Erik grunted as he lay the large man upon the red-covered bed, Charlotte working equally hard t situate the Sergeant of Police on the bed. The two sat heavily upon the bed themselves once it had been accomplished, breathing heavily. Erik sighed beneath his hood, still hanging far over his face, fighting to catch his breath as he gazed upon the now unconscious man. He supposed it was a bit of a mercy; he didn't envy the man the pain that wound threaded. Too many wounded and sick people had been laid upon this bed in less then a year.
"Lamar needs to loose some pounds," the girl said across the bed from him. Erik couldn't help but let his mouth twitch slightly.
"Any limp form could use a few less pounds," he answered. He glanced at the girl to find her staring curiously at him. Those eyes were so similar to Margareite's that they were giving him chills; the same chills that Margareite's voice gave him when she spoke in that velvety black tone.
"Why do you hide beneath your hood, monsieur?" Charlotte asked, snapping his attention away from her eyes momentarily, but he was soon caught up in them again. He stammered slightly, shaking himself and forcing his eyes away, looking at his feet.
"I wear a mask that many would inquire about; I do not wish to face such questions and curiosities," he answered in a neutral tone.
"Why wear-"the pre-teen began but was cut off when Erik cut in sharply.
"I do not like such questions Mademoiselle," he snapped, watching her reaction in her eyes, knowing that she would back off from her curiosity. She had seen him strangle a man unconscious; he knew that she had no doubt that he could do it again. What she wasn't aware of was the fact that he would never lay such a harmful hand upon a woman. However if that suspicion stopped her from wondering about his mask, then he would be loath to tell hr as much. "Now, excuse me while I clean his wound," he said more gently now. He was surprised when the girl's eyes fired up and her face became sharp.
"I will clean his wounds monsieur," she said in a flint-like voice. Erik was extremely taken aback by her controlling voice, her commanding temper. So much so that he nodded dumbly.
"Very well," he said in a slightly dazed voice. He took a quiet breath, gathering his wits again. "Water and fresh cloths are in the cupboard next to the bed." Erik shook his head disbelievingly at Charlotte's wild temper as he exited the room.
The mysterious man left the room with the confident grace of a wildcat, sure among his Lair. She stared about her now, taking in the oddly formed home. She was inside a cave for God's sakes! But a finely furbished one to be sure. The man had a cursed organ! She shifted to look about the room, pausing at the feel of the fine sheets she had laid hands on. Not that she had laid her hands upon many sheets in her life time but that did not stop her from reveling in the feel of such material against her rough hands. The smoother of the two kinds of sheets that let her hand slide over it like a snake over grass reminded her of the horse on which the man had led her and Lamar on first.
They had traveled the majority of the way by the horse- or rather, she and Lamar sat the horse while the man led it. She had been slightly frightened of mounting the snow-white beauty. It had been a magnificent creature, it's shoulder a head higher then her own, it's body sturdy and supremely muscled, it's neck thick and it's chest broad and mighty. The stallion's majesty had been crowned with a thick fall of wavy mane and tail, the forelock hanging in its chocolate brown eyes. What a gorgeous creature it had been!
Charlotte looked into the cabinet beside the bed, pulling out a water basin and fresh terrycloth squares. Unbuttoning Lamar's shirt, she peeled the blood-soaked material away from his side. It amazed her that one could be so very fit his stomach muscles hard and flat, his chest broad, but not overly-muscled. Never had she laid eyes upon so physically well a man. She smiled at her throats. One that did not know of her past would think she craved incest; No, no, she thought to herself. But a well formed body is a rarity that deserved to be admired. Again she set about to cleansing his wounds; at least this time she had not been the one inflicting them. Andrew. She fought the urge to growl lightly.
The wicked man's reasoning for being there had remained unknown; not that she particularly wanted to know his slimy reasons for visiting his brother; however she was worried that the man had been up to something. Such curiosities however would be pointless if this new man involved had strangled him to death. She had been uncertain if the man had died of suffocation or if he had simply fainted. She shivered, remembering the sound of the man choking desperately; she shivered anew when a memory four years old over lapsed her thoughts.
…Marian gagged with sickening sounds as Andrew twisted the wire mercilessly about her thin throat, pulling murderously upon the thick cord. Charlotte watched desperately, fighting to reach her best and only friend, but she was restrained by a laughing bulk of a male.
"Let 'er go you sack of cow shit!" she screamed at Andrew as he grinned maliciously as Marian choked and scratched at her neck. He looked directly at Charlotte, his evil grin turning into a teeth-bearing sneer.
"Would you rather be in her place, wench?" he drawled. Charlotte lunged forward in hatred, wanting nothing more but to tear the man apart with tooth and nail. Her guard however kept a bruising grip on her arms, locking them painfully far behind her. "Perhaps one day I shall grant your wish of such an end…"
…Lamar came to painfully, feeling fingers press into the bullet wound with an angry pressure. For a few moments all the man could do was be aware of the pain, far too groggy to complain. It was charlotte's angry mumblings that brought him to a fuller conscience. He groaned as she practically dug her finger into the whole ripped into his skin.
"Christ, child," he mumbled gutturally. "Are you trying to make that wound worse?"
Charlotte gasped slightly, seemingly unaware of how hard she had been in cleaning the wound. She gave him an apologetic look, then her face smoothed over into its ironic mask.
"Should I try to?" she asked in a flitty tone. Lamar narrowed his eyes at her.
"Only if you want a slapping on your backside," he answered n a warning tone. As with many times, his own sharp tongue had gotten him in trouble with his niece once again. The dabbing at his wound forced harder onto the tender skin, causing him to gasp.
"Whip my backside if you will Lamar," she said in a sharp, unloving tone. "But do not expect me to return to your care."
Lamar's heart sunk at the thought and he lifted his hand, grasping her ruined wrist not too much worse for work, gently, stopping her frustrated movements.
"I meant no such thing," he said in as even a tone as his stinging side would allow. "You whipped me once, and I consider that my payment for being able to keep you with me. I will never lay an ill hand upon you, do you understand?" He locked her mahogany eyes with his grey ones, refusing to release her gaze until she answered positively. She glared at him in irritation, and for a moment he thought sure that she would retaliate, but then she nodded stiffly, just once.