A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, it's good of you to leave them for me. Though, I'm starting to realise my story is obviously not very popular around here. Oh well, I shall endeavour to continue until I run out of steam.
Chapter 10:
UNDER THE SWORD
The boat rose up on the stones from the water, and Monique was the first to step off, taking her bag of food with her. Kari followed, and lastly Erik, who tied the boat to a brass hook embedded in the stone wall. "Where can we eat this?" Monique turned to eye Erik, holding the bag up in front of him. He eyed the bag suspiciously, "Expecting visitors?" his visible eyebrow cocked.
Monique
frowned, then realised he was mocking her. "Yes… didn't I tell
you yesterday? I organised a party." She mocked back at him.
He
ignored her smart comments and moved silently past her disappearing
up a set of stairs.
Kari gave her a 'now look what you've
done' look, as she too brushed past her silently, following Erik up
the stairs.
Monique sighed to herself and followed them.
They found themselves in another stone room dominated by a large wooden table, that was clearly assembled in 3 pieces, and had very ornately carved legs. Down each side of the table was a long wooden bench, similar to a church pew and at the heads of the table two matching velvet covered high backed wooden chairs. Of course, the table was occupied by a dramatic three-tiered wrought iron candelabra, that housed thirteen red candles. There was a side table that ran along most of the length of the back wall, that too boasted magnificent candelabras – it seemed there was a recurring pattern in his design tastes.
Monique set the bags down onto the table, "So you have, like, plates and stuff right?" she eyed Erik.
"No something that is like plates, but plates indeed. I have bowls, cups and utensils with which to eat food, of course. A man must eat after all." He didn't say it, but it seemed only natural that on the end of the sentence was 'that was a stupid question'. Kari gave her a look that only reinforced that. Monique grumbled and plonked herself down on the pew, and decided not to help them to prepare anything – she was sick of their 'holier then tho' looks.
And so it was that Erik and Kari 'prepared' the breakfast that included packaged pancakes, yoghurt, strawberries, lemons, pineapple, apple and fresh orange juice, while Monique sat sulking at the table. Erik looked over at her as he lay a silver platter on the table, with the chopped fruit on it. 'She is acting like a spoilt child.' He thought to himself, when she wouldn't look him in the eye, he thought back a moment – remembering Karis story – she had not been spoilt at all. He decided not to reproach her for her insolent behaviour, after all, it was none of his concern.
Erik took his place at the head of the table, while Monique and Kari sat opposite each other as close as possible to Erik without actually sitting in his lap. They was no conversation as they began their meal, Monique was a sighing, sulking, silent presence that all but cried out for attention as she nibbled slowly, taking what she thought were furtive glances at Erik every few seconds.
Finally Erik set down his fork, "What is the problem mademoiselle?" he used the term deliberately to cause a reaction.
Monique looked up at him, "What problem?" she enquired, guilty as sin.
"Did your parents never teach you that it is rude to stare?" he countered, his eyes glittered darkly. Kari sat back to watch their exchange, admiring Erik, he was not the type of person you wanted to play games with, for you would inevitably fall into his traps and lose.
Monique
was silent a moment too long.
"Well, Mademoiselle? I'm sure
you know it rude to stare, so why must you insist on doing it?" he
leaned a little toward her.
Monique felt as though she were in high school, shrinking beneath the smirking glare of an all too self-important science teacher. Instead of letting him see that, she sighed and turned to regard him levelly, "What good is beauty if it can not be looked upon?" she questioned.
Karis eyes widened. Did she really just say that? Oh God. Is her brain-to-mouth filter out of order today or what?
A low
growl of frustration escaped Eriks mouth, and he stood from the table
so fast the chair behind him reeled and clattered to the floor. His
cloak ruffled ominously as he spun on his heel and stalked from the
room, mad, determined, his stride full of forboding. Kari glared
across the table at Monique, "What THE HELL was THAT!" she
demanded.
"What!" Monique snapped back at her.
"Are you
trying to get us killed?"
Monique
sighed with indifference and plucked a strawberry from Eriks plate
and ate it slowly.
"Dude, you KNOW what he thinks about beauty.
And you know what he thinks of himself. He's wearing a FRICKEN
MASK! Why'd you say that!"
"It's just the truth, gosh –
am I not allowed to even speak the truth."
"I don't think-"
Kari began, then stopped, shaking her head at Monique as if she were
a child who obviously didn't know what she was talking about, she
didn't bother to finish her sentence.
Monique
sighed once more, "Fine… let me go fix it. AGAIN. God! He gets
into shitty moods so easily." She mumbled as she got up from the
table.
"Sounds like SOMEONE ELSE I know." Kari
countered.
"Yeah.
You." Monique muttered as she walked away.
-
Monique padded softly across the stones, in the path she thought Erik had taken. "Erik?"
Silence.
"Erik?
ERRRRRRIKKKK?" Monique called as she wandered out towards the
water.
She heard nothing, but was sure he was there. The air felt
alive… as if moved by anothers heartbeat, she whirled around.
Nothing. She turned back to where she had been. Nothing.
'Fine,
two can play at your little hiding game Mr Phantom' Monique thought
to herself and wandered off in another direction. She ended up at
the completely smashed out mirror which lead to the passage in which
they had found him sleeping just yesterday, and decided to venture
inside, taking a candelabra from the wall. She lit a few candles as
she entered, and set the candelabra down on top of a wooden box, and
looked around her. Now, with light, the room was even more
impressive then it had been the day before. There were many wooden
crates around the room, some sealed, some open and revealing their
contents, odd mixtures of items that had once been props, statuettes,
some valuable looking pieces of jewellery and art. She perused the
contents of one box, pulling out a red velvet jewellery box. She
gently pulled open it's lid and gasped quietly at it's contents.
Even in the low light of the candles, she could tell there was some serious worth in the box. She pulled out a gold ring, mounted with a large deep blue sapphire, shouldered with small diamonds, it glinted seductively in the soft amber wash of the room. She was about to try it on then noticed something else, and set it down. A hollow silver filigree heart pendant, it was almost an inch across and just over and inch long, it was three dimensional, so it did not lay flat, but was almost buoyant like a balloon – perfectly formed from each side, and hung from a long silver chain, that was thicker then the conventional pendant chain of today. She pulled it from the box, hanging it off a finger in front of her, admiring it as it swung slowly from side to side. Though not as much of a statement as the ring, nor as bejewelled as some of the other pieces in the box, she had fallen in love with it. She closed her eyes, imagining it around her neck, how the cool silver would feel against her skin, secretly resting beneath her clothes, begging to be discovered, but all the same, wanting to remain a precious secret against her body. But she didn't dare put it on, only looked it at it one more time wantonly then put it back. Guiltily she put the jewellery box back into the crate and moved onto more things.
Something caught her eye, a glint of metal from the corner. Curiously she moved over to inspect it. A leather scabbard hung from a small brass hook, and from the top of the scabbard a small silver pommel topped an ornate hilt and large circular hand guard, belonging to a sword. Moniques eyes lit up, and curiosity won over. She held the side of the scabbard with her right hand and grabbed the grip of the sword below the guard with her left. With a swift jerk she pulled the sword from it's sheath, and breathed loudly in awe. She attempted to thrust the sword out in front of her, in an attack at an invisible enemy. The sword lilted up and down drunkenly, not an ounce of threat behind it. The sword was heavier and harder to control then she had imagined, so she grabbed it with both hands and began sweeping it and thrusting it around. She faced the wall and shadow fenced quite ungainly, but begun to work up a sweat. Her arms began to ache beneath the strain and she was about to put the sword away when she heard the unmistakable sound of a sword being whipped from it's scabbard behind her.
Monique
whirled around. The sword directly in front of her, but it wavered,
betraying her defiant stance.
A foot from the edge of her sword,
was the point of another. And holding that sword, Erik. His eyes
were set on hers, shining out at her from behind his mask. He said
nothing.
Neither did she. But he stepped forward, his sword held evenly, never once swaying. Then his sword touched hers. Metal against metal. The tip slid down a small length of her sword, emitting the only sound between them. His eyes never left hers and Monique felt her chest rise and fall quickly – her breathing suddenly shallow and rapid. But he remained calm and perfectly poised. With a sudden surge of defiance Monique leapt forward and thrust the sword towards him, the sword stabbed angrily forward; but into thin air. It may've been a good shot, had she possessed enough strength and speed. Erik stepped to the side, barely needing to use any energy at all he easily batted the sword away – as if it were a mere child that had lunged at him. His eyes still had not left hers, and to make it worse, he looked thoroughly bored by her attack. Monique glowered darkly. She held his eyes with a vehement stare pacing sideways with her sword still directed at Erik, who pivoted easily – if not bordly – on the spot. With a few more breaths Monique summoned up more energy, and with a cry of anguish drove the sword at him once more. The result was the same. Using only the very tip of his sword he deflected the blow sideways, the weight of her sword sent Monique slightly off balance. Still Eriks eyes remained on hers, and he looked so unaffected it dragged the anger out of the pit of her stomach and into her left arm holding the sword. She took a deep breath, this shuffled one foot forward, taking a mock step like a boxer. Erik didn't even flinch, didn't even react to her pathetic attempt at a fake. Monique stared dagger into his eyes, and Erik looked almost amused. Now she was determined to get him, she stepped to the side moving the sword slightly to her left, then dove at his right side. There was a loud scrape of metal against metal as he used his blade to once again deflect the blow, then he struck her sword, right up by the hand guard. The sudden blow gave her a fright, but had it not, she still would've dropped the sword for it shook with an almighty fury in her hand, and she could hold it's weight no longer. The sword clanged loudly as it fell to it's demise on the stone between them. And then his sword was at her throat. Moniques eyes widened, feeling the tip of the sword pressing in just below the hollow of her throat where the collar bones joined. Eriks eyes glittered as he held her eyes with a dark, almost seductive glare. The sword moved slightly down her chest, down her sternum, stopping just before coming to the small swell of her breasts. Moniques skin tingled, and she forced herself to remember that this was a SWORD caressing her; a dangerous weapon - not anything else. But the way he held her eyes… Monique felt her upper chest heaving, pressing against the blade, then receding once more, his eyes seemed to look through her skin, past the hormones racing in her blood and into some very deep dark part of her she barely knew herself.
She felt
helpless under his gaze. There was nothing she could do. He could
kill her… or release her, or slowly torture her beneath his
seductive gaze and the caress of a sword. It was too much. He was
driving her to frustration. So she pushed forward, leaning into the
sword. It was no longer a soft touch against her skin, but pressed
harshly into her delicate flesh. It was on the verge of inflicting
pain. He seemed a little caught off guard by that.
"Go on… do
it. If that's what you've come here to do... showing me your
apparent ability to deflect attack, then catch me with your sword and
run me through." She taunted him.
He looked at her almost
pitifully, "Ability to deflect attack?" he laughed sarcastically,
a hard look in his eyes. "What attack was that? You think your
misguided and pitiful attempts at weakly jabbing a sword at me are an
attack?" he shook his head, in a play of mock sympathy.
"With
nothing else but music to occupy my time, I became something of a
master swordsman. My aim is perfect. I could cut the clothes from
your body, and leave not a single mark against you." As he spoke
his sword traced a slow, smooth line across her skin, towards her
right arm. Monique felt her eyes threatening to roll back into her
head as her body flooded with heat, she exhaled audibly as her lips
fell apart. With a small flick of his wrist the sword tip deflected
sharply to the right, then stopped perfectly on point. Monique broke
his entrancing gaze to look toward the sword. As if to prove a
point, he had cut the front of the sleeve of her shirt, a thin,
perfect line in the material. She raised her eyes to meet his once
more, "Is that what you want then? To have me unclothed?" she
tilted her chin upwards, not backing down from his mind game, she put
as much sex into her eyes as she could muster.
Erik turned away from her then, and the spell was suddenly broken. The palpable tension shifted – the mood completely changed.
"I want you gone." His voice was low, even and devoid of much emotion, save for a glimmer of threat.
It was best for all of them if these strange creatures departed his lair and never returned. Then he wouldn't be annoyed by them enough to break his vow to never hurt a woman, then he wouldn't have to deal so much with the fact that he thought of them as his just because they had entered his lair, he wouldn't have to deal with the pain of rejection when the inevitably realised he was a monster; and they wouldn't have to pretend, or suffer a curse not to notice the hideous carcass that moved before their eyes.
"What?
Just me?" she asked indignantly, her tone full of hurt, voice
trembling with emotion.
Pangs of guilt stabbed at Eriks stomach
like blunt icy daggers. "No... my butterfly. Both of you must go."
He replied, the damming words slipping from his mouth before he could
stop them. As soon as he said them, he realised the mistake and
wished with all his might he could take them back. 'My butterfly'
he thought forlornly, 'How could I have told her?'.
Monique
closed the distance between them, "Butterfly?" she enquired, her
tone no longer laced with hurt.
Erik didn't reply, only turned
slightly so she could see less of him.
"BUTTERFLY?" she
repeated and grabbed one of his sleeves and stepped around to face
him.
His eyes were cast downward. His private thoughts had been
discovered. And now he would pay. Shame washed over his face. If
only he hadn't been a demon child, cursed with such deformity as to
be exiled even from his own mother. If only he didn't repulse
everyone who came into contact with him. If only someone could lift
the burden of the face of death from him. But no. That would never
happen, so he was left to face the shame. To wallow in self pity and
suffer the shame that he thought about creatures in terms of beauty.
That a horrid thing such as himself dared entertain thoughts of
curiosity, friendship, love – in light of other normal beings.
What a fool. He would now be mocked. He couldn't raise his eyes
to meet hers, couldn't bare to look her in the eye when he had to
face her scolding.
"You called me a butterfly?" her soft, inquisitive voice met his ears. Not the tone he had been expecting. No scorn or hatred. But an angelic curiosity, and a hint of happiness.
With the smallest of movements, he nodded.
"Erik!" she exclaimed in delight, then jumped up and forced herself onto him, in a stumbling, awkward, strangulating hug. Erik stumbled back a few steps before regaining composure, but remained ever weary and had yet to find the gall to even touch her.
"You're precious." She laughed. "I love butterflies. They're so special… so beautiful, and wondrous. The way they start life as one thing, then hide themselves a way for a while, and then emerge from a chrysalis as one of the prettiest creatures God ever created." She sighed, still hugging him, her lithe body pressing up against his well-muscled form. She tried not to let herself be too disappointed that Erik wasn't gleefully wrapping his arms around her and returning the sentiment, he wasn't touching her at all… but at least he didn't push her away.
Finally
she released him, and grabbed one of his gloved hands in her own,
"Don't send me away Erik. Please? I want to be here. I want to
be here with you." She put every ounce of pleading and sincerity
into her voice, eyes and hands.
Erik couldn't bare it. It was
like she was ripping him apart. Her small hands might as well have
reached right into his chest and pulled out his heart and pulled at
it like it were a piece of taffy. She thought she was being so kind…
but lord, did it ever feel so cruel to know that she couldn't
possibly be of her right mind as she spoke. But a small part of him
allowed himself to humour her. It implored him 'Let her stay.
Let her believe what she wants to believe.'
Finally he gave into the inner voice and mustered up the courage to reply, "As you wish." He bowed his head.
Monique
smiled up at him. But he didn't return the gesture.
Monique
tried to fight disappointment. She knew he wasn't a simple person.
And had suffered traumatic experiences in his life, but she wanted
to make him see that things could be different for him. So far, he
only reacted with anger and distrust. But still… he had let her
stay, that was one thing. And sometimes, one thing, lead to another.
As always, let me know what you think. For what use is a service, if it not tailored for the customer?
