Author's Note: Kind of a short chapter, but you all can consider it the beginning of the "Erik" stage of the story. Please review and, above all, enjoy!

Savior

He saw her descend into the taxi, fighting the urge to call her name and stop her.

'Damn it,' he thought. He would not be able to study her tonight.

Uneventful hours passed and Erik did not move from his post above the door. 10 p.m. arrived.

'She should return now,' he thought as he anxiously watched the last cab drive up to the château. The driver exited and took his evening smoke. No one else left the car.

His annoyance, and concern, mounted.

'Fine, she stayed in the city. She'll be back soon,' he assured himself.

He sat on the balcony for 20 more minutes, even though it felt like 20 weeks. After 10 additional minutes of interminable waiting, his impatience bested him.

Erik quickly walked to the stables and bridled his horse, Lance. He decided to forego the saddle, for time's sake. The black rider then charged out of the barn atop his black horse, determined to ride into the city and find Christine.

'And after you find her?' chimed in the reasonable part of his brain.

He ignored this doubt and the million other questions that were now worming their way into his brain and focused on the road ahead. He noticed the moon moved behind the clouds and that the slight breeze that was usually ever-present in Rennes, was absent.

In the distance, he heard shouts, scuffling, a muted crying. Lance slowed to a walk, apprehensive of what scene the night had in store. Dismounting, Erik told his steed to stay put. Slowly, cautiously, he crept towards the noise. Two figures came into his view, a little difficult to see due to the lack of moonlight. One was atop the other, and he obviously was not wanted there. Erik was three feet away when he saw her.

"Christine."

He felt his anger take over him as he ripped the man from Christine's body. His fists flew, each one delivering the retribution he felt the man deserved. The man was shocked for a moment, but soon fought back; an 'oomph' was heard as the man landed a lucky kick in Erik's stomach. That was the only blow he landed though. Erik dodged the attacker's next swings and punched him in the face. A sickening crunch was heard as the man's nose broke. A final blow to the back of the neck and he was down, bleeding profusely. Erik stood triumphantly over his foe, relishing the feeling of absolute control.

His victory was short-lived however. He immediately remembered the reason for his anger: a beaten Christine. He was at her side in an instant. She was curled up in a ball, still and stiff. She looked like a porcelain doll that had be dropped in the mud and trod upon; she looked broken.

He knelt by her and said her name a few times with no response. Checking her pulse, he knew she was still alive. Carefully, he picked her up and held her to his chest for a moment, amazed at how light and fragile she felt, but how she seemed to fit into his arms, as if she belonged no other place. Gently, Erik placed her on Lance, leading them both back to the castle.

XOX

He carried Christine back to his room and gently laid her on the bed. Sweeping her hair away from her slightly bloodied face, he took his first clear look at her. She had changed little. If anything, she was more beautiful. She had grown into her fragile features and had matured, becoming a lovely young woman. Her chocolate brown curls were soiled with dust and dirt, yet they still surrounded her head like an aura of beauty. She had tender, perfectly shaped lips, despite the blood slowly creeping out the corners. He could distinguish high cheekbones, which were now bruised, but still giving the impression of royal lineage. Her body was petite and lithe. He could tell she was well-muscled. Her long legs looked like they had power and grace hidden within them, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

'Maybe she dances,' he thought hopefully.

He wanted to observe her all day, taking in her beauty feature by feature. But he could no longer ignore the girl's pitiful condition. Christine was still out cold. Whether she was simply sleeping now or still experiencing shock, he knew not. She had scraped on her chin, palms, and lower arms, some deep and embedded with gravel. She had a fat lip and a black eye. Several bruises were forming on her arms, neck, and stomach. They were a deep purple color now, but he knew they would soon turn a sick yellow-green.

'Nothing should be allowed to mar such beautiful skin,' he thought, gently running his fingers over her bruises.

Erik went to work. He cleaned and bandaged her wounds as best he could. Ice was placed on her various contusions, causing her to flinch. She still did not wake. Placing a wet cloth on her forehead, he waved a vial of smelling salts beneath her nose.

She moved her head quickly and opened her eyes wide, scared and unsure about where she was. She panicked and tried to launch herself up into a sitting position. She would have succeeded too, if it were not for Erik's hand across her chest, restraining her.

"Where am I? Who are you? What happened? Why…" she sputtered in a slightly raspy voice.

"Shh, calm down. Clam down. You need your rest. Try to get some sleep. You are safe here."

He looked into Christine's amber eyes and saw a flicker of recognition. Since her outburst had sapped her of what little energy she had left, as soon as Erik suggested she lay down, she complied. Soon after, she fell into a deep sleep.

"Sleep," he whispered to her, touching her hair tenderly.

"Sleep."