Loup Égaré

Authoress' Note: For right now I'm just going to keep writing this on my tablet, so there may be a few more errors or incorrect words, which I might not catch during the final editing stage when I move it to my pc to finish it up. I apologize for the wait on this chapter, mainly because: I've been binge-watching House, Peaky Blinders, and reading a ton of fanfictions, plus writers block and general life stuff. I was going to go on a bit longer with this chapter but was struggling to connect two scenes—so I decided to just cut the chapter where I did and found it to fit much better. I have not decided on if this will end up being 31 chapters instead of 30 now but it very well may.

Kit's episodes are back, and getting worse. Obviously she's being tugged back and forth between the universes/times and it's not a pleasant experience for the poor dear. Erik is getting a very startling reminder of his house guest's mortality via the attacks as well. He may know that he isn't alone anymore, but that can very well be fleeting, since Kit could easily die during one of her seizures, especially if he isn't around.

As a random note and recommendation, I have Celtic Woman music stuck in my brain. I've been singing Tir na Nog for days—well worth checking them out.

Anyway, onto the chapter!

Rating: M (Warnings in first chapter)

Disclaimer: I don't own POTO.


"No, no, no! From the top, again!" Reyer snapped at Piangi, who stood awkwardly on stage with Christine as they rehearsed "Point of No Return".

This was such a normal occurrence that even Carlotta's whining that nobody would even know or care in the audience had petered out to a huff and glare routine. Kit stood on the stage in her costume, sighing as she fought hard to not lean on one of the set pieces in irritation as she picked at the ruffles on the front of her shirt.

Erik had been wonderful, Kit thought as she shifted in her trousers, and had implemented such a role for her to take as he had noticed her longing glances towards anyone in such a role. Though rather than a preference for such roles, as he thought, it was more to do with the freedom pants brought...Along with there being far less itchy ruffles and lace than what the leading lady for this production had to deal with. Christine looked to be wearing the costume that was much like the stage version, pink and black with lace and roses.

Kit wasn't feeling too well today, though that wasn't anything new. The past few weeks she'd been having episodes of varying severity, though she always awoke with startlingly clear memories of when she was asleep, though she didn't want to think what that could mean at the moment as she was rather preoccupied with the current events in the Opera house.

Most of the dreams consisted of an uncomfortable bed, or her being moved, or that awful hand tightly holding her own. Never once did she hear her parent's voices, which she wasn't too surprised at. Nothing of importance had really occurred so she tried to pretend that they were just dreams, and she ignored the strange feeling of her body that persisted long after the seizure had ceased.

Her role in Don Juan was actually quite minor, which was a blessing in and of itself, in case she was unable to perform with her rash of episodes. Kit did have a few standalone lines which were nerve-wracking—easily removed just in case—but this opera had been borne of Erik's less stable mindset and while it was amazing and the work of a genius, the instability nonetheless showed.

Once again Piangi had proven that he was too stiff around Christine to enact the scene properly. Judging by the glares of the redheaded prima donna to the blonde Ingénue, there was a good chance that he would continue to do so, or risk the wrath of his lover.

Not that Kit could really fault the man for wanting to avoid dealing with an irate Carlotta, but this was getting ridiculous and everyone was getting restless. Reyer noticed and called for a break, announcing that they would return in fifteen minutes to practice the beginning of Act 2 instead as he saw that pushing it further right now was going to be rather useless.

Where the managers had taken seats in the front rows she could see Raoul approach and lean down to speak with them. Andre's mustache twitched as Firmin nodded, Raoul then gesturing to follow him out of the theater. 'Well that's not a good sign. I worry for Erik, what with their plan to capture him or worse during Don Juan...' Her stomach churned as Reyer called her over, and she glanced up to Box Five before she gathered her skirts and headed over.

"Mademoiselle, are you sure that you feel well enough to be here? You look pale," The man in the bowler hat began hesitantly.

Kit blinked owlishly, stunned at the concern on the normally stern man's face. "Oh, ah—I'm not quite recovered from being ill before, but I don't want to fall behind," She tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Thank you for your concern, Monsieur."

He looked over her with a critical eye before giving a nod. "One more thing," His mustache twitched, as he almost had to call the redhead back because she had assumed she had been dismissed. "Your voice has not suffered in the least. In fact, you have improved significantly since you have joined the chorus... Our alto section would not be what it is without you, mademoiselle, so I hope you recover quickly." His words were deliberate, and surprisingly earnest.

Kit dipped her head in recognition of the compliment she had just been given, though she was unable to keep the surprise off of her face. "Thank you Monsieur," She managed to get out. "I'll do my best to rest up before the debut."

He gave another short nod and this time she took it as a definite dismissal and retreated into the backstage of the stage, wanting to get well away from the Spanish diva. As she settled in her usual spot, wedged in a corner and taking a seat on a seemingly forgotten chair that hadn't moved since she had begun working there, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

"Ah, mademoiselle!" The cheerful, heavily accented voice of the Persian startled her.

'FUCK this guy's quiet on his feet,' Giving a disarming smile Kit waved, ready to dance around him gathering any information with politeness and cheerfulness as she had the past months whenever he managed to catch her alone but not completely separate from other people. He was far too cautious to simply blurt questions out with others in earshot. "Ah, hello Monsieur! How are you today?"

"Oh, I'm doing well," His green eyes bored into her amber ones but she kept her nerve. "You are looking a bit pale, mademoiselle,"

She waved it off dismissively. "A little illness, nothing so bad," Kit went to stand , though the Persian did not move back to let her pass. Her jaw squared though she kept an easy smile on her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly as his green eyes sharpened further.

Luckily at the exact moment that the Persian opened his mouth, clearly intent on interrogating her on the spot, Reyer called out for everyone to return to the stage.

"Excuse me, I must go," Kit gave a slight curtsy, unable to help the impish tint her smile took as she brushed past the former Persian police chief, her feet quickly carrying her away from there.

'No more hiding like that. That was a stupid move. How the hell did he find my usual resting spot?'

'Does it matter?' The wolf questioned lazily. 'Like you could ever outsmart him. Even though he's not quite on Erik's level of genius, he's no fool. Fact is, he found it, and you need to be way more careful otherwise he's going to track you to the tunnels, or even beyond, and that's not going to be good.'

Kit gave a nod and sighed to herself as she went to her mark and rehearsals resumed.

Later that evening when rehearsals had concluded Kit had pulled her cloak on in the dressing room after redressing in the lighter one of the simpler dresses Erik had gotten her. Slipping from the Opera House, instead of directly heading to the Rue Scribe tunnels she walked to the closest shops, Wolf whining about wanting wine that evening. As she perused the shop she caught a flash of a familiar profile, and her eyes narrowed. chancing a covert glance to the side her fears were confirmed, a dark-skinned man stood, seemingly perusing the wares. glancing to her other side she nearly cursed as she saw another Persian man, who she could only guess to be Darius.

'Fuck. They followed me!' The redhead seethed internally, though she kept her face carefully neutral as she hummed a little tune to seem completely at ease though she was now nervous.

She could evade the Persian quite easily, but two people was being a bit much. 'I guess it's lucky you were being such a whiny bitch about being out of wine at home—at Erik's home.'

'Smooth,' The wolf drawled sarcastically. 'Well, there's two choices. Buy the wine, and afterwards either try to shake them in the shopping district or you can try to offset them to get them to stop for at least today.'

'They're pretty tight on my tail...And how, pray tell, would I do that? Offset them? I'm not exactly intimidating yanno.'

'Call them out on their bullshit,' The wolf sounded bored, but Kit could almost feel the perking of the alter's ears. 'I mean, really, what's the worst thing that could happen?'

'Let's see, barely five-foot three-inch me against two men who both have at least a head on my height...yep the odds are definitely in my favor,' Kit bit back sarcastically as she crossed the floor to the counter and paid for the wine, smiling at the cashier and she took her bottle.

'Okay, whatever then,'The wolf laughed at her and settled in, curled just beneath the surface to watch the show that was sure to ensue.

Slipping from the shop Kit wove her way into the slightly thinning crowd of the market, wishing that she had a more normal hair colour so that she could blend in a little better, or that she had a scarf to pull over it to hide the dark red.

About twenty minutes later after ducking through many shops, picking up a thing here or there so she didn't look like she was shoplifting or something, she seemed to have lost them. Kit gave a relieved sigh and then slipped into an alleyway to start on her way back to the Opera House—and ran right into the Persian as she rounded the corner in the well-traversed alley.

"Oh! Monsieur, fancy seeing you here!" Kit smiled brightly, straightening. Footsteps from behind let her know that Darius was behind her, boxing her in. "Can I help you two with anything? I really must be getting home, it's getting late." She made herself sound impatient, tweaking her eyebrow.

"You know very well what this is about, mademoiselle." The Persian's jade eyes were not gleaming, but were sharp.

"Hmm..." Kit tapped her finger on her chin, then gave her best bewildered look. "No, I haven't the faintest clue. Now if you'll excuse me—" She made to step to the side and brush past but was halted as the middle-aged man stepped in front of her. Her stomach twisted with anxiety and she grit her teeth.'I'm no badass chick, how the hell a I going to get them to let me go? Calm...calm down.' She took a calming, steadying breath.

Turning, she could see the Daroga's manservant block her path, and knew she was cornered. She turned her focus back to the older man in front of her. "If you don't let me go I'll scream," She advised, rather politely and calmly for the situation.

"We only want to talk," The older Persian held up his hands as if to show he was no harm.

"I know nothing of what you want to talk of, I'm sure." Kit's tone was clipped. While she was keeping her cool, she wasn't going to put on the overly chipper voice she had been, the time for that shtick long over.

"Oh, I do believe you do, mademoiselle. He is dangerous, surely you know that," He goaded. "You live with him, yes? I am no fool," Kit's eyes narrowed.

'Giry talked,' She thought dryly.

'Of course she did, especially to the damned Persian.'

Kit felt like she was going to vomit from the closeness of the two men as they boxed her in even more tightly.

'Fuck this,' The Wolf decided and pulled control from the main, settling herself in the 'driver's seat'. The redhead's body language at once became less stiff, the expression on her face bored. "And I'm sure your brilliant deduction had nothing to do with a certain ballet mistress," She drawled, the man giving a smile.

"You do not have to keep returning to him," He seemed to be trying to bribe her. "I can arrange you a place to stay, you can get away from the Opera House. Surely you want that, yes?"

The redhead blinked and then gave a laugh. "Monsieur Phantom would not purposefully hurt me," She spoke with amusement. "I'm perfectly happy where I am, Monsieur. Or should I say, Daroga?" The wolf shoved Kit further down in their mind, smothering her protests for awhile as she had run out of patience with this little dance of avoidance and naivete the Persian and she had been playing at.

The title offset the older man. "How—?"

"Oh, how do I know that? I know many things," She gave a humorless grin.

The Daroga took a hesitant step back from her, seeing the oddly feral glint in her eyes and sensing the shift in her behavior. He was beginning to realize Erik was not the only unbalanced person in the equation.

She laughed. "Oh, please. I'm his friend, and friends tend to tell each other things about their pasts." She eyed the Persian. "Are you after him because you wish to fix your mistake of helping him escape from the shah so many years ago, or do you want to prevent more death from staining his hands and your conscience?" Her head tilted and she crossed her arms, a bored expression on her face. He opened his mouth to retort and she gave a dismissive wave. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. If you were trying to get me alone to convince me that I'm not stuck with him, you're barking up the wrong tree. I want to be there for him, and I'm not scared of him. I don't care what he's done or what he looks like, Daroga, which is less than I can say for most of his acquaintances."

"He is violent," The Persian reminded. "He has killed—"

"I watched him kill Buquet. Greasy bastard had it coming and coming for a long time. He provoked Monsieur Phantom first, he was trying to get him caught outside the passageways and exposed. Buquet raped who knows how many girls, molested so many more—the man was a menace." Kit's voice is certain, speaking with finality. "Even if it hadn't been a justifiable death, however, I would still stand with him as his friend, and if or when he kills again that's what I'll do."

The older Persian wasn't quite sure what to make of this normally cheerful, demure, and pleasant woman's squared jaw, edge of steel in her voice and that glint in her eyes that made him want to tread as if he was around a wild animal. "He will hurt you,"

"Purposefully? I very much doubt that. Without him I would have died months ago." She turned her head to the manservant. "Well, Monsieur Darius," She saw him stiffen and turned her attention back to the stunned Daroga. "Monsieur Khan. Am I free to leave without you doing a poor impression of my shadow, or will I have to scream and draw people towards what seems to be two foreign men harassing an innocent young lady such as I?"

Nadir hesitated, but after several long moments with his jade eyes piercing into her amber orbs, he stepped aside, giving a gesture to Darius to stand down as well.

Once they were out of her way the wolf smirked. "Have a good evening, Messieurs." Her steps were unhurried, sharp jade eyes followed her until she turned the corner.

'Well,' Nadir thought with interest as he stroked his beard as he thought, gesturing for Darius to follow him as he chose to go home instead of follow the redhead more tonight. This required more thought, now that he had found out he had been gravely mistaken as to the Masagobi's situation. 'It seems instead of another potential victim for Erik's madness, that we will have to be wary of Mademoiselle Masagobi.'