Erik rolled in his sleep hap-hazardly, his brow unconsciously knit, his back turned to Margareite who slept soundly on the other side of the bed.
...Christine scratched at her captor, crying out when the man bruised her eye with a point-blank punch. She fought to escape his grasp, her breathing ragged with exhaustion, her night-shift ripped and torn, one shoulder of the material hanging uselessly to the side, baring one naked breast. The skin of her chest sported numerous scathes and shallow bruises that ached purple-blue…
…Erik sounded in his sleep, his hands gripping the silk and velvet sheets roughly in anger. Margareite awoke to the sound of his voice, sitting up in sleepy confusion as she noticed his hand's death grip upon the sheets. She placed her hands gently upon his own, trying to relax them, but his grip was firm, as he twisted in distress…
... "Don't fight it now, mademoiselle," a gruff, unmannered voice spoke in Christine's ear, her head turned away, her legs still kicking. "You're be doin' a good favor to the men here. They's all achin' for fresh, well bred skin." Christine twisted her head and spit desperately in his eye. The captor jerked back in surprise, letting her go for a quarter of an instant. She scrambled away, but he was upon her before she gained her feet even, back handing her so that she reeled dizzily, her sight blacking out momentarily.
"The game is over with me," he growled visciously. "But you'll do well enough for the rest of 'em. They's all hard when the rats put up a good fight." He wrenched her head back by her full hair, placing the cold blade to her throat. She froze at the feel of the blade at her neck, her chest rising and falling quickly, her naked pale, naked breast gleaming in the candle light…
…Margareite was desperate night, shaking Erik with a will, doing her best to wake him up, but the Phantom man would not wake from his nightmare, mumbling now.
"Christine…hands off…" Margareite's hands flew off of his body momentarily, thinking that he was speaking to her, but soon realized he spoke to some menace in his night-terror. Once again she fought to wake him
"Erik! Erik! Wake up you stubborn-headed mule!" she was patting his face rather sternly, but still he reacted to her not, completely lost within the dream entrapping him…
…He led her thought streets that remained relatively quiet, only whores with hardly any business noticing them, but doing nothing to help the fighting girl. The man pushed her forward sharply from time to time, causing her to trip and knick the shallow of her throat more then once upon the knife constantly threatening her life. She became blind to where they walked, her head forced upwards, she only was able to view the night sky that swirled dizzily as the man pushed her periodically. \ Finally, they stopped, her legs and back aching form the position she had been forced to walk in, then thrown into a cold room, a door slamming behind her, her face smacking the cold dirt floor with a sound crack…
Now Erik did wake, sweat dampening his temples and frightening Margareite with the abrupt wakefulness.
"Erik! Good Lord, man, finally!" she scolded. "I thought you would never wake from that fit."
Erik sat up, shaking in residual anger, running his hands over his unmasked face. He sighed many time before catching his breath, his hands however, continued to shake violently.
"What did you dream of, Erik?" Margaretie asked gently, curled up to his side and laying a hand upon his bare arm comfortingly. He had long ago been able to abandon his caution of showing skin for Margareite's sake, the girl no longer fearing him in the slightest, and had moved to sleeping topless. Her cool touch soothed him slightly, and he looked at her, her Oak Eyes wondering and caring.
"Christine…" he began. Margareite's brow pinched. "She was kidnapped by a large man and as beaten brutally…thank gods it was only a dream. If it were not I may just have had to go after her again."
Margareite shivered, remembering the pointless beating sessions that had been laid upon her from time to time without reason or rhyme, even without a raping involved. Erik gathered her in his arms, hugging her tightly when her eyes closed. He recognized the expression easily now for a memory that ran rampant through her mind, and automatically found himself keeping her close. She melded into his arms easily, her mind turning from the flashes of memory vision and engulfing itself within his emanating love. Yes, thank gods it was only a dream, for she would never wish her past upon any other woman, least of all Christine.