Paladin69

Erik moved Karl Turro's body to the other side of the shed and kicked the blood-covered snow around. The chickens that had gathered, drawn to the blood in the snow, squawked and scattered as Erik made his way around the structure. They fled once Fidelio ran through and chased them back to the henhouse, where he stood and barked, his tail wagging at his accomplishment.

After the body was moved, Gabe returned from the stable and nervously stood at a distance from Erik.

"He's…isn't he?" Gabe questioned.

"Yes."

Erik didn't bother to glance at the stable hand. He wasn't certain why, but he felt sick after he removed the body from the snow. While he had no regrets, Erik had no idea what he felt inside. All he knew was that his stomach felt as though it had flipped over in his gut, which he passed off as hunger for the moment.

"The horses are saddled. Three of them."

Erik rubbed snow over his hands and shook off the icy drops before he stood at his full height.

"Where is your father?" he questioned Gabe.

"He's been gone since yesterday afternoon. His sister is ill."

Erik nodded once. "Tell Mademoiselle Citrine to tend to Monsieur Dupree."

Gabe didn't move immediately. He glanced around, his hands balled into fists. "Where is Monsieur Dupree, Monsieur?"

"My home. He suffered a cut to the chin, nothing that threatens his life," Erik replied.

As Erik continued to smear the blood to hide evidence of Turro's death, Gabe wandered away.

Blood had never bothered him. He'd trained himself to feel indifferent toward pain and death. Long ago, when he first stood watch as the executioner sent men to their deaths, he'd felt a sense of remorse, and anxiety he was told would vanish once he became accustomed to death.

There was no reason why he couldn't find it in himself to look on without emotion. No one had cared for him—he cared for no one. It was simple, explainable. As with everything else in his life, it had fit and made sense.

But now nothing made sense. Every few seconds he glanced up and scanned the windows of Sophia's home to make certain she didn't see him. He didn't want her to watch this, to see him as heartless and cold. He needed someone to see him as human.

Citrine appeared with a wooden box under her arm as Erik finished clearing the area.

"You've made quite a bit of mud," she commented as she stopped at the edge of the white snow.

"He's dead," Erik said as he nodded toward the smokehouse. "After nightfall I'll remove the body." From the corner of his eye, Erik saw Citrine shiver. It bothered him, but he chose neither to look at her nor speak another word on the matter.

"Sophia is sleeping," Citrine announced, which garnered Erik's attention. He froze and stared at his feet as he waited for Citrine to continue. "Monsieur Dupree was cut, Gabe tells me. Nothing serious, I do hope."

Erik glanced over his shoulder. "Sew him up or bandage him. It doesn't appear deep."

"Would you stay in the house with Sophia? She has expressed that she doesn't want to wake up alone."

As he turned to face Citrine, Erik's gaze darted around the yard. Would she see it in his eyes, he wondered? Would she know that he was a killer, a vicious monster?

I didn't kill him, he reminded himself. Turro brought death upon himself.

"Monsieur?" Citrine questioned.

Erik nodded at last. "Yes, of course."

-o-

Sophia's bedroom door was ajar when Erik walked into her home and awkwardly looked around for a place to sit. He was unsure if he should sit within view of her or if he should sit close to the fire.

After so many years beneath the opera house the cold didn't bother him much, but digging his hands in the snow was completely different, and he had started to shiver. His pant legs were damp and were muddy at the knees and along the shins, which made him uncomfortable. While he listened for signs that Sophia was awake, he stood before the fire with his hands outstretched and closed his eyes.

Now that the worst was over, exhaustion hit him full force. He teetered back on his heels, drifting to sleep as he stood. If he continued to stand much longer, he feared that he'd fall backward or forward into the fire. As he rubbed his eyes, Erik resorted to seating himself near the fire where he draped a blanket over his shoulders. It did nothing to keep him from shaking, and as he settled in he realized that his trembling had nothing to do with the cold.

Karl Turro's reign of terror on the Manor should have come to an end, but Erik feared there was more to come. Erik felt no sense of revenge or triumph; he felt miserable. The damage was done. Turro's death did nothing to erase what Sophia had experienced.

His thoughts were disturbed by a scratch at the front door that signaled Fidelio had tired of tormenting the hens. Once Erik opened the door, the dog padded in and found his spot by the fire. He circled twice and then flopped down, his tail thumping the floor.

Erik glanced at Sophia's door and sighed before he closed his eyes, thinking Fidelio had the right idea. Citrine wouldn't be gone long, but even a short nap was better than nothing. Perhaps sleep would bring clarity, and clarity was what he needed. He despised feeling out of control, and for the past twelve hours he'd felt himself spiraling toward hell.

-o-

Sophia woke with a start and jerked in bed. Her mouth was dry, her face sore. As she stirred beneath the sheets, she blinked and wondered how much time she'd spent asleep. By the angle of light through the bedroom window it must have been late in the morning, which made her feel completely unproductive.

As if on cue, her stomach growled to confirm it was time to rise and eat. Hopefully once she walked down the hall she'd smell what Citrine had made for lunch, as waiting any longer seemed an impossibility.

Sophia shrugged into her robe, her right hand still bruised and tender. After several moments of tying the belt, she wandered down the hall and found the house quiet. Once she reached the end of the hall, however, she discovered that she wasn't alone.

The curtains in the sitting room were drawn, which made the room too dark for her strained eyes to see anything clearly. In the soft glow of the firelight she saw a pair of long legs stretched out from the fireside chair, and that made her smile. The dog snoring at his feet proved equally endearing.

Sophia folded her arms and watched Erik for a moment as he slept. He looked peaceful, his breaths deep and even, lips slightly parted. He muttered incoherent words before he licked his lips and exhaled, oblivious to the world around him.

He was hardly a man she expected to find defenseless, but there he was by the fire with his faithful dog at his feet. She found it charming; her sleeping sentinel. Finding him there softened the rough edges of his gruff personality, added humanity to a man who appeared a loner. Sophia wondered if Citrine had asked him to stay while she played nursemaid to Philippe—or if Erik had gone to Citrine and asked her to stay with Philippe. She couldn't imagine anyone volunteering to stay with Philippe, she thought with a wry smile.

"Don't touch me," Erik muttered, his legs shooting straight out. He drew a sharp breath before he exhaled and settled again.

Sophia blinked, frozen in her spot no more than five paces away. He wasn't a man who had enjoyed many moments of peace, she thought sadly. It seemed that not even sleep released him.

Her instincts to care for Erik emerged full force, as she needed to focus on someone other than herself. With a gentle smile, Sophia reached back and unfurled another blanket warmed by the fire, her absolute favorite feeling. It would settle him, she told herself, the warmth and comfort of a soft blanket. Perhaps it would bring him pleasant dreams.

The crocheted wool had barely touched Erik's knees when he shot up and snatched it from her hands. With a yelp, Sophia sprang back and barely avoided landing on Fidelio's tail.

Erik immediately stood and turned away, his right hand over his face. He touched the mask, both hands groping at the white leather to make certain it was in place before he turned to face her.

"Sophia?" Erik questioned, his voice husky from sleep.

She could only nod.