Her imagination had envisioned many possibilities of what the abode of an evil enchanter would look like, but none prepared her for the quaint, ivy-covered cottage lying at the bottom of the hill.
Rumplestiltskin was long gone, claiming that his presence would be immediately recognized by Hook if he even set one toe near his territory. Men and their egos, Emma mused before stepping through the ticklish strands of the weeping willow tree she had been standing under. The last Dark One was clearly afraid of his rival, and his advice during their joint trek down the path was still resonating in her head.
Appearances can be very deceptive, so keep in mind our plan. Never forget what you have come to do, or Hook's darkness will devour you.
But where was the darkness, when there was only the brightest light here?
As she trudged between thickly intertwined trees, shrubs, and rocks, Emma recalled the tingling feeling that had raced through her body when she had crossed the invisible barrier. There was no sign of any inhabitants for miles around, the wilderness untouched by the outside world. However, the moment her feet had stepped daintily through a clustered ring of forget-me-nots, a fierce wind had whipped across her face, rustling her skirt and entangling her hair. But when she looked up an instant later, the branches were completely still, the area motionless.
Inside was the opposite: her pulse had quickened and her entire being felt warmth, banishing her chills and her anxiety. Her only other comfort was that time supposedly stood still here: when she did leave for home (she wasn't even going to think of another outcome), it would be as if she had disappeared for only three days. Apparently, magic worked in threes, but she still didn't know what to expect.
Of everything she was anticipating and dreading, the continuous silence surrounding her was highly disturbing. There was no sound of wildlife at all ― no birds chirping, no bees buzzing during their search for pollen, no forest animals in sight. This new world she had entered was alive, but it had the air of death. Or maybe she was just being too pessimistic. Damn Rumplestiltskin for talking her into this insanity...
"What are you doing here?"
The new heat that rushed through her veins was certainly expected, but the frigid state of her limbs was not. The weight of her quest, of the deal she needed to fulfill, came crashing hard onto her shoulders, and the rich, melodious voice echoing through her ears was a deadly siren come to haunt her senses, to drag her down to task and lure her to failure. Physically, it was distinctly masculine, which brought to mind one question: Hook or Neal?
"Lass, I'd suggest that if you want to leave from here alive, it's in your best interests to answer the bloody question," he commanded harshly.
She couldn't breathe. She was wrong ― this was all wrong. She wasn't the one meant to do this ― that imp had been mistaken. Greatly mistaken. That, or his seer skills were extremely rusty.
Slowly turning around, Emma faced her interrogator with as much resolve and courage as she could muster. God help her if she said something foolish now...
When air finally met her lungs, it immediately escaped her mouth in the form of a gasp. If the cozy cottage was any indication of the sheer contrast between her presumptions and reality, she surely had not visualized Hook correctly either.
In her mind's eye, the pirate captain was a cringing, decrepit nincompoop who had been involved with the wrong woman and was paying with beyond a lifetime of punishment for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sympathy for his fate was present, but it was so petulant and small in comparison to the countless crimes Rumplestiltskin had enumerated against the man that she didn't know what to believe.
Obviously, the Dark One's wife had had good taste and a capacity for malice.
To say that the man ― monster? ― in front of her was attractive was a painful understatement. With acutely toned features and a gaze as overwhelming as the ocean waves, Hook's physique was yet another point in fact that decried whatever Emma had imagined. He was a true diamond in the rough, looking like a finely carved statue awakened to be a living masterpiece ― with the exception of his hook for a left hand, of course. Magic couldn't change everything, it seemed.
Then the pirate's lips were stretched by a prominent smirk, allowing her to gain hold of her composure again. He knew that she was staring and seemed to savor it.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she shifted from one foot to the other self-consciously. "I'd like to work for you," she began, pausing when his sinister laughter caused ripples of shame and ridicule to reach her.
"Do you know who I am, love?" he eventually retorted.
Emma chewed her bottom lip worriedly ― this was the tricky part, to not reveal how much she knew about him. "You're the enchanter who lives in these woods."
He clicked his tongue in amusement. "If you are aware of that, why would you pose such a request?" His eyes darkened. "Unless there was something you...wanted from me in exchange?"
Strengthening her stance, she glared at him defiantly. "I'm here to make a deal with you."
His ears perked up from interest, his eyebrows raised as well. "What kind of deal, darling?" he replied in a seductive tone, glancing at her form pointedly.
Emma rolled her eyes, mentally rebuking herself for wearing the curvaceous dress ― though she had a feeling her clothing actually didn't make any difference. Cursed or not, the pirate was not gone from Hook in any manner.
Slowly, she dared to come closer, noting his elegant, tailored attire and clean shaven face ― well, he certainly didn't look like he had been described, daring leather, eyeliner, and trimmed stubble out of sight. More of a prince than a pirate, enchanting rather than an enchanter. But he had not aged a day, proving that what Rumplestiltskin had noted about the lack of time was absolutely true. Hook appeared to be young ― little more than ten years her senior ― but then again...his age showed, in more ways than one. He looked innocent, boyish even...but the darkness was still there, in his eyes.
"Three tests," she stated clearly, willing herself to be firm, "in exchange for three rewards. Magical rewards."
"Ah, so that's your game, is it?" he drawled, still scrutinizing her. "You do know that you have to actually pass each test to receive the rewards, right?"
He was treating her like she was an ignorant child, and she didn't like it. "I was told," she said through gritted teeth, "that you enjoy a challenge ― but I do understand if you're unwilling or too afraid―"
In mere seconds his hook was by her neck, his mouth too close to her skin. As handsome as he was, Emma was terrified of the fire burning in Hook's eyes, the unseen power in his movements.
"For starters, lass," he hissed icily, "you would do well not to taunt me. A man who doesn't fight for what he wants deserves what he gets, and no one can accuse me of being a coward." He roughly gripped her jaw with his hand. "The imbeciles who do find out very quickly what happens to those who try my patience. Savvy?"
She nodded carefully, letting out a sigh of relief when he stepped back. He was still too near her body for comfort, but she could handle him at this distance. Do not let him find out you have magic, or you will surely die.
Biting her tongue, she watched as he eyed her expression, searching for truth. She stared back at him just as fiercely, pursing her lips and lifting her chin defiantly. This was her adventure and she was going to live through it, and no man nicknamed Captain Hook was going to stop her.
All she could see was blue and green until he was pacing some distance away, deep in thought. "If I agree," he offered abruptly, swaggering towards her, "I will have certain...conditions."
"Conditions?"
A wicked grin was now on his lips. "Indeed. You see, my dear innocent," he whispered huskily into her ear, "I don't trust you. But your presence here intrigues me, especially the fact that you managed to find me in the first place. Someone must have informed you of my whereabouts, which means you have a definite purpose. I want to discover what that really is ― and in the meantime, you can entertain me by being my guest." His tongue trilled the word as if it were both delicious and sinful, which triggered rapid unease in Emma.
This poor beginning did not bode a good ending.
"What's your name, lass?"
She blinked, observing how he strode forward, his boots firmly chafing the dust.
"Emma. Emma Swan."
She should have known from the moment she entered Hook's house that this would be no ordinary quest. The mariner décor was outlandish, the environment too homey to be credible. Its residents were another story. Light and dark, good and evil. Opposites lived in pairs, apparently.
And a part of one of those pairs was the sandy-haired man who claimed to be Neal.
Bae didn't have that much of Rumplestiltskin or Milah in him. In fact, he had a look all his own, that of a wanderer and a refugee, someone who couldn't wipe away the misery of his past memories even if he wanted to. However, the aura of despondence was belied by the wide grin on his face when he mock saluted Hook as they were heading inside.
"Nice day, isn't it?" he hummed happily, ignoring Emma completely on his way out into the sunshine.
When Hook closed the door behind him, she began to question what she was doing here. The son of the Dark One was content in his life, like she had pointed out before. There was no need to do this...no, she could still back out now―
"Well, Swan?" Hook beckoned, his half-smile eerie. "Coming or going?"
A dark haired woman with an unpleasant face, her outward beauty marred by her hatred for her cowardly husband. A roguish pirate sailing across the sea, passionate about his ship and his thirst for adventure. A little boy crying for his mother in the middle of the night...
"You took away my love, my happiness..."
A flash of red and then a brief crumbling as the woman's heart is literally crushed into dust, the pirate screaming as his hand is severed from his left arm. A cackle that could only belong to the Dark One before all vanishes, replaced by more memories...
Warm kisses, loud guilt, horrible desire. Then the burning begins, a torturous cycle of damning regrets and pain.
She squirms, whimpering. It is too much...
Then she sees two stunning blue eyes, a beautiful face that is twisted in agony as his hand reaches for her. He is pleading with her, begging her for something she cannot hear. She cannot understand why he leans forward, why his lips brush against hers with such longing that she is left breathless. Then his countenance transforms into a beast-like mask, a grotesque creation that conjures all her old nightmares of monsters come to ravage her. She is repulsed and frightened ― but by what she cannot see, not by the inevitable.
"Milah..." He is weeping now and the image is fading into white and black and red...
A dark figure clambers into her bedroom and begins to disrobe her as well as himself, her desperate pleas falling on deaf ears as he drags her towards him and runs his hands along her skin, his mouth descending on hers...
And then she's running through Hook's house, already familiar as she searches for what she knows not. When she realizes she's alone, she rushes to the edge of the woods, shouting for her parents.
She cannot get out. The barrier won't let her go free. Every time she pushes, it pulls.
Her heart restricts and clenches violently at her mind's conclusion: she is forced to stay here for the rest of eternity.
Nearly jumping out of her bed, her bare feet hit the floor as she raced to the door of her room, throwing it open. She didn't care what she agreed to. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
Barely registering that she was wearing a thin slip of a nightgown, that she was racing through cursed land under Captain Hook's inspection, and that she had promised Rumplestiltskin that she would not run away, Emma practically streaked along the same path she had taken in the daylight, the one that would bring her home.
When she attempted to cross the same boundary of flowers, all encased by moonlight, her body felt like it was being slammed against an invisible wall, the very place she had walked along this afternoon now unapproachable.
She couldn't get out ― just like in her dream. And now her life was a veritable, very real nightmare.
Reason turned into frenzy, her fists seemingly pounding on air as she sunk to the ground, tears of anger and fear rolling down her cheeks. Rumplestiltskin had failed to note that leaving was just as difficult as entering ― and worst of all, her parents wouldn't even set out to look for her, because her absence was always be the duration of three days no matter how much time she spent here. They wouldn't have any idea that their only daughter was imprisoned in a cursed existence only several miles from the castle grounds.
Emma staggered backwards, rolling over the ground on her side as anxiety took control. Some savior she was, breaking down at the first obstacle. Where was her strength, her determination? Why did she feel so drained, like every intrinsic part of her was slipping away? How the heck was she going to complete her quest?
Her erratic breathing had quieted, her sobs hushed into softened crying. It was at times like these, when she felt the most helpless, her vulnerability exposed like a gaping wound, that she wanted her mother...
Soft arms encircling her as she was rocked to sleep, Snow's beautiful voice coaxing the night's demons to depart like she had done since Emma was a baby. Her father's gentleness and his masterly storytelling as he read by the light of single candle from the magical book that had belonged to their family for generations. All of her childhood memories were precious beyond measure, but why she was recalling them during this moment in time was a mystery.
Her eyes fluttering closed while whispers of sleep overcame her, she barely sensed two strong arms wrapping themselves around her, lifting her up and settling her limbs carefully until she was flying, carried away by a strange guardian angel into the safety of warmth and walls...
Her face was most certainly a deep shade of pink when she approached Hook the next morning. Having woken up comfortable and covered up to her neck in her new bed, Emma had wondered if everything from last night was a twisted fantasy.
"Um..." She cleared her throat uneasily. "I need...your help."
"Oh?" Hook was again impeccably dressed, his dark blue jacket contrasting nicely with the ruffled white shirt underneath, a red and black scarf tied around his neck. Most discernible were the black leather pants he sported, a definite connection to his days as a pirate in addition to his unusual black boots.
Drawing the edges of her bathrobe closer, she could only blush and peer at the floor.
"What you are currently exhibiting is not 'appropriate'?"
She only glowered at him in reply.
A ghost of a mischievous smirk appeared before he waved his hand, purplish crimson smoke enveloping her skin until she felt the rustle of fabric against it. Her heart nearly stopped when she realized what she was wearing.
It was either a figment of an overactive imagination or the most welcome vision she had ever seen. Every garment was to her taste, from the demurely feminine boots on her feet to the daring red corset hiding an incredibly soft black silk shirt, its long sleeves extending beyond her wrists in an exquisitely pleasing, medieval fashion. Best of all, no dress was present, fitting breeches in its place.
She shyly glanced up at him, not surprised to have caught him appraising his work more acutely than she. "How...how did you know?"
He raised a brow nonchalantly, a gesture that made him look very boyish indeed. "You're something of an open book, Swan ― and I'm always a gentleman." A guarded half-smile later, he uttered absently, "Besides, I like the view, and you match the furnishments quite nicely."
With a loud scoff, Emma turned out of the dining room on her heel, exasperated at how the smallest sliver of caring had been snuffed out by his cold, impersonal remark. She had had a feeling that getting along with a more than three-hundred-year-old caretaker ― and a magical one, at that ― would be worrisome, but now that premonition was two-fold, with an oncoming presumption that this quest was far from easy, dragons or not. If she didn't know what she was fighting, how could she hope to win?
The plan of action was very straightforward, really: take the tests, get the rewards, and get the hell out with Bae intact. And there were already complications with all three steps.
Hook was very reluctant to do anything, barely interacting with her as life went on in seclusion, as tiring and enticing as Neverland itself. How ironic, that the very man who had made that forbidding place infamous was now subjected to a far inferior version of it. Forever. Still, he didn't have to be procrastinating so evidently, a fact that was infuriating Emma every extra day she had to spend here. By sunlight, Hook was taciturn and brooding, delivering enigmatic comments; by night, he vanished, nowhere to be seen throughout the cottage.
It wasn't as if she was complaining about the accommodations. Her room ― well, the room Hook had given her ― was as lavish as her own back home, but not to the point of gaudiness. On the contrary, the designs were artful and classy, much like the rest of the interior. As for mealtime and bath time, both were unnecessary in a land where time did not exist, but Hook only gave her a meaningful leer before silently fulfilling her requests for a familiar routine that eased her burning nostalgia. Oddly enough, he gave her anything she asked for, without question or complaint...
No, the problem was that since she couldn't exactly prepare for whatever Hook was scheming, days and nights were filled with restless ennui, her limbs aching to run, her mind wanting to take flight. Nightmares plagued her sleep, blood-red and deepest black foreshadowing memories that were not hers, glimpses of unspeakable things making her blood simmer and her skin flush. Then she would awaken, her breathing ragged and uneven while her defenseless body regained some semblance of normalcy.
She would encounter those striking blue eyes on her way down to breakfast, following her every move as she went outside to find some consolation in the nature she loved so much. It was here, under trees and open sky, surrounded by kindly flowers and the beauty that can never replicated, that she found some measure of peace.
Lying back into the swaying grass, Emma pondered Neal's erratic behavior, the way he ignored her presence and acted as if she didn't exist, his attention directed to that ridiculous little garden he tended ceaselessly. It would be difficult to convince him to leave his "paradise" if he was unwilling ― she couldn't just tie him up and drag him out. Rumplestiltskin had said that all must be done voluntarily...he had specially noted that but had passed by that helpful minder that she couldn't make an exit in the first place.
The combination of her own magic and Hook's could possibly get her through the barrier, if the magical rewards she had to obtain were any indication. But what if she made a break for it and all failed? The consequences of that would be very dire indeed.
She was so absorbed in her endless speculation that she didn't noticed the soft nose grazing her arm. "Why, hello!" she grinned, tentatively reaching out to pet the soft brown rabbit who was shyly nosing her. Its eyes were fixated on her face, its whiskers shuddering slightly when she slowly pet its back, tenderly touching its long ears as well. This was the first animal she had seen since entering Hook's dominion. Hah, it was some dominion when there were only two inhabitants to rule over. Well, three ― one who would be dominated by none.
When the shade drifted and she was exposed to the sun, Emma threw away caution and gathered the friendly creature into her arms, cradling it by her bosom as she would a baby. It was too bad that she was an only child, that her parents couldn't have had another...a boy, perhaps, who would bring joy to their hearts and free Emma from her future duties as queen. A soft recollection of her mother and father embracing on their wedding anniversary caused her to sniffle, a stray tear falling down.
Staring up at her with large brown eyes, the rabbit nestled against her chest and Emma had the strangest urge to talk aloud. She would go mad if she didn't speak to someone soon ― and better it was to a charming forest inhabitant than those two oddities in the cottage, however handsome one of them was. Gradually, her tongue loosened and she was recalling her fondest childhood memories, happily lost in a bittersweet reverie. As long as she didn't forget what was good and right, the twisted evil here could not harm her.
According to her calculations, it was after a week of relentless snuggling and careless monologue that the rabbit mysteriously disappeared, her sole companion taking away her sense of relief along with its comfort. True, he lived in the forest and belonged there...he wasn't a pet...but she still missed her bunny, faithful and true as he waited for her under the same tree every morning she had sought him out. She had even thought out a name for him ― Peter.
Hook must have broken out of his façade long enough to notice her crestfallen expression while he created dinner for her, because he dared to inquire about it. When she refused to answer, afraid that the pressure inside would snap, he drew nearer, almost until he was kneeling in front of her, with a look of concern so unsettling and foreign on his countenance that she flinched.
"Darling, tell me what's―"
"I'm not your darling." Her voice was a mere hiss, trying to lash out at him as cruelly as possible. She could feel the darkness latching onto her heart, digging into her soul. She wanted to hurt him, and she couldn't explain why. The tension was about to snap, her frustration pushing her to the edge.
He was obviously taken aback by her vicious response, but she didn't have to pretend to care about his reactions. "Do you think I care about your 'conditions,' that I don't question your motives for a second? To hell with that. You toy with me, like a cat does a mouse, pretending to be a person and then acting like a block of ice. You're playing at some game I don't understand, you're waiting for something inscrutable ― and I don't have the energy to be going along with this."
Leaving the room in a huff, she barely glanced back at his stunned face as she headed for the door. Tonight, she would be lulled into her dreams by starlight and moonlight.
As she had suspected, no one came to bring her back. Instead, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was a wide-eyed fawn at her side, its head resting between its front legs. Even during her dreams last night, she had steeled herself from forming any more attachments, from caring too much. But when the fawn warily raised itself up on wobbly legs, it bravely watched Emma's hand approach its head and then leaned into her caress.
She sighed as the fawn clambered over to her, nuzzling her neck. There was no doe in sight, so it appeared that the fawn was either an orphan or a figment of magic. When it licked her palm, Emma smiled to herself. Having another friend wouldn't be too bad in the midst of all this insanity.
The same pattern repeated: the fawn followed in the prints of the rabbit after a week of acquaintance, leaving Emma heartbroken; Neal was entirely too happy-go-lucky, completely unresponsive; and Hook continued to avoid her at night and observe her during the day. Ever since her outburst, he would barely meet her gaze in the morning when she came for breakfast, shuffling off as soon as he had the chance. And then she was alone again, left to her own devices. Sometimes she'd explore the house; however, most of the time, when she wasn't reading or hiking outside, she'd ascend to her room and close the door, tracing shapes in the ceiling until she'd fall asleep, protected from dreaming when daylight shone down on her.
She pondered what Hook really did all day long ― though the sun and the moon were most likely an illusion fashioned by magic. Still, she tried to picture him alone ― standing by the window at sunrise, sitting in his chambers at sunset, reclining on the veranda which was never used, peeking through the grotto of trees arching over the backdoor. For all that Rumplestiltskin had said about the father-son love between Hook and Bae, "Neal" was in his own world; she had not witnessed any real conversation between him and Hook yet...
Compassion was hitting her hard, barely keeping any room for contemplation on the sins of the enchanter. Hook was cut off from the entire world, shackled to an existence which held nothing but sorrow. There wasn't a single living creature, even animal, to keep him company...except for the moment she had marched into his life.
If she remembered correctly, Captain Hook was once called Killian Jones, an intrepid adventurer who feared nothing and no one. The instant he had crossed the Dark One's path was his doom, and adulterer or not, he had not deserved to lose his hand for that. He had not deserved this ― an empty hell where no one cared, no one visited, no one saw him. With his powers, he could have all he desired ― all but what he truly wanted. He could not create a person. He could not create a friend, and he was unable to dispel the loneliness that was part of his curse.
Sadly, the one steadfast occurrence of her stay so far was the constant misery etched into Hook's features.
Light to the day,
Darkness to the night,
Until True Love breaks your bonds,
You will suffer without respite.
She could hear the words recited over and over again like a worn tune. It was painful to listen to, to hear such pain vocalized, but the agonized cries increasing in volume were driving her curiosity, igniting it. Who was it?
She was walking toward a wall, white but shifting into a hue of midnight black. And at the bottom was the figure of a dark-haired little boy, his hands curled into fists which covered his eyes. He was weeping piteously, his screams piercing her ears like arrows.
When she was standing all but two feet in front of him, he peered up at her, tears outlining the curves of his cheeks. "What's wrong?" she whispered consolingly, kneeling down to wipe away the wetness from his face and gently ruffle his locks with her fingers.
He bit his bottom lip, squinting at his hands. "No one wants me. I'm all alone."
"What makes you think that?"
The child swallowed hard, his eyelashes fluttering. "Mama and Papa abandoned me, so why would anyone else want me?"
Her heart was bleeding inwardly at his words. "Well, what if I said I want you?" she offered with a warm smile, watching him frown in suspicion.
"Why would you want me? I'm...I'm...un-love-able."
"No, you're not," she laughed gently, opening her arms to him. Hesitating, he scrutinized her face closely before a small grin crossed his lips and he moved forward. Rocking him softly in her arms, she felt her wounded heart mend when he turned his head and kissed her on the cheek.
"Stay with me forever?" he murmured against her skin.
She nodded instinctively, embracing him tightly. "Yes. But do you want me?"
He smiled shyly. "I do. And I want to love you too."
When her eyelids obeyed and opened again, it was to see two bright, cerulean eyes staring right back at her, the color of his irises deftly interchanging between startling blue and deep brown. She was shocked and completely bewildered, but the adoring love that radiated from the little boy in her arms was overwhelming her, chasing away recognition.
She was at the tip of a quandary, but she didn't know how to dive in deeper, to unravel the maze.
As the colors faded and she slipped out of unconsciousness, the sure sign she was waking, a voice full of yearning kept echoing in her mind.
"Emma, love me...please, please love me..."
"So...Neal," Emma started cautiously, "how long have you been with Hook?" Approaching the Dark One's son had been easy, but talking to him was difficult when he absolutely refused to carry on a decent conversation. In order to succeed at her quest, she had to take the initiative, not sit around and moon over dreams.
With an abrupt lift of his head, he was evidently surprised she had addressed him at all. "Why would you ask a question like that?"
She shrugged. "Just curious."
He scratched his scalp, pursing his lips. "Well, a long while, I guess. I met Hook in Neverland; we lived on the Jolly Roger for hundreds of years before returning to the Enchanted Forest ― I was just a boy then ― where we skulked about for ten years or so."
She sketched circles in the grass, glancing at Neal occasionally as he continued to hoe the dirt, oblivious to any consternation his answer could have elicited.
"And what about your parents? What about going home?"
His back was facing her now. "Here is home. I've been here for longer than I can remember."
Something about his reply was off ― it wasn't so much his words as it was his tone, the hesitation in his voice. She cleared her throat, changing tactics. "I'm shocked you have to weed your garden in the first place ― everything looks so...perfect."
He gave her a puzzled look before his eyes filled with sudden knowledge. "It's not," he mumbled, sounding irritated.
She hopped to her feet, leaning in. "Oh? And why is that? Don't you have anyone to care for you?"
"Why are you interrogating me?"
Bristling, she shouted back, "I'm not! Why are you being so defensive?"
Neal growled, raising his hand as if to swat at her. "How about a fair trade? You answer my questions, I'll answer yours."
"A question for a question, answer for an answer?" She pretended to mull over the idea. "Very well. What's yours?"
He grimaced. "Why are you here, really?"
Damn. Of course, that would be his first. Time for storytelling.
Putting on her most charming, winsome smile, Emma strolled by him. Hopefully all those novels she had read were correct about the art of seduction, or she was in trouble. "I'm searching for a prince, because I want to be a princess," she murmured in a low voice, hoping her lie would hold firm.
Neal laughed bitterly. "And instead, you stepped into the lair of an enchanter? Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but there are no princes here."
She cocked her head, licking her lips sensually. "Hmm...that's true...but I did find you, and though you're not much of a prince, you're the best I can do."
"Uh...thanks?" When her grin widened in mock appreciation, something flashed in his darkened gaze ― some dangerous, compelling emotion. It wasn't anger.
On seeing him drop the hoe and move toward her, Emma began to feel unusually frightened, more than she had been of Hook, initially. Maybe it was just her instincts speaking, but... Stepping away, she tried to confidently exit the garden, heading to the house as briskly as possible.
Even after she had shut the door, she could still sense Neal's eyes burning into her retreating form, incited by something unfamiliar. Nevertheless, though the question and answer session was over for now, she could guarantee one thing for certain: Neal would not be ignoring her anymore.
Judging from his expression, the vices of the world had just come out to play.
It was worse than she had predicted, unfortunately. Neal was now pursuing her like a moth did a flame, trailing after her like a lost puppy. A kind of cute puppy, with hungry brown eyes and a salivating tongue. Suddenly, she was longing for Hook's cool demeanor, his indifference. And then she knew what she had to do.
During their usual routine of dinner, Emma didn't let Hook escape the room like he normally did, with downcast eyes and a stormy pout.
"Killian..." His entire figure stiffened at the sound of his true name.
"How do you know my name?" he spat out. When she didn't reply, he had her pinned to the wall so quickly that she didn't even have time to blink twice, that she forgot what she was going to ask him.
"How?" he demanded harshly, his hook pressing into the soft skin of her neck. Emma ordered herself not to squirm ― resistance would only make this more violent than it already was.
"I've heard the stories," she muttered after a moment of silence, his stony gaze never leaving her face.
"Oh, did you, now? Since you're so smart, do you know the whole bloody story, Emma? The parts that some people 'accidentally' omit?" His voice dropped to a pain-filled whisper. "How the Dark One refused to fight for Milah, how he betrayed his own son, how he took my hand and my love from me in one breath because of his cowardice?
"How I have nothing to live for but I am forced to go on with this? This damned...magic. I hate it ― I've always hated it... And to have it within me like a seething demon waiting to emerge..."
Vengeance thrived in the darkness, and it was consuming him rapidly, the captivating enchanter turning into a creature of the night before her very sight. She had to intervene ― to give him light when he was only seeing the dark. He was confusing and exasperating, generous and charming. She didn't know what to make of him. No, she didn't know him. And yet, she felt that she did ― that they had more in common than was foreseeable. He was...an enigma, one she wanted to solve. To understand.
Heart beating fiercely, blood racing, she shocked herself by doing the very thing she had promised herself she would never do, especially not with a man like Hook: she leaned in, touched his cheek, and gently kissed him.
In retrospect, she still didn't know what had possessed her to do such a thing. She had ardently believed that a gesture of innocent affection would calm him down, that his hold on her would relax. It didn't. What had been a gentle brush of her lips against his was now a fiery, all-consuming kiss, one that was devouring her resolve to resist. His body was pressing on hers, his desirous response bewildering her further. He had never shown even the slightest interest―
Emma gasped as his hand and hook wandered, his mouth joining them. She was clinging desperately to his hair, stunned by the way her reluctance was shifting into pure want. He was doing this to her...his boldness was triggering her darkest wishes, encouraging her secret fantasies. Making her need him, as she had never needed anyone else. She started imagining how far he would go with this, if he would...
While the scenery around them changed and she faintly acknowledged that they must be in his bedroom, that he had transported them there, Emma scrambled to grasp at whatever of her reason remained under the influence of this new, blinding passion. She wasn't here to be with Hook in any kind of relationship ― no, she was here to free Neal, to complete her side of the deal, to conquer her quest. Not to be subdued by a breathtaking disaster of a man, who was staring at her with wanton hunger and a devilish smirk. A man wholly broken, beautiful, and mesmerizing, who had shared her first kiss.
As he turned to regard his regal bed, she realized what he truly wanted.
His breaths were haggard, his pupils dilated heavily. He was licking his swollen lips, his black shirt unbuttoned, his vest gone. Emma looked down to see her own blouse open fully, her undergarments peeking through temptingly. Had it truly progressed to that stage?
When Hook took off the disheveled shirt, revealing the muscular expanse of bare chest and shoulders underneath, she bit her bottom lip nervously, pivoting on the balls of her feet until her back was facing him. She was under his roof, under his power, so she could deny him nothing. But this...this she had to deny. Deny him...and herself.
"Killian..." she pleaded, hoping he would stop his advances.
Then he stood in front of her again, and his arms wrapped themselves around her waist, his nose nudging hers until he found her mouth a second time, his hand reaching up to push down the blouse to her waist and untie the laces of her corset. Every caress translated into a branding you are mine.
Her search for arguments ended when she found none, and in that insane moment, she was rational once more. She pushed him away, stumbling backwards.
He smoldered at her intently before lifting his hook apologetically. "I can transform it into a hand, if it bothers you ― it will only be a temporary illusion, of course, but a convincing one at that―"
"This has nothing to do with your hook." She forced herself to sound icy and dismissive, ignoring the look of hurt that crossed his face. "This, between you and me," she gestured, "cannot happen. Ever."
Hurt transformed into fury. "Why didn't you tell me that before you kissed me, Emma?" he snarled, his hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist. His hook dissipated, a perfect hand replacing it. Too perfect.
"You bewitched me," she defended, to which he laughed mirthlessly in reply.
"Did I? Or perhaps you've figured out how magic works here?" He approached her slowly. "Perhaps you've heard more of my story than I give you credit for...the part where magic fused me together, took away my freedom. You see, love...the essence of darkness is literally living here, trapped in this void. Every being who steps through is subjected to its power, and by the time you have the will to run, you have no choice but to stay. Because by then, darkness is in your blood, your mind, your heart...and you need light in all three in order to leave. Which is why even I cannot cross over into the outer world where time exists. My heart is too black, too stained. I don't command the magic ― I obey it."
His false hand brazenly cupped her breast through the fabric of her shift, and she bit back a moan. "Why not just give in, darling? You have nothing to lose ― and everything to gain. I promise that I will please you, in every way. We can survive this hell together: I will give you whatever you desire, myself included, and in exchange, you will yield to me. Abandon this foolish quest... Instead, do what you want to do ― here, with me."
His right hand was mimicking the actions of the other, arousing a fire in the recesses of Emma's stomach. He was seducing her, his husky voice making her muscles tense in anticipation. If she didn't do something ― anything ― she would end up where he wanted her: in his bed.
Tears moistened her flushed cheeks, and she struggled to think of the best memories she had. Her parents teaching her how to ride a horse for the first time. A mother swan and her cygnets rising from the lake in the palace gardens, only to pace in front of her ― the little ones gathering about her feet, while she fed the mother thick pieces of rich brown bread. The love she had always had from her mother and father, from her friends, from her subjects, all giving her strength and comfort and understanding. Not this...not this incomprehensible, shameful lust.
When she opened her eyes, Killian was gazing at her in awe, a steady glow reflecting from his skin. Then she looked downward. No...she was literally glowing, from the inside out. Light was leaking out from the magic she would always carry inside her beating heart. No matter what darkness blocked her path, her love couldn't die. It would always belong to her.
Love isn't weakness ― it's strength...
That night, Emma's nightmares were worse than ever before, a never-ending line of emotions that jabbed at every part of her conscience.
Killian's wounded expression when she immediately ran from him after her luminescent display.
Neal's hidden past, his mixed feelings about what he had abandoned, consciously or not.
Her own longing to be home, away from these newfound feelings that Hook had aroused in her.
For the first time in her life, Emma screamed in her sleep, wishing she had never made a deal with Rumplestiltskin. No quest was worth this: she would have to choose between what she ought to do and what she wanted, a simple dilemma before but a different one now. She had felt so complete in his arms, having recognized that through the haze of whatever sinister spell had been cast in that instant.
And now she still had three tests to endure, all under Killian's inspection, though she personally believed that last night had been the unspoken first.