The Gray Hunter
Chapter 7
Castle
Belle has attended a Conference at Cora's residence and has been appalled at the petty arguments and lack of responsible responses to the growing crisis. She goes out for a drink and encounters the Gray Hunter who, yet again, apologizes. She reluctantly admits to feeling some attraction to the man. For his part, the Hunter is becoming increasing convinced that Miss French is descended from Simon Belmont, another Gray Hunter he worked with long ago to defeat the Great Vampire.
When she returns to Cora's mansion, Belle continues to sense a dark, oily presence that she feels is watching her. Her Mother Superior explains more about the roles of the three families that were recruited to fight darkness, noting that the Stiltskin family were capable of magic.
Quite desperate, the Conference has beseeched the Gray Hunter for help and he has appeared - only to make a most outrageous request.
"I want something . . . more precious," he finally told them, turning to look back at them. And then he smiled.
Cora had stood. "What? What is it that you want?"
Stiltskin smiled slowly. "I want . . . her." And he pointed to Belle.
There was a collective gasp from the assemblage. For Belle the world froze into a narrow field, the noise, the actions of others diminished in the steadfastness of her vision for the Count.
Rheul was on her feet now. "Absolutely not! We aren't in the business of buying and selling humans."
Stiltskin had moved quickly so that he was abruptly standing nose to nose with Belle's Mother Superior.
"Really? Do you want me to recount the sordid history of your little coven?" he asked. "What is it called nowadays? Human trafficking? How many times did your coven trade people for property, for power, for knowledge?"
"You can't have her!" Rheul interrupted him before he could share details. "There has to be something else that you'll deal for." She was furious. So this is why Cora had pushed for her to bring Belle to this conference!
The Count stopped his agitated movements as if he were considering Rheul's offer. Then he shook his head and waved her off. "No, I don't think so. I have a rather large estate for which I need . . . a caretaker. She'll do," he nodded in Belle's direction.
There was another outburst of protests. It was Father Hopper who quieted the group. He stood and raised his hand and, surprisingly, the group became quiet and turned to listen to the unpresumptuous man.
"Count, you know that we cannot allow you to just carry this young woman off," he said gently. "There are proprieties that must be observed."
"So? What? Are you saying I should marry the wench? You think that would cover these . . . uh . . . proprieties?" Rumple asked his priest.
Archie seemed surprised at this idea. He knew the Gray Hunter as well as any other living soul, and knew there was something else, some other reason, for the Hunter's behavior. "I was thinking that you might settle on something else as your reward, but . . . well, marriage might be an option, but . . . but only if Miss French is willing."
The Count had glanced over to look at Belle perhaps to gauge her response to this proposal. "What do you say, dearie?" he asked her.
Several others at the conference continued to protest, some loudly, some tsk-tsking from their chairs safe away from the main conference table. The Hunter ignored them and indolently settled down in the chair at the head of the table while he waited for her answer. Belle locked eyes with the man. There was something else in his look – Hope? Desire? What was he thinking?
Archie had turned to Belle. "Miss French, this is unexpected. You must need some time to consider this proposal."
"Proposal!" Rheul protested. "No! Never! This is an outrage!"
"Totally objectionable!" added Cora.
"Unconscionable!" shouted George.
"Enough!" the Count stood up, pulling his gaze away from Belle. "I've had enough! I didn't come here to debate the matter. If her answer is 'no' then I'm done here. You people can fight your own damn battles. I'll be retiring to my estate." He began to walk out of the room.
"Wait," Belle found herself on her feet.
He stopped, his back to her.
"I'll do it," she said.
He turned slowly, curiosity marking his expressive face. "As my caretaker? Or my wife?" he asked. Why had he ever suggested such a thing? The idea that he might come out of this debacle with the delectable Miss French as his legal wife was . . . unexpected. He knew somehow, after what the Erzengel and Auntie Enola had told him that Miss French was important to him. He knew he had to keep her safe. Perhaps were she his wife, she would be protected.
Or would she be even more vulnerable? A target for his enemies? A temptation to his own darker side?
"As your wife," she told him.
That surprised him – and everyone else at the conference, maybe even Belle herself. His eyes flickered over her.
"Really?" she heard him although she doubted anyone else had.
She was standing and looked him directly in the eye. "Yes," she whispered her answer.
"Well enough," he said quietly. "Wife it is then," and then he held out his hand to her but before she could take it, Father Hopper spoke up.
"I want to talk with you two," he told them and he got between them.
"You will have a marriage to perform, priest. We don't have much time," Stiltskin reminded him.
"I know, but I need to talk with both of you first," the priest held his ground.
Stiltskin turned to Cora and Rheul. "Get together your information on that Shadow creature," he directed them. "This won't take long."
And Belle found herself sitting demurely with her hands folded together. They were in Cora's large ornately decorated office. Stiltskin was lounging negligently with his feet stretched out in front of himself, resting them on top of Cora's desk and doubtless, leaving scuff marks from his heels on the polished desk top. Archie was sitting quietly while he considered what he needed to say to them.
"Belle," he began. "Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you want to do this? To tie yourself to this man for the rest of your life?"
Belle glanced at the Count who was rather subdued and watching her intently. He was still and his eyes were hooded but she knew he was attuned to every nuance of every movement that she made.
"Yes. If he demands me as the price for saving humankind, then I'm willing to go with him."
"But you realize that . . . that this will change you, certainly change what others think of you?" Archie asked her earnestly. He glanced at the Hunter, "This could be dangerous for you."
"I know," she replied softly.
"Do you feel comfortable . . . comfortable enough to put yourself in his hands?" Archie asked her.
"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I think so." She thought it over. He'd had her at his mercy several times now and had always backed off before truly hurting her. He would threaten and posture, but he'd never actually raised his hand against her – well, except that first encounter when he'd thought she might be a Creature of Darkness.
"I don't think that he will hurt me," she said slowly, not really quite sure of herself here. She had been afraid of him before. Was she no longer afraid? She didn't think she was under any spell . . . but how was someone to know this?
She gave Archie a weak smile and a faint nod.
Archie sighed, then turned back to the Count, "She should know about you, Count. Before she finds out for herself, she should know. She should know what you are," Archie spoke to the Count softly.
"She has already given her word," the Count responded sullenly.
"But, it isn't right. . . " Archie began.
"She'll deal with it. She's strong enough," Stiltskin interrupted. He had watched and listened to Belle's interchange with the priest. Had she been afraid . . . was the woman afraid of him? He hadn't realized that she might be. He'd thought she was simply angry and put out, put off by him, but never afraid. She had never seemed afraid – damn, maybe she did have some of Quincy's blood in her after all and was bluffing and adept at subsuming an air of bravery.
"What is there for me to know?" Belle asked.
Stiltskin was about to make a sarcastic comment but under the quiet scrutiny of his confessor, he paused. He started to speak, then stopped, then started again. "I'm a monster, Belle. Under this veneer, I'm not quite human. There is a beast that lives within me that is barely contained. The good father doesn't trust me not to turn into an animal and ravage you, even kill you."
"And will you . . .? Will you try to hurt me?" she asked him in a small voice. She'd already seen the violence within the man. He was proud and arrogant but it had seemed to her as if he hated what he was, the killing that he had to do.
The Count spoke deliberately, "I would never purposely hurt you, Miss French. I want to keep you safe. I will do my best to protect you from harm," he promised her. He looked her directly in the eye and seemed somehow sad and vulnerable – and truthful.
Belle took a moment and then, slowly, she nodded her acquiescence. Do the brave thing, she told herself. This was to save all of humankind.
"All right then. You've agreed before God and a priest. It is settled." Stiltskin seemed relieved as he turned back to Archie. "Let's call in Cora and Rheul. I want them for witnesses."
Archie complied and the two stood behind Belle and the Count while Archie took them through the marriage ceremony.
It was surreal, as if things weren't really happening, like a dream. Belle replied to the vows, to love, to honor, to cherish. When Father Archie said her entire name, her true name, Belmont Morris-French, she saw the Count startle, as if he were surprised. He stood a moment, first making eye contact and then he gave her a slight smile. She heard the Count's name, Rumple Von Stiltskin, and then heard him make the same vows.
There was a kiss to seal their vows, a quick perfunctory affair. Belle put her hand to her mouth to stop the tingling the touch of his lips had produced.
Afterward, while the Count was getting a sheaf of papers from Cora and Rheul, Archie spoke one last time to Belle. "You will always have a safe haven in the Church, Miss Belle," he told her and she smiled at him thanking the kind man.
Then it was time.
"I will return tomorrow," the Hunter told the small assembled group.
And then Belle felt his arms around her and then, abruptly, there was a profound sense of disorientation.
She blacked out.
The Dark Castle
She awoke in a darkened room lying on a hard couch covered in worn green velvet. There was a very high vaulted ceiling above her head, the ceiling disappearing into the shadows of high arches. Light came into the room through several slender windows in the walls. She could see great strings of cobwebbing hanging off the walls and from the single black iron chandelier that hung down from a black chain swinging over her head. The couch sat on a rug that was had once been luxurious but was now threadbare in places and sported dulled colors.
"It's unsettling."
She looked around. The Count was sitting with his back to her, sitting in a large throne-like chair at the head of a large table set behind the couch. The sheath of papers from Cora and Rheul had been thrown carelessly onto the table.
He didn't look at her. "Teleportation. The first time can be nauseating and disconcerting."
"I guess I passed out," she told him sitting up and looking around. "Where are we?"
"My family's castle. It's in the far north . . . on a small island . . . by itself. I haven't been here in a while so it's rather fallen into disarray. I guess the magic that has maintained the house has grown a bit thin."
Belle got up and continued looking up and all around. The place, what she could see of it, was huge, dark and huge. "This is a castle?" she asked.
He didn't answer right away. "Yes. It's been in my family for a very long time." He still had not turned around.
"Want to show me around?" she asked.
"Miss French. There is something . . . something else. The good Father had wanted me to tell you before but . . . I . . . I didn't . . . I couldn't."
"What are you talking about?" and she walked over to him.
She stopped.
"Oh my," was all she said.
His appearance had changed. His skin was no longer tanned with a touch of the weather worn but was instead covered with tiny, sparkling green-gold scales. His eyes were no longer the comforting whiskey brown but were nearly yellow-amber with reptilian slits instead of round pupils. His straight, fine brown hair (with its touch of gray) was now matted into unruly locks. His long fingers ended in blackened claw-like nails.
He was watching her.
"You aren't going to run screaming away from me?" he asked.
"You're still the Count, aren't you?" she asked.
He gave her a faint smile. "I'm very much the Count. This is my true appearance. It reflects what is likely . . . uh . . . demonic heritage. I can glamour myself everywhere except inside this castle."
"May I . . . " she was hesitant. "May I touch you?" she asked.
He pulled back, puzzled. "If you wish."
She put her hand on his arm. "Your skin is smooth and . . . it is warm." Like a mammal, not cool like a reptile. She raised her hand to his hair and brushed against it. "I had heard that you were 'marked' in some way. Now I understand."
The Count sat still tolerating her touch. He spoke slowly, "My mother died giving birth to me and the midwife was horrified at my appearance. Only the arrival of the village priest saved my life. He knew my mother's family, what we were – the Sabbatarian inheritance. He had watched my father's courtship, if you would call it that - more like his calculated seduction of my innocent mother. My father abandoned her as soon as she discovered she was in the family way. Likely impregnating her had been his sole intent all along. The priest felt that I likely had great capacity for fighting the Dark but I would have to be taught to resist the Darkness that was within me."
"Mother Rheul said you were raised by monks in some far mountains," Belle shared.
The Count nodded. "For part of my life, until I learned to manage my appearance and could go out among ordinary people. There I was taught to pray and to fight. I was taught that I had to be constantly vigilant against my darker impulses and desires. When I was older I was sent to live with three powerful entities who guided me and taught me much of what I know."
Belle sat down next to him. "Did you think I would . . . what? reject you, run from you, start crying? when I saw your true appearance?"
"I did," he replied honestly. "Very few living people have seen me in this form. When I'm here, at this castle, I cannot maintain the disguise. The magic in this place reveals things as they truly are."
"So you couldn't bring yourself to tell me before we left," Belle clarified her situation.
"If you cannot bear to be with me, Miss French, I will understand. I can return you tonight to my priest and our marriage can be annulled."
"But then you will not help us defeat the Shadow That is Rising." Belle stood. "I agreed to go with you – with you," she touched his forehead. "I will stay."
He sat still a moment and then nodded.
Belle stood quietly, looking around the un-inviting great hall while the Count stared at the table top.
"If you would prefer . . ." he began.
"Can we get something to eat?" she said at the same time.
He did not finish what he had been about to say but instead gave her another thin smile. "I can summon us some food." He waved his hand and Belle gasped. The table was abruptly ladened with a variety of things to eat, a baked fish, mashed potatoes, different vegetables and wine to drink. He poured her a glass and, after hesitating, poured himself a glass.
"You're not back on a Hunt just yet, I presume," she said sitting back down on the long side of the table, next to his right hand.
"Not tonight, not yet, and, frankly, I'm rather nervous and I think I can be allowed a short glass this one evening. It is my wedding night," he admitted.
"You're nervous?" she asked. It was hard to imagine this completely self-possessed man as being anything except completely sure of himself.
"I am not . . . used to being alone with a woman. It's been a while," he admitted.
"I would have never guessed," she said more to herself than to him.
He gave her a wan smile, "I know, I know I have never been accomplished with women. You called me 'a jerk.' Perhaps you are correct. I would like to think that I am simply inexperienced and could perhaps learn how to talk to women so that they might like me, be comfortable around me. It is kinder to think that it is something I haven't learned. Inexperience can be fixed, but I don't know how I might go about becoming 'unjerked' if 'a jerk' is what I truly am."
And now Belle had to smile at him. "You've never been close to a woman?" she asked him. She was close enough to touch his hand.
"I've lived a long time but there have only been a few other women before . . . before you. There were some women when I was younger but . . ." he stopped, seemed to shake himself, and began again. "I did once have a wife who loved me, as I loved her. But things ended badly between us when she was seduced away from me by a dark and powerful magical entity and I . . . I lost her. I was . . ." he seemed embarrassed by this next confession, "I was involved briefly with Cora, whom you know. I thought I was in love with her, but she . . . well, she was not in love with me."
Belle took it all in. "You have been lonely," she said it rather than asking.
"I guess. It is hard, you know. Seeing you here in this place, in the candlelight, I can see how very beautiful you are. Your pure soul shines through." He turned away from her. There was no question here – there was fairy, perhaps even angelic heritage in this one – she fairly glowed with innocence and purity. Where had that bloodline come from? Not from Belmont who'd had his own dark heritage. "Belle, there is a dark part of me that has awakened and wants to . . . to have you here on this table," he confessed this abruptly, in a rush. "This is what the good Father was afraid might happen."
Belle realized that he was not eating although he had prepared himself a plate. He was, instead, watching her. She could also see that his slitted eyes had widened, whether from the darkness of the room or from something else, she wasn't sure. She suddenly wasn't hungry anymore – her hunter instincts had all come to life. There was danger here.
"Are you finished with your meal?" he asked in a low voice.
She licked her lips. "Yes," she finally answered.
"Then come with me," he told her. He rose and held out his hand to her.
Belle slowly stood and cautiously took his hand. What were his intentions? He didn't seem angry but was he wound tight, energy popping off the man.
Was he planning on taking her to her bedroom? His bedroom?
This man had already seen her nearly naked. He had already run his hands over her body. And darn him, she knew she could be aroused by his touch. And he knew he could arouse her with his touch.
Would he want to exercise his marital rights? They had not discussed this. With marriage rather than caretaking, there was the implication . . . and she certainly knew that he was attracted to her. . . . and she had certainly learned early on that he was a functioning male.
This moment though there was something else. She could feel a dark element in the man rising, taking hold of him. She shivered, not exactly scared, but nervous, very nervous.
He had said he would not hurt her. But if his darkness had taken hold of him, what would he do? Was her trust in him to be unfounded?
He led her down several dark stone corridors and up several flights of dark stone stairs. Before them, a heavy wooden door on black iron hinges swung open before they came to it, taking them into a bedroom.
It was an eerie place, cold gray walls, a high gray ceiling and bare gray floors. There was a large dark wood four-poster bed dominating the center of the room. It was covered with white sheeting and dust. Frail tattered gauze hung down from the top railings, like the remnants of a bridal veil around the bed. The Count raised his hand and a wind blew through the room, blowing away the cobwebs and the dust.
Belle spoke nervously, "Perhaps we should spend some time together, just getting to know each other before we . . . " She didn't hear him come up behind her but felt his arms go around her, lifting her up. She yelped when he tossed her onto the bed.
"I know you well enough," she heard him. And then he was on top of her, blackened nails tearing at her clothes, his sharp nails sometimes grazing her skin and leaving fine red prickled lines where they scratched her skin.
"The weak part of me, the part that kneels before priests and bows his head in the Church, the part that accepts penance - that part of me would let you sleep alone tonight." She felt his fingers trace up the reddening claw marks he'd just made and watched when he licked his finger to taste her blood. "But this part of me, this part would consummate our marriage."
She couldn't stop herself from pushing him away or at least trying to push him away. His lips crashed into hers, forcing her mouth open, bruising her lips, nearly cutting her with his teeth.
"No," she managed to speak when he moved his mouth to kiss her along her neck, but he ignored her. His hands continued to pull away her clothes, his sharp nails still sometimes grazing, sometimes scratching her. "No," she told him again, trying to get him to stop, but he seemed intent on forcing his bride. In the dim light, she could see his pupils had expanded and filled the amber eyes. He licked her neck.
"Sweet, you taste sweet," his voice hoarse as he muttered to her. He then began to slide down her body pulling off the remnants of her clothing, even to dragging off her wispy panties. She was naked in his bed, his amorous intentions quite evident.
"No," she told him one more time, but then he settled between her legs, using his body to pin her to the bed, dropping his mouth to hers once again, kissing her. And then he dropped his hand between her legs and her world imploded.
He was touching her where no one had touched her before. She could feel a combination of hot and pressure and . . . pleasure. He held her thighs apart while his calloused fingers plundered her soft folds and all her delicate places. She struggled to get away from him but was not able to do more than thrash.
He was too rough, too demanding.
"Please, you're hurting me. I've never. . ." she managed to gasp out and was astonished when he shook himself violently and then abruptly stopped and pulled away from her. He knelt on the bottom of his bed, his head down, his breath coming in great gulping gasps. He was visibly trembling.
"Forgive me," he whispered. "Forgive me," he said between gasps. "I had told you that I would never hurt you, that I only wanted to protect you. I thought . . . I really thought I could control myself."
He turned away from her, sliding off the bed, as he continued, "But Miss French, the beast that lives within me - I can't always control it. That part of me wants you, wants to possess you and . . . fuck you. I am sorry. I will leave you alone," and he stood shakily and then stumbled out of the room. "Forgive me and please, please don't seek me out tonight," she heard him as he closed the door behind himself, shutting her in the room.
Belle lay on the bed, her body heated, her fever up and feelings of total bewilderment consuming her. It took a while before her breathing returned to normal.
He had stopped, stopped before he . . . . Her lips burned from his kisses and she felt there would likely be bruising. There were numerous scratch marks all over her arms, her legs, her body. Between her legs, she ached; she was wet and swollen, her body having responded to his brutish actions even while her mind had recoiled.
But then he had stopped himself.
She considered briefly going after the man but quickly decided to heed his warning. He was in a dangerous state of mind and, she thought, was struggling to retain a fragile control over himself. She picked over the remnants of her clothes – torn to shreds.
She returned to the comfort of the bed and sat in the middle, wrapping herself in a sheet. The room was cool, but not cold. There was a slight breeze wafting in the room and she could see several tall rectangular windows in one wall. She got up and looked out one of the windows. There was a full moon and she could see water and smell salt air – an ocean then. There was a light rain falling.
This was his home. She remembered him mentioning that it was on an island. She looked out on the towers and curtain wall of the castle. There, on the top of one of the towers – a figure. It had to be a statue but in the gray rainy mist, she thought she might have seen it move.
She went back to the bed. Belle considered her options. She knew the man needed some space and even if he hadn't been out there, she didn't want to go exploring in the darkness. She certainly had no ready way off the island and was essentially trapped in his castle.
She opted to cast a basic, simple protection spell around the bed and a second spell around the doors and windows. She doubted the spells would keep someone of his abilities out but should he crash through them, she should at least feel it and wake up. Exhausted, she drifted off.
A.N. Yeah, I know – I'll fix this between Rumple and Belle, I promise. Rumple's still got a little further to fall before things start to come back together for him.
Thanks so much to those folks who sent along a review (we writers always wonder if anyone is out there and reviews are such reinforcement to keep writing): Grace5231973, Wondermorena, jewel415, lovepeacebubble121x, Erik'sTrueAngel, and deweymay.
Next: Rumple deals with guilt and a particularly nasty demon.
Belle explores the Dark Castle, meets a new friend and confronts a new enemy.