An early gift for my wonderful readers...I love you guys!!

Are you ready for this? I know I am; they meet at the end of this chapter.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 20

March 1, 1876

Erik had made the arrangements and they would be leaving on the 9 a.m. train to get to Marseilles by 8:30 p.m. After careful consideration and a motherly speech by Annette, Erik had decided it was best if Tarrah stayed behind and Annette be the one to accompany him. It would not do to have the chaperone be his ward.

Lavanya Keshav was to dock tomorrow morning, so Erik and Annette would spend the night at a hotel in Marseilles and be ready to pick her up in the morning and procure a place on the earliest train back to Paris.

Thankfully, the morning was bright, with only a few clouds floating in the blue sky. Erik had bid Tarrah good-bye, amidst a tirade of protests; bur he was firm in his decision and Tarrah respected that.

"Besides, you would probably make her very nervous." Erik teased.

"I would no' make her nervous." Tarrah pouted, trying to sound pitiful.

Erik smirked and raised his exposed brow, "Tarrah…you make me nervous."

He had tried to remain upbeat and sociable throughout the early morning, but his instincts told him to avoid everyone around him; but he had become accustom to ignoring the voices that always pushed him toward a life of solitude and loneliness.

"I am supposed to make ye nervous, ye're a man."

Erik laughed at her female reasoning and softened his eyes; she had seldom had reason to be away from him. He realized she was feeling abandoned and left out – he found it rather endearing.

"Ah, you noticed that I am a man, I am truly impressed." He remarked back, with a tweak of her nose and a great deal of sarcasm.

She whispered back at him with a twinkle in her eyes, "Remember, I have seen ya without a shirt."

Continuing in the jesting mode, Erik responded, "Yes, well I have tried to forget that fact – as should you."

He chuckled lightly – ignoring any snide remark that Tarrah had planned to retaliate with - and walked toward the door. Madam Giry was a few feet in front of him, looking back on the two as they playfully bantered with each other.

He stopped to instruct the newest member of his staff. Mitzi was a young woman that had come highly recommended as a personal handmaiden to the woman who would become the Lady of the manor.

He had offered to hire one for Tarrah, but she had adamantly refused; something about her privacy being invaded and her thoughts being her own – or some such nonsense.

The young woman curtsied as she stood in front of him and her face remained a mask of professionalism as Erik spoke.

"We will be back tomorrow night. Make sure her room is prepared and have a bath drawn…she will most likely be very tired after such a long trip and will need to relax and escape for a little while."

He turned to Tarrah as though he had forgotten something. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out his money clip.

"Tarrah, you and Meg may go to the various stores and buy all of the toiletries and female necessities that you can think of…she will need them all…." He smiled as their faces lit up when he started to hand them a good sum of money. "…treat yourselves to lunch and buy yourselves some of that perfume that you love so much."

He waited until Tarrah had almost grasped the money, and he pulled it back; grinning widely at the exasperated sound she made at him. She crossed her arms over her chest and patted her foot in annoyance.

Erik saw the ornery twinkle in her blue eyes and very carefully handed the money over to her – with no hesitation.

"Have fun…" he smiled and then winked, "…I will see you tomorrow night."

♠♥♦♣

If there had ever been a doubt in his mind, every trip he took convinced Erik more and more that he hated trains and ships…and people – especially people he did not know. The train was rather full, so he hunkered in the corner as though glued to the frame of the train.

Annette was talking amiably with just about anyone who would carry on a conversation and Erik found it quite annoying that she ignored him completely.

He drifted in and out of sleep, finally feeling a nudge from Annette a couple of hours into the trip.

"We need to eat, Erik. The dining car is at the other end of the train; I am starving."

He rolled his eyes beneath his closed lids, feeling very cranky at having his good sleep interrupted. He ignored the voice, hoping it would go away.

"ERIK!"

He startled, grunted, and opened annoyed eyes at her.

"I am not hungry."

Her raised brow and infuriated smirk did nothing to improve his demeanor, nor did his scowl intimidate her. He silently stood and followed her to the dining car, mumbling under his breath and feeling very…unsociable.

"I have been in freezing buildings that were warmer than your company right now."

She sat across from him, looking rather small and meek – so unlike the woman whose scornful, demanding eyes had led him through the hordes of people to the dining car in the first place.

His green gaze was ominous and hypnotizing as he lifted his eyes to her. He knew he was in a foul mood; he supposed it was a combination of things.

"You can talk to me Erik, what is the problem….I would have thought you would be happy with the prospect of having a wife."

He grimaced at her implication and buried his head in his hands. The mask stayed in place, but he felt imprisoned within it, once again.

"Oh yes, I should be happy because a woman is being forced to marry me so that she will not be left without means or protection in a strange country..." he rolled his eyes once again and spat, "...yes...that makes me all warm inside."

She chose to ignore the sharpness in his tone and continued.

"What do you know of her?"

He shrugged his shoulders and began piddling with a designated spot on the table.

"Not much, really; her name is Lavanya Keshav, the sister of the man who single-handedly helped me escape India and, most likely, saved my life…"

FLASHBACK

"The Thrill of the Hunt" gaming field, lands of Romir Keshav, 1860

The darkness clothed him in a sheet of midnight black and Erik would have thought it a comforting embrace if not for the blood that was on his hands and the smell of death in the air.

India was everything he had dreamed it would be…exotic and forbidden; the beauty of the land was such as he had never seen before and he knew he would never forget the warmth of the sun or the aroma of the flowers that grew in almost every area.

He had escaped to this fairytale land hoping to find the humanity he had lost to the gypsies…but some in India possessed a penchant for the odd and peculiar – just like the gypsies had.

The man on the cold ground in front of him would be counted as his twenty-fifth kill; a noble feat for a modern gladiator. He stared at the gaping wound his rapier had left – and gagged.

Romir preferred the musket – but if Erik was going to "play" this sick game for his survival, he was going to play it his way.

Hatred, hot and exhilarating, poured through him. Romir Keshav had done everything short of castrating him to rob Erik of his dignity and humanity – but the parasite had met his match in the young outcast.

People made the mistake of thinking that Erik's self-hatred was the precursor of self-destruction, but they knew nothing about him; his will to survive and the instincts he possessed to do so, were legendary.

The sound of an approaching horse sent Erik into the shelter of a nearby clerodendrum bush. He recognized the scent on the air – this same person had been watching him for some time; assessing him; learning him.

This time, there would be a face-to-face confrontation. Erik was hardly human, after all, so he could certainly kill again with little or no remorse.

He told himself this, but it was not true. He hated himself more and more, with each passing day and with each new kill. What had these men done to deserve death? Erik was, in essence, their executioner - for he would not allow them to kill him.

This knowledge had kept him from a decent nights sleep for the four years he had been a prisoner of Romir Keshav - a prisoner and an asset.

The night he had been captured and hauled before Romir Keshav was burned into his memory and there was nothing he could do to escape it. He remembered the events as though they had happened yesterday – the words – the smells.

"What are you?"

Keshav had asked with a disgusted snarl on his face. Erik had attempted to make eye contact but felt a whip land across his shoulder blades with painful precision.

There had been no need to answer, as Erik knew that any attempt to open his mouth would be met with hostility and more brutality.

Romir came forward and examined his latest "find" with narrowed, beady eyes. It was important to have a powerful slave…one whose life held little meaning. There was to be no family – no one to come searching should the "hunt" result in death.

This specimen – though young – possessed a feral gaze and the leanest, strongest build he had ever seen. It was lithe and poised – much like a panther readying itself for the kill. Hatred burned within the molten green eyes that held a flaw that Romir hoped would not become an issue – bold intelligence.

"You are to be my new champion, slave – your victories in the fights are legendary – you cost me a fortune, but you will be worth it."

Kalaripayattu was forbidden years ago, but the eccentric and very rich still trained champions – and had turned the sport into something deadly; the particular group that had captured and trained this champion was extremely inhumane and brutal – turning men into animals. Romir had watched him – and knew he had to have him; graceful and elegant in his form – from the way he yielded his weapon to the way he moved over the ground – exquisite. "I want him, whatever it takes…" They had bargained for him as though he was a slab of meat, and thrown him into the gladiator games that Romir Keshav was infamous for; he was an underground legend in the darkest, seediest places in India.

That had been four years ago and Erik's life had plummeted downward in every way. His brilliant mind was wasted on clouded dreams brought forth by absinth and morphine; or any other chemical his "master" deemed useful.

Altering the "game" was what kept the competition so heated; and Erik was the best; even when completely given over to drugs; he was like an animal in his fury and Romir made a great deal of money off him.

The whinnying of the horse alerted Erik to the rider he had been waiting on. The face was hidden, but Erik could see that the man was quite large, about the same size as he was in girth, but shorter of stature.

"Mahan Sainika (Great Warrior), I am Sharad Keshav, I come as a friend."

Not hearing any threatening tones in the voice, Erik removed himself from the cover of the bushes and stood arrogantly before this man – the son of his sworn enemy.

"Why would you, the son of my 'master', lower himself to talk to the likes of me?"

Erik watched as the young man dismounted and walked over to him. He looked down at the dead body of Erik's last victim and knelt beside it.

"This man was a murderer, did you know this?"

Erik had not known, nor had he cared – it was he or those they pitted against him – and Erik never lost.

"Does that make what I do any easier for you to comprehend? Does it allow for me to sleep at night?"

The bitterness in his tone was like fuel for the fire that burned within him. He despised killing – with everything that he was – but he would not cower to these people; they would never see him bow.

Sharad stood to his full height, which he noticed was an inch or two shorter then the warrior, and stared unflinchingly into the unmasked face of the man he had been told was a demon in disguise.

"They say you are not of this earth."

Erik scoffed and frowned, giving the shorter man a view of the perfect side of his face – shrouded in the dark beams of the full moon.

"Really…how fascinating."

They stood, face to face, each assessing the other and neither willing to give. Erik admired the man's tenacity – staring at his unmasked features without flinching – it was a rare occurrence.

Sharad, although intimidated by few, felt the strength this stranger possessed, and knew that there would be little chance of coming out the victor should Mahan Sainika loose patience and decide that one more victim was no concern of his.

"Why have you been following me?" Erik asked, and then warned, "Choose your words wisely, Keshav, they could very well be your last."

Sharad, taken aback by the question, realized he should have expected nothing less from this man; he was a hunter – in every way.

"You are captivating to watch – especially in the throes of the kill – you are mercifully quick in your death plunge and I can tell that each kill touches you intimately – painfully…you hate what you are becoming."

Erik wrinkled his tanned brow and looked away from Sharad's intense gaze.

"You do not belong here, Mahan Sianika – you are above this life and these people."

Erik could feel his heart respond to the words that he spoke. He stood aghast from the shock of finding another human being - other than his mother, who cared about his welfare.

"Why would you care?"

"Because I know what these games will do to you…I know a little something about your past and the vicious cycle that is beginning to repeat itself." Sharad dared to move closer, "I see in you the man that my father wanted to turn me into – and I cannot bear to watch you be destroyed in such a way."

Erik continued to stare, dumbfounded, into the face of this man; was he offering a way out – was he offering his friendship – what?

END FLASHBACK

"And he did, he got me out." Erik stated, staring out the window into the night sky. "He helped me get off the drugs and we became close friends."

Annette was stunned, completely astounded by the story that Erik had just told her. He had been as caged and brutalized in India as he had been with the gypsies.

"We spent the next year planning an elaborate escape that would be heralded as the work of a jealous gladiator – one whose path had crossed my own."

He smirked slightly, remembering the scheme as though it were yesterday.

"My charred remains were found buried in a shallow grave just outside of the playing field – burned beyond recognition – but undeniably me; the cloak found tangled in the branches of a nearby three put the identity of the unknown corpse at a rest – they were those of the 'Mahan Sainika' – the Great Warrior."

Erik dropped his head slightly, starring down at his folded hands; still buried beneath the layers of his leather gloves.

"I have been asked, numerous times, by various people as to why I continuously wear leather gloves on my hands…" he smiled sadly and Annette saw the sparkling tears glisten in the corners of his striking eyes, "…it is the blood...I hear its cry in my sleep."

"I know you do not want sympathy, Erik, but what you have told me makes your actions and moods more understandable and feasible. You were conditioned by the past to be who you are."

Annette's words comforted her as much, if not more than, they comforted him. She leaned over and ran her palm over the smoothness of his perfect cheek.

"You are an incredible man, Erik; and someday, you will know this."

He shook his head in disagreement, letting her know that he thought as little of himself now as he did fifteen years ago.

"Do any of the others know this?"

She had chosen to ignore his staunch negativism and forge ahead. Erik told her that they did not and the air went thick and very quiet.

"I trust that you will tell them should the need come up." He stated, formally ending the discussion.

Erik swept his eyes over her gracefully aging features and finally smiled. She had always been a friend to him – brutally honest, lovingly chastising, and tenderly caring.

"I know this is not an appropriate subject to discuss with you, but you are the only friend I have at this moment."

Annette frowned and nodded, she did not care what it was he wished to talk about, she only cared that he wanted to share it with her.

"I find with my waning youth, that I want a child…a child to carry on my music and my blood."

He saw the small flicker of shock fill her eyes.

"I intend to ask Lavanya to allow me to…" he stumbled around for the correct wording, but he was flustered with just the thought of it, "…that is…I am going to ask her if she will…"

He clamped his mouth shut, fearing that Annette would laugh and crumble every ounce of courage he was trying to foster.

She reached out, grasped his trembling, gloved hand, and smiled reassuringly, "I understand, Erik. She will be your wife; you have the right to ask this of her."

He vehemently shook his head and yanked his hand away from her.

"I would never make such demands! I will promise her anything…anything at all, if she will give me a child and allow me to be its father – a part of its life."

Annette heard the desperate pleading in his voice and saw the shadows of doubt play upon his features.

"I have no idea how to ask her, and I have no idea what I am doing." He lifted his dark, somber eyes and smiled bleakly, "I only pray that she will allow it."

♣♥♠♦

The remaining hours on the train were spent in reflective thought and quiet dozing; Annette sat across from Erik, watching him while he slept.

For the years he had been at the opera house, he had always been an oddity – not because of the way he looked, but of how he was so unlike anyone she had ever known.

He was a genius, but completely self-effacing about it; brushing it aside as though everyone had the same gift. He seldom slept, and ate very little; but managed to stay in exemplary shape. His physical strength and dexterity was legendary and Annette could not remember a time when he had been sick.

She said a silent prayer that this woman would be what he needed her to be, and that he could finally find love and have it returned to him.

A child with Erik's arresting eyes, handsome features, and genius mind sounded too good to be true, but she prayed it came to be.

When he awoke, they played several games of gin rummy and discussed the opera house, avoiding anything about his impending marriage to a complete stranger or his desire to have children.

Finding a hotel near the train station was not too difficult, as Erik was a wealthy patron and his money spoke volumes. They were able to rent two rooms for the night and each of them slept; one better than the other.

♠♦♣♥

There were hoards of people in Marseilles the next morning – some sort of official gathering; Erik watched, with an annoyed grimace, as person after person passed by him – some glancing over at him and immediately averting their eyes upon finding him masked – and others not seeming to notice.

He was a nervous wreck – he knew she would fear him; and possibly, detest him. However, a small part of him yearned for her acceptance and understanding.

What a blooming idiot you are, Erik…you need to be ambivalent toward her – do not let her know your true feelings and all will be fine.

His pep talk seemed to settle him down, only slightly. He prayed there was nothing remotely attractive about her – at least not to him – that would certainly make his role in this deceptively convincing marriage, much easier.

He certainly had nothing to offer her in the looks department, and he smirked at the absurdness of the whole situation. He wanted a child by this woman, no doubt, so he did not care what she looked like, and it was of no importance.

Even those women that society labeled as homely or undesirable, were more than Erik had ever hoped to attain; he would be grateful for any willing woman to accept him as a husband and lover.

These thoughts were swimming through his mind, absorbing him completely, until a woman of such rare beauty walked into his line of vision. She wore the most alluring clothing in different colors and it clung to her curves with caressing softness.

He carried his eyes admiringly over her form, taking in her shapely legs, generous hips; slender, yet softly padded abdomen, full, swelling bosom and long, luscious neck.

Erik felt his body react to her in a way he had not felt for a very long time – he growled; pushing his desires away from him like distasteful food.

He looked up to find blue/green eyes staring at him from beneath sooty lashes. Cascades of full, black, shimmering hair framed the exotically striking features; the smile that played upon the full, plump lips was irresistibly compelling, and Erik felt a raging inferno of desire envelope him.

Suddenly realizing that this woman was from India and her dress was that of an Indian woman engaged to be married, and adding the resemblance she bore to Sharad…Erik felt his desire fade and his heart fall.

Well, so much for not finding her attractive…

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes; once again, Erik felt like crawling under a rock.

TBC