The Gray Hunter

Chapter 21

Plans

Rumple and Belle have continued to grow together as a couple, developing trust. After a night of passionate love-making, Rumple finds that the wards of the Dark Castle have been breached and he is taken by a Nacht Hexe, a Night Witch. Belle is awakened to find a woman in her bedroom warning her to hide herself. With the aid of a familiar ghost, she is able to escape through a secret passageway and is now looking out into the Grand Hall of the Castle.

So this is the creature whom Cora had allied herself with. This creature . . . what was he? The pretty blonde who had been in her bedroom, the one who had warned her, walked into the Great Room and bowed to the man. Belle could hear their conversation.

"Well?" the man asked.

"She has fled," the woman answered.

"Not possible," the man said angrily. "I can still feel her, smell her. The Belmont blood runs true. She is still somewhere in this castle." He turned to Cora, "She's not able to transport herself, is she?"

"No, my lord," Cora answered deferentially. "That is not one of her powers. Rheul told me all about her, bragging about all her talents, but that was not a skill she possessed."

"Could she have developed it since Rheul knew her? Could that crocodile have taught her?"

Cora seemed uncomfortable. "I do not know. It is. . . possible . . . I guess. I don't know if she is that powerful," she finally answered.

"We keep searching then," the man announced. "Every place in this castle," he ordered.

"Sir, this is a large place. It will take us days, weeks even," the pretty blonde reminded him.

"Then let's keep at it."

The blonde bowed and backed out of the room.

Belle closed the panel. "Why did she help me?" she whispered to herself. The blonde was obviously some type of servant or bondmaiden of the man, but she had gone out of her way to warn Belle. Likely at the risk of her own well-being if Belle read the man correctly.

He's not a man - she heard the voice beside her head.

What was he then? There was magic there, powerful magic. It was a dark, rank-smelling magic. And he seemed in charge of the others.

She turned back to the room. She couldn't see the ghost but was beginning to distinguish a single true cold spot from the general chill.

"What would you have me do next?" she whispered. Should she transmorph out of here? That was tempting, but she needed to find out more about what had happened to her Rumple – and somehow, she thought, these interlopers might be able to tell her.

In front of her eyes a young man manifested, solid-looking enough – and, yes, it was the same one that had helped her during her first night at the castle. "Kill him and rescue my father from the night witch."

"Your father?" Then this was Rumple's son. "Sure," Belle said shortly. Then she spoke again, "And how . . . how should I go about doing either of these things? I don't even know what this thing is. I don't know where your father has been taken. I don't have access to the library to get more information. I don't know what I can do." As she spoke, she became increasingly upset.

"Warrior-woman," the ghost addressed her kindly. "I will help as I can and Emma, the woman who came to you earlier, she will help also – as she can."

Belle swallowed her growing panic. She had few choices here. "All right then. Help me. What is he and how do I kill him?"

"He's a vampire. Not just an ordinary vampire. He's like . . . vampire royalty. His name from long ago is Killian Jones and he was crossed over more than five hundred years ago," the ghost shared.

Belle nodded. "Five hundred years? Is that old as vampires go?" she asked.

"Old enough. He is very powerful. He . . . " the young man, ghost, seemed sad. "He took my mother, made her into what he is, made her one of his wives."

"I'm sorry," Belle said automatically. So, this was the one that Rumple had told her about – an old enemy of his.

"Oh, she wanted it. She had gotten bored living here and was more than eager to cross over. She thought it was a pathway to power and magic."

"Isn't it?" Belle asked. "I mean, of a sort?"

"Of a sort," the young man answered her. "But you are a slave to your own desires and you are in absolute thrall to the one who brought you over."

"Was your mother, was she the one . . . ?" Belle wanted to ask.

The young man hesitated. "My father. . . "

Belle waited.

"My father, your husband, killed her. But, she was not longer my mother then."

"Oh," Belle said, everything confirmed. Yes, he had told her this part of the story but Rumple had not wanted to talk about his son.

The two shared a long quiet moment. "How . . . how do I kill him?" she asked.

The young man looked at her, puzzled. "You are a descendant of The Gray Hunters! Is it not in your blood what you must do?"

Belle shook her head. "I have no idea what to do! I've read the common knowledge, a stake to the heart, beheading the vampire, silver bullets in some mythologies . . . but I've never come up against a vampire before. I don't know for sure anything about how to get rid of them."

If possible, the young man looked a trifle disgusted at her ignorance. "What good is it to have these bloodlines if you know nothing of your heritage?" He didn't seem to be asking her, just railing at the universe.

He looked at her again. "Don't you have some sort of family weapon, something that might have been handed down, perhaps something you were told not to lose, not to be without?"

"The flail?" she suggested. "My mother's flail?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Now—now, she could believe this was Rumple's child – there was that same smug, superior tone.

"Telling you?" she answered, unsure of herself. "Your father seemed very interested in it. He took it from me and had promised to teach me how to use it. He'd only just given it back to me. I have it here, although it could probably use a new handle."

"No, leave it as it is. It is an enchanted weapon and you do not want to disturb the magic that created it."

"So what? I just walk up to this guy and clobber him a few times."

Again, the look of disgust. "The 'clobbering' part will likely work. Each time this particular weapon comes into contact with a vampire, it does serious, permanent damage – damage that they can't heal. It's the 'walking up to this guy' part of your plan that if going to be difficult to execute. You saw how his minions surround him, protect him."

Belle considered. "Perhaps there is another way. The blonde woman that's with him. Tell me about her."

The young man closed his eyes, a pained expression washing across his face. "That is Emma Swan. She was brought over as another bride to the monster."

"After your mother's death?" Belle asked.

"Before then. He is allowed three wives if he follows vampire tradition."

"So, he has how many wives at the moment? "Belle asked, a plan beginning to form.

"I guess, Emma, perhaps this Cora person, but she had not been brought over. But I really don't know. He is prone to traveling with his women but I've not seen any others."

"You knew Emma?" Belle asked. Hadn't Rumple told her that his son's wife had been taken and changed by the Vampire Captain.

"She was my wife," the young man answered. "We were in love. It was considered a good match. We were very happy."

"So what happened?" Belle asked softly.

"We were out walking one evening when we were attacked. The vampire . . . killed me. He had wanted to hurt my father and, I think, had planned to take me out but I don't think he had any plans for Emma . . . until he saw her. He decided that he wanted her and rather than kill her, he bit her, draining her right then and there over my body. He made her his second wife."

Belle had listened to this recitation with deep sadness. "I'm so, so sorry. Neither one of you deserved this."

"My death was very hard on my father. The Erzengels were afraid they might lose him and he was the last of his kind, the last of the Gray Hunters. He alternated between being deeply depressed and furiously angry. The Erzengels knew he was not to be the one to kill the vampire and had to restrain him. He did manage to get away from them once, confronted the vampire and was nearly killed for his efforts."

"Oh my, how did your father get away?" Belle asked the ghost.

The ghost shrugged, a very human gesture. "He got lucky. He was able to use his dagger and took the vampire's hand. That's why the creature has a hook instead. While the vampire was howling, my father managed, just managed, to get away."

"But earned himself a mortal enemy in the process," Belle surmised.

"Quite so," confirmed the ghost. "Although they were hardly friends before this last fight."

Belle considered all this. "So why are you here?"

"Unfinished business, violent death. Those things make it difficult to move on," the ghost explained. "It is because of me that the vampires are in the Castle. I'm still . . . connected with Emma. I can't stop myself from inviting her in and because she is . . . was my wife, the Castle recognizes her as someone who lives here. She can invite others in and did so at the command of Jones. He is her master and she cannot resist or refuse his commands."

Belle considered her options, "I want to get your father back from that Nacht Hexe. It seems like I will have to go through a vampire's nest to do that. My best bet is to take out the head guy. He could be looking for a new wife, you think?" she asked Bae. "And he seems to favor the Stiltskin womenfolk."

"What are you thinking of doing?"

"Getting myself captured," she told the ghost.

Exposure

Belle crept along the tunnels of the castle. Bae had clearly not approved of her plan (so much like his father) but had told her which passage came out onto the main hall. She watched and waited until Killian was there alone. The others were out hunting her, she assumed, or, and she shivered, just hunting.

Bae had told her to be very careful, like she wouldn't have known this. He had warned her that she would likely only have one opportunity, that the others would flee before her if she managed to take out Jones. He had also warned her not to lie. "He will know if you are lying."

He had also warned her not to believe anything the vampire told her.

Quite similar to all the other demons she had ever hunted.

She softly, quietly came into the darkened room.

"Mr. Jones," she addressed the vampire. He turned and smiled.

He certainly was a pretty man, tall, dark, handsome with a winning smile. She guessed that there was likely charm aplenty that the creature could call upon when it was in his best interests.

He made her skin crawl.

"Well, well, well," he began. "Miss French, is it?"

"Lady Stiltskin now," she corrected him.

"So you married the crocodile," the vampire narrowed his eyes and began to walk slowly around Belle. "How pretty you are, my dear. I must say the Stiltskin men have exquisite tastes in women and seem somehow to be able to convince these women to marry them despite their own toad-like appearances, their complete lack of social charms and their very dull intellect."

"It was a marriage of convenience. My order bartered me for his cooperation," she explained. This was accurate and would fit in with what the vampire had most likely been told.

He nodded and smiled. "So there is no love lost between the two of you?"

She needed to be careful here, "Count Stiltskin and myself are still working out the exact nature of our relationship."

The vampire stood very close, behind her. He leaned in and sniffed her. "You have been intimate with the demon hunter." He stated it as a fact. "I can smell his scent all over you."

"He is my husband. We share a bed," Belle confirmed.

"So why are you here?" he asked.

"To see if you can make me a better offer," Belle told him.

The vampire looked at her curiously and gave her, likely, his most charming smile. "Sit down, my dear. We'll talk." And he called out for two of his minions, one large, unhappy looking individual and another small, unhappy looking creature.

"Nottingham, Smee. Bring us food from the kitchen . . . and wine. I have a lady to entertain," he ordered.

The two shuffled off. Belle settled in, making herself comfortable, the flail, wedged inside her clothing, making it a bit awkward for her to adopt just any position.

"You are the last of the Belmonts," he told her.

"So I've been told," she replied.

"But there is Van Helsing blood here too," the vampire leaned in to sniff her neck. "I can tell. I did not know the two had produced any mutual heirs."

"I apologize on behalf of my recent ancestors that the birthing invitations must have gotten mis-sent."

He laughed at this. "My people took out the Van Helsings a couple of centuries ago. They were the most pious of the lot, brilliant, but boring and pretentious. The Belmonts were much more fun - always wild and undisciplined. We often thought we had killed them off but they tended to have . . ." he paused delicately, "children outside the benefits of marriage, so we kept tripping over their progeny."

Belle nodded. She hadn't known this. She had so little information about her own family.

The thought occurred to her – could she have half-siblings, half-cousins somewhere out in the world?

The servants - minions? - had returned with trays of food. They had rifled through the kitchen and managed to find some bread, cheese and a couple of pieces of fruit. They were carrying one of Rumple's nicer bottles of red wine.

Jones poured her a glass.

"Is it true, you don't drink wine?" she had to ask the vampire as she took a sip.

"Not at all. I enjoy wine. But it doesn't have the same effect on me as a human. I don't get drunk."

"At least, not from wine," she told him with a smile.

He smiled back. "At least, not from wine," he agreed.

She remembered her husband telling her that this particular vampire tended to follow a pattern of getting women drunk so that he could have his way with them – like the most lethal, disgusting frat-boy ever.

Belle continued to drink the wine and began to act increasingly tipsy as they chatted. Jones seemed to be wooing her. Belle had no skills or training as a seductress, so she was operating from raw intuition. She sensed the vampire would be drawn to strong women, so she didn't act too entirely coy with him. But she didn't think he would want a woman who was too aggressive, too forward. It was a difficult line to straddle and she could only hope she was managing it.

And hope that her drunken act was convincing.

Prisoner

"Where am I?" Rumple asked the darkness. A cloth had been tied across his eyes so he was unable to see.

There was no answer and he attempted to move. He was lying down and had been chained, his feet shackled to something and his arms pulled away from his body and chained so that he had only the most limited movement. He was lying on something soft - a bed?

This all seemed too familiar and fear rose rapidly into his heart. He began to experience panic, blind, stupid, mindless panic. His mind began to unravel and he began to descend into madness.

Then it was as if someone had slapped him.

"Get a grip on yourself!" It was his darker demon-half. "You've got to keep it together if you want to get out of here alive and find Belle again."

"But . . ." he began. He couldn't go through this again – the torture, the humiliation, the sheer depravity. Madness was easier.

"That was then. This is now," the demon reminded him sharply. "You didn't have Belle then. You do now. Think of her whenever you feel weak. Think of her whenever you feel like curling up into a ball, pissing on yourself and huddling in a corner. You have to be strong for her. You can be strong because of her."

Rumple began to slow his breathing. His darker half was right. If he wanted to see his Belle again, if he wanted to survive this, he had to keep his wits about him.

He could manage. He would survive.

With effort, he held himself still and listened, trying to get a clue regarding his captors.

The last thing he'd remembered was standing on the balcony of his castle. There had been an odd whooshing sound, a steady sweep-sweep of wind against stone. Then all had gone black.

It had been a spell of some sort.

How as it possible? How had someone penetrated his wards? They were triple-thick.

Then it began to come back slowly. He realized that his son, Bae, had unwittingly let them in. He'd invited Emma in unable to help himself, desirous of his True Love, and she, in turn, under the thrall of the Vampire Captain, had opened the wards. And then he had been taken by a Nacht Hexe. She had dropped from the sky and put some sort of dark, sleeping spell on him.

Belle! What had happened to Belle? She had been sleeping when he had gotten up.

Oh god! Those creatures were likely swarming over the castle and had his sweet, darling wife at their mercy. His imagination began to swell – they were likely passing her around, hurting her! He had to get away from the Witch!

He tested the chains. He attempted to send some of his magic through to break them but it doubled back on him and he winced in some pain. The chains, the shackles were enchanted in some manner, resistant to his talents.

"Now that won't work at all." He heard a female voice. The Night-Witch, no doubt.

He felt someone sit on the bottom on the bed, the mattress giving away to her weight.

"You should have been nicer to me at mother's little gathering," the woman said.

Gathering? Mother's gathering? What the hell was she talking about?

He felt her lean forward and remove the blindfold. He blinked his eyes open. It was a tall redhead, a tall green redhead. He had met her before, but she hadn't been green then – he would have remembered that. She was some relation to Cora? Her daughter? What the hell was her name?

"Zelena," he was able to get out.

"Yes, darling. I'm so glad you remember me." She allowed her hand to drift down his face, his neck, his shoulder.

"If you'd wanted to meet with me, a phone call would have been sufficient," he told her.

"Oh, so funny," she smiled at him. "I hardly think you would have put yourself out for me while you were amusing yourself with the mousy little bitch-witch."

"Belle?" he asked. "Our marriage is one of convenience, a bargain made." He remembered this woman had been overly-familiar, quite interested in him at the dinner party. He suspected she had been drawn to his power – like her mother had been.

There was the slightest glimmer of hope in the deep blue eyes of the redhead. "So you're not in love with her?" she asked.

"With Belle?" he smiled. "I barely know the woman. She's a decent fighter and seems to be smart, maybe too smart, you know? but she's hardly interesting company for a man." Belle, Belle, my darling, please understand. He was struggling to come up with a plan. Could he convince this Nacht Hexe that he was harmless? If she were bent on seduction, could he convince her that he was an interested party?

Would Belle forgive him if he . . . if he participated?

Her hand had flattened out and drifted down his body. "You had just had sex with her right before I came," she told him.

He somehow managed to shrug. "She's my wife. A man has . . . urges, needs," he felt like he needed to convince her his actions had been of little consequence.

"I would think your Church would frown on you . . . branching out," she said and now her hand was on his hip.

"What the Church doesn't know . . ." Damn, why couldn't he be wearing his leather pants instead of his simple linen small clothes. He was much too vulnerable.

"It's said that a man has sex with his wife to make babies, but . . ." the woman started.

He finished, "makes love to his mistress."

Her hand was now resting on his crotch. He wanted to ask if she knew what had been unleashed in his castle that was menacing Belle. He wanted to get her to release him. He wanted her to stop stroking him, his body responding despite his repulsion.

"Yes, yes, he makes love to his mistress," she repeated. She seemed pleased with the physical response she was getting from him. "Do you think I'm beautiful?" she asked him.

He blinked. He needed to string her along, he knew this, but it was so difficult. "What I can see," he responded.

She stopped stroking him and stood up. She was dressed in the black flowing garments of the Night Witches, her strawberry blonde hair left long and cascading around her shoulders. She reached up and tugged on the shoulder of her dress, pulling it off her shoulders and down her body. She was wearing modern underpinnings, a black lace corset-like thing complete with matching panties and an attached garter belt. Sheer black hosiery completed her look. Her skin was so pale it was almost luminescent and contrasted sharply with the black lingerie.

It occurred to him that she had dressed for seduction, wearing things she thought he might find arousing.

He licked his lips thinking she might interpret this as desire. "Very nice," he told her. She actually was a stunning woman, tall with firm breasts and a flat stomach - although his tastes were currently running to compact, curvy brunettes. "Beautiful," he told her. "But I can hardly pay tribute to you," he attempted to raise his hands but was stopped by the chains.

She stood a moment, considering. "No, I can't trust you just yet. You might just be saying these things to try and trick me. If I free you, you might try to get away."

He turned his head away from her. "It hurts me that you feel you can't trust me," he said softly.

He could tell she was hesitating. "Perhaps after," she told him. "If you please me." And she reached down to vanish his undergarment, rendering him exposed.

"Well," she laughed, "You are at least genuinely interested."

He knew everything depended on him convincing her he was attracted to her. Deep inside his head, he whispered, "Belle, oh Belle, forgive me."

"Take off your bra," he ordered the green witch. Despite his subservient position, she complied with his direction. She touched her breasts, teasing her nipples and lifting herself for his inspection. Then she reached down and pulled off the lace thong. Her mound was clean-shaven and he could see moisture seeping from her. She got on the bed, getting on her knees with one long leg tucked under on each side of him. She sat just below his swelling cock and placed one hand on his shaft.

"Let's get you just a little closer," she told him and began to play with him, stroking him, rubbing her thumb on the head of the shaft, using his own moisture to lubricate him.

He closed his eyes, hoping that she would interpret this as passion not his attempt to block out what she was doing to him.

He felt her lift and drop herself onto him. She began to rock herself, back and forth, up and down against him. Her actions were so similar to those that his Belle had just engaged in, but Belle had done so with love, with his wholehearted blessing and unspoken permission to have her way with him. It was nothing, nothing like this. His gorge rose in his throat and he nearly vomited but somehow, managed to keep focus.

He couldn't let his time with the Brides overwhelm him – not now. He kept his mind on Belle, her love, their love.

But . . . torture was easier to bear than this, the warm, snug body teasing his, drawing out pleasure from him despite his revulsion. He just wanted it over.

Thanks so much to those of you who have taken the time to send me a review: violetcresent02, Grace5231973, Erik'sTrueAngel, Wondermorena, lovepeacebubble121x, and deweymay. This story is winding down (two more chapters). Hoping to keep on track although I'm also tackling NaNoWriMo for the first time. -twyla

NEXT: Belle makes her Gray Hunter ancestors proud

Rumple deals with his own nightmare