The Gray Hunter
Chapter 12
Beginning
Belle has confirmed her notable bloodlines and learned that the Gray Hunter responsibilities will be passed on to her first male heir. Angry at the truth having been kept from her and the unfairness of destiny, she has left her husband and his aunts and gone out on her own. She soon encountered the Schatten Scheusal but, with Rumple's timely arrival, the two were successful in defeating the monster. He has shared his displeasure at her irresponsible behavior and, rather than raising his hand to her, has instead given her a deeply passionate kiss, unsettling them both.
"This wasn't the Big Bad, was it?" Belle had to ask him.
He smiled and shook his head. "This . . . this was just a warning shot."
"But we should celebrate this, our victory. I know just the place." And Belle led him away from the Church and down the street.
Rumple followed along reluctantly as they went into The Mad Hatter. Ruby waved at them as they came in.
"So, you two made up?" Ruby asked, coming right to the point.
"We're married," Belle told her.
"Get out! Congratulations," she nodded to Rumple. "Here to celebrate?"
"Not the wedding but a little . . . uh . . . episode," Belle was cautious, trying to explain.
"Retribution or something milder?" Ruby inquired.
"Let's get two Retributions," Belle told her "You'll like it," she told Rumple over her shoulder.
When Ruby returned with the seriously strong drinks, Rumple asked her, "Where's your boss?"
"Out," Ruby said shortly. "Doing good deeds, helping widows and orphans, you know how he is."
Rumple smiled and nodded. "I do know." He sampled the drink and blinked his eyes. "This seems rather strong." He took another drink. "You're bad for me you know, leading me into sin," he told Belle.
"It's just a drink," she told him.
Above the bar the television reporter was speaking. "There is increasing evidence that the illness is spreading and with it, panic. An estimated thirty thousand people have been afflicted. At this time no flights are allowed in or out of Andovia except for medical personal and supplies. People are trying to flee the country and there are reports of desperate people being shot at the border to prevent them from leaving the country. There is now concern that the illness has already spread. There has been one case reported in Melbourne, two in London and one in San Francisco.
"Well, we deserve to celebrate," Belle smiled at him. He smiled back. By habit both of them glanced around the bar, checking for exits and noting the variety of patrons. Belle saw the man that had approached her in this same bar, now it seemed so long ago – the odd fellow who had paid for her drink.
When he saw her looking at him, the man nodded.
"You two know each other?" Rumple asked her after turning to see who she was looking at.
"We've met once. He paid for my drink and told me you were dangerous. What is he?" she asked. "He looks human but . . ."
"Uri? He's an Erzengel," Rumple told her without additional explanation.
Still on the news channel, the reporter continued with the news. "There has been additional gunfire in the town of Sooner. Large, angry crowds have been gathering every evening and additional National Guard troops have been called in. A task force to unite the differing factions has been suggested but there has been little progress pulling the different groups together.
In further news, Ohio joins the growing list of states, now up to fifteen, to have a moratorium on grain and beef coming in from states with the fungus infection. The Department of Agriculture is reporting 'no progress' in combating the fungus. There is a genuine shortage of meat in many areas. The Department of Agriculture continues to monitor vegetables coming out of the infected areas.
At that moment, the strange individual, the Erzengel, got up and came over to join them. "Rumple," he greeted the Dark Hunter.
"Belle," Rumple began. "This is Uri." He turned back to the man, "Uri, allow me to introduce you to Belle French."
"Miss Belle. Oh, but I should say, Countess Stiltskin," the man took her hand and gave her a slight bow. "We've met once before." He looked Belle in the eyes and she could see that his eyes were an odd silver color. Belle shivered. The man wasn't evil, but there was an unearthliness to him. Great power and a cold, hard intellect.
"Be careful," he whispered to them. "Together you are greater than if you fight alone. My blessing goes with you." He then nodded and made his way out of the bar.
"How did he know who I am . . . was . . . am?" Belle asked Rumple.
"He knows. He just knows."
"I think we'd already figured out that we fight well together," she observed.
"But he did give us his blessing. I've never had him do that, not even when I went off to Dracula's castle," Rumple shared, setting his drink back on the counter. "I'm not sure what that means."
The two of them sat quietly a moment.
"We did well?" Belle finally asked him.
"Yes, we did well," he confirmed and finished his drink. The two left the bar, walking hand in hand. Belle couldn't help but notice that Rumple was wobbly on his feet.
Well, the man is not used to strong drink and he had a pretty powerful shot back there, Belle told herself.
"We're going back to the Church?" Rumple asked her, slightly slurring his speech. He was clearly more than a little inebriated and feeling inordinately well. He allowed himself to be led by Belle.
"Yes, dear," she answered him and, as she could, hurried him along.
She realized that she'd been holding her breath while escorting the man and was more than a little relieved to get him back into their room for the night without him disturbing anyone. In the large bedroom, he pulled her over to himself and kissed her. Not the passionately angry husband from Undertown nor the scary fierce all-consuming monster from the Dark Castle – just her hot, sexy Hunter husband, relaxed and amorous. It was messy and wet and without any control or finesse.
He nuzzled her neck "I like kissing you. You taste so good," he muttered softly. And she felt his tongue run up to her ear. He then pulled back, "Did you get me drunk?" he asked her suspiciously.
"I think you got yourself drunk," she told him and planted a discrete kiss on his chest.
"You had the same stuff to drink as I did, maybe even more - counting the wine from supper."
He hadn't released her.
"Well, alcohol doesn't affect me," she told him. And she kissed his chest again, her lips lingering on his smooth, sweet skin.
He snorted. "That's your dhampir blood. Simon could drink an army battalion under the table. It's a neat skill . . . and handy sometimes . . . vampires like to get their intended victims drunk before they attack. That's how the Captain took down both Milah and Emma – he sweet-talked them and got them drunk. I am not dhampir for all my demonic heritage and, admittedly, I'm . . . a little . . . affected by alcohol. It makes me . . . uh . . . tipsy," he told her with a slow smile and pulled her closer for a second kiss.
This one was better, his hand going up to her head, holding her in place while he nudged her mouth open. He put his other hand onto the small of her back and nestled her against his body.
This was nice, really nice and she gave herself over to the kiss, her arms going up to his shoulders to hold on.
And then, "Ah, frøkun, this is not appropriate," he told her and pulled away, stepping away from her.
"But why not?" she asked him, reaching for him and frustrated when he would not allow her to touch him. "We're married. It's all right for us to be . . . close, to touch." She had liked these last kisses better than any others he had given her. "I like kissing you too," she told him shyly. His eyes had darkened and, at her words, heat flared in their whiskey-brown depths.
He hesitated but once his eyes met hers, he again reached for her and pulled her in to him. This third kiss began slowly and softly, but quickly heated. His arms reached around her, so that she could feel the entire length of his strong body, her own body beginning to vibrate, to throb in harmony with the sheer force of his heartbeat. He stopped after a moment, closing his eyes. She continued to kiss him along his chin and down his neck.
"My sweet girl, we will awaken the beast if we persist," he warned
She could see his eyes had become totally dark and he had begun to trace his nails down her arms.
"I would ravage you, my dear, perhaps even rend you in my eagerness." She stopped kissing him and he stood absolutely still. "I will return but I feel that I must cool myself before I can lie in the same room as you, mein Engel."
And then he was gone.
Belle gasped. He must have teleported. He could not have moved that fast otherwise. She felt on fire, aroused but un-satiated, as well as rejected and humiliated. Belle sighed. There was nothing else to do except to take a cold shower, prepare for bed and lie down.
Was there something about her or was it just him? He was obviously attracted to her and she had told him that she liked his kisses. She'd encouraged his closeness. But he kept rejecting her.
The Church Garden
Rumple walked through the empty Church. Teleporting inside the Church grounds was exquisitely painful but he'd felt it had been necessary. He would never had made it out of that room walking.
He knew the Church grounds well and, as was his custom – especially when he was upset, he went to the enclosed garden to try to pull himself back together.
He was drunk, he realized. He hadn't felt like this in years, hell in centuries. He was trying to think things over – he had a beautiful wife. She was tolerant of his hands upon her lush, little body, even, perhaps, he thought, welcoming of his touch. But he wasn't worthy of her, not an angellike her. She was simply being brave to try to honor her marriage vows, simply being kind to a monster.
And he had a history with women. He knew he had unwittingly hurt his first bride on their wedding night. Milah had cried after her deflowering and he'd had to be very gentle with her thereafter. He had learned but it had been a hard lesson for him. As for his time with Cora, she had quickly let him know that he had superior equipment but lacked finesse, calling him a clumsy peasant early in their relationship. He didn't want to risk another failure with Belle.
He was surprised when Archie walked by. The young priest saw him and came out to talk to him.
"You two have done well together, I think," Archie told him. "She is a fit mate for you."
Rumple shakes his head. "She is so far above me, Archie. I can't believe she accepted me." He hesitated a moment before he began slowly, "I was prepared for us to live chastely, but . . . she seems to be comfortable with me and has encouraged my advances. Archie, I haven't been able to . . . I haven't been a proper husband to her. I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid I will hurt her."
Archie sat quietly for a moment. Rumple had always liked this introspective quality about the priest. "She is a full-grown woman, Rumple. And if I've learned one thing, it's that women are very, very strong – in many ways stronger than men. You say she seems comfortable with you and has encouraged your attentions?" he asked delicately.
"Yes, if anything she has invited me into her bed. But I . . . I can't. I don't feel worthy of her. Father, back at the Dark Castle I could see . . . I could see that she is . . . very special."
"When the time is right, Rumple. When the time is right, things will happen as they are meant to."
"Perhaps." The two men sat together for a moment. Rumple then turned on the young priest, "Archie, have you . . . I know you're a priest and all, but have you ever had feelings for a woman?"
"I'm a man, Rumple. Of course, I have."
Rumple nodded. "So, how did you . . . what did you do?"
Archie hesitated. "I prayed for strength, that I would do the right thing."
"How did it work out?"
Archie smiled. "I'm still praying," he admitted.
"Me too," Rumple told him and then sat back to look hard at the priest, "You didn't stop by just to ask me about the state of my marriage."
Archie nearly blushed. "No, I'm afraid not. This illness in Andovia - Beschadigt Blut. Priests there have identified it as a manifestation of the First Rider – the Weisse Reiter."
Rumple sucked in his breath. He had heard the news reports. Beschadigt Blut -Corrupted Blood.
There had been other outbreaks of such diseases throughout history -the Black Plague, smallpox, Spanish Flu, HIV, Ebola, all were manifestations, a testing of the waters for the First Rider. Not always massive in its impact, sometimes just relatively small populations were affected. He recalled the one that wiped out some Native American populations in the late 1700's. The Europeans were blamed for giving the Indians blankets infected with "smallpox," spreading the disease like wildfire.
"Tell me what they're thinking they're fighting?" Rumple asked the priest.
"Some type of plague, a new form of hemorrhagic fever," Archie told him. "But we know this is the Weisse Reiter striking first. You will need help with this one."
So it had begun.
An Old Friend
Belle stirred, feeling unfamiliar soft sheets under her cheek. She looked over and found her husband sprawled out on the bed, lying on the outside of the blankets. His arm lay across her, his hand wrapped around her upper arm. He lay with his face towards her so she took the opportunity to look her enigmatic wizard-warrior over while he slumbered.
He had fine brown hair which was peppered with grey. He kept it longer than was fashionable and she liked how there was the hint of curl in some of the stray strands. There were a few lines around his eyes. Long lashes. His nose was inelegant, perhaps it had been broken. His lips - she shivered, remembering how his lips could evoke unfamiliar, yet quite pleasant, feelings from her if he chose to place them on her neck or her face . . . or her own lips.
Well, at least they'd gotten to the point that he was sleeping in the same bed.
She carefully slipped from the bed and took care of morning necessities, finally dressing herself. Optimistically she returned to her husband and, her courage in hand, she gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead.
He awakened immediately, grabbed both her arms in a harsh grip and quickly pulled her over on top of himself, then rolled so that she was underneath him. He blinked awake and winced with the distress the abrupt movements had caused him.
"Oh, it's you. Sorry. Reflex. Force of habit." He didn't let her go. He had her pinned beneath him.
She gazed up at him. "Bit of hangover this morning?" she asked mischievously. His eyes were still their rich whiskey brown. He was still her Hunter, not the dark imp that had appeared to her in the castle.
He licked his lips and furrowed his brow. "No, not at all. I do have some gremlins that have taken up residence between my ears and they're tormenting screech owls with jackhammers. I will need to exorcise them." He continued to look down at her and slowly his hands released his grip and he began to move his hands up her arms.
"Why don't I get you some water and then you can get a shower," Belle managed to murmur. "Then I'll take you out for something to eat."
His hands had made their way up to her shoulders and now were tracking over to her neck. She shuddered, not from any cold, certainly not revulsion. Then his thumb grazed the outline of her lips.
"Food? Ick," he told her softly. They were now both very still. He seemed to be getting closer or maybe she was raising her head just a bit. Their lips touched and a very gentle morning kiss began. One of Belle's hands went up to his head, her fingers entwining in his long, silky hair. She could feel him pressing against her. There was no question, even in her innocence, that he was interested in her. She shifted and heard him groan. The kiss deepened.
There was a knock on the door. They froze.
"All right. Fortune has intervened." He muttered and pulled away. He gave her a sad smile, "Lady wife, could you see to the door, please. I need to set about getting ready for the day." And he rolled off of her.
Belle reluctantly sat up and left the warm bed. She dragged herself over to the door and cracked it open. It was Father Hopper.
"Miss French . . . Belle . . . I mean, Countess. Is everything all right? I know you two got in very late and . . . I just was checking . . . I wanted to be sure you were all right, I mean, that everything was all right," the kindly priest stumbled over his words.
"Everything is fine, Father. Thank you," Belle assured him, realizing the man was actually checking to be sure she was intact . . . well, at least, all right.
She closed the door and turned back into the room. She now heard the shower running. Shortly her husband came out, dressed in leathers and rubbing his head with a towel.
"Countess Stiltskin," he began. "we're needed."
"Another job?" she asked. Is this what his life was like, going from one assignment to the next? Was this now to be her life?
"This one's more of A Mission. I need to go and get a friend, Jefferson," he told her.
"Jefferson?" she asked.
"The owner of the Mad Hatter Bar," he told her.
Belle shrugged. Ruby's boss. "Breakfast first?" she asked him.
He pulled a face. "We could get something here. It's usually tough bread and really rank coffee, tea only if you're lucky."
"We can do better. Let me take you out?" she asked him.
He looked her over. She was dressed in black pants with a leather vest. She looked splendid. "Love to," he told her.
The two both opted for the venerated veggie bowl from the Tupelo Honey Café and were soon ready to proceed on. As they approached the bar at little before ten, Rumple pronounced that food and fluids and three aspirin had much improved the jackhammering and thanked Belle for looking out for him.
"Of course," he reminded her. "You were the one that forced me to get that cursed devil drink."
"You're a grown man. You make your own decisions," she told him.
They stood outside the bar by a side door that opened to some stairs. Apparently Jefferson's apartment was above the bar and accessed by this same side door and stairs. Rumple opened the locked door to the stairs with a wave of his hand. They went up the narrow, dimly lit flight of stairs and then Rumple began to pound on the door of the apartment. Eventually they heard shuffling sounds and metal against metal as someone on the other side of the door opened the lock.
"You had better be from Immigration or offering me sex, or you should prepare yourself to die!" Belle heard someone with a thick accent shout as the door burst open. Belle could now see a handsome, but clearly disgruntled young man clad only in his briefs standing in the doorway.
"Stuff it, Jefferson," Rumple told him and walked on into the bar. Belle followed.
"Rumple Stiltskin, I might have known," Jefferson appeared dejected. "Here, I make us drinks."
"It's ten o'clock in the morning!" Rumple protested.
"If you have come to see me, I need a drink," Jefferson assured him and he went on into the bar to pull out some vodka and two glasses.
Belle assessed the man standing behind Rumple. The man was quite handsome, tall and graceful. His sinewy body sported a number of scars, probably as many, possibly more, than Rumple had.
"Belle," Rumple made introductions, "this is my very good friend, Jefferson. Jefferson, this is Belle."
Jefferson turned his attention onto Belle, noticing her for the first time. He looked her over appreciatively. "Krasivaya!" Jefferson said and turned back to Rumple. "How did you get her to trail along with you?" he asked and then added a third glass. He poured them all a drink.
"I married her," Rumple told him, rejecting the glass. Belle took hers and downed the vodka in a single quick action.
Jefferson raised an eyebrow and smiled. He raised his glass to Belle and then downed his own drink. He turned back to Rumple, "I'm sure there's a story." He looked around Rumple and spoke to Belle, "You are married to this one?" he asked her.
"I am, sir," she told him. She was already liking the tall young man. He was obviously outgoing and gregarious and how ever had he hooked up with the very grumpy Count Von Stiltskin?
Jefferson shook his head and said to Rumple, "You must have shown her your dick. That's the only way you could have gotten a woman to marry you."
Rumple nearly smiled, "There was no dick showing. I just proposed," he reiterated.
Jefferson huffed. "Likely story. Now, why are you here, my friend? It's not like you to come for a social call."
"Weisse Reiter," Rumple responded.
There was a long pause – a long pause. "I get my shovel," Jefferson told him grimly and disappeared into a back room.
And in a brief moment the man was back, dressed in black pants and a teinvashka – the iconic blue and white striped pullover favored by Russian sailors. He carried a small backpack which included the aforementioned shovel hanging on the outside.
"I leave note for Ruby by register. She can run the bar while I'm gone. Let's go," he told them.
Belle was quite puzzled. Obviously the two men knew each other well. She could feel waves of magic coming from Jefferson but wasn't quite sure what his particular talent might be. It was wild and undisciplined magic, but very powerful. Untrained, unfocused and unpredictable.
After leaving the note for Ruby, the three returned to an area just beyond the Church yard and, at Rumple's direction, they held hands . . . .
Blood Fields
There was the now familiar whirling sense and the three were standing in a field. As they looked around they saw they were in an endless tent city with a field of cots and blankets spread on the ground and so many bodies, the living and the dying and their grieving, frightened, angry families. The rank smell of death and disease overwhelmed them immediately and both Belle and Jefferson gagged and staggered.
"Oh, Mother Goddess!" Belle gasped. "What is going on?"
"An air-borne plague, likely with a two to three-week incubation period," Rumple told her succinctly. "We need to find someone."
"Who?" Jefferson asked him.
"A CDC epidemiologist, Dr. Fah-el. He's a brilliant researcher dealing primarily with BSL-4 diseases," Rumple explained.
Jefferson looked at Belle. "You understand him?"
"BSL-4. Bio-safety Level 4, the rating for the most serious illnesses known to man. They are usually incurable and many are airborne," Belle explained. "Diseases like Marberg and Ebola are BSL-4, both hemorrhagic – blood - fever types of illnesses. Bubonic Plague and SARS are BSL-3 and diseases like HIV and MRSA are BSL-2."
"Pretty serious stuff then," Jefferson said.
"I would guess," Belle said in a small voice. They were following Rumple who was making his way between the rows of makeshift hospital tents.
They were stopped by soldiers wearing face masks who quickly surrounded them. They turned their guns on the three.
Rumple stepped up and addressed the young man who appeared to be in charge. With a wave of his hand, he began talking, his voice sharp and commanding. Belle guessed that he had used some type of communication spell – assuming there was such a thing. Rumple apparently garnered their attention.
The soldiers murmured among themselves and eventually one of them trotted off.
"What did you say to them?" Jefferson asked him.
"I said I needed to see Dr. Fah-el. For one of them to tell him that Count Von Stiltskin is here to see him."
"And that will get us in?" Jefferson asked.
"Should," Rumple said. "Otherwise, I'll just blow a path through these people.
It was more than ten minutes but the soldier returned and, after speaking briefly with the others in his troop, he deferentially escorted the three through to one of the larger tents. Inside, the doctor was waiting for them, dropping his protective gear into a sealed container as they came in. He was a short man, with dark hair and middling dark skin. He had odd silver colored eyes. He greeted Rumple happily.
"Rumple! So glad you could join us." He and Rumple gave each other brief hugs.
"Rafe, good to see you," Rumple told him.
"Who are your friends?" the doctor asked, smiling at Belle and Jefferson.
Rumple made quick introductions, "This is the Lady Belle, my wife, and Jefferson, my friend. What is it?"
The Doctor sighed. "What you think it is. The others . . . they all think we are fighting a new plague, a new Ebola – another air-borne hemorrhagic fever with no cure. But you and I know, we know, it is nothing less than the breath of the Weisse Reiter."
"Where can we find it?" Rumple asked the doctor.
The doctor shook his head. "I don't know. There are so many places. Somewhere with much illness but older, much older, than this place. You will need to scry and then you will need something to put it in."
"Do you think a Dybbeck Box would do the trick?" Rumple asked the doctor.
The doctor considered and slowly nodded. "Possibly, if it were made of rowan wood with silver bindings and properly blessed. But you would have to find the Rider first and then find some way to get it into the box."
"Any suggestions on that?" Rumple pressed the doctor. "I would think something this powerful would just get pissed off if I splashed it with Holy Water."
The doctor nearly laughed but then soberly agreed. "Likely. It would have the usual aversions but nothing you've mentioned would drive it before you."
Belle had been listening and she spoke up, "I have an idea. It's kinda farfetched."
And everyone turned to listen to her.
A.N. Thx to Grace5231973, Guest (so good), Erik'sTrueAngel, orthankg1, violetcresent02, Wondermorena, jewel415, and deweymay who are all sticking with this story and sending me some kind reviews. Your reviews really do help me stay with the story (particularly as I get into the mid-story doldrums). -twyla
NEXT: Belle's plan unfolds but there are some disastrous consequences.
