Not exactly an early update, but there's three hours left of Monday according to my clock, so I'll count it as a win!

I know, everything in this story right now seems rather hopeless... not sure this segment will make anybody feel better on that score...

Ahem. Onward!

xxvi

This time he leaned down and placed a small vile beneath her nose, holding it there until Christine gasped and stirred, lurching away from his closeness. Their abductor corked the bottle before standing once more. "I'll inform him that you both are ready." He leaned down, holding Christine's chin firmly in his hands. Even from his position, Erik could see the tears forming in her eyes. The hatred burned through him. "Will you stay in this room or do I have to find a chain to match your fellow's over there?"

Christine looked over at him, and Erik knew with certainty that the only move she would make would be to come to him. To beg for information, for assurance—when in reality, he had so little to offer.

"Can I go to him?" Her voice was small and unsure, and Erik's heart broke a little just to hear it. She should not be asking permission. She should not be reduced to some quivering girl that had to cower and plead for the smallest mercy. She was his sweet girl, cheerful and joyous, with an atrocious taste in footwear.

And he would see her be so again.

Even if, at the moment, he was uncertain how to bring such a thing about.

The man pulled away before nodding. "You won't get him free. But even if you manage it, it'll only mean punishment for you both. Do you understand?"

Christine's lips thinned as she tried to contain a sob. "Yes."

"Good." The man left, and Christine staggered to her feet. Erik watched with growing anger as her limbs refused to cooperate properly, her attempt to reach him punctuated by numerous stumbles. When at last she was as close enough that his chain would no longer prevent him, he stepped closer and drew her into his arms. "I am so sorry, Christine," he murmured brokenly into her hair. With her hands still bound, Christine could not clutch at him as he knew she wished to, instead her fingers grasping at his shirt as she tried to bury herself as closely to him as she could manage.

"I know you are," she assured, her voice choked with tears. "But I don't blame you. You didn't do this. They did."

In this, Erik did not think he was worthy of her absolution. Not when it was history, his negligence, that allowed this to occur.

"Do you know him? That man? Was he... was he here before?"

Erik smoothed a hand through her hair, hoping that they gave him enough time to calm her somewhat before they were forced upstairs. The Shah relished fear, delighted in weakness...

"No, I do not," Erik murmured. "Perhaps he has taken my place in the Shah's favor. I do not envy him for it."

Christine shuddered and remained huddled against him. His head still ached and when they were not immediately summoned, he allowed them both to slide down to the floor, still holding her close, but at least giving his legs the opportunity to rest a moment longer.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this."

Erik pressed a kiss to her temple. "I know."

They were silent, words unnecessary. He could offer her no true assurances, no promises that they would not be harmed. So instead he simply held her until he heard footsteps once more upon the stairs, though this time there seemed to be more than one set descending into their gloomy cell.

The first man returned, eyeing them both carefully. The second differed greatly, all muscles and girth, and he looked at them both with interest. Erik's lips thinned as he regarded him. A man of his size would be difficult to defeat relying merely on hand combat alone. His Punjab lasso would be far more effective. Put a length of catgut around any man's throat, and they all reacted the same. And inevitably, they all died the same.

"Christine, come over here."

Erik's arms tightened about her, and she glanced between Erik and the first man warily. The man raised a lone eyebrow at her—the first having been destroyed by whatever had maimed him—his expression expectant. "I believe we have had this conversation already. Are you going to force me to hurt you? Hurt him?"

Erik hated the way he spoke to her, hated the way her breath hiccupped into a sob before she placed a kiss upon his covered cheek. "Let me go," she whispered softly. "It's going to happen anyway, and I'm not going to have us hurt just to prove we don't take orders."

Erik very much wanted to protest. To keep her to him where he could at the very least shield her body with his own if it came to withstanding pain or punishment. But already she was wiggling from his lap, was moving away from him and over to the two goons, and he hated that most of all.

He eyed them both with barely concealed malice. "Well? Any instructions for me?"

When Christine was close enough, the first man gripped her tightly about the waist, a short handled knife appearing in his other hand. Christine's eyes widened and she looked at Erik with nothing short of abject terror. "You are going to cooperate. Remain on the ground, and extend your hands."

They could not have picked a more effective means of ensuring his cooperation. Perhaps if he was on his own he would protest, would have made some great stand and fought them all. But when his Christine was used as a bargaining tool...

There truly were no options. Not when she would be the one to bear the scar, shed the blood for his own disobedience.

The burly man came forward and produced a zip tie, similar to the one encircling Christine's delicate wrists. He winced as they were tightly secured but said nothing. Next his shackle was undone, and he was bid to rise and follow them upstairs. "I will not hesitate to hurt her, Erik. I hope you realize that."

He was hurting her enough by holding her so closely when she clearly wanted him nowhere near her. So Erik nodded and acquiesced, ascending the stairs and following quietly as they made their way through the maze that was once the Shah's primary residence.

It had changed little over the years. It was cleaner than the basement room had been, but it did show sign of age and a lack of maintenance. The marble floors once shone with the countless hours of effort that a crew of maids devoted to them. Now they were scuffed and dull, as if many feet had trampled over them, no care shown for their upkeep. Not many of the lights were employed, which to Erik was not a terrible thing. Should the opportunity for escape present itself, shadows would prove a beneficial addition—a thing of shelter should he require them.

He knew which room they came to before the man holding Christine even opened the door. He supposed in the original design, this was meant to be a study— a place for thought and introspection, a home for books and quiet evenings. Instead, the Shah had fashioned it as a means of intimidation. A large desk dominated the room from which the Shah would present judgment, the artwork gory depictions of battles during the Crusades. Beheadings, disembowelments, torture—everything to make the one summoned as uncomfortable as possible with hintings of their potential fates.

And as he stood in that room—his wife held firmly to another man's side, a goon eyeing him challengingly, and his former master seated at that ridiculous desk, Erik knew with absolute certainty, he would see all of these men dead.

"Ah, Erik. It has been a long time, has it not?"

The man—the Shah?—was seated at a magnificently carved desk. He was leaning back casually in his chair, as if the occurrence of a husband and wife being brought to him with hands bound was a common happening. Perhaps to him it was.

Christine fought to keep down another sob. Crying would not accomplish anything. Yet she was so very frightened. And angry. For as the way Erik looked at this man, there was no denying that he must be the one that had so damaged her husband. Had twisted his hopes and most basic desires into a weapon. And now they were here, and she wasn't sure that she would be enough to bring him back this time.

Assuming they were not simply killed outright.

She was acutely aware of the knife held firmly against her; another reason she was attempting to control her breathing so a particularly harsh sob would not press the sharpened blade against her vulnerable skin. She wanted to move away, hated to be pressed so intimately against anyone besides Erik, yet to do so would only mean pain.

And she could not risk Erik acting rashly because she was uncomfortable and scared.

"I cannot say that I have missed our association."

The Shah smiled. Perhaps he was a handsome man in the barest sense. But there was an evil in him, a cruelty, that exuded from his every pore and made Christine terribly aware of the danger they were in.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. It simply wasn't.

And yet... it was.

"Samuel, do be so good as to bring our lovely new guest into the waiting room. Apparently Erik requires a refresher on manners."

Christine expected Erik to protest, to plead even as his eyes widened and he looked at her with pity. But instead his attention swiveled to the Shah once more, even as Samuel—the man who had abducted them?—pulled her unwilling frame through a panel in the wall, into a sparse room beyond.

"That is not necessary," Erik informed him stiffly, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. "If you desire to punish me, enact your vengeance upon my person. Not hers."

Christine turned as Samuel urged her forward, and to her horror she finally noted the only adornment to the room was an elaborate pulley system, a pair of handcuffs already waiting to hold her fast. Vulnerable.

"Please, don't," she begged, even as Samuel lifted her sore and aching wrists, not even bothering to undo the zip ties before securing the handcuffs. Her gratitude at the slack in the line was short-lived, as Samuel flicked a switch and her arms were pulled painfully taut above her head.

"If you do not fight me, I won't raise it further so you dangle. Be thankful your feet can still support your weight." His true sentiment was clear. He could make all of this much worse for her—as if she was not so fully aware of that fact. Christine shuddered when she realized if she had not cooperated before, she likely would be in this position still fully naked.

Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She could only see Erik through the doorway, a large piece of glass dominating one wall—the large mirror in the Shah's study? Perhaps it was not a mirror after all.

With the door open, she could still hear them, but she hated being so far, hated what this position meant for her.

"I think it is quite necessary," the Shah assured her husband. "You see, the best way to punish you is to punish her. Didn't I ever tell you, Erik? Love is your greatest weakness."

And with that, he must have pressed a button for an intercom, for his voice echoed through the barren room she occupied.

"Samuel? Bring us a bit of her blood. I think Erik should like to see it."

Sooo... Things can't get much worse, right? *hides under me covers*