Well, I'm updating on time despite a very trying day (I seem to be having a lot of those of late, don't I?) but I'm not sure you're going to thank me for it... not after this...

Onward!

xxv

Christine didn't know what actually woke her, the feel of Erik's slackened body hitting hers or the strange whooshing sound as something penetrated the blessed respite of the first sleep in her new husband's arms.

Her first inclination was not of fear, but of grumbling annoyance, as she very nearly shifted Erik's body, thinking perhaps that he was unused to a bed-mate and simply had rolled on top of her.

But then the man with the gun stepped forward, and she stiffened with terror.

The man lowered the weapon slightly, though her eyes remained transfixed upon it. It wasn't like Erik's. It was strangely fitted and she had not the least idea of what it was capable of doing.

But she had heard it fire...

She frantically shimmied out from underneath Erik's prone figure, looking for blood, for a wound, for him to show some sign of life. And even in the darkness of the room she could make out the unnatural object protrusion in his neck.

A dart.

Not a bullet then.

But was it poisoned?

Horrified that it might be, she plucked it from his flesh, hating the way it almost clung to his tissue, wishing she could clean and bandage the slight trail of blood that was left behind.

She looked back at their attacker, waiting for the sting to hit her next, but instead the man stepped backward, flicking on the overhead light. He wore a mask—nothing nearly as elaborate as some of Erik's. Black and made of knit, he lacked the grace and elegance of her husband.

Christine glanced up at his eyes, only to find them cold and calculating. She shivered, belatedly realizing she was naked. What only a few hours ago had been deliciously thrilling and exciting, now proved mortifying.

She tugged at the sheet, trying feebly to cover her breasts even as she felt a sob welling in her throat. Should she beg? Plead? She had nothing to offer him. No notion of what would appease him or what brought him here in the first place. So instead she sat silently, waiting.

"I'm going to give you a choice," the man stated, his voice calm yet firm. "You may get up and dress yourself and your husband. But to do that, you need to be calm and not fight me. Or, if you prefer, I'll shoot you as well and take you both naked. What will it be?"

Christine eyed their clothes, wanting them desperately. Should she simply run? She didn't know the neighbors, didn't even know where Erik's phone was to be able to summon help.

And if they were to be taken anywhere... she wanted them dressed. Erik's dignity had been imposed upon enough in his life, and she most certainly did not wish to be looked at. Not when she already felt so mortified that her breasts had been so exposed. She shuddered at the mere thought of it.

"Well?"

She cleared her throat and forced down her rising panic. "I'd like to get dressed."

The man nodded. "Go slowly. Make any moves I don't like and you'll get one of these." He waved the gun at her and she did not mistake his meaning.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she got out of the bed, forcing herself not to rush toward her clothes in an effort to cover herself. She eyed her papa's ring on the bedside table, considering. Before she could think better of it, she grasped it, slipping the chain over her head before she could consider the consequences.

She had worn it for the wedding, but when it came time to disrobe and join Erik in the bed, she removed it. It seemed… wrong to have it near when Erik and she were going to be intimate. It was a thing of comfort, a memory, unnecessary when in her husband's embrace.

But now…

Now she needed it.

She fully believed that this man would keep them both nude on principle had she made any attempt to flee, and though she hated the thought of obeying him, she didn't want to be rendered unconscious. Then she surrendered any possibility of being any help at all to her poor Erik.

Her dress was the easiest to reach, and she hurriedly threw it on, foregoing her bra in favor of efficiency. His gaze lingered on her, and though she could not detect any particular degree of lust, she still felt violated by the entire exchange.

Erik proved more difficult to dress. Slight though he might be, his limbs were uncooperative and the man did not see fit to help her. It seemed so strange, to perform this action given the events only a few hours before. There was no time to savor in the exploration, no time to learn all of his flesh now that there was light enough to do so. She felt no shame as she eased first his underwear, then his trousers over his hips and fastened them up properly. Any other time there might have been a fascination, an intrigue into what fashioned the male sex. It had hurt her, there was no denying it. Even now as she moved there was a vivid ache that reminded her of his entry. But now, as she dressed him, as she sorrowed for what was being robbed from them—those tender moments, those delicate memories that would have secured their newly formed bonds—she was glad that they had done it. Especially when the future was now so uncertain.

When at last Erik was fully clothed, the man came toward her and she flinched backward, wary of him. He tucked the dart gun under his arm and produced a black zip-tie. "Hold out your hands."

Wordlessly, she obeyed.

He was not overly harmful, but nor was he gentle as he bound her wrists, the rigid plastic already biting into the delicate skin and making her wince. She didn't complain. There was something... professional about him that made it all worse. A cool detachment that made him seem even more terrifying. He was a man with a task, and he would not be moved by tears or whispered begging. And though they had discussed it in the past, Christine still did not know even the basics of defense.

She looked at her Erik, prone upon the bed, wishing that he'd waken and tell her what to do.

But he didn't.

While she'd dressed him, she'd ensured he still breathed, her fingers lingering at his throat as she did his buttons, grateful to find a heartbeat, firm and insistent. Her Erik lived. For the moment.

She didn't expect for him to act then. To pull out his gun and shoot a dart into her thigh. She cried out at the pain, her eyes wide and fearful, and he looked down at her with those emotionless eyes, uncaring as she crumpled to the ground.

When next she woke, her head ached and her mouth was dry. There was a persistent thrumming in her ears, and her wrists throbbed painfully along with her pulse. She made to sit up, only to startle when a hand pressed her downward. "What did I say about sudden movements?"

Christine blinked, otherwise freezing. Her kidnapper was seated beside her, a book in his hands. Her chair was reclined, the leather of it something fine and comfortable, yet the windows across from her fully suggested they were on an airplane. Her eyes welled as she noticed Erik, still sleeping and sprawled across what appeared to be a sofa, his own hands and wrists just as bound as her own.

This time she slowly sat forward, wanting to go to him, to see if he was still all right. It didn't make sense that she would wake before he did.

"He's fine, for now. Got another dose once we got on the plane."

"Why didn't I?" Her voice was raspy and nearly a croak, and she wondered how much time had passed. She desperately wanted a glass of water.

"You going to do anything that would make me hurt you?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. There was no mistaking that he would if she did not prove compliant.

"He would. But I think you know that."

Christine grimaced. Erik certainly would have. She could already picture his outrage that their little game of pretend, their all too short exchange of marital bliss, had been so cruelly destroyed.

No, not destroyed. That suggested they would not be able to renew it. Delayed. That was all. It simply had to be…

"Can I... can I get some water?"

The man eyed her speculatively for a moment before rising from his seat. Christine glanced over to Erik and decided to risk it, moving from her chair so she could maneuver Erik into a more comfortable position. She straightened out his limbs before sitting on the couch herself, resting his head in her lap.

If her kidnapper was angry at her rearrangement, he said nothing, instead bringing her a bottle of water.

"Thank you," she murmured, not quite looking at him. His eyes unnerved her.

"You should get some more sleep. We've got almost another hour before we land."

Her brain felt a little sluggish still, but the idea of willingly succumbing to sleep wasn't overly appealing. She would stay awake, would watch over her husband. Even if she couldn't do anything, couldn't truly stop this man if he meant either of them harm, it still seemed better to be alert and prepared, just in case.

She took a grateful swallow of water before pouring a little on her finger and wetting Erik's lips. If her mouth felt this dry after only one dose, she hated to think how he would feel after two.

"I'm sorry, Erik," she whispered, smoothing her hand through his hair. She grimaced when her fingers drifted over his mask, almost wishing she had insisted he remove it, though also glad she hadn't. He wouldn't want to be seen like that, not by these people.

How had it all gone so very wrong?

She should be tucked away with him, enjoying their first day, their first night, as a wedded pair. He'd made her feel such things, made her feel so safe and cherished as he'd loved her, his kisses soft and gentle even as he explored her.

"Do you work for the Shah?" she asked, not knowing if it was wrong to speak, but needing to know. That man had tried to ruin her Erik before, and if he did so now...

She did not want to think about what he would have in store for the both of them.

The man continued to stare down at his book.

Christine sighed.

And waited.

And prayed that they would both make it through this alive.

Erik woke with a start. His body ached in ways he had not experienced for years now, his head issuing a thundering reminder of what had transpired, even as his thoughts hastened to catch up. The room was dark, shadowy, and cold. And with a sinking stomach, he recognized it.

His basement room within the Shah's abode.

Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, suggesting that no other unfortunate soul had been forced to reside there in his absence. But then, with Nadir's insistence, the investigation that followed Erik's retirement pushed the Shah into Europe to avoid prosecution.

Erik should have burned this home.

Movement in the corner of the room had him lurching, especially when he noted the familiar lines of his Christine.

She was laying on a pallet. His, he noted with a grimace. He hurried forward, ignoring his protesting muscles, determined to be nearer to her.

Only for a chain to rattle, preventing him from reaching her fully. Erik eyed the offending article with hatred. This too, was familiar. Chained like a dog when not in use, Erik had filled his days down here with whatever he could imagine. Those days were meant to have been over. And they were most assuredly never supposed to have involved Christine. This chain was shorter than the last, preventing him from walking about the room. And most importantly, going to his wife's side to better ascertain her condition.

In years past, he had learned how to pick the lock on his ankle. The supplies they gave him for whenever he felt the urge to actually work on the cursed torture chamber proved useful, and often he would free himself merely to prove that he could. But the locks became more sophisticated, the Shah's temper quicker, and soon he realized he was simply urging the man to call for his demise.

And what frightened Erik was that such had ceased to seem a terrible thing.

Footsteps on the basement stairs alerted him to an intruder, and he forced himself to calm. Anger would excite, exacerbate, and he could not risk Christine. He did not mind a few blows for himself, but with her near...

He made to straighten his tie, only to belatedly notice its absence. With a sinking realization, he did not even recall how clothes came to be on his person. He glanced down, noting the untucked shirt and wrinkled trousers, and quickly righted as much as he could. He saw evidence of abrasion on his wrists. He must have been bound at some point. He glanced toward Christine and noted the harsh, black tie cutting into the reddened flesh about her wrists.

He scowled, then forced his face into neutrality.

He leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, forcing a posture of casual indifference. He was not rattled. He was not afraid.

He could not afford to be.

Already he had failed Christine by not securing their home upon their return from the chapel. Even if he had made the decision to take her to his room instead of hers, there at least was the possibility of him offering her some protection. Instead he had chosen hers. What had meant to offer her some sense of familiarity as together they enjoyed the untried privileges of their marriage bed, proved to be one of his gravest mistakes.

The door of the basement opened, and Christine stirred. He urged her to remain quiet and still, for a moment longer. These people took little pleasure in unconscious individuals. They could not scream.

A masked individual appeared in the doorway. He glanced at Erik briefly before turning to Christine, nudging her with his foot until she groaned.

"Cease troubling the girl," Erik grumbled. He wished to make his tone venomous, to promise the death that would swiftly be supplied once he was free from his bonds. But he could not allow himself to be so rattled. For them to know that their attentions to Christine would cause him the most pain. "Your intended victim is already awake."

The man turned, pulling the crude mask from his face. He was rather unremarkable, aside from the scars that covered a good portion of his right cheek. They did not seem quite consistent with traditional burns, but perhaps those of the chemical variety. Erik merely stared at him steadily. "Well? Shall I be expecting an audience with our master?" Even to his own ears, he detected the bite of bitterness in his tone.

"Soon. He wanted the girl to be awake first."

Fear nibbled at Erik's heart. "For?"

The man looked at him steadily. "You know what for."

Erik closed his eyes. "She does not deserve to be used."

The scarred man shrugged, glancing down at her. "Isn't that the point?"

Sooo... that doesn't sound too good, now does it? What are your thoughts so far?... beyond wanting to harm a certain writerly person...