Chapter Two- **Wandering Child**
Erik practically leapt from the boat as soon as it propped up against the shore, landing soundlessly on the ground. He'd seen the door open from farther back, an inner nagging letting him know something was wrong and where. His hand grabbed the Punjab lasso from inside his cloak, pulling it taut between both hands. As quiet and quick as a shadow, he slipped across the shore and pressed his back to the wall next to the door, listening for any sounds. But the sound of the blood rushing to his head was the only noise. Some scavenger, street rat or worse, someone seeking out him, was inside his house. And he would kill them.
The room was dark save for one small candle lit beside the couch, the couch's back facing him. Still no sound or movement in this room. Switching the hand holding the Punjab, he stalked over to where the candle was and reached a hand to grab it but stopped short. For now he could see someone lying on the couch. With his eyes still on the person's form he slowly extended his hand and wrapped it around the candle, bringing it nearer to him. Stepping around the couch, he looked down to see who was lying there.
A woman. A sharp intake of breath at this, he put the Punjab back in his cloak and knelt down to see better. The candle played gently across her face. Midnight black hair hung down her back, curling gently at the ends. She had smooth pale skin, full rose lips and tiny hands that lay on the cushion before her face like a child's would. She was dressed in a….Erik had to check again, sure he was wrong….gypsy's outfit.
'A gypsy is in my house? Wait-' he realized she must have been in the performance tonight, the premiere of this opera. A chorus member dressed as a gypsy. He'd seen her tonight from his box. In fact, she rather struck him with her voice. He wasn't sure why he hadn't heard her before. It nearly took his breath away. His mind jerked back to the present. What was she doing in his house??!!
The anger that started to rise again was stopped when he realized something. She reminded him so much of that young girl at that gypsy camp so long ago. Marina. With her dark hair and soft brown eyes, she would sneak him extra food, an innocent child's smile or a small word of reassurance that it would be okay. She'd tried once to help him escape. The plan had failed but luckily they did not know it was her who had helped. He felt forever in her debt for her kindness.
The woman on the couch, looking around nineteen, twenty years of age shifted a bit in her sleep startling him. Her right eyebrow seemed to frown with a small wrinkle denting it. He placed a light blanket over her, though later couldn't say what had compelled him to do so. He'd come in, hungry for blood, and he was trying to make sure now that she was comfortable. The wrinkle smoothed from her brow and she settled back into sleep.
Erik stood over her for several more minutes contemplating what to do before he went and relocked the gate, shut his door and retreated to his library after he'd placed the candle back next to the couch. This could be taken care of when she awoke. Then he would find out how this woman had found her way to his house and gotten in and, most importantly, why.