The Gray Hunter
Chapter 10
Milah
The injured Gray Hunter returned to his castle only to find voracious creatures attacking his bride who has placed herself in a meditative state suspended in a protective sphere. When he calls to her, she awakens, the sphere bursts, and she drops into his arms. The Hunter puts her to bed and then corrals the threatening Verlassen. He collapses onto the same bed where Miss French is now sleeping. They slumber together, both recovering from difficult nights. Miss French awakens first and heals her new husband. He tells her how he was injured and apologizes for his behavior on his wedding night. They then discuss The Latest Threat that injured the Gray Hunter; Miss French suggests they research the demon in the castle's library. He is surprised to find his bride has a scholarly side. He is finding himself more and more drawn to his pretty bride (and she to him). Their next activity is for him to begin training her fighting skills.
The Bailey
Belle was astonished at the man's physical control. Even while he was obviously still recovering from his duel with the shadow monster, he was still lightning fast and was capable of being quite deadly. He repeatedly disarmed her, repeatedly tossed her on her rear end and repeatedly technically killed her. She realized very quickly that had she tried to fight him before – when they had first met - she would have had no chance against him. After a long afternoon, with only a short break for a brief lunch, her body aching from being tossed around, they called it quits.
A simple supper was waiting for them: cold potato salad, savory beans, cooked cabbage and freshly baked bread with hot tea to drink. Belle dove into the food.
He was sitting across from her. She watched him from the corner of her eye. In his glittery form, he was fascinating. She had already picked up that he thought he was hideous, but she found him beautiful. The unusual skin and the expressive eyes – perhaps not his matted hair and darkened nails which reminded her of claws. But he was distinctive, intriguing, certainly as alluring in this form as he had been as the Count.
He was finding that, at most, he could only manage passing glances at his bride. She was breathtaking, even after the workout she'd been through. She was the most exquisite thing he had ever had in his possession, well perhaps not in his possession – he knew she wouldn't appreciate him thinking of her in those terms. Perhaps the most exquisite thing he'd had under his protection. Yes, yes, those terms might be acceptable to her.
After supper, he brusquely directed her to the shower. Surprised at finding this modern convenience in this medieval castle, she didn't ask questions. She washed off and changed out into some waiting soft pajamas, long silky blue pajamas with embroidered peacocks on one leg and on the back of the matching robe.
Knowing that Miss French was stripping off to get a shower, imagining her naked and wet was altogether too much for the imp. He'd thought earlier that the expenditure of energy in physical activity would be enough to cool his ardor but he quickly found that every time he put his hands on her, his vision blurred and his blood would pool in his nether regions. So much for re-focusing his energies. While she was showering, he opted for a quick swim in the ocean, the cold waters succeeding in calming his body when all else had failed.
Coming out of the shower, Belle realized quickly that her husband had moved out of the main bedroom, leaving it to her. She debated. Her previous night in the room had been terrifying and she was unnerved at the prospect of spending another night alone in the place. She went down the hall, relying on her inner psy-talents and her sense of smell (the man, especially in his demonic aspect, had a distinctly spicy, very enticing scent).
She found him on the same floor in another similar bedroom. He was sitting in a corner, sitting behind a giant spinning wheel. His clothes had been changed into a clean pair of linen trousers and another plain tunic top. His hair was damp. He didn't seem to notice when she came in. She went over and sat down near him, watching his supple fingers slowly twist and feed the roving onto the wheel. He seemed quite calm and very focused.
"Yes, Miss French?" he finally said.
"If I'm to call you Rumple, then you must call me Belle," she told him, from her secure place on the floor.
"All right. Belle, can I do something for you?" He sounded kind and concerned.
"I am afraid to sleep in that other bedroom," she confessed.
"I have addressed the Verlassen. They are of no further threat to you," he promised her, still feeding the roving onto the wheel.
"I am still uncomfortable. It was the most difficult night of my life," she shared.
"Perhaps we should switch bedrooms . . ." he suggested.
"I don't want to be alone," she told him, jumping to the point.
He faltered with his movements and stopped the wheel.
"Belle . . . " he began. "I am in control at the moment but I can't promise you . . ." he looked away.
She understood. He didn't want to hurt her. He was protecting her.
"I don't want to be alone," she repeated, standing her ground.
"Perhaps if you took the bed," he offered. "I can sleep on the lounger," and he gestured to the small sofa that was set in the bedroom.
"But that can't be as comfortable as the bed," she protested.
"Miss French . . . Belle," he corrected himself. "You saw my accommodations at the Church. The lounger is more than adequate for me."
"Perhaps I should be the one to sleep on the lounger. I am the one having problems," she suggested.
"I think you should take the bed," he told her. "I insist." He hesitated, "Please."
Belle looked at the man. He clearly did not want to share a bed with her – likely, she realized, for her own protection. She nodded and took to the bed while he settled on the lounger.
It was awkward but it served.
Hot Springs
The next morning, as she had the previous morning but under less stressful circumstances, Belle went to get breakfast. She returned to the room to find that her husband was sitting on the large stone ledge that served as a window sill to one of the larger windows of the bedroom. He was sitting out in drizzle, resting cross-legged and meditating. He soon came back inside and joined her for breakfast. They dressed again in workout clothing and he began to teach her more self-defensive moves and more attack moves. They took a break for a light lunch, rested for a short while and then begin again. It was an exhausting day and Belle felt as if she had learned more in the past day and a half about fighting as she had in all her previous years of field practice.
Rumple thought she was one of the fastest learners he'd ever worked with. He also found quickly that they worked well as a team, covering for each other. It was quite pleasant to think that he might have someone to cover his back. It had been a long time since he'd been with another fighter he could trust to fend for him.
Given her name – Belmont Morris-French – he now was almost entirely certain that she was descended from Simon, the single best fighter Rumple had ever encountered and Quincy Morris, an Adept Fighter. After the disposal of the Great Vampire, Quincy had inherited Simon's Gray Hunter mantle and, if Rumple recalled the events clearly, had quietly married Simon's daughter, Sofia Belmont. Likely Belle was descended from that union and her name reflected these two aspects of her Gray Hunter heritage. Rumple had lost track of Quincy and his family after Milah . . . after Milah had been turned and Bae killed.
As she sat at the dinner table that evening, Belle became aware that she ached all over. On her umpteenth time when she had landed face down in the dirt, she'd accepted that many of her much lauded skills were really sadly lacking. All the same, she felt she had never worked so hard for so long. While she slumped, picking over some beans and rice that she had been served for supper, Rumple smiled at her.
"You're very good," he told her.
"Really?" she had to ask, surprised. "I had thought I was, but after sparring with you, I've come to realize that I don't know squat. I don't think there was a single moment that there was any possibility that I could have taken you down."
"Well, there wasn't," he agreed. "But I've done this a bit longer. You're still very good, and you've got room to get even better."
"But, it's scary. What if I had come up against that Shaggin' Stumpfel instead of you?"
"Schatten Scheusal," he corrected her automatically. Then quietly, he said, "You might have died."
She swallowed. "Maybe I would be better off cowering here in your castle," she said in a small voice.
He shook his head. "Miss French . . . Belle," he began. "I've told you that I have reason to believe that you are important – to me, perhaps to others. I don't know why or how, but I know you are." He paused. "I have been thinking it through. After the Verlassen, it is clear that you may not be entirely safe here at the castle. I have some very powerful wards about this place but there are obviously cracks and ways into the castle that I haven't anticipated. And . . . and, I don't think that staying here in the castle will allow you to fulfill your destiny." Difficult for him to admit.
She looked at him, his amber eyes were bright, the pupils dilated in the dimness of the evening light.
"You think I should accompany you on your missions?" she asked him.
He didn't look happy about it. "I think, yes," he confirmed reluctantly.
She sighed. "Well, then I guess I have to keep training," she told him.
"Start again tomorrow?" he asked her.
"I guess." She ate a couple more bites. "You don't have a hot tub here do you? I hurt all over."
He smiled very slowly. "Something better." He stood and held his hand out to her. "Come."
Belle was more than slightly wary after his treatment of her two nights ago but did take his hand and allowed him to lead her along. He made one quick stop to pick up a couple of large towels. This time he took her down several flights of stairs and they ended up in the lowest levels of the castle. Belle looked around – this area would easily qualify as a dungeon. It was dark and damp and she was surprised when they came out into a larger cavern. Inside the cavern, lit by soft blue lights, was a simple round pool filled with steaming water fogging out onto the cave floor. As he stepped out into the cavern, his skin shimmered and much of the green-gold scales faded into warm-toned skin. His eyes darkened to the familiar brown.
She saw but didn't say anything.
"Hot springs," he told her.
"Really?"
"With a lot of minerals and good stuff. Care to relax a little while?" he asked.
"Would I? This is just the thing for after a workout." She looked around. "Is there somewhere I can change and something I can change into?" she asked.
He shook his head. "This cavern is mostly out of the range of the castle's magic. You're on your own. Here's one of the towels. I . . . I'll turn my head."
Belle hesitated but the hot water looked so inviting. She stripped off down to her undies and slipped into the water, surprised to find there were seats carved into the side of the pool.
"All right," she told him and averted her eyes while he slipped his own clothing off. She opened her eyes when she heard him settle next to her.
"This is wonderful," she told him, her hands playing in the bubbly, foaming water.
"All these islands are riddled with these springs," he told her.
"These islands? Just exactly where are we?" she asked him.
"We're on one of the Faroe Islands. This is one of the tiniest ones. This castle stands by itself. As far as most people know, this particular island is uninhabited. The castle is shielded from sight," he told her. "Father Archie looked for it on the Google and the island just appears as a grassy place."
"The Faroe Islands?" she shook her head.
"They're midway between the northern islands of Scotland and Iceland. We're on the Gulf Stream so while the weather is wet, it's not as cold as you might think it would be."
"And your family is from here?" she asked.
"My mother's family - originally, a very long time ago," he told her.
She closed her eyes and soaked up the heat and healing from the warm waters. "I don't know anything about my family," she told him.
"Really?" he asked her curiously. Was it possible that he knew more about who she was than she knew?
"I was orphaned and ended up as an infant with the Coven," she explained. "The only thing I had of my family is my unusual name and, of course, my mother's flail."
"I've got The Flail safe," he told her. And now he hesitated again she should know who she was, "Your name and The Flail suggest that you might be a descendent of Quincy Morris and Simon Belmont," he told her.
"I know the name Simon Belmont, one of the Sabbattarians. But who was Quincy Morris?"
"An Adept Fighter who joined with myself, Simon, and Van Helsing to defeat the Great Vampire more than a hundred years ago."
"You fought Dracula?" she asked in awe.
"Yes. Bram Stoker, who was the Recorder, the Author, of the time, noted Abraham, Abraham Van Helsing's and Quincy's contributions, although Stoker killed off Morris in the novel. Actually it was Simon who died in the battle. He and Quincy finally destroyed Dracula after Abraham figured out how it could be done. The three of us, Simon, Abraham and myself, created The Flail for that purpose. Simon passed on the Gray Hunter mantle and the weapon to Quincy, who was with him at the time he died."
"So, you're telling me that Stoker's Dracula is historical fact?" Belle asked aghast.
"Not exactly. But somewhat, yes," Rumple admitted.
"And you were there?"
"Yes. I met my wife, my first wife, at that time. In Stoker's book she is called Mina Harker. In real life she was Milah Harper. She was like you in many ways – strong, independent . . . stubborn." he added smiling. "Plus she was another Adept Fighter, also like yourself. Stoker didn't put that in his novel as women were not regarded as having the capacity for being fighters at that time. Nor did he record that Abraham, Simon and Quincy, as well as myself, were all her suitors . . . but she chose me."
"Wait a minute," Belle stopped him. "Were you . . . were you like Jonathan Harker in the novel?"
"In many ways, yes. My aunts had urged me to pursue a career, something to occupy me during the down times. Earlier they had taught me their craft, spinning, but times change and later, I trained as a solicitor, an attorney. I went to Dracula's castle on official business, the sale of some property to the Vampire. I was an expected, invited guest, so I was able to get through his wards." Rumple hesitated. "I am embarrassed to admit that I was quite arrogant and smug about my abilities. I . . . rather . . . over-estimated my skills. Disastrously, I ended up staying as a 'guest' of the Vampire's brides for a time. I was lucky to escape alive."
He was the youngest of the three Gray Hunters of his time and he had lived a relatively secluded, protected life, raised first by monks and then his spinster aunts. He had been 'inexperienced' when he was detained by the Brides. They were fascinated by his recuperative powers, both the physical and the sexual. They preyed on him and rapidly introduced him to a variety of lurid practices. He had been most fortunate to escape and it had taken him weeks, months to put aside his experiences and become functional as a fighter again.
Belle watched him. He had become somber and distant. She wanted to ask him more about what had happened while he was a prisoner and, more importantly, how he had escaped, but quickly sensed that it was a delicate subject.
"So you were married to Mina Harker?" she finally asked.
"Milah Harper in real life. I don't know why Stoker changed some names and kept others. And I certainly don't know why Milah selected me. Abraham was certainly smarter than I and Belmont the best fighter of us. Quincy was the sanest and the bravest, but, maybe, she appreciated my magic. She certainly didn't object to my true form."
"You were happy then?" Belle asked.
"Very. We had a son together." He looked away and became very quiet. "Abraham and Simon had died and I was no longer in touch with Quincy. Things had become very calm after Dracula's death and my skills weren't needed. I had retired here with my little family and, I suppose, being away from the fray and the fight, I forgot how persistent my enemies could be. I underestimated them. When my son, who had become a young man, wanted to travel, we left the safety of this island. My enemies were waiting for us and struck. One of Dracula's captains, still angered over the death of his master, kidnapped Milah. He . . . changed her and took her on as one of his wives."
"And your son?" Belle asked quietly.
Rumple did not answer and Belle thought she might have crossed a line and become too personal. Rumple sighed and finally shared, "He had fallen in love with a delightful young woman who was just as in love with him. Both families very much approved and he and she were soon married. She was a princess of the Saxe-Gotha line, a minor princess, but a royal nonetheless. They were very happy together. But the same captain who took Milah from me, eventually went after my son's wife too. He changed the princess, taking her for another wife and . . . " Rumple couldn't finish.
"He killed your son, didn't he?" Belle asked. Was his son the ghost she had encountered?
"Yes," Rumple admitted, closing his eyes trying not to re-live those moments when he'd witnessed the life flowing out of his son.
"I'm so sorry," Belle told him and laid her hand on his shoulder. "You've known so much loss in your life, haven't you?"
"It is one of the curses of longevity. Everyone you know eventually dies." He laid his hand on top of hers. "I'm sorry, I don't usually talk about what happened to Milah or Bae or even the others who were like me. It doesn't bring them back or make things better." He sighed and looked her in the eye, "Why don't we practice using wooden swords in combat tomorrow?" he asked her.
She recognized that he was changing the subject, that he had shared all that he wanted to about his own background. "You will return my flail?" she asked him.
"When the time comes. Definitely," he promised. Although he hoped the time would never come.
The two had enjoyed the hot water for nearly a half hour. Belle was feeling comfortably soothed and pampered.
"I guess we should get out and go up to bed," she finally suggested.
"I won't look," he told her again and she could see that he had closed his eyes. She vaulted out of the water and quickly toweled herself dry, putting her clothes on over her wet under garments.
"All right," she told him and turned her back to him while he also got out and redressed.
She shivered on the way up the stairs.
"The wet on my underwear is seeping through my other clothes," she complained.
He stopped and waved his hands over her, drying her clothing. "I wouldn't know. I took my underwear off before I got in the pool."
He began walking on but she stood still. "You mean you were in the water . . . naked?" she asked.
"Of course. I assumed you were too. I didn't want to end up putting dry clothes on over wet ones," he explained innocently.
"Uh huh," she answered him, starting after him again. Once upstairs, she quickly stripped completely down and changed into the soft pajamas the castle had given her. He joined her in the bedroom, also ready for bed and, without any discussion, lay down on the lounger.
The next morning was similar to the day before, except they now fighting with crude weapons, such as wooden swords and long wooden poles. Again, Belle felt that she was little more than a punching bag, although Rumple was clearly pulling his punches and not always following through with his throws and lunges. There were a couple of times, he took her down and ended up with her lying beneath him.
Often enough, while lying together in this compromising position she would see his pupils expand, but each time, he would close his eyes and take several deep breaths and, ultimately, release her. That evening, before accompanying him down to the hot spring, she wished for a proper bathing suit and a robe and was able to change up in the bedroom. He smirked at her but did the same.
The bathing suits did make things easier. On a whimsy, Belle grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple of wine glasses to take with them.
Rumple hesitated when she offered him the wine. "I don't usually drink," he reminded her.
"Suit yourself," she told him. "I'm just going to have one glass. You have some choice stuff here and I'm hoping it might help me relax."
"Just one glass?" he asked. She nodded. "Then . . . all right. I'll have just one."
"You won't have to do confession or anything, will you? I don't want to be the one to lead you into sin."
"I'm allowed," he told her.
"You've . . . you've had other women here . . . in this lovely hot spring?" she asked him as she sat back, allowing the heat to seep into her joints.
He smiled indulgently at her. "Trying to find out more about your husband's past, are you?"
"I'm sorry, I guess I am curious about you," Belle admitted. "You are a very mysterious man, you know."
He nodded. "If you think so. But I promise you, there have been only a very few 'other women.' Of course, I brought my bride here, a very long time ago," he shared.
"Your bride? Milah? You told me about her," she suggested leaning back in the tub. "What happened to her, I mean is she still . . . changed?" Belle asked and then immediately backtracked. "I'm sorry, perhaps I shouldn't be asking."
"It's all right," he shrugged. "It was a long time ago, a very long time ago." He took a sip of the wine. "She died the True Death."
"I'm sorry."
"I killed her," he confessed, his eyes rising to meet hers, to gauge her reaction to his confession.
"Oh," she said, now not sure what to say.
"The one who seduced her away from me had been high in Dracula's favor. He was an old and powerful vampire and had become an enemy of mine. I think he originally just meant to torture and then kill her as revenge on me but he was taken in by her beauty, her strength, her courage. I think that after he changed her into what he was, he genuinely favored her above his other wives. Nothing was left of her soul when I encountered her again. She had become a . . . a very dark entity." Rumple sighed. "Vampires are on my Kill List and when I met up with her again . . . well, I did my job and . . . I took her out."
"I'm sorry," Belle told him. "In a way, it's like you lost her twice."
"It is," he agreed, surprised at her insight. "And now her vampire lover, who had never looked at me with any favor to begin with, took what I had done rather personally. He swore unending vengeance against me."
"Is he . . . is the vampire still alive?" she asked. "Surely you have taken him out by now?"
He shook his head. "He's a very powerful vampire. He's eluded me . . . so far. It's been a long fight. I suspect one day we will face each other, but that day hasn't happened yet."
Subdued, Belle nodded. "The . . . the ghost I met . . ."
Rumple looked up and interrupted her, "Let's go back up. I think we should return to the City tomorrow and take down the Schatten Schuesal."
"You think, I'm ready?" Belle shook her head. "I . . . I don't know."
"You're ready. We'll continue training, but field experience is also needed. You've got some experience taking down minor nuisances. This will be one of the bigger demi-demons you'll ever face."
"All right," Belle said, not feeling very sure of herself. Even when he smiled at her, she didn't feel sure of herself.
A.N. In researching the Belmont family (of Castlevania fame), I quickly encountered a convoluted, discontinuous, torturous family tree. I elected to abandon it and just go with my own devices for this family. -twyla
A.N. Thx, as always, to those of you have left gracious comments (I know this is back-to-school for many people and time is limited). Thx to: Grace5231973, orthankg1, lovepeacebubble121x (chapters 8 & 9), Erik'sTrueAngel, Wondermorena, and deweymay. -twyla
NEXT: Belle discovers more about her own heritage and a major confrontation occurs.