A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and reviewing the story.

A special thank to both FP33 & Erik'sTrueAngel for editing

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Three days later…

Christine sat in the darkest corner of the cottage, observing the man lying in front of her.

It had been three long days and nights since she had brought Erik back to their home, where she had laid him on her own bed, and removed his shirt in order to treat his wound. By the second day the man had come down with a fever, his body attempting to fight off any infection due to the searing burn on his chest. Christine had done all she could, using herbs and teas to offer him comfort, but soon his whole body was sweating and burning hot. She had begun using a damp cloth to pat down his upper body and around his face, hoping to lower his temperature.

Another day passed, and while he seemed to be pulling out of it, he had still not woken up, and he appeared very uncomfortable. Feeling concern for him, Christine saw no choice but to remove his mask so she could wipe away the sweat underneath that was undoubtedly irritating him greatly. To her utter shock and dismay, what she saw behind the mask was indeed unpleasant. In fact, it was so distressing that she dropped the cloth on the ground, her hand flying to cover her lips as a cry of shock escaped her.

Christine tried to look away, and not stare at him, but she found she could not. Her eyes were riveted on his face, unable to tear them away from what lay before her. His eyes remained closed and his unconsciousness continued, leaving her to gape at the disturbing sight before her.

The left side of his face was handsome - or at least what Christine guessed would be considered handsome - with a strong jaw line, smooth skin, and a dark thick eyebrow. But the other…was abnormal, and the complete opposite. The skin on the right side was puckered, withered, and stretched tightly over a part of his cheek that was sunken in, almost looking skeletal. There were also several large deep red scars over the sunken flesh, looking like blood spots. His flesh was irritated and chafed from being underneath the stifling material, just as Christine had suspected. His eyelashes and right eyebrow were nonexistent while his nose…oh his poor nose, it pained her simply to look at it. On one side it appeared normal, perfectly sloped, but on the other, it stopped altogether, with the nostril sunken in somewhat.

Could the "peculiar" features on Erik's face be the ultimate reason why he had to wear a mask? Were the people around him unable to look at him with his face uncovered? How did he get this "disfigurement"? Innumerable questions started to cross her mind and Christine could only imagine how Erik's life had been, being condemned to hide his true self forever behind the prison of the stifling mask?

Arid and Jameela had always loved and accepted Christine for who she was, and the young maiden never felt the need to hide anything from them, nothing at all. Nevertheless, it might not be the same situation with Erik. Still, while she had been startled by what she saw, Christine found that she was not frightened. Instead, she felt a great sympathy for him over the burden he had to live with. Her hand tentatively reached out to caress his damaged flesh, tenderly feeling it. His deformed side had a strange texture, the skin in some areas were so thin, allowing veins and bones to be visible, while other spots were thick and rough. Yet, all of this did not matter to her, because beauty is not in the face; but it is a light within the heart.

Christine gave the unconscious man an empathetic smile as she picked up the cloth on the ground, before placing his mask on a table nearby. She needed his face uncovered so she could wash it down and allow it to dry. Taking the cloth to a small basin and rinsing it out, Christine dabbed away the sweat on Erik's face, forehead, neck and shoulders. Noticing a lot of old scars crisscrossing his body, Christine wondered what kind of life Erik had endured.

A random thought suddenly came to her, reminding Christine of her mother's suspicion that Erik might be a pirate, as well as the possibility of him harming them in the future.

Christin shook away that absurd hypothesis. He did not act like a pirate…at least not the way she imagined one might. Though realistically they had never talked about each other – their encounter at the beach having been relatively short, Christine felt that she should try to get to know him better before making any snap judgements. The man deserved the benefit of the doubt. Plus, he was severely injured and lying at their mercy, what harm could he do to them?

A low moan from Erik snapped Christine out of her own thought, watching as he slowly opened his eyes, carefully assessing his surroundings. After a few moments, he wearily struggled to sit up, acting as if a hammer was pounding on his head. His hand moved to his bandaged chest, and his voice was filed with pain.

"W-w-w-what's...w-w-what's happened to me?"

"You really don't remember?" Christine softly replied, forcing a nervous smile of welcome to her lips, while still gazing at him, inwardly questioning his sanity.

Here he paused, as if forcing his foggy mind to clear enough to recall the happening of the past few days. At last he seemed to be able to focus.

"I remembered being injured during a storm…my ship going down…and then I was cast onto an island," here he paused and looked directly at her. "I also recall seeing you, where we…argued on the beach…and then…nothing. The next thing I know I'm waking up in this cottage with you being here." Erik answered, carefully shaking his head from side to side. "To be honest, I am surprised you did not leave me on the beach to die," he ended harshly, his tone filled with cynicism.

Christine's smile widened. "And you are not usually surprised, are you, sailor? You should feel elated at simply being alive after all that happened."

"I am no mere sailor! I am a Commodore, leader of a hundred sailors. I survived because of my bravery." Erik countered in a grouchy tone. Being overly proud was one of his undesirable characteristics, and even though he was injured and desperately needed her aid, Erik could not keep the trait to himself.

"Do you not sail the sea?" Christine asked mockingly. When he did not answer, she shrugged. "Then to me you are simply a sailor."

"And you are a simple peasant girl!" he shot back, forcefully sitting up straighter. A burst of pain suddenly split through his chest that made him cry out, "Argh…" and he found himself collapsing back against the plush pillows on the bed.

"Indeed, that is the truth. Although some would say I am the princess of this island. Princess, subject, and servant all in one." Christine replied, choosing to ignore his obvious irritation since she assumed it was brought on by both pain and fatigue.

Standing up from her chair, she went to one of the shelves to retrieve a container of salve and some clean cloths, remembering it was time to change his bandage.

She gently sat next to him, hesitantly reaching for the knot of his old bandage, then she caught the look of astonishment displaying on his exhausted face. "It's time for me to change your bandage. Please stay still, and don't move!" A myriad of different thoughts were surging through Erik's mind, as he felt the soft hands of the beautiful angel tenderly descended on him, smoothly dancing over his bare chest.

Christine's face blushed crimson with embarrassment over having to do this when he was awake. She inwardly prayed he would not argue with her on this, for it was all for his own benefit.

During the task, the two of them did not say a word, but the sound of silence between them seemed to be so uncomfortable and profound. Erik tried to calm a surge of queer emotion washing over him, like a powerful storm rising inside his body. What was going on with him? His heart was beating wildly inside his chest, as if he were about to go to war against his enemy for the first time.

Christine endeavored to finish the task as quickly as possible, attempting to mask her true emotion with concern, for she too felt of a strange mysterious attraction toward this man. Sure, he was coarse and abrasive, but she was sure there was more in him that she had yet seen.

Once completed, Christine returned the materials to the shelf, and then she turned around to see Erik looking at her, his irritated expression earlier being replaced with a warm curiosity.

Erik shook his head again, trying hard not to groan as his temple burst into pain at the action.

"Earlier, did you mean you are here alone on this island? Surely you are part of a village?"

"I live with my mother," Christine replied, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Do you want some soup?" she inquired, pointing to a boiling pot of soup, where a delicious fragrance wafted the air, enticing his starving stomach to grumble loudly. "Or would you rather dine on some bitter leaves?" Christine smirked, recalling his snide comment from the other day.

"You heard me?" Erik asked in surprise. "How could you have heard my comments on the beach? You were far away…"

"Soup?" Christine offered, ignoring him once again as she carefully ladled some into a bowl. Seeing her genuinely offering him food, Erik tried to straighten up in his position, readying himself to eat. Then she turned and handed to him, waiting until his fingers wrapped around the bowl before she let go. She reached behind her, located a spoon, and handed that to him as well.

"Beside your mother, are there other people on this island? How do you communicate with the outside world?" Erik enquired as he slightly blew on the soup and drank in the first spoonful. It was undoubtedly the best soup he had ever had…or perhaps it was his hunger that made him feel that way. The soup was rich and flavorful, made with meat, vegetables and broth, and after dispensing with the spoon, and holding the bowl up to his lips, it was soon gone.

As Christine watched him, she quietly chuckled, but Erik paid no heed. He had been starving for days and his body demanded food and nutrients to recover. After wiping off his mouth, he looked up at her, still waiting for an answer to his previous question.

"As I said, it is only my mother and me. We have no need for anyone else."

Erik absorbed her answer as he looked around the cottage once again. There were fine blankets and simple, well-made wooded furniture. A spinning wheel took up one corner, piles of wool ready to be carded lying next to it. The bowl he was using was made from a large shell, and the spoon had been carved from bone. The cottage was rustic, to say the least, but it was comfortable, weatherproof and warm. Out of the corner of his eyes, Erik caught sight of a bamboo flute laying on one of the shelves.

"Who plays that that?" He said.

"My father used to, but he passed away some time ago." Christine looked away, not wanting to reveal too much about herself, especially when she knew very little about this stranger. Quickly changing the subject, she motioned to the empty bowl. "How was it?"

"It was excellent," Erik replied, with a hint of hesitation in his voice. Though the soup was very enjoyable and his hunger had subsided, giving compliments had always been alien to him.

"I'm glad. How are you feeling now?" she enquired.

"My chest still hurts and I have a terrible headache." As he said this, his hand went to touch his forehand, and instantly he noticed something missing.

His face was exposed! His mask was gone!

How dare she removed his mask? Erik's eyes went wide and crazed, his muscles tense, and his right hand quickly moving to cover his exposed cheek.

"WHERE'S MY MASK? WHY DID YOU TAKE IT OFF? GIVE ME MY DAMN MASK!"

"Calm down, please-," Christine rose from her chair in shock, feeling very perplexed at his sudden outburst. Although she was not frightened at him, she felt rather offended by his tone, for after all, she had just been helping him the entire time.

In a fit of temper, Erik hurled the bowl across the room, the fragile shell striking the floor as shards went skittering everywhere. "GIVE THE MASK TO ME NOW!" he screamed at her again.

Christine stood her ground. Every fiber of her being told her to slap him hard on the face in order to teach him a lesson for being so rude and violent. Yet despite that urge, she held back, for fighting with an insane person would lead to nowhere. He just woke up, and she figured his mind was not completely sane.

"There," she stated, indicating to where the mask lay. "It's on the table. You had a fever due to the burn on your chest, so I took it off in an effort to cool your temperature down."

Erik reached for the mask and quickly tied it to his face. His rage had significantly taken its toll on him, making him more exhausted than before. His breaths were short and labored, and he found himself sinking back against the bed as if his strength had been completely drained out of him.

"You need to calm yourself or you're going to make things worse!" Christine scolded, her calm voice slightly shaken with hurt, as she forced down her tears of anger. She shuddered internally, aware of how much he was affecting her. Her senses were jumbled and his energy was surging through her.

"You…you did not scream," Erik murmured. He was stunned by Christine's calmness, especially after seeing what lay beneath his mask, and yet she still remained undisturbed. Other people would just run away, or could not bear to look at him. And yet this girl had stayed and nursed him the whole time, while his face had been in plain view. Why?

Christine did not make a reply to his odd statement, instead she moved quickly toward the door, intent on leaving. But before she stepped outside, she turned back, and while her tone was gentle, there was some degree of firmness in it. "Feel free to rest. But, if you want to benefit from our assistance, you should be more respectful to us. I will not be back until morning. My mother will return shortly, however please don't ask her too many questions, and behave nicely to her. She is less tolerant of you than I."

Stunned, Erik stared after Christine as the door swung shut behind her with a slam. No woman had ever walked away from him. Even the women who despised or feared him did not turn their backs on him. His reputation was such that everyone knew he was not a man to ignore.

He stared at the closed door, willing it to open, but it remained stubbornly shut. Finally accepting defeat –if only temporarily –he let out a heavy sigh and stared at the small flame flickering in the fireplace. Curious, he stared at the spindle on the spinning wheel, noting the simple workmanship. Christine's clothes were unadorned but durable. Although no gentlewoman would have worn them, a peasant would have thought them fine indeed.

Erik heard footsteps approaching, and he paused in his analysis to wait for someone's arrival. When an elderly, rotund woman finally opened the door, he was struck by her unhappy face and weary stoop.

"Ahhh, the sailor is awake at last," she said as she shuffled in. "And my daughter has left you all alone? At least, she gave you some food."

"Indeed," he answered.

"How did you find her?" The woman asked as she swung her penetrating gaze in his direction.

"Rather rude, I would say," he replied.

"Is that all?"

"That is enough," he said, irritated.

The old woman shrugged. "Very well. If she is rude, 'tis only because she has never spoken with anyone but my husband and me. I think she is very brave to have rescued you. Have you thanked her?"

Erik raised his eyebrows. "I hardly call her actions a 'rescue.' Rather, she was bound by common decency to drag me to this cottage."

"So you did not thank her. It would seem that she is not the only rude one here." The woman shook her head, then sat in a chair and leaned over to ladle soup into another shell-bowl.

Erik glared at her, furious that she would reprimand him. "I am a commodore. I can say whatever I please," he growled.

"Do you think so?" She replied. "Have you found that caring only for yourself has made you happy?"

"I have no desire to be happy," he grumbled. "I seek greater accomplishments."

The woman shook her head again. "Perhaps you will learn how wrong you are," she murmured.

She ate in silence for quite a while, then as she caught sight of the shards of the shell bowl on the floor, she enquired him. "Tell me what happened in here earlier?"

"Well, your daughter removed my mask, while I was unconscious. No one has ever dared to do that to me…"

"And then you threw a tantrum? Oh boy, you better apologize to her. The poor girl has been staying by your side and caring for you ever since she brought you here. You've been in bed for three days. Do you hear me young man? Three days…And that's a long time. Without Christine, you would have already perished."

Erik frowned at her, trying hard to register her words. So, Christine was the girl's name, the angel who had saved him. Oh, what a lovely name. The sound of it warmed his heart and he wished for her presence by his side again.

The old woman had told him that Christine had attentively nursed him, while she was fully aware of his disfigurement. Why had she done that? Why was she not terrified at him? Erik had been told for countless years that he was a hideous beast, who did not deserve human affection. How could she overlook his monstrous façade, while his own parents and brother could not? Christine could have abandoned him and let him die, after all he had initiated a verbal war with her and offended her several times. But no, she was amazingly different from everyone else he had ever known. No one would have done the things Christine did. Erik's heart suddenly throbbed, and he despised himself for his rudeness to her earlier.

Ignoring Erik's sudden change in expression, Jameela slowly went to her bed, falling asleep, without caring to bid him good night.

Erik found he could not disagree with the elderly woman, he did owe Christine an apology…and a thank you. However, since she was nowhere in sight, he was left with no choice but to rest his eyes as well, for the small fire smoldered and the cottage was soon dark. Exhausted, he, too fell asleep, silently wishing morning would come soon so his newly found angel would return to him.

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In the faint light of the crescent moon, Christine raced the white stallion around the island before pulling him to a breathless halt. Both she and the beast were drenched in sweat.

"I should have left him," she whispered. "I should not have helped him. Perhaps we should have hid from him. I do not like him in my home or on this isle. He and his kind deserted me, cast me out of their world and set me adrift. Whatever longing I have to see other people, to experience how others live, is senseless. This man is only confusing matters. This island is all I need! I do not desire anything else!"

The stallion snorted, stamping his foot in agreement, as he twitched his ears back and forth, listening to her words.

Christine rode up to the top of the cliff, then slipped off the animal's back. She opened her arms wide, absorbing the night scents. "The tides are long and deep. I can hear the waves lapping at the rocks. The moon is shining again tonight. The air is crisp and clean, with a cool, soft wind. Everything is so peaceful. They are the things that made me happy. This man is probably ignorant of all this. He cannot truly see with his own eyes. He…He is just a selfish person, who only cares for himself."

She sniffed, then leaned down and found a pink blossom growing in the grass. She plucked it and tucked it behind her ear. "I will avoid him until he is gone. Then I will never think about him again."

She walked down a familiar path, hearing the hoof beats of the stallion following behind her. Together, they reached her favorite spot on the isle, a hidden lagoon. She sank to her knees, feeling the mud stain her dress, as she dipped her hands into the cool water before splashing it against her flushed cheeks. Her fingers still tingled from touching Erik's skin these past few days. She scrubbed at them vigorously, trying to erase the sensation, but his unique texture remained in her hand's memory. Her mind could not erase the image of his face that was both handsome and hideous. His temper had thrown her off balance, but instead of feeling frightened of him, she felt intrigued. Finally, in exasperation, Christine took off her clothing, and dove into the water, immersing her body in its refreshing embrace. But the feel the water reminded her of the liquid strength of his arms, and she was soon more agitated than before.

In desperation, she clenched her hands and smacked at the water, frightened by these new feelings. Despite her determination and previous vows, Christine found she could not wait to be near him again.

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A/N: So what do you think of the chapter? Even after discovering Erik's secret, his facial disfigurement, Christine had overlooked it and cared for him, though his tantrum did get her upset. And while Erik was furious, knowing her unmask him, he began to develop a feeling for this special woman.

Let's find out in the next chapter, how Erik will fix his mistake. I can't wait to see the two back together.

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Erik's Love: oh Christine ain't a dope. She would never let a stranger (even if he's rich, sexy and handsome) "assault" her. Plus, Christine is a compassionate person, so she would not abandon Erik dying on the beach.