arizona sun. But it's doable. How's the all-star bounty hunter?"

"Eh, I was always good at finding people," Emma shrugged. "Just a talent, I guess. Why? Do you have a challenge for me?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," he tossed a file to her.

Reading the cover page quickly, she let out a groan, "Maine? Why don't they ever run off to like Atlanta or New Orleans? I'm trying to stay away from the cold."

"You're the best of the best, Swan. Or so I'm told," he grinned at her again. He saw that gleam in her eyes. "If anyone can track a criminal down in the savage wilderness, it's you."

"Flattery gets you nowhere," she said, standing to leave.

"We'll catch up when you get back, huh? It's been a long time," he said.

"You aren't exactly making me want to go out for coffee or anything."

"Not my job, Swan. I'm just here to catch the bad guys."

"Aren't we all," she muttered as the door closed behind her. Her new perp had about a two weeks' head start on her. It was time to get moving.

"How you always get the good ones, Swan?" one of her co-workers called out.

She threw her hands up with a grin, "You gotta be good, Scotty. You'll get there one day."

Everyone laughed. Scott was one of the best, oldest bounty hunters working at Capital. He knew his way around.

"Just don't let me end up chasin' you down, kid. We'll see who's the best," he teased.

They all had some kind of record, hers was probably the cleanest one out of all of them, even though she'd done a heck of a lot more than that piece of paper said. She just knew how to not get caught, most of the time. Nodding to the clerks as she left, she checked the file again. This one had a payout of $50,000. She could hang her jacket on that for six months after dragging this catch in. A grin steeled her against the cold as she jammed the beanie back over her ears and stepped outside. Dodging traffic, she crossed the street and quickly made her way back to a barely lived in apartment to pack for her excursion to Maine.


She was born of the woods and though the white pines of Maine were no kin to those that had sheltered her birth, they welcomed her just the same. The supernatural had always made their home amongst the trees. The wilderness accepted them. Leaves directed the wind towards her sensitive ears. The perks of heightened senses were not lost on her. She could hear a whispered conversation from five miles away, if she was paying attention. Years of training had taught her how to systematize her desensitization; to sift through the sounds of nature in order to find an unwelcome presence. Complicated corneas that had driven optometrists to predict early blindness as a child propelled her vision into the night, like infra-red goggles that maintained unobtrusiveness. She ran with the deer without breaking a sweat, climbed trees faster than a squirrel on sure feet. Other predators of the forest sensed her strength and avoided clashes with her presence. They maintained an aloof mutual respect. In order to catch a vampire, she often mused, one almost had to become one. Thankfully, she held no thirst for blood.

Assumptions ran deep in her mind that the other Hunters were the same, had been the same as she was. The Hunters must have been supernatural too. How else could their few track down and destroy the Queen's legion and the Queen herself? Her mother must have possessed the same unerring intuition and senses, her father the same brute strength. But she would never know; her past remained shrouded in mystery and unlike Hercules she had no stone god to pray to for answers. There were no legends of her people in history books. Vastly romanticized children's stories were all that connected her past and present. And she was no hero, only a soldier. Her assumptions remained just as they were. Her abilities allowed her to do her job efficiently and quietly. Those that were bold enough and stupid enough to run into the wilderness for protection automatically chose her to be their own personal General Zaroff.

It was the bull moose that gave away her quarry; his disgruntled calls alerting her to a presence that was uninvited in his world. Her ears turned to take in the sound, orienting her to the proper direction. A hand steadied her body against the grey bark of the pine as her boots shifted on the thick branch. A fall from this height would not break her, but it wouldn't help either. Being one hundred feet off the ground had its disadvantages, she thought as a gust of wind swept her hair off her shoulders. But it certainly gave her more to look at, more to see. The moose called again, and she quickly took to the forest floor to find him.

A stand-off in a clearing two miles southwest of her lookout greeted her arrival. The man had a rifle trained on the moose. She pulled out her handgun and boldly struck out across the field. The animal would trample him before she got there if she called out. Instead, she whistled, hoping the birds would carry her tune and keep the moose from killing her bounty. She wasn't keen on missing that paycheck.

"I'd back away slowly, if I were you," she said once she got close enough for the wind to carry her voice, and her scent. The moose directed a steely gaze at her, his nostrils flaring as he gathered the scent of a predator in his lungs. He didn't want to tangle with her. After an apparent bow of his hulking antlers, he trod off through the trees.

But the man missed the exchange, having turned his attention to the blonde in the bomber jacket. "You made me lose my lunch."

"Well, if you were back where you're supposed to be," she shot his hand before he could turn the rifle on her, "then you wouldn't be hungry."

His scream of agony sent the birds scattering.

She wrestled him to the ground and cuffed his hands behind him. A tight bandana staunched the blood flow. "Come on, the troopers are waiting for you."

"Who the hell are you lady?"

"Your worst nightmare," she laughed. "I've always wanted to say that. The name is Emma. And you, my friend, just bought me a six month vacation."


Maine was a place where it was easy to lose yourself, literally. Every tree looked the same; every road had the same curves. The last time she remembered having cell service, her notifications dinged to inform her of a deposit to her bank account. Once you got so far off the highway, GPS satellite tended to drop out. She checked the gas gauge again and sighed in frustration. She should have filled up in the town where she'd dropped her perp off. Bright yellow, her trusty Bug stood out starkly against the earthy tones she claimed to know. A passerby would notice her immediately if the car ran out of gas, but she hadn't seen another car in over an hour, and that had been back on the highway. This little side trip had gotten her unbelievably lost. Apparently, she did not know the back of her hand as well as she thought.

Ahead, a sign crept out from the tree line. Her eyes narrowed. "Storybrooke?"

A gut instinct had her pulling the car over as she approached.

"Town limit?" she didn't see any houses peeking out from behind the trees that indicated a town. It wasn't that she knew every crevice in Maine, but it was a frequent hunting ground and she'd made it a mission to know her territory. It made the hunting so much easier. A map was folded into the dashboard glove box and she extricated it carefully. A couple flips and some flattening of creases and she found Maine spread before her. A finger trailed the highway she'd been traveling down. But the stretch of road she'd turned off on was nowhere to be found. The map was a 2011 edition. Her eyes snapped back up to the sign. "Founded in 1985."

No Storybrooke.

Perhaps she was even more lost than she thought. She flipped to the back and found the index. The same finger trailed down the column of town names for her chosen state. Storybrooke didn't exist. With a grin she pulled back onto the road. "Now if this isn't suspicious activity worth investigating, I don't know what is. Maybe we have another Mystic Falls on our hands."

Subconsciously, she pulled the sleeves of her shirt down over her arms. Not that her mark had ever been acknowledged or recognized by a species before, but she was never too careful. Most, natural or supernatural, took the Egyptian armbands to be tattoos that she'd gotten in her misguided youth. Wings of Isis, a goddess of heaven, and the wings of Anubis, a god of the underworld, encircled her left arm just above and below the elbow. That was her mark. She'd watched it appear on her skin, like someone was trailing ink through her veins, when she was sixteen. The first signs of her strange abilities had begun to show themselves soon after. Conceivably, no one ever would see her mark for what it was. She didn't understand its significance herself. Isis and Anubis were gods of this world, not hers, and she often wondered to the connections that could possibly arise between the two. Her trips to Egypt yielded no answers. Studies of Egyptology at local libraries had turned up nothing but contradicting lore. Sometimes she relinquished her search in frustration and faced the fact that she may never know with wavering acceptance.

After a long stretch of woods and her gas light flickering on, a quaint little town spread out before her suddenly. It seemed to be stuck about two decades in the past if the décor had anything to say about it. Salt in the air pushed past her car's shabby filtration system and assaulted her senses. How did I get to the coast? As she rolled down Main Street, a gas station finally loomed into view. A spark of excitement that only desperation could conjure and she pulled in, began pumping. Leaning against the window she took the time to look around. The cars made her death trap on wheels look brand new. And the people – she didn't even remember some of the clothing choices existing. "Make that three decades in the past."

Once the tank was full, Emma drove off, unaware that her total was a resounding $14.63. The day that she'd had called for a beer, and what better place to sample the locals in a quiet town than a bar?

Down the street The Rabbit Hole flickered in green and white neon above a wooden door as the sun began to set. She stepped in as a short, gruff man smelling of ethanol and desperately needing a shave was herded out by a policeman who barely gave her a passing glance. "You know the drill, Leroy."

Shaking her head, she slid her way between patrons at the bar and had a beer shoved in her hands before she finished asking for it by the brunette bartender wearing practically nothing. No one seemed to notice her. So she found a table mostly devoid of sticky places and sat back to let the powers of observation move her. It wasn't as dark as she thought a bar should be. Everyone seemed to know their place and it wasn't until someone almost sat on her that anyone realized she was there at all. And they seemed completely startled by it. Upon her offer to move, they warded her off and relocated themselves.

"Well, that was weird," Emma muttered to herself. It was a preconception that quaint little towns were friendly.

"You'll have to excuse them, dear," a smooth voice dipped in poison responded. "We don't get many visitors here."

"Clearly," Emma looked up. A different brunette was looking down at her. The woman held herself regally, the surrounding clientele beneath her. Dark eyes seemed to smolder.

"Regina Mills," the woman addressed herself.

"Emma Swan," the blonde bounty hunter swept her arm over the table dramatically. "Please sit."

The invitation fell flat as Regina was already claiming space opposite her at the table. "You may be the first visitor we've had in a long while."

"Yeah," Emma nodded, turning back to the crowd. "This place is certainly out there."

"How ever did you find us?"

Emma eyed her new companion with suspicion. "Should I not have?"

"I'm merely inquiring. As I said, we don't get many tourists in Storybrooke."

"I was looking for gas, got a little lost, ran into you," a brilliant smile finished off her answer. "And you are so much more fun to look at than the gas station."

"Then you found Dino's?" Regina asked, not taking a moment to soak in the blonde's forwardness.

"Oh, yeah. And you know, I'm a bit of a wanderer, so I thought I'd stick around, see if I could find anything exciting," Emma smirked.

Regina shifted, cleared her throat, "Well, found something you have. I'm afraid you may find our town a bit drab for your, no doubt, expensive tastes."

"I'm full of surprises and I don't have anywhere to be," Emma let her eyes linger on the martini slipping between the woman's lips. "I like what I'm seeing so far."

Silence pulled Emma's eyes back to the crowd, all of whom seemed to have noticed the newcomer among them. Sideways glances that shifted when she met them took in the sight of her. And she them. But she didn't quite notice the eyes across the table drinking her in greedily, calculating.

Out of the side of her mouth, Emma asked, "What are you drinking?"

"Apple martini," Regina said, just as poised as ever. "Lacey makes the best."

"Lacey?"

"The bartender," Regina nodded to the woman hanging over the counter with a shaker. "But I make the best cider in town."

Emma leaned in, "Perhaps you'll have to give me a taste then?"

"I don't think you're earned that yet," Regina tossed back the rest of her drink, sliding the glass over the table to meet with Emma's empty beer bottle.

"Then I think I should be going to find a room for the night," Emma faked a convincing stretch. "Suggestions?"

"Try Granny's, down the street about three blocks, hang a left."

"Will do." Emma shrugged into her jacket.

"Ms. Swan?"

"Ms. Mills?"

"What are you doing here?"

The question was so point blank that Emma knew it was tearing up the other woman to not have an answer. She stood and threw a couple bills down to cover her beer. "You're going to have to buy me a few drinks first."

"I'm the mayor, I don't buy drinks," Regina turned her head and Emma's jade eyes followed the way her hair swung perfectly forward. The woman was ravishing.

"I'll remember that, Ms. Mills."