Hurray! The next chapter is done! Hope you all enjoy it as much I enjoyed writing it. Oh and I have to thank all of you for the wonderful reviews. I can't believe how many I have been getting lately. Thanks it means a lot to me!

A big thank you to my beta Juliana. She is so great. I know you may be getting tired of me saying it but it is true!

Disclaimer: Don't own the phantom characters. It is sad, I know, but I do own everyone else.

Chapter 21: Blood and Flowers

Brielle jerked up in bed, slick and sticky with sweat, shivering so violently the sound of her chattering teeth echoed about the room. Despite the layers of blankets covering her legs she felt cold, frozen even. The room was warm, she knew, but her skin felt drawn too tight and was covered with gooseflesh. Fear clogged her airways, pressing, crushing the air from her lungs. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, drowning in the paralysis of her own fear. She clamped her mouth shut, desperately trying to muffle the scream that was still locked high in her throat. The brittle winter sunlight pouring through the bedroom window did nothing to calm the racing of her terrified heart or to warm the chills creeping up her spine.

As her panic subsided, she felt a headache begin to pinch at her temples.

It had been a week since Aria's birthday party. Each uneventful day was routine if not boring. The one exception to this rule was whenever Andrew came to call. His visits were always far from routine. For each of the past seven days he had not failed to send her some sort of gift; a fragrant bundle of hothouse flowers had been the latest offering.

She had come to dread the knock of the messenger upon the door, for the arrival of each gift always heralded the arrival of its sender about an hour later. Lately the sound of the door knocker had the mysterious ability to make the other members of the household disappear; Aria would refuse to leave her room, even as Erik would refuse to leave the library. Brielle was at her wit's end, trying to manage her daughter and deal with Erik's unpredictable moods at the same time.

Despite the relative normalcy of the daytime hours over the last week, the nights were an altogether different story. Every morning Brielle had woken up terrified by some unknown nightmare. She would jerk awake suddenly, clammy with sweat, her heart fit to burst inside her chest. It was odd, really, that she couldn't remember the dreams. She thought she should be able to remember something which was so frightening. But obviously this was not the case.

As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, Brielle momentarily hoped the unsettling dreams could be attributed to the fight she and Erik had had the night of the party. She had forgotten how hurtful he could be; his harsh words had caught her off guard. Of course, she knew the reason she had become so upset was not because of what he said. It had more to do with her emotional state at the time.

Andrew seemed to bring out all of her weaknesses. She always felt lacking after one of his visits - though Brielle knew that her reaction to him surely had nothing to do with Andrew's behavior. If anything he doted upon her. He would never actually criticize her.

When he had taken his leave that night she, as usual, had felt drained. In those moments after she had slammed the door against his retreating figure, she felt the crushing weight of the years to come. She could see the lonely decades stretching out before her and she could feel the uncertainty of life overtake her.

She had felt bruised with a weariness that had settled and gone bone deep. And when Brielle had quietly entered Aria's room and witnessed the touching scene of Erik reading to her daughter, she was only further reminded of what she could never have - a companion, a lover, a husband. But oh, how she wanted those things. And how she hated him for weakening her resolve to live life alone, for reminding her of what she had lost.

She knew now that was why she had reacted so violently to his barb. Why she had hit him. Thinking back upon it, she regretted laying her hands upon him in anger. Brielle had lost control of herself; she hated that.

And to add to all these worries, Conner had yet to reappear from his soloist tour in England. He was due back the night Andrew appeared but she had yet to receive a letter of apology over his absence. Brielle knew that most likely he was off passing time in a London pub, getting drunk or trying to woo pretty girls.

With all this on her mind, Brielle ran a hand through her tangled hair and stood. She knew, deep down, that the dreams were more than just a reaction to her worries. Brielle wasn't a fool, she recognized the trend of her dreams were more sinister than simple nightmares. Soon, she was sure, something terrible would happen.

She hopped to the side when her bare feet hit the chilled floorboards and then carefully made her way to the closet. Standing on one foot while warming the other against her calf, Brielle pondered her clothing selection for the day. Unable to stand the chilly air breathing up her night dress anymore, she quickly snatched a gown from those hanging within the cabinet.

When she turned and looked in the mirror after donning the required layers of clothing, Brielle was startled to see what she had chosen. The dress was a cheerful apricot velvet with an overskirt that was caught up in the back to make a foaming waterfall of ecru lace. It was a remnant of the past, when she had been young and carefree, but she remembered how pretty she had felt wearing it as a newlywed.

Actually she was shocked it still fit. Apparently having a baby hadn't changed her figure as much as she thought it had. Brielle had to admit though, as she tugged self-consciously at the neckline, that it certainly had become just a bit tight about the bodice.

It was still pretty, but hardly practical. With a sigh Brielle reached to unclasp the buttons down her back, but a crash from the hallway made her pause. Frowning she dropped her arms and headed to the door, forgetting on her way out to pull her boots over the stockings she wore.

She pushed the door open just in time to catch a glimpse of Aria disappearing down the hallway, the child trailing clumps of Andrew's flowers after her. Brielle stepped forward to chase after her daughter, but her progress was suddenly arrested when her right foot came down upon shards from the broken flower vase.

The razor-edged pieces cut deeply into her heel before she had time to process what was happening. The burning pain shot up her leg and with a startled shriek Brielle jumped backwards. Cursing furiously in several different languages she hopped about on her good foot, trailing blood as she tried to stay upright.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow…" she hissed, her snowy eyebrows drawing together at the sight of her own blood upon the floor.

Teetering upon one foot she bent awkwardly to the side, fighting against the confines of her corset, in order to get a better look at her injury. Brielle was on the verge of plucking the first shard of frosted glass from her heel when she lost her balance and lurched sideways.

A pair of strong arms caught her about her waist before she hit the ground. Surprised, she tilted her head upward only to find Erik's strong jaw flexing above her head. The man was positively pale.

"Damn it Bri! What the hell have you been doing down here? I was upstairs getting dressed when I heard you scream. And then when I come racing down here there is blood everywhere out in the hall!"

She turned in his arms with a hop, both hands gripping the collar of his white cotton shirt for balance. "Am I to understand by the hint of reproach in your tone that you were worried, Erik?" Brielle asked with a wince, lifting her foot well clear of the floor, leaning against the warm expanse of his chest for support.

Relaxing into his arms, she turned her face into the hollow under his jaw, closing her eyes against the pain shooting up her leg. She breathed in deeply, savoring the feeling of safety she had found within his arms. He smelled of the night-dark, mysterious, dangerous and oh so wonderful.

Reluctantly she pulled back.

He made a soft huffing sound and ignored her question. "Will you please refrain from your constant need to annoy me and simply explain what happened?" he asked as his head tilted to gaze over her shoulder at her upturned foot. At the sight of the ripped and bloodied stocking covering the protruding pieces of glass, Erik's brows drew downward and his mouth turned hard. The look he gave her was like summer thunderclouds - dark, roiling, uncertain.

"Oh, it was an accident. Aria upturned the flower vase and I stepped on the glass."

A slight tremor began in the long-boned musician's hands spanning her waist. "You should be more careful," he murmured, as something wild flashed behind his eyes, apparently kept in check by a mere breath as his hands tightened on her hips.

"I plan to," she replied flippantly, trying to throw off the sudden heaviness of the moment.

He was staring at her now as if he were trying to crawl inside her skin. Brielle became acutely aware of the warmth of his bare skin under her hands as she continued to cling to his neck. His shirt wasn't completely done up, she noticed. The top four buttons hung unclasped. She found herself staring at his open neckline, at the well toned muscles revealed there. Then her gaze rose unbidden, first to his lips, then up along the curve of his mask to his burning eyes. Those eyes were oceans deep, and she suddenly wanted to drown within them.

"I need stitches," she heard herself saying as she eased away from him, fearing the whole while the longing which she found in his gaze, which she felt resonating within herself. Brielle turned her head away from him so suddenly her neck ached as she pretended to be searching for her medical bag. "I need to find my bag. The needles and alcohol are in there."

As she swiveled her torso about, her injured foot bumped against the floor. Tongues of burning pain licked up her leg, nearly sending her to the floor when her knees buckled. Once again Erik's steady hands caught her weight and easily bore her up, preventing her fall.

With a great sigh the disheveled man bent at the waist and without a word hooked an arm under her knees, lifting her from the ground. Brielle gasped as the world tilted when he straightened, her hands once again tangling in the collar of his shirt.

"What are you doing? Put me down at once!"

"For once would you allow someone to assist you without complaining about it?" he snapped.

Brielle shut her mouth quickly, wincing as she watched a drop of blood gather on the bottom of her heel before dropping off to splatter on her carpet. Erik carried her out of her room, his shoes crushing over the scattered glass still on the floor. He walked down the hall quickly, careful of her injury when he turned sideways and edged through the library door. Gently, he set her on the edge of a cushioned settee before moving to the windows and jerking the curtains aside.

When his back was turned, Brielle grabbed her ankle and drew her foot up for inspection. She was relieved to discover only two moderately sized shards still embedded within her sole. By the way her foot was throbbing, she had been worried half the vase was jammed up inside her heel. Nevertheless, the glass had torn through her skin quite severely and it was apparent that she would need several stitches. Erik glanced her way momentarily before striding to the door and disappearing down the hall.

Brielle couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at his departure. She had expected him to stay, had begun to rely on his support. Rolling her shoulders she straightened, her lips tightening against the disheartened sigh pushing against her teeth. Fine I don't need him!

Hissing a few calming breaths, Brielle flexed her fingers, steeling herself to the task ahead. "Ok, I will do it on my own then. I don't have time to be relying on some fool man for help. This isn't that hard anyway. Just a few stitches and I will be on my way." But first she had to pull the glass out.

Her fingers were just about to pluck the first shard out when Erik breezed back into the room carrying her medical bag. Brielle felt a foolish smile blaze across her face at the sight of him. She couldn't help it, she just felt calmer when he was in the room.

Erik set the bag down with a thump, stabbing a finger in her direction. "Get your hands away from there! You'll cause an infection if that glass breaks off under the skin."

"Oh, really?" she asked sarcastically, letting the pain sharpen her tongue as she glared at the man digging through her medical bag. "I didn't know that."

At the sharp, pain-laced tone of her voice, Erik's gaze flickered up to hers from the medical bag. Temper fleetingly edged into his features before one look at her face cracked the edges of his frown. Something about her expression softened his eyes to the color of the sea just after dawn. She suddenly wondered how anguished she must look to elicit sympathy from such a hard man.

"This will go better if you keep your mouth shut," he said quietly as he drew a bottle of alcohol from her satchel, his expression once again distant. Setting the clear liquid aside he dove back into the supplies, his jaw clenching tighter and tighter when he was unable to locate what he was looking for.

"Don't you have enough sense to put laudanum in here for pain?" Erik asked sharply as he threw the suturing kit onto the couch next to her.

"I have enough sense not to put it in there, you blasted man. The bloody stuff is addicting at best and deadly at its worst!"

"And you are damned annoying at best," he shot back, the exasperation in his voice nearly tickling a grin from her despite the pulsing hurt radiating up her calf.

Erik pulled up a chair and tenderly took hold of her ankle to examine her wound. Brielle watched the handsome creases about his eyes deepen in concentration as he carefully turned her foot for a better view. The hem of her skirt slowly slid up her lower leg at his movements. But this fact went unnoticed all the while his hands cradled her ankle. Something about the feel of his long, fine fingers upon her skin sent a strange, quivery feeling rippling down her spine.

With a vexed grunt, Erik turned his frown once more in her direction. "This stocking is ruined?"

"Well yes, it has more holes in it now than a pie safe." Brielle replied, plastering a shaky smile on her face. Now that he was looking at her with those intensely fathomless eyes, she edged the hem of her skirts back down to a respectable level.

At her reply Erik nodded and ripped the sole of the stocking from about her injury. Without a word he slid his hands up the side of her leg - well past her knees - before Brielle had time to protest. Fumbling to stay his hand, Brielle gasped and planted her good foot upon his chest, warding him off.

"Where is your decency sir? Manhandling an injured lady!" she shouted outraged, her Irish accent growing thick as a sea fog.

Erik's mouth kinked into an easy smile as he shook off her restraining hands and began to roll the top of her stocking down her leg. "I assure you there is no need to fear for my decency. I was simply removing this to have a better look at your injury."

"Well, I suppose that is acceptable," she said, once again pushing her skirts down over her knees as she lowered her foot from his chest, allowing him to continue to slide the plain wool down her leg.

Brielle hissed when the bunching material jarred the ragged wounds on her heel. Erik's fingers paused at her ankle. He glanced up at her then, a wicked light flickering behind his eyes.

"Though I have to admit you do have lovely ankles."

"WHAT?" she blustered, so enraged she didn't even feel the calmly smiling man pull her stocking over her torn skin.

Ignoring her sputtering, Erik took up her foot once again. He made a few deep clucking sounds in the back of his throat as he gathered the suturing kit closer. "I suggest you forget your misgivings and allow me to fetch some laudanum."

She sniffed haughtily at that. "No need."

"Brielle," he began again, the annoyance deepening his voice.

"There is no need," she said slowly as she reached for the alcohol bottle.

"Brave girl," he murmured, pulling the bottle out of her reach as he shook his head in amazement. He tipped the alcohol onto a scrap of cloth and scooted his chair closer. Erik ran his bottom lip between his teeth as he cleaned some of the blood from about the protruding glass. Brielle remained perfectly still as the liquid began to burn. And when he deftly worked the first piece of glass from her flesh she didn't make a sound, though tears began to push against her eyelids. Only when he pulled the second bit of glass free did she jerk in pain.

At her sudden movement, Erik made a calming hum in the back of his throat as he gently caressed her instep. His touch and the steady thrumming sound issuing from his voice soothed her, and slowly she relaxed against his hands.

"You seem to have an acceptable knowledge of basic medicine," she began shakily, as drop of sticky sweat trickled down between her shoulder blades. "Wherever did you learn how to treat injuries?"

"Here and there," he replied, eyes focused upon the bottom of her foot as he further cleaned the area. Setting the bloody piece of cloth aside, he glanced up at her. "When I was younger I did some traveling. Somewhere in the course of my wanderings I learned how to doctor wounds."

This was the first time Erik had ever mentioned his past. Brielle smiled quietly at this realization. "That is how I learned as well. My father was a military surgeon. We were always moving wherever they needed his skills. I learned most of what I know of medicine from him and those we met on our travels."

When he threaded one of the needles in her bag, Brielle suddenly became anxious. "How many times have you done stitches before?"

A thoughtful expression creased his forehead. "I don't actually recall having ever stitched up a wound," he said calmly. Brielle was on the verge of escaping his inexperienced hands when the crazed man winked at her.

"You are teasing me aren't you!"

He merely shrugged his reply, leaning in close, needle in hand. Brielle braced herself just in time to quell her reaction to the first searing stitch. Erik worked quickly, every movement a study in efficiency. Before she knew it he leaned back in his chair, gathering up the used medical materials.

Glancing down at her foot, Brielle was impressed by his work. "What fine stitching, Erik. I couldn't have done better myself."

"I suppose that is a compliment of some sort."

"Well, absolutely. After all, I have never met anyone else as good as I am," she said with a laugh as she unwound a length of cotton bandages. She carefully wrapped the material around and around her stitched heel as Erik continued to clean up the mess.

A scuffling sound at the doorway drew Brielle's attention away from the task at hand. Aria stood sheepishly at the library entrance, shuffling from one foot to the other. "M-Momma I am s-sorry I broke the v-vase and hurt your f-foot." the child mumbled, her eyes downcast.

"Oh, honey that is alright. It was an accident. But what were you doing near those flowers anyway?"

"I w-was getting s-some flowers for Erik's h-hair," Aria said.

Confused, Brielle looked to Erik for an explanation, but he seemed just as perplexed as her. "What do you mean?"

"Flowers for E-Erik's hair," Aria said, holding up her doll and sticking a thumb in her mouth.

"You named your new doll Erik?"

When Aria nodded, Brielle laughed. "Aria, Erik is a boy's name." The little girl only hugged the doll closer, not apparently minding this little fact.

Brielle was about to discuss the matter further when there was a sharp knock at the front door. "Sweet Mary, I hope that isn't another blasted messenger," she mumbled before thinking better of it.

Aria disappeared down the hall even before the words were completely out of the Irish woman's mouth. Erik had stilled at the knocking, his face turned to stone. Heaving a sigh Brielle staggered to her feet, carefully keeping the weight of her bad foot. "I'll see who it is. Hopefully they won't be staying."

Hobbling to the hall, Brielle just barely caught a soft growl coming from the man behind her. Shaking her head she continued on, clutching at furniture for support as she made her way slowly down the hall. Another series of knocks shook her door, making her curse the visitor's impatience.

"I am coming!" she shouted, nearly tipping over the umbrella stand as she passed it. With a huff Brielle drew open the front door, ready to upbraid the impatient messenger. The sight of a pair of uniformed policemen standing outside stayed her biting words.

"What seems to be the problem, officers?" she asked uncertainly.