Hey all! For once I am not late with this update! Aren't you proud of me! Really though, Terpsichore got this chapter back to me super fast so a huge thank you to her! Oh and once again thanks to all of my reviewers! All of your comments were so funny and inspiring that it really helped to crank this chapter out. (Sorry I haven't replied to some of you yet but I will try to get to that tomorrow!)

Oh and before I forget I would like to ask those of you who are going to review to do me a small favor. I am curious to know just how far flung my readers are in the world. So if you could just add at the end of your review where you are from (nothing specific of course) it would be really awesome. Personally, I am from Ohio in the U.S.A. (Picture endless cornfields and that is basically where I grew up.)

But anyway enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 65: Closing the Trap

A figure silently stepped out from behind a curtain then, the material of his dress clothes hissing through the darkness, causing Aria to jump and latch onto Father Thomas's leg. "Oh, he will be fine, Arianna," Andrew's richly cultured voice offered from the darkness. He watched the fear bleach his niece's face deathly white as triumph and adrenaline danced like a drug through his system. "Thank you, Father. You have served your purpose well. My associate and I will take charge of the child from now on."

Another black clad individual materialized out of the dark, coming up behind Andrew with a disturbingly empty smile upon his face. Laying a protective hand upon Aria's head, Father Thomas took a step back from the newest arrival. "I did not know that someone else would be here," he began nervously. "Can he be trusted with a child, my lord? He has the very eyes of the Devil."

Staring up at her uncle in abject terror, Aria's grip on the priest's leg tightened. "W-W-We have t-t-t-to go! It is t-t-t-t-he m-monster!" she cried, so upset that her words were barely able to make it out of her rebellious throat, her reaction to the sight of the young lord spurring the priest to look down at her in confused concern.

Smiling silkily, Andrew raised a calming hand. "Now, now, Father. I would never allow my niece to come to harm. You have nothing to fear. She carries the Donovan blood within her, after all, so until I have children of my own she is a very important young lady."

Not looking very comforted by Andrew's words, Father Thomas appeared stricken, his wide, magnified eyes never leaving the lurking figure of Monsieur Beaumont. "My lord, you know I am h…happy to help you in whatever you need of me because of how you helped my family, but this man… I think you have been deceived as to his character. He has the bearing of the worst sort of criminal."

Giving an elegant shrug Andrew tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, eyeing Aria with all the warmth of a snake looking for its next meal. Funny, that so much could depend upon one little girl. All his plans, all his hopes for the future came down to obtaining one insignificant child. Suppressing the inappropriate laugh that threatened to burst from him, Andrew brought one hand up to cover his mouth. Stop… don't laugh! If you do the thickheaded idiot of a priest will finally catch on… that is if Arianna's insufferable whimpering already hasn't given the game away.

Without bothering to raise his gaze up to the priest, the young lord slowly tugged his expensive kid gloves from his pale hands. "Well, you would be the one to know exactly what that sort of criminal looks like, Father. If I remember correctly you used to be one." Twisting his gloves slowly between his fingers, he finally brought his beetle black eyes up to meet Father Thomas's, daring the man to contradict him with a slow mocking smile. Yes, good… remind him how far he has come… remind him how much he has to lose without me.

Lowering his eyes to the floor out of old shame, the priest's protective grip on the child at his side tightened. "I am not that man anymore, my lord. I made my peace with God and now live to absolve myself of my past sins. You know this… you helped me to leave that place."

"Yes, and I also helped your lovely little sister as well. We both know what she would have had to become if I had not intervened." The priest flushed darkly, his wide eyes shooting back up to collide with Andrew's. "And yet, I now find you balking from returning to me one small favor. All I want is my fiancée safe… my family back together again. Is that too much to ask of you, Father, when even now I supply the funds that keep your family living decently not ten blocks from here?"

Two deep and elemental forces warred across Father Thomas's face, aging his boyish features to well beyond his years. Holding his tongue, Andrew kept silent and allowed the demons within the other man stew. The young lord knew that the priest had two choices. He could ignore the warning obviously burning through his conscience and hand Aria over or he could refuse and risk angering the man who even now kept his younger sister off the streets. After a long, protracted moment, Andrew watched the Father's war come to a brutal end, and knowing this, a smug smile began to play at the corners of his mouth.

His shoulders sagging with the weight of his turmoil, Father Thomas dropped his eyes guiltily to the ground. "No, sir, that is not too much to ask…" he finally croaked raggedly.

"Good!" Andrew bit out. "As I said before, my associate and I will now take charge of Arianna." Stepping forward, a dark triumph glittering in his eyes, Andrew reached out and stroked one finger along Aria's pale cheek. The child stared up at him with large lamp-like eyes, too terrified to move away from his touch. Frowning slightly, Andrew paused in mid-action.

"Strange…" he murmured. "You have your mother's eyes but… but… I can still see John looking out at me as clearly as if he were still…"

Choking off before he could finish, Andrew jerked his hand away from Aria as if the touch of her skin had burnt him. The clammy brush of phantom fingers fleetingly floated over his feverish brow, chilling him straight to the bone. Jerking violently to the side, Andrew's eyes darted about the room wildly, expecting to see a shadowed figure in the corner or the familiar flash of accusatory eyes. Every muscle in his body clenched into knots, waiting for a blow that never came.

Watching this odd behavior with cool disinterest, Beaumont merely moved forward to grab Aria out of Father Thomas's grip. "All right, enough talking. Give the brat here."

Stepping out of the Frenchman's reach, Father Thomas shook his head. "No! I will not turn the child over to you! My debt is with Lord Donovan and my conscience simply will not allow the likes of you to take charge of an innocent. I can see it in you… you are a killer."

Beaumont's lips peeled back from his teeth in a wolfish smile, his deceptively unremarkable features morphing into something monstrous within seconds. Shaking his head with a laugh, he stepped back and leaned against the wall, a knife suddenly appearing in one hand. "Good Lord, he has figured me out. And here I thought I hid it so well," he stated sarcastically, twirling the blade casually between his fingers.

Finding nothing otherworldly hiding in the shadows, Andrew turned his head to one side, shooting Beaumont a quelling glance, his panic pushed his temper close to the boiling point. "Be silent! I tire of your prattling," he hissed out between clenched teeth, fighting for the control he had so quickly lost moments ago.

Losing some of his false humor, the Frenchman straightened from the wall, his grip upon his weapon tightening. "Then allow me to go and get to work. I will not stand here and babysit this brat or that priest. I despise holy men… they make me…very… anxious," he growled, leaning the blade carelessly against one cheek, his flat, dark eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Swinging around, fury staining his pale face a deep red, Andrew jabbed a finger through the air at the assassin, the imbalance of fear and paranoia within him setting his temper alight with lightning fast speed. "Do not think you can tell me what to do! You… work… for… me! I tell you what to do and when to do it. I say when you are to go and carve up Brielle's blasted masked friend! But if I want you to tie bows in your hair and play dolls with my bloody niece THEN YOU WILL DO IT!"

Fuming silently, Beaumont dropped the knife from his face, looking for a moment as if he desperately wanted to bury it in Andrew's heart. "So long as you pay me, it is as you say…" he finally ground out, crossing his arms mutinously across his chest.

Gulping in several deep wit-saving breaths, Andrew ran a hand through his black hair. He allowed his eyes to travel the surrounding area one last time, but seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he allowed his shoulders to relax, determining that he had imagined the ghostly touch. Turning back to Father Thomas and Aria, Andrew paused when he caught sight of the priest's expression. "Is there a problem?"

"You just said you hired that man to kill someone!"

Sighing at the irritations he must endure, Andrew straightened his jacket. "Yes, I believe I mentioned to you that my fiancée has been under the influence of a dangerous criminal."

"But I assumed you would turn the man over to the police!"

"Ah, then you assumed wrong."

"I am beginning to think that perhaps I have been deceived as to your character, my lord," the young priest stated slowly, his voice gaining more confidence as he continued. "I will not be an accomplice to a murder, your funding be damned! It would go against everything I have striven to build my life around. I am a man of God; I cannot allow you to commit such a horrendous crime, even if the man is a criminal." Turning quickly, ushering Aria out before him, Father Thomas headed back in the direction from which he had come.

Pressing his lips together into a tight furious line, Andrew reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small handgun. Following after the Father, a mad glint brightening his dark gaze, he brought his arm back and slammed the butt of the pistol across the back of the priest's head. The loud crack of wood against bone exploded through the quiet of the room, followed quickly by the hollow thump of Father Thomas's body hitting the floor. Breathing raggedly, his eyes fixed upon the small pool of blood gathering under the priest's head, Andrew took another threatening step forward.

Aria let out a short, pained shriek as she looked back at the fallen man. "Look what you did!" she screamed, in flawless English, the shock of her perfect words enough to jolt Andrew into looking up at her.

For a split second he didn't seem to even see the child standing before him, but after a moment the desperate fury in his eyes faded. Blinking blankly as the tears spilled down Aria's face, he looked back down at the priest upon the floor. Surprise briefly wrinkled the skin between his dark brows. "I didn't mean to do that…" he murmured, kneeling down to check the priest's pulse.

Finding a steady heartbeat at the man's throat, Andrew stood, his expression clearing. "But he should not have threatened to get in my way."

Sweeping around the fallen man's body without a second glance Beaumont reached out and clamped a hand around Aria's arm as she turned and tried to run off. Holding firm even as the child tried desperately to jerk free of him the Frenchman looked to Andrew. "My, my I had no idea you could be so physical, my lord," Beaumont leered as he hefted Aria up under one arm like a sack of potatoes. With her legs kicking at his back ineffectually he inclined his chin toward the door. "But putting that aside I think we should be on our way."

Giving one last look down at Father Thomas Andrew gave a stiff nod and stood, feeling numb and slightly off balance. Where the hell is my damn triumph now? Why do I feel so sick inside? I should be happy… I am so close. It was his fault for getting in the way… it was his fault… "You are right. Come. We will put her somewhere safe then go after her mother."

"And then?" Beaumont asked eagerly, a new excitement raising the color in his face.

"And then once I am on my way you can take as much time as you like draining the life out of your quarry," Andrew stated hollowly, the chasm inside his heart widening until he was sure he would drown in the darkness festering within.

"Excellent, sir… that sounds delightful. Let us hurry then!" Far more cheerful now, Beaumont strode off into the dark, immune to Aria's futile struggles.

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Feeling the brand of curious eyes burning tracks over his skin, Erik bristled in response, instinctually uncomfortable out in the light and the crowd that any normal man would take for granted. There were no shadows to disappear in here, no hideaways, no secret passages. This was not the playground of a Phantom but of mortal men. Moving through the crowd stiffly, his eyes brazenly meeting all those studying him in a challenge, Erik led Brielle out onto the dance floor. Busy looking for any manner of threat from those around him, he hardly even noticed the deferential way the crowd parted before him.

One dance… One dance…He repeated over and over within his mind in a comforting mantra meant to soothe his growing agitation. One dance and then we can leave.

Letting out a soft whisper of a sigh behind him, Brielle wrapped her fingers more tightly around his, giving his gloved hand a gentle squeeze. The touch was enough to distract him from his obsessive mental chanting and he turned his head away from the crowd to look back at her. When his eyes landed upon her face she graced him with a brilliant smile, her cheeks flushing a delightful pink when he continued to stare at her. God in heaven she is beautiful…

Taking a deep breath, Erik felt the pressure of the curious eyes upon him drop away, the garish colors and scents of the dancers on the floor around him bleeding together into a hazy mix of light and sound. Suddenly, he found himself not in a heated room filled with strangers but basking in the glow of a single woman's smile in blissful seclusion. There was no crowd, no party; just Brielle and the music. Maybe we could stay for two dances after all…

Returning her smile with one of his own, Erik brought their joined hands up to his lips, his gaze never straying from the play of excitement and happiness skipping across Brielle's face. Her eyes went soft as a summer fog at his touch, sending an urgent flash of heat streaking through his gut. Picturing how she would look later, her snowy hair loose and splayed across the pillows, Erik allowed his smile to grow into a grin.

"Are you going to be staring at me all night then or are we ever going to get around to dancing?" Brielle teased, taking a step closer as she raised a hand up to rest upon his shoulder.

Placing one hand securely around her waist, Erik gave an arrogant shrug. "Madame, I am a man of many talents. Do you honestly think that I cannot perform both feats at once?" Her laughter at his response tinkled pleasingly over his ears as he swung her into the first steps of the waltz, holding her a bit closer than would normally be considered proper.

Moving lightly across the floor, the pair followed through the changing steps of the dance without a single misplaced foot. Hardly noticing when the waltz ended and another lively dance began, they swirled in time to the violins. Tilting her head slightly to one side, Brielle regarded him with such an expression of joy that he was sure his heart would leap from his chest at any moment.

"I am so proud of you, Erik… I hope you know that. You risked your own comfort just to make me happy tonight. I do not think I could be happier than I am at this very moment. You did that… it is because of you that I feel as if I am hardly even touching the ground right now."

Unused to such open praise, Erik hardly knew how to respond. Have I ever heard those words before? 'I am so proud of you…Erik.' Faltering on one of the dance steps, he looked to the ground in order to get his feet working properly again. The immediate urge to downplay what she had said bubbled up within him, but instead of giving into his old self deprecating habit he felt himself simply accepting the praise.

"It is not as bad as I might have imagined…" he said quietly. "Apparently, as long as I am with you I can do just about anything."

Pleased by what he had said, Brielle's hand hooked a bit more tightly over his shoulder, bringing them closer together. "You have no idea how happy I was when I got your note to meet you here!" she gushed. "I wanted to come so badly but I did not want to make you feel as if…"

Frowning slightly in confusion, Erik cut her off. "What note are you talking about?"

Thinking that he was jesting with her, Brielle gave his shoulder a playful swat. "The one you left with this dress."

Feeling a slight blot marring his good mood, Erik's steps slowed. "I did not leave you any note tonight… with the dress or otherwise. And actually I was meaning to ask where you got such a perfect costume… but I was distracted."

"I thought you sent me this dress!"

Coming to a complete stop, Erik's mouth turned down into a befuddled grimace. "I did nothing of the sort. I only came tonight because I couldn't find you in your room. I grabbed this mask at the last second so that I wouldn't stand out like a sore thumb." Pulling Brielle off the dance floor, Erik moved to a slightly quieter spot near one wall. "You will explain why you thought I had planned on meeting you here."

Her flushed cheeks draining a little bit of their color, Brielle looked about the room, at a complete loss. "I went back to my room after the performance and found a box with this dress in it. There was a typed note that asked me to come here tonight. I only assumed it had been you to send it seeing as you are the only person who would ask me to meet him anywhere."

"No, not the only person," Erik ground out as he quickly thought of one other culprit. "That damned James Turner fellow was sniffing around you not five hours ago!" Black crashing waves of raw fury seared through his body at the thought of the other man's unmitigated gall. "I will kill him… I warned him before, but by God this time I will kill him!"

Looking alarmed at his dark expression, Brielle grabbed hold of his arm. "Erik! Don't you dare!"

Turning with deadly intent from her, Erik quickly scanned the surrounding area. "Stay here. I will be right back," he commanded as he shrugged out of her grip and shoved his way back into the crowd.

Dimly hearing his name called over the noise of the party, Erik spotted his target sipping punch across the room. Without pausing, the masked man plowed toward the refreshment table, coming up behind Monsieur Turner in record time. In one fluid movement he took hold of the other man's collar and shoved him back against the wall, concealed from most onlookers by a series of tall potted plants.

"Did I not warn you earlier to stay away from Madame Donner?" he hissed, through clenched teeth, practically lifting the other man off the floor as he slammed him against the wall again.

Clawing at the hands at his throat, Turner gasped several unintelligible words. After sucking in a shaky breath the man tried again. "Yes, and I have been staying away! I am not an idiot…"

Enraged by the obvious lie Erik lifted Turner another inch off the floor. "Really? You lying sack of shit! Then why did you send her that blasted dress!"

Nearly going purple from lack of air, the tenor shook his head frantically. "I didn't…I didn't send her anything! You have the wrong man!"

Pinching his mouth into a thin white line, Erik lowered the man to the ground. "Do not lie to me further. I know it was you! You were the one who was asking her to this dance earlier… of course you sent it!"

Gulping in several deep breaths, Turner continued to shake his head. "It isn't what you think. You didn't give me a chance to explain earlier!"

Narrowing his eyes, Erik snarled, "Then explain now!"

Staring up at Erik as if he were the Devil himself James hurried to comply. "I have no romantic designs upon your lady! I only wished to ask of her a favor. I am new to France and am not very clear on the proper way to introduce myself to a woman here. I thought to ask Madame Donner to help me get her employer's attention. That is all I wanted! I just wanted her help!"

Hearing a ring of truth in the singer's words, Erik took a step back. "You wanted Brielle to help you speak with Carlotta?"

"Yes! Madame Carlotta is… difficult to approach. And since they seem to be friendly to one another I had hoped…" Trailing off there, Turner shot Erik a wary glance. "You are not going to choke me again, are you, Monsieur?"

"No, of course not!" Erik snapped. "If you want to talk to Carlotta just do it on your own."

Edging away from Erik, James slid sideways along the wall. "Yes, of course…" Turning quickly the singer bolted, running like a madman for safety.

His temper slowly draining out of him, Erik reached up to scratch his head in confusion. "If it wasn't him then who was it?"

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Left staring in shock after Erik's quickly diminishing form, Brielle shouted his name several times in a bid to call him back from his rampage. Stepping forward, she made an attempt to follow him through the crowd, but her small form and wide skirts hampered her movements. Irritation at being left behind thrummed through her body as she gave up. Raising a hand up to readjust her mask, she stood on her tiptoes, hoping to at least see what mayhem he was going to cause on the other side of the room. God a-mighty he better not kill anyone! Not in the middle of a blasted party!

Worriedly biting her bottom lip, she silently cursed James Turner and his stupid dress. Well maybe not the dress... it does look very good on me. Looking down at herself she sighed. I should have kept my mouth shut about that blasted note! But then… how was I supposed to know that that insolent singer would actually go so far. I mean how in the world did he guess my size? Only someone who knows me well would know something like that…

Shaking her head, Brielle turned to the side and slowly began weaving her way in the direction she had seen Erik go. As she moved through the crowd, she felt the slide of people's eyes upon her, so she didn't think it odd when her skin began to prickle in response to the scrutiny. But as time ticked by, Brielle became increasingly aware of the creeping feeling of being watched. Different than the passing glance of a stranger, the freezing cold touch of eyes upon her was more specific, more purposeful.

Stopping in her tracks, she looked around for the culprit behind her odd feeling, but found the search very difficult; the wide assortment of masks and costumes made it impossible to pinpoint exactly where everyone's eyes were focused. Rubbing both her arms to dispel the gooseflesh growing there, Brielle tried to ignore the growing sense of malice she felt floating through the air. With her stomach doing flip flops inside her, Brielle clenched her teeth and started through the crowd again, more determined than ever to reach Erik in all haste. She was beginning to get the very distinct impression that she should not be alone.

Smiling politely, she apologized to two gentlemen as she squeezed between them, a flutter of unexplainable panic rushing through her blood. Just as she could see the far wall where she thought Erik must be, a gentle gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm, drawing her to an immediate stop. Her heart jumped up into her throat, cutting off her air for one painful moment. Gasping in a breath, she knew even before she turned around that the hand upon her arm was not Erik's.

Turning her head slowly she looked up into a plain, full-faced black mask. Only the man's eyes were visible through the disguise, and for a brief moment Brielle thought he was simply an overzealous partygoer. But as those eyes glittered down at her like a raven's wing in the sun she could feel the floor drop out from under her. Andrew! she thought blankly, too shocked, too panicked to move.

The harsh darkness of his eyes softened ever so slightly as he raised his other hand up to brush tenderly across her cheek. The touch sent prickling terror shooting through her system, jolting her out of her shock. Jerking backward, her mouth opening on a scream, Brielle pushed against her captor with both hands. She would have made more progress fighting against a brick wall, for her efforts hardly made an impact. Shifting the hand from her cheek to cover her mouth, Andrew's grip on her arm tightened as he subtly dragged her toward the edge of the crowd.

"I would not fight if I were you," he said quietly, in a pleasant conversational tone of voice.

Biting down on the fingers he had covering her mouth, Brielle ignored his warning. "I will scream and Erik will come and choke you with your own disemboweled intestines!"

Shaking his head, Andrew tsked her reaction. "Go ahead then," Andrew replied, still in that same insufferable polite tone. "But know that if you should choose such a path that you will never see your daughter again as long as you live."

Choking on the breath she had sucked in to use to scream at the top of her lungs, Brielle clamped her mouth shut. Her first instinct was to disregard his threat, but something about the sudden chill she saw in his eyes gave her pause. "What did you just say?"

Continuing to usher her along by the arm, like a naughty child, Andrew inclined his head slightly to one side. "While you were busy out here I took possession of my niece."

"You are… you are lying! I left her with a friend. Marie would never have given her over to you!"

Shrugging, Andrew didn't even pause as he continued to move her toward a side door near the back of the room. "I am sure you are right. My progress in retrieving you was much hampered by the misplaced loyalty the people here seem to feel for each other. At first, anyway… but, you see, I called in a favor from someone I knew already working here. He turned out to be… most helpful in getting her away from the backstage hooligans... even if he later proved to be most disappointing."

Clawing at the hand upon her arm, Brielle shook her head. "No… I do not believe you."

Sighing heavily, Andrew reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a length of patterned blue ribbon, ribbon Brielle had tied into Aria's hair earlier that day. Her face draining of all color, Brielle felt her legs give out from under her. Sickening waves of panic churned wildly within her stomach as her beleaguered mind slowly began to grasp the full scope of the horrifying trap closing in around her. He has her… he has her… oh god!

Immediately wrapping a supportive arm about her waist, Andrew didn't even miss a step as he practically carried her through the crowd. No one so much as gave them a second glance as they broke free of the main party area and crossed the marble floor to the side door. Looking like a gentleman helping his flushed companion to a less crowded area, Brielle knew no one would think something ill was happening. Hopelessly looking for Erik's tall figure, Brielle didn't even see anyone she knew who she could secretly signal for help.

Reaching up to slide the black mask from his face, Andrew aimed a smile down at her. "See now how pleasant we can be together if we try? I am glad you have decided to come easily… I do not like having to see you in pain… and truly I did not want to cause you any. It is better this way."

What can I do? What can I do? If I fight he will take my daughter from me… If I do not fight he will take me too… I would rather die than going back to living in fear of him… I cannot live in the same house as the man who killed John!

"If you truly felt that way you would leave me be! Please, Andrew… you have always claimed that you love me, but if you did you would let me go! Please, please let me go!" Brielle pleaded desperately, trying to stall for time as Andrew pulled her ever farther away from the safety of the crowd.

Pausing for the first time since he had taken hold of her, Andrew turned to look back at her, a crease marring his smooth brow. After a moment he shook his head and smiled. "You are trying to confuse me, but I will not let you. I know my purpose… now more than ever. We are fated to be together, you and I… ever since I first saw you I knew that. I felt it to the very bottom of my soul. I knew you could be the very thing to fill in the blank spots within me. Help me become better than what I am… better than John could have ever hoped to be."

Stopping there, he looked sharply over his shoulder as if looking for someone. "And he cannot scare me now, no matter how hard he tries. The fire didn't work but the bullet did… he is dead…dead."

Leaning as far away from him as she could, Brielle could only stare up at him as a new horror dawned upon her. "You are mad… you have lost your mind!"

Ignoring her statement with a practiced air Andrew simply reached out and opened the door in front of them, easily pushing her through without another word. "It is all right that you feel frightened now. I understand that it isn't your fault. Your kind heart makes you weak to the manipulations of others. Once we are married you will see the right of my way of thinking."

"I will never marry you! You killed John, your own brother. You are a murderer!"

The pleasant expression upon his face morphed into a black sneer in the matter of a few seconds. Gripping her arm in a bruising force, Andrew brought his face down close to hers. "Do not threaten me! And do not forget your position in these matters! Not only do I have your daughter in my possession but I also have legal custody of her. It was easy to do… The Donovan name carries a great deal of weight in Paris…"

Shutting her mouth, Brielle felt very close to being physically ill. This cannot be happening… Erik where are you? I need you! Turning her eyes to the ground she missed the sharpness in Andrew's expression as he studied her.

"You are thinking of him right now, aren't you?" the young lord snapped, dropping his hand away from Brielle's arm. "I can tell from your face! Stop it!"

"You may be able to force me to go with you because you threaten my daughter, but you will never be able to control my thoughts, Andrew! I will think of who I please and there is nothing you can do about it!" Brielle shouted, finally losing what self control she had left.

Raising both hands up to tangle roughly in his own hair, Andrew spewed out a series of curses as he stalked a step away from her. Turning back toward her with an unbalanced gleam in his eyes he reached out and clamped his hands on both sides of her face, pressing his fingers painfully against her skin. "Then I will press him right out of your head. With my bare hands I will squeeze every thought of him into nothingness!"

Gasping at the violence in his actions, Brielle tried to dislodge his hands; pulling ineffectually against his arms she finally resorted to kicking him in the shins. "Let go! Let go!"

The scuff of a footfall sounded from a spot directly behind her, but before Brielle could hope that she would be rescued a cold voice cut through the quiet of the hall. "My lord, though you may do as you like, I am sure you would come to regret killing the woman you have spent so much time pursuing."

Releasing her face after a moment's pause, Andrew stumbled away from her. Falling backward, Brielle fell flat on her behind, several coils of her hair falling free of their pins to hang haphazardly about her face. Looking over at the man who had just stepped out of the shadows to join them, Brielle felt her stomach drop. Whoever this stranger was, he was clearly not there to help her in any way. Feeling the sting of frightened tears begin to burn behind her eyes, Brielle raised shaky hands up to pull her mask from her face.

"Thank you for reminding me why we are here, Beaumont. For a moment… I had forgotten," Andrew murmured flatly, obviously shaken by his own erratic behavior.

"You will not get away with this, Andrew. I do not care how many people you have working for you. In the end you will not get away with this!" Brielle stated with certainty from her spot upon the floor.

"I have already gotten away with it, Brielle… you simply have yet to accept the truth of that."

"Erik will look for me!"

"Not if he is dead…" Andrew replied, sharing a secret smile with Beaumont.

Realizing the role of the other man, Brielle raised a hand up to cover her pounding heart. "You are going to kill him!"

"Yes, I am going to have him killed," Andrew breathed with relish.

Staring up at the monsters standing over her, Brielle wondered how either one of them could freely pass down the street. Knowing what was inside each of them made it hard for her to imagine that they could ever truly be mistaken for men ever again. I cannot go with him… I have to risk fighting… he will kill us all in the end. He has lost his mind… First it will be Erik…then Aria…then me… he won't stop until we are all dead.

Pulling back her arm, Brielle tossed her mask at Andrew's face as she awkwardly scrambled to her feet. Screaming at the top of her lungs she raced back the way they had come, making it to the door into the ballroom before a pair of vise-like arms wrapped roughly around her waist. Grappling for the door handle with her attacker, she managed to pry it open several inches before the man Andrew had called Beaumont slammed it shut again. Lifting her up as if she were a rag doll, the man practically tossed her away from the door, using none of the finesse Andrew had tried to employ when leading her from the dance floor. Skidding painfully across the floor, Brielle bumped the back of her head against the floorboards. With her head spinning, she tried to get up again, but was pushed to the floor by a hand between her shoulder blades.

"Blast you, be more careful!" Andrew shouted furiously at the man holding her down.

Looking up with a glare, Beaumont remained where he was. "I was, my lord. Usually when I stop someone from escaping they stop breathing by the time they hit the floor."

"Take your God damned hands off her!" Andrew bellowed, reaching out to grab Beaumont by the collar, jerking him roughly away from where Brielle lay sprawled on the floor.

Incensed, Beaumont pushed the young lord away from himself. "It isn't like you weren't just a few moments ago trying to crush her skull between your hands, you crazy bastard!"

Andrew opened his mouth to respond, but the metallic click of a hammer on a gun being cocked had everyone in the darkened hall freezing. "Shut up the two of you or your brains will be a decorating the floor!" a deep voice commanded from a few feet away, the fury dripping from every word thick with an Irish accent.

Sitting up slowly, her head still spinning from when she had cracked it against the floor, Brielle felt the first cleansing wash of relief rush through her. "Conner!"

Stepping out from behind a wide stone column, the familiar shape of her brother came into full view, his green eyes glittering like broken glass in the dim light as he leveled the weapon in his hand at both Andrew and Beaumont. "Get up slowly, Bri, and come toward me."

"How did you find me?"

His teeth flashed brightly as he allowed a quick humorless smile. "Happened to be on the other side of that door over there when it popped open a few minutes ago. Saw you fighting with some man so I took another way around and found you here."

Glaring at Conner murderously, Andrew kept his hands stiffly at his sides; Beaumont, looking distinctly calmer, stood with both hands up in a sign of surrender. "Conner… you really shouldn't be getting involved in another man's domestic disputes," Andrew growled.

"Oh shut it! What domestic dispute? You have never been and never will be married to my sister… what we have here is an assault, and I plan to bring the both of you to justice for attacking Bri."

Throwing back his head with a slightly unhinged cackle, Andrew wrapped his arms about his waist. "I own the police in Paris! Do you honestly think they will listen to you!"

"No… That is not the sort of justice I was speaking of. People have their own brand of law and order here, you see… They take care of their own…That is why I had Meg go to find Erik. You know they say he has all manner of torture devices down in the cellars here. You could scream yourself hoarse and no one would ever hear you down there."

Losing his smile along with some of his color, Andrew glanced around nervously. Seeing no one approaching yet, he turned back to Conner, slowly regaining some of the cool disdain in his expression. "So until the reinforcements arrive you are the only thing to keep us under control."

"Yeah, me and about six bullets just waiting to blow off your knee caps."

Closing his eyes with a smile, Andrew dropped his hands from his middle. "Good…" Without pausing he brought one hand up casually, the gleam of metal clutched in his fist barely discernible in the darkness. Before anyone could even blink, there was a deafening roar and a quick flash of light as Andrew fired off the pistol he had taken from his jacket when he was laughing.

Conner's mouth opened in surprise at the noise. Standing utterly still for what seemed like forever, he slowly looked down at the blossom of crimson appearing against the shoulder of his jacket. His own gun falling to the floor from a now numbed hand, the Irishman sank to his knees. Cursing hollowly he pressed a hand against the wound, his face going deathly pale, his body stilling.

"NOOO!" Brielle shrieked, as she watched a dark puddle begin to spread under her brother's slumped form. "No, no!"