Spring 1854

Central Austrian Empire

Christine

I had done it. I had taken that plunge. I'd been the first to admit (in a very nonverbal way) that there was something more between Erik and I than just friendship. It had been terrifying, and it had been thrilling.

Why I pulled away was explainable…but not easily so. The primary reason was for the simple fact that Erik didn't kiss me in return. I tried hard during the first kiss to coax his thin, twisted lips to respond, but he didn't move. And then…when I pulled away slightly…I knew that the thing I wanted most was to kiss him again – and again and again. When I kissed him that second time, he again drew out my most basic instincts. I wanted to be a woman for him…and I wanted him to be a man for me.

But it seemed Erik had none of those thoughts in his head. He refused to kiss me, and when I finally realized that, I pulled away, horrified that he was disgusted, or angered, that I had kissed him.

I couldn't blame him for his initial reaction to my pulling away. He had spent his entire life hating the way people responded to his unmasked face and, once more, he thought I was disgusted by it.

I was being completely honest whenever I told him that his face didn't bother me. I would never admit it was beautiful – it was hideous and would never change – but I had seen it enough to understand it was simply a face. It was a face with unpleasant qualities, but it wouldn't hurt me in and of itself. Once that was realized, I took to seeing his face without fear.

Erik refused to accept the idea. He simply believed that everyone thought he was loathsome and evil. Too many people had said what he already thought was true, and the insults had been engrained in his very being. I tried to explain to him that night that it wasn't his face I thought of when I looked at him. It was the great collection that he was: he was compiled of so many fascinating things that there really was no time to waste pondering his face. And then – to my surprised delight – he took the plunge as well and had kissed me in return.

We had cried together, him sobbing apologies to me that he had dared to kiss me like that, me saying that there really was no need to apologize, that I had enjoyed it, and I didn't have the motivation to move from the little sofa. In the aftermath of it all, I ended up falling asleep beside him, curled up in his arms. But when I woke, I was tucked in the bed. Erik was nowhere to be seen.

I was nervous to face him after the events of the previous evening. How would he react? I readied myself and left the inn. When I finally spotted him, he was adjusting Oberon's bridle.

"Good morning," I said, a little hesitantly.

He turned around to look at me, but I couldn't decipher any emotion in his eyes.

"Good morning, Christine," he replied, his voice smooth and emotionless. "Are you ready to go?"

I nodded, and he helped me onto Oberon's back. We rode and stopped for an hour or so to rest and eat. It was spent in silence, awkward for me. I wasn't sure what he was thinking.

When we finally stopped that evening, I knew that my anxiousness would eventually drive me mad. After I slipped into the nightgown, I watched him come in and sit. I sat on the bed, hugging myself, clasping my bare arms.

"Erik?" I said softly.

"Yes?"

"Don't you think we should…discuss…what happened yesterday?" My voice was stuttering.

Tilting his head ever so slightly, he observed me for a moment and then said dully, "What about yesterday?"

"Well…when…" A blush was attacking my neck and cheeks. "When we kissed."

His body didn't move, but his eyes narrowed just a bit.

"I already apologized to you," he said brusquely. "I've no idea why I did that."

"No, I don't mean that!" I said quickly, earnestly. There was a pause, and I continued, my voice quiet and shy. "I wanted to say that I…I liked it."

He gazed at me disbelievingly. "You did?" he asked hollowly. Then he instantly snapped, "You're lying."

"No, I'm not," I replied. I then asked weakly, "Didn't you?"

His mismatched eyes traveled to my lips, and I saw the flash of recognition and want. He then blinked and looked away.

"I don't wish to discuss this," he said shortly. "Go to sleep."

"But I really think we – " I began.

"Go to sleep," he commanded.

I sighed and did as he said – though a slight smile lingered on my lips.


In the following days, he made no mention of the kisses we had shared. Whenever I tried to bring it up he feigned deafness until the subject was changed. I didn't know why. I wanted to talk about us. I needed to. For all his talents and genius, he was terrible with things like that.

But talking to Erik was very nice when he was in an affable mood. He led the horse along, looking back occasionally to smile at me with his eyes. And during those glances, I knew that he was remembering our time in Vienna.

"I could walk, you know," I said, not for the first time. "It's not fair that you should walk and I ride."

"I want you to be as comfortable as you can," Erik said dismissively. "You need more rest than I."

We were silent for a little ways, and then Erik stopped abruptly, looking around. Oberon shifted uneasily behind him.

"What is it?" I asked nervously. He did not answer and looked around the path. "Erik?" I prodded.

"Hush," he said quickly. Slowly, he pulled out his lasso, and that frightened me greatly.

I then heard it – the rustling through the underbrush, snapping of twigs. Whoever was coming did not attempt to muffle the sound of their footsteps.

"Oh my!" I squeaked pathetically. "Erik – is it – ?"

"Quiet!" he said harshly. I was a little embarrassed, and I remained silent, watching with him, my heart pounding loudly.

Out of the eastern edge of the path tumbled out five men, all dirty beyond belief and covered in rags. I nearly screamed, but I remembered Erik's command and instead pressed a hand over my mouth. They approached the two of us, smiling cruelly with their blackened, rotted teeth. Erik, however, did not back down. He coldly stood and watched them come closer.

One man stepped forward and spoke in a gruff, Slovak language. Erik responded coldly in the same manner. The man's grin widened, and his eyes flickered to me. I was terrified. The man was much broader than Erik. The man then said something else, and Erik shook his head firmly.

All of the men began to laugh, pointing to Erik's lasso and pulling out knives of their own. I whimpered against my fist. All of the knives were large and stained with…something I couldn't bear to imagine.

"They want Oberon, Christine," Erik said calmly. "You will not get off the horse. Do not do anything."

He didn't look at me, but I nodded anyway. I didn't trust myself to speak. The men rapidly motioned from themselves to the horse, holding their knives up threateningly, but Erik did not move or give any inclination that he was going to surrender.

Three men then quickly sprung on him, and I did scream, unable to help myself. I watched the scene with horror – and it was a mixture for both the men and for Erik. My companion…he was faster than my eyes could follow. He dodged between the knives, and his rope hissed out of the air, securing around a neck.

Snap!

One man fell heavily to the ground. The other two did not waste a moment, however, and their attack renewed. I wanted to help him in some way – of course I couldn't, what could I do? – but Erik had specifically instructed me to stay on the horse, and I felt somewhat safe on its tall back.

However, the feeling did not last long. The remaining men edged around the fight and came close to me, jostling each other and laughing. I felt myself lose breath as they stopped all around me. One man's hand stretched forth and pushed on my leg.

"Stop that!" I said, trying to sound furious but failing. The men laughed at me.

"Leave me alone!" I commanded. "Go away!"

I was not surprised when my efforts failed. They reached up and pushed me in various places – my knees, my back, my waist, my hips…all the while laughing as I swatted their filthy hands away from me. I looked despairingly at Erik but found that he was much too focused on his task.

One of the men reached over and pulled off my right shoe. "Give that back!" I shouted. He then pinched my foot, looking toward the other, and I roughly jerked my foot away and kicked him in the shoulder, as hard as I could. Apparently it wasn't very hard, because he grinned up at me and said something that I knew was not very courteous.

But they soon grew tired of their pathetic games. They were now pulling me in earnest, trying to get me off of the horse. Oberon was whinnying loudly, shifting, and I was afraid I would fall off and be trampled. I reached forward and threw my arms around the horse's warm, long neck. I would obey Erik…I would stay on the horse. But I felt myself being pried from Oberon. My grip was cut as one of the men grabbed my waist and pulled hard. I shrieked as I tumbled to the dirt, my breath knocked out of my lungs as I landed on the hard ground. Oberon was squealing as the men raided the saddle and bags, throwing all of the belongings over the ground, obviously looking for something of value. I had never seen anything remotely expensive in the bags. It consisted of clothing and some blankets, and at most some food for me. Everything that was worth any substantial monetary value was usually kept on Erik's person. They pulled out my nightgown and examined it for a moment, seemingly interested in the quality. One man said something to the other, and then they glanced at me. I scrambled backward. The man who had taken my right shoe picked it up and waved it at the other, and they then came toward me.

"Go away!" I cried stupidly. "Stay away from me!"

I made to stand up and run, but a hand caught my ankle, and I tripped, sprawling terribly in the dirt once again. Unceremoniously, the man with his hand around my leg yanked it forward and showed my stockings to the other one. He pushed my dress up farther, looking at them. I screamed hysterically, pulling and jerking, trying to twist away from him. After a moment, they obviously decided that my stockings were worth taking, and so a filthy hand pushed my dress up even higher, intent on taking them off. I was sobbing, choking on my tears, terrified out of my mind.

Suddenly, I felt the hand on my leg rip away, and I looked up to see that Erik had at last come to my rescue. The two remaining men abandoned me at once and pulled out their knives, leering at Erik, who was heaving for breath, though there was a look in his eye that frightened me endlessly.

I could not watch him. I closed my eyes as I heard various grunts and shouts. However, I did look up when I heard Erik cry out. My gaze instantly went to him, concerned. He was clutching his side with one hand, and I felt my face whiten. But it seemed as if that only encouraged him, because he let out a feral growl and threw out his lasso once again. I looked away when I heard a body fall to the ground.

After another moment, I had the courage to look. The last man was kneeling on the ground, his head pressed into the dirt with Erik standing over him. For a moment, I was truly frightened of Erik; there was no pity in his gaze, no gentle sarcasm that always accompanied him. There was only a killer, an assassin, poised and perfect, ready to strike. He said something to the man, and his voice chilled me. Trembling, the man stood, and Erik calmly draped his lasso around the man's neck.

"No!" I shouted hoarsely. I scrambled to my feet and ran to Erik's side. Both men looked at me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my teeth chattering…though not from any cold.

Erik stared at me for a very long time, as if unable to recognize me. He then blinked quickly and said, "Go back to the horse, Christine, and close your eyes."

"No – please, Erik – let him go. He won't hurt us."

Erik laughed, but it was cold and humorless. "I'm afraid you're quite mistaken, my dear. He would very much like to hurt us right now."

I glanced toward the man whose life was in Erik's long hands. He was staring at Erik with plain fear written across his dirty features.

"I'm begging you, Erik…" I said, clutching his arm. "Show mercy. You must. He isn't in any position to harm you or me. Let him go."

Looking as if I was asking him to cut out his own heart, Erik slowly tugged the lasso away from the man's neck, whose expression changed to one of disbelief. Erik said something to him that made him blanch. I felt his bony fingers take my arm, and they pushed me back toward the horse.

Trembling still, I went back, not wanting to look at the bodies sprawled on the ground but unwilling to trip over them as well. When I got to Oberon, I looked back to see Erik calmly walking toward me. The thief was still for a moment, and then, with incredible speed, he bent over and picked up a knife. He rushed at Erik's back, the knife held high, a blazing, insane look in his dark eyes.

"Erik!" I screamed.

But Erik did not need me. He was already turning around by the time the man had the knife, and his lasso was tightened around the thief's neck. With inhuman strength and a flick of his wrist, Erik pulled, and the man's head twisted oddly. There was the gruesome sound, and the assailant fell to the ground.

With the same self-possessed attitude, Erik wrapped his lasso up and secured it under his cloak. He turned back to find me staring, white and shaken. I was…I couldn't think of what I was. When Erik approached me, I turned around and retched, emptying my stomach's meager contents. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

Erik had just killed five men…without flinching, without thinking. I knew that he had killed before. He had told me so himself, told me that it was his job in Persia. But I couldn't imagine a sight as terrifying as the one that I saw. I looked at the bodies that littered the pathway. Surely they all couldn't have been evil – many of them probably had families, with little children who would wait…wait for a father who would never come home. I had adored my father…And when the knowledge had come that I would never see him again…

I was interrupted from my reverie by Erik, who was shaking me and saying my name loudly.

"Christine!" he was saying. "Look at me!"

I did, and he peered at me with concerned eyes. The murderer was gone…His eyes were normal once again. But I knew that I would never forget what I had witnessed. I turned away from him and retched once more.

Erik pushed me up onto the horse, hurriedly gathered the strewn belongings, and pulled himself up in front of me. I clutched him tightly and buried my face in the dark fabric of his cloak, hiding myself from the lifeless gazes of the dead bodies around us. Oberon daintily picked his way through the bodies – I didn't look anywhere – and we were quickly out of the horrid area, riding fast.

We stopped at the first town we reached. It wasn't close to dark at all.

Erik pulled the horse to a stop. He slid off with a groan and simply stood there for a minute.

"Erik?" I said, watching him intently. "What is it?"

He shook his head and replied tiredly, "We must stop here for the evening, I'm afraid. I cannot ride anymore today."

I did not want to argue with him – not when he looked so utterly exhausted. I was nauseated momentarily when I thought just why he was tired. I pushed past that and followed him inside a shabby little inn. For once, Erik did not seem to care about the stares he incited. He merely asked for a room and waited while the key was retrieved. After settling me in the room, he said seriously,

"Did they hurt you at all?"

I shook my head quickly, finding my throat tight.

"They took my shoe," I managed to say, holding up my right foot, which was only stocking-clad. I smiled at that, and I think Erik did the same.

"You're very brave," Erik said suddenly. I blushed at the compliment. "You obeyed my instructions as best you could. Most others would have gotten off the horse immediately and ran…Thank you."

I smiled tightly, and he stood and said he was going to fetch me another pair of shoes, and he left.

As I pulled off my dress, I thought over the horrid events. Erik had protected me, that much was obvious, but was it necessary? What if Erik had simply given them the horse? Would it have been that much difficult to find a new one? I knew that Erik was quite fond of his horse, and Oberon was devoted to his master…But was it really worth taking five lives?

To Erik it obviously was. I knew that when he had an attachment to something, he had unwavering loyalty to it. Erik's allegiance was undoubtedly a mixed blessing. To him, it must have felt as if someone was trying to take away one of his only true friends. He would never let that happen.

I was numb, and I climbed into the bed and stared at the wall until I fell asleep.

The next day fell back into surreal normalcy. I rose and readied myself. After eating breakfast, I left the inn and allowed Erik's assistance while I climbed onto Oberon. We rode, but it still wasn't much later when Erik stopped the horse and said, "We will rest here. It's a suitable spot."

I was more confused than ever but instead concentrated on trying to help him set up my small tent. I wasn't much help. Everything I tried to do, he simply came over and did again. He never complained though; he actually thanked me.

When it was dark, Erik managed to conjure up a small supper for me. I ate it gratefully, watching as he went over to check on Oberon, who was standing just outside the small campsite. Erik returned and sat near to me. He gazed at me, and I pretended to be very interested in my half-eaten supper.

I didn't know what to say, so I simply finished my meal and bid him a goodnight before going to my small tent. Sighing, I dropped my dress on the ground and pulled on the new nightgown that I had. I shuddered to think that filthy hands had touched it. A cool breeze swept in my tent, and I shivered slightly. Before finally laying down, I peeked out of the front flap of my tent…and what I saw concerned me immensely.

Erik was hunched over the fire, without his shirt. His frame was outlined by the orange flames. It was thin, and I could see his spine as he bent over, reptilian-like. I was embarrassed momentarily but found that I could not stop myself from watching. When he turned slightly, I was glad that I had still looked.

His lower torso was wrapped up in white cloth. On one side was a dark, black-looking stain. I watched as he fingered the mark. I remembered with a sickening jolt how he had cried out and clutched at his side during the attack. How could I have been so stupid as to forget? He couldn't ride anymore because his injury hurt too badly!

Immediately, I left the tent and went over to him. He looked at me calmly and said,

"Good evening, Christine. What brings you out here? I thought you retired for the night."

"You're hurt," I simply whispered. He nodded and looked back to the flames. "Is it serious?" I asked.

"I'm sure it looks a great deal worse than it really is," he said. He reached for the tie of the crude bandage and undid it before unwinding the long strip of cloth from his abdomen. When it fell away and I saw the wound, I pressed a hand over my mouth to hold back a rising sickness.

It was long and dark. The wound was disgusting and oddly-shaped. It looked as though the knife had caught him at an angle. If he had wanted, he could peel back a good chunk of his flesh and still have it attached. I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to calm myself.

Erik examined it, almost indifferently. "My, it's still bleeding," he said. His fingers touched it lightly, and I shuddered. "It must be cauterized," he declared.

I did not know what that meant, and when I asked, he merely looked at me.

He reached over to his bag and pulled out a knife. It was broad and dull-looking, and he put the silver end into the hot coals, leaving the handle out.

In the strange, hazy orange light, I watched as he used his other hand to reach over and pull his shirt over to him. He sponged up the dried and fresh blood on his side. I wanted to help…but I wasn't sure I could stand touching the disgusting wound.

"Christine," he said gently, "you had best return to your tent."

I shook my head fiercely, watching the knife with a sick fascination. It was starting to glow orange. He caught me staring.

"It's quite ironic," he said conversationally. "That was the knife that stabbed me. I had to clean off my own blood." He waited for me to do something…perhaps laugh…but I was horrified.

"I am going to take off my mask," he said, serious once again. "I cannot see in it very well, and I need perfect vision for this. I will wait for you to go back to your tent."

"I'm not going," I said hoarsely.

"Very well," he sighed. He then pulled off his mask and set it on the ground. In the light, I could fully see how his face and body complemented the other. He twisted away from me to finish cleaning up the blood; his ribcage pressed against his skin. I could have counted each individual rib.

He reached over and picked up the knife from the fire. It was glowing. With a final glance toward me, Erik lowered the knife to his side.

"What – what are you doing?" I squealed, but there wasn't enough time for him to answer.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air. A gruesome hissing sound accompanied it. I pressed a quick hand over my nose, watching in shock as Erik turned away, his jaw clenched tightly. He stared at me for a few heart-stopping moments. Neither of us made a sound.

Finally, he pulled the knife away, and his entire body seemed to slump. He let out a soft moan and tossed the knife aside, looking over to inspect the wound. I was glad that I couldn't see it. I was sure that I would have been sick. He sighed heavily as he looked.

"It's quite unfair," he said; his voice was laced with pain. "He didn't even have the decency to stab me somewhere that I am already scarred." He gestured to himself in a disgusted way, and I looked over him and saw numberless scars that crisscrossed his chest and back. There was a particularly large one on his chest. It was crudely-formed and white underneath the blaze of the fire. I touched it lightly, and Erik jumped under my fingers. I saw a line of sweat drip down the side of his face. It ran over his sharp, angular cheekbone.

"You should return to your tent," he said quietly. I nodded and rose, leaving him sitting there, staring at his hands.

I dozed for a few hours, but I could not completely fall asleep. Sometime very, very late in the night, I peered out of my tent once again.

Erik was still sitting there, his back to me. I left the tent and went to him yet again. A soft breeze stirred through the chilly evening. It felt nice by the warm fire.

He did not look surprised when he glanced over at me. I watched as he poured some water onto his side. He then picked up what looked to be new, cleaner bandages and wrapped them around his torso, looking a little awkward as he tried to manage without stretching his freshly-burned skin.

"Allow me…" I said softly. I knelt in front of him between his long legs, taking the end of the bandage from his hand. Apparently startled, he watched as I finished wrapping it around his thin, hollow stomach. The fire against my back was hot. I finished tying the bandage as neatly as I could.

I looked up to find him staring at me. His gaze was intense, focused, and burning. I found it thrilling and frightening at the same time. Shaking, I put my hands on his knees to push myself up a little, feeling beads of perspiration that had nothing to do with the flames begin again on my forehead. He leaned down, and I leaned up.

Our kiss terrified me. He pulled me close, twisting one of his long hands in my hair, the other wrapping around my waist. I found my hands sliding up his bare, hard chest to wrap around his neck, and I threaded my fingers through his dark, soft hair.

He was ungainly and a little awkward, no doubt from lack of experience, but I knew that instinct and desire were pushing him onward. Fire was shooting through my veins, and I felt his hand slide around my neck to come to the skin of my collarbone. He stroked the hollow of my throat and then skimmed the neckline of my nightgown with his long fingers. A very uncharacteristic groan fell from his lips and into my mouth.

Before I had comprehended anything else, I realized that he had carried me to the tent and had placed me on my back, with him straddling me. His lips were still on mine, insistent, heady, demanding, and I was having difficulty remembering to breathe. Suddenly, there was something touching my ankles. His cold hands began sliding up my nightgown, running along my legs, up to my thighs, pushing the nightgown up as well. I knew what he intended…what he wanted…

When he shifted against me, he abruptly cried out loudly against my lips. Quickly, he pulled himself away and turned to touch the bandages on his side. I was dizzy and disoriented and watched while he adjusted what aggravated him so. There were a few moments of silence, and I pulled myself out from under him, sat up, and dragged my nightgown back to an appropriate position. I was flushed and shaky, and I felt weak and ridiculously frail.

"No – " I could only gasp.

His gaze snapped to me and eyes narrowed. "I see," he breathed, his voice strained, the desire in it still evident. "I apologize…It was my mistake, obviously, to think that…It doesn't matter anymore." He closed his eyes tightly and made to stand.

"No!" I said immediately, grabbing his thin arm. "You – you must listen to me, Erik."

"What is it you have to say?" he demanded, anger now thick in his tone. "That you're sorry? Sorry for what? That this was a misunderstanding? I'm quite embarrassed, you know – to misunderstand a kiss such as that."

"Will you just listen to me?" I suddenly shouted. He blinked, surprised by my outburst. To my surprise, he fell silent, waiting for me to continue.

"This is difficult to say," I confessed. "But I do not want to…be together…until we are married."

I knew that my comment was the last thing he expected to hear. He stared at me, his eyes wide and blank, and I blushed deeply.

"I want to be with you, Erik – you know I do. But…I feel that we must wait. We have to wait until we are married, and that will not be until we get back to Paris."

I expected him to demand an explanation, why we had to wait, and one night was just as good as another, wasn't it? But he didn't say anything for a very long time. I began to feel nervous.

"Married?" he finally rasped.

I blushed harder. The disbelief in his voice was evident, and I realized with a sickening jolt that he had never mentioned marriage to me. He had never proposed or anything of the sort. He had never even told me he loved me. I was more embarrassed than I could describe. "Oh!" I said blunderingly. "Erik, I am so sorry…I had thought – but then again, you said yourself that…you never married, and you never intended to marry…"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I never intended to marry."

I wanted to cry. "I'm so sorry," I said weakly. "I assumed that…"

"I can never assume anything," he said shortly. He watched me as I bowed my head in severe shame. I felt tears begin to finally run down my cheeks, cool against my hot, flustered skin. Erik's long finger came under my chin, and he pulled my head up gently.

"Look at me," he said quietly. I did, letting my eyes wander over his hideous disfigurement. "You would…" He cleared his throat gruffly and tried again. "You would be my wife if I so desired?"

Tearfully, I nodded my head. He wasn't satisfied.

"Say it!" he demanded, his voice hoarse. "Let me hear you!"

"I…I want to be your wife, Erik," I whispered. "Even if you don't want me." Taking a deep, shaking breath, I said, "I love you."

He stared at me, his mouth agape, disbelieving. Suddenly, he began to cry alongside of me, thick tears coming out of his mismatched eyes. To my further emotional confusion, he began to laugh as well.

His long, skeletal arms wrapped around me, and he leaned over. However, he gave another short, pained shout and sat back on his haunches quickly, pressing one of his long hands to his fresh wound.

"Blast this thing," he muttered angrily. He sighed and looked at me again. I held out my arms, inviting him to my side, and he carefully made his way beside me, cautious to put as little strain on his side as possible. He gathered me into his cold arms, his thin body shaking, and timidly pressed his lips to my hair. There was no burning desire anymore. What had replaced it was an overwhelming contentment and happiness. I found it more pleasing than anything I had ever felt.

And I fell asleep – my fiancé by my side.


Your appreciation for this big step would be very appreciated by your leaving of a review. :) (Seriously, though, you guys have been so awesome and supportive. Thank you so much for all of your kind words.) Also, to save questions and doubts, those men really were only after Oberon and the money they could get by selling the things they stole. Contrary to popular belief on fanfiction, not every man who sees Christine wants to rape her.