Author's Note: Thank you, as always, to all of my amazing readers (lurkers, I could never forget about you…) I hope you all enjoy this next chapter. Reviews are always appreciated.

…

Blutswolf

The morning light crawled in through the naked windows, falling across his aching form that lay on the carpet. He had fallen asleep in the midst of his own destruction, with arms still wrapped desperately around his treasured beast. Erik opened his eyes to the dimness of the light, his head swarming with vile images from the night before.

He slowly sat up, littered in his own filth; his very own demise…for the wreckage was even more catastrophic within the clarity of the morning light. Piles of wooden frames lay in splinters, and the drapes intertwined raggedly amongst the rubble; dark pieces of fabric that seemed to stain the floor. Erik sighed as Magnus stirred, turning slowly to glance at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was crusted with blood, drying in thick dark tendrils that fell over the shaved parts near his ears. His blue eyes were bloodshot, filled to the brim with spidery red veins that pulsated with every breath he sucked through throbbing lungs.

The left side of his face had grown a slight black stubble, and he rubbed a hand against it; displeased at its lack of symmetry. Erik measured the sunbeams as they crossed the floor; he would have to be at the site, very soon. There wasn't much time…he would clean himself up to look decent, for the promise he had made to Christine still resounded in his ears. She would most certainly come to the site today. And he would not show up as a fragment of a man; he would show as commanding and powerful as he needed to be, even if that meant donning an emotional mask for the day. He would do it; he must do it.

Yet, there was one more task he needed to complete. A letter. A very important letter needed to be written before he left.

He stood up hastily, making his way to the washroom that branched off from the bloodied parlor. He drew water into the tub, pulling the marble tap with a brisk twist of his hand. The water poured into the sultry bronze basin, steaming with the promise of cleansing him, of changing him…

Erik stripped off the remaining filth of his breeches and settled into the water. He submerged himself completely; scrubbing away the atrocities that had dried in his hair, on his face, and on the ridges of his knuckles. The scorching water seared against the grazes on his hands, yet he did not grimace; he deserved this pain, for he had done it himself. He had pounded the flesh until it bled pink and raw; he had marked himself all over again.

Erik numbly drained the reddened bathwater and dried himself, dressing swiftly for the day. He shaved the stubble from the unmarred side of his face and greased back his hair with ease, ensuring that not a single hair stood out of place.

His hands. His hands were a wreck, a crusted and scabbed-up abomination. He carefully cleaned the self-inflicted wounds, wrapping his knuckles tightly with clean white linen. It would have to do for today.

Now, for the letter.

His work desk was scattered with shreds of darkened drapes and slivers of thick designs; parchment that curled with fractured equations written meticulously in ink. Erik brushed the table clean with a single sweep of his forearm, reaching for the inkwell that had toppled over. A bit of dark liquid still sat in the bottom, and he placed it right side up upon the expansive oak surface. He wrenched open a side drawer within the table, pulling a piece of blank parchment from its hidden depths. He stared at the pale page in front of him, wondering if he could even write the words. If his shaking hands could even begin to describe the feeling of drowning; the feeling of living a nightmare that he wished desperately to forget. Yet, there was only one person who would understand. Only one.

He began to write; gradually, at first, but suddenly, the words began to pour out…a river of flesh and blood condensed into sentences, into inky words that blemished the parchment's flawless surface…

Ryker von Kantzow,

I write to you from a place of pain. A place that I fear, cannot be healed. You were with me, through all the drunken rage, the bloodshed, the deaths that were sold. You saw my laughter, you saw my wickedness. You always had accepted me, as a brother might do. As you used to say to me, "what's done, is done." But the question I ask of you, is this; can what's done be undone? Can the past be erased somehow, can it disappear from my heart?

I fear you are the only one who may understand. I still dwell in Lourmarin, and if you would be willing to make the journey out to see me, I would be deeply humbled and thankful.

Brother, I call upon you. Our brands are the same, as are we, for what we have witnessed together so many years ago. I am hoping you will answer my call, for I would not write to you if I could rewrite the past myself.

Only you can do that.

Your brother, always,

Blutswolf.

He sighed, staring down at the finished product. He did not allow his eyes to re-read the words, for he was ashamed of them…and most of all, he dreaded the utterance of the name he had signed with. It was the name carved into the blade of the silver sword that lay tucked away in the attic; the name that others used to whisper fearfully in the streets. And perhaps they still breathed the name in his passing; a curse in the air, a sickness that unfurled into the sky with it's reputation that seethed, that rolled off a man's lips with a sickening stench of curdled and murderous eyes…

Blutswolf.

Blood-wolf.

Erik shook his head, running a bandaged hand through his hair.

What man could rewrite the past; what man could undo what had already been done?

"For who…can say?" he murmured, thinking of Christine, suddenly. Her gentle eyes that stole from him, yet filled him. Could she understand, one day? Could she know all of him, every inch of him – and still look at him the same? Could she love him?

Ryker would know.

He folded up the letter, sliding it into an envelope. He clutched it to his side as he stood up, noting the sunbeams and their precise positions that fell in torrents across the scarlet carpet.

He was late.

…

Christine fled down the stairs to the kitchen in a flurry of exhilaration; for the morning had finally come. She had brushed her curls out until they fell into soft folds of mahogany, and had donned a light blue day-dress that Claudia had crafted. It was cinched at the waist, complementing her hourglass figure; and although she was still quite thin, she felt quite elegant in the dress. It had no corset to bind her ribcage, just a simple bow tied in the middle of the cinch; a small, pearl colored ribbon.

She burst into the kitchen where Claudia sat in her usual spot, sipping coffee and studying a dress design that was laid out in front of her. She looked up, startled at Christine's sophisticated appearance so early in the morning.

"My dear!" she exclaimed, smiling in awe of the lovely young woman who stood before her. "You look absolutely stunning! Why, I will have to have you start modeling all of my dresses!" Claudia laughed, shaking her head. "And what is the occasion? Are you planning to go out in town with the girls?"

Christine twirled in a circle, coming to a halt at the end of the long table. "I thought we would visit Erik's site today; the girls have been dying to see him."

Claudia raised her eyebrows curiously. "I myself have never been to one of his sites…he is most, well, secretive about his projects. He told you of its whereabouts? And…when was this, my dear?"

Christine's heart skipped a beat, realizing the error of her words immediately. "He…well…I…" she stuttered, averting her eyes from Claudia's.

Claudia looked deeply at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Christine…you do not have to hide anything from me. You know that, don't you? And if there is something you need to tell me…"

"He told me of it in the garden, the night of our supper! Oh, I merely forgot to mention it, Claudia." Christine interrupted hastily, wringing her hands behind her back. She forced a smile, and sat down at the table. "Really, I think the twins would love it!"

"Hmm," Claudia eyed her for a moment, then drew her eyes back to the design on the table. "Well, sadly I can't accompany you three today; there is simply too much sewing to be done. I've got over fifteen pieces to finish by the end of this week, my dear."

Christine nodded slowly. "I do wish you could come with. But perhaps I could help? I haven't sewed in years, but I could - "

"Nonsense, my dear, nonsense! You'll do no such thing. Besides, the dresses I make are quite complicated. I must work on them alone, I'm afraid. But I do appreciate your offer, sweet girl," she smiled warmly. "The twins are in the washroom, already tidying up for the day; I'm sure they'll be ecstatic to know of your plans with Erik."

"Yes…" Christine murmured, offhandedly. "Claudia? I do realize one thing, now…he…he did not disclose the location."

Claudia's eyebrows shot up again. "Oh? Well did you ask him where it was, dear?"

"I…I…got distracted, I suppose. You don't happen to know where, do you?"

Claudia drummed her fingers upon the surface of the table. "No, I don't, darling…but I'm sure if you rode into town and asked around, you should be able to locate it. It's probably the largest architecture site in Lourmarin, I am sure. Erik has a soft spot for grandeur."

Christine nodded, smiling at Claudia. "Thank you so much, Claudia. I will find it, I'm sure!"

After all, how many architecture sites could there possibly be in the quaint city of Lourmarin?

…

About an hour later, once the twins had dressed and eaten their breakfast of crisp bread and fruit, the three departed upon Viktor from the hidden grove of the cottage. Lillian rode in front of Christine while Marie gripped her mother's waist from the back.

"I can't believe we are going to see Erik building things…I wonder what he is making?" Lillian gushed excitedly. "Maman, how are we going to find out where he is?"

Christine spurred Viktor a bit faster; they were trotting through the forest now, where the sun streamed in like golden wisps of smoke through a canopy of green.

"He was a bit secretive in his instructions, dear girls…so we will have to locate him ourselves! It will be an adventure…for we shall search for our knight until we find him!"

"Our knight," Lillian repeated. "So you think he's a knight, too, maman?"

Christine paused, her heart fluttering in her chest. "Well, of course I do. Who wouldn't, my darling angels?"

The twins giggled as the wind gently swept thick curls away from their tiny faces. They did not ask their mother when she had gotten the invitation; for they had both seen through the window; their knight embracing her, touching lips with her, and both knew that he had whispered something delicately into her ear. An invitation, perhaps…

Viktor, upon swift legs that were steely and black like the night, arrived rather quickly to the edge of the village. He cantered directly to the spot Claudia had seemingly conditioned into him; the same shaded area between two buildings with the long tin water trough. Christine slid off of the saddle clumsily; for her heart was throbbing, bursting to see him…to see his form, his promise, in the bright light of the day.

She helped Marie down first, but Lillian leapt off of the saddle, landing gently on her feet.

"Lillian!" Christine exclaimed, disapproving as she placed delicate hands on her hips. "You could have hurt yourself!"

"Maman, you don't have to worry about me! I'm nimble as can be," Lillian sang, stretching her arms out into the air dramatically. Marie giggled at her sister.

"There will be no more of that, Lill. You could lose your balance and fall."

"But maman!"

Christine shook her head. "My dear, your Queen has spoken."

Lillian looked at Marie for help, then hung her head slightly. "Okay, I won't do it anymore."

"How are we going to find Erik?" Marie blurted, desperate to change the subject off of her sister's scolding.

"We shall go into the marketplace and ask," Christine answered. "And remember, hands will stay linked at all times. If our throng is broken, yell out for me. That way none of us will lose each other in the crowds."

The twins nodded excitedly. "We promise, we promise!"

Making their way through the hordes of people proved harder without the raging bull of Claudia, who had simply shoved her way through. Christine was having a difficult time edging her way through the bustle and noise of the masses, but finally managed to break through to a middle-aged merchant who stood behind a fruit stand.

"Monsieur," she cleared her throat, almost having to shout over the commotion of the morning chaos. "I am looking for the architecture site of Monsieur Erik Dietrich, would you happen to know where it is?"

The man threw back his burly head and laughed. "Oh, I know the one, Mademoiselle! He's quite famous…I heard he fucked the Duchess while her husband lay sleeping!" the man chortled again. Christine's eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. Duchess?

The man stared at Christine's horrified reaction, now taking note of the two children beside her. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking slightly red in the face.

"I apologize, I didn't realize there were…little ones, Mademoiselle. The site is quite large; if you follow this road for about a mile or so, you will see it on the left hand side. Really, you can't miss it."

"Thank you, Monsieur," she murmured, still in a slight daze from his brazen words. Was this the woman he had spoken of? He had said she was royalty…but he never mentioned…

While her husband lay sleeping!

The merchant's coarse words echoed in her head. She was pulled swiftly back to reality when Marie tugged on her hand.

"Maman? Are you okay?"

Christine forced a smile as she looked down at both of her daughters. "Yes, my princesses, everything is fine. Come, let's go find the site. We have directions, now." She pulled them away from the fruit stand; away from the burly man with the soiled words. The three submerged themselves into the crowd once more.

Christine led the twins through the market and continued down the road as the man had instructed. She tried to keep the words that had been spoken out of her mind, but they prickled at her; a thorn in her side.

They continued along until the disorder of the marketplace thinned, leaving only small groups of people that walked about the streets. Christine led the twins along the street until the sun rose high in the sky; mid morning, and soon enough, her feet began aching from the distance of the trek.

Finally, in the distance, she saw the site. It was truly magnificent, and rang true to Claudia's words: Erik has a soft spot for grandeur. Immense stone columns rose high into the atmosphere like ornate towers, and wooden beams were stacked and built with order and precision. As they drew closer, she saw him standing there with his hands on his hips. Even at the sight of him from a distance, her heart dropped into her stomach. He was…absolutely dashing.

He wore brown breeches with black leather straps around his waist and thighs; all seeming to tighten the material against his legs. His shirt was dark green; a long-sleeved linen that was tucked neatly into his trousers. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, as usual…revealing his thickly muscled forearms, covered in pink and white scarring.

Before she knew what she was doing, she began to run to him. She abandoned the thoughts stewing in her mind, she let go of the doubt that had slithered its way into her heart.

He was here. In the light of day.

The twins rushed alongside their mother, and Lillian let out a shriek as they neared his tall figure. "Erik!"

He whirled around just as Lillian hugged him around the waist. Marie ran up to him too, but waited patiently on the side; waiting for him to beckon her for an embrace as well.

"Erik," Christine breathed as she slowed to a stop, her heart thudding in the confines of her throat. He met her eyes, and immediately she sensed something within him was not quite right. His eyes were clouded, far away; terribly swollen and red. He had been crying.

Erik stared at her, slowly smiling as he let go of Lillian. "Come here, little rose," he murmured to Marie, and she leapt impatiently into his arms, grabbing him tightly. "I thought you'd never ask!" she whispered into the fabric of his shirt. Erik stroked the back of her head, still staring at Christine. The moment seemed frozen in time; Christine itched to run into his arms, just as her daughters had. She longed to kiss him in front of all of his workers that were covered in dust, in the midst of this luxurious monument he had designed – but she could not.

Her lips twitched with uncertainty, and her eyes slowly drifted to his hands that soothed the back of her daughter's curls. His knuckles were tightly bandaged, and there were tiny spots of blood leaking through the clean white surface.

What had happened last night?

She looked back up into his eyes, willing his soul to speak, to say something, anything…but he merely stood and stared at her. His eyes were filled with unbearable sadness, and as she looked further, she could see something infinitely stranger; shame. Deep shame that lay dark and brooding; a smear of charcoal across an unfinished canvas.

Shame from his past?

Shame from what he had told her?

And there she stood, staring into his eyes as he stared back at her. She suddenly was no longer standing; she was dreaming…for he stood in front of her, broken again; this man who had stroked the side of her jaw, who had nibbled at her earlobe, who had whispered his secret to her in a lavender field; he was here.

He was with her, in the light of the morning.

And she would touch his bandages, and she would stroke his cheek…

She would make everything all right again, no matter what it took.

…

Author's Note: Don't kill me for the cliffhanger :) Well…? Feelings, emotions, thoughts?