Chapter One

Countryside of France, 1886

The manhunt and every despicable element associated with it was a stumbling block to Erik’s well-laid plans.

For years he existed as the Phantom of the Opera, living in the haunting silence of a world he had built several stories beneath the Paris streets. His underground sanctuary, part womb part tomb, had sheltered him from judging eyes of man and the life his fate had denied him. The monstrosity of his face made him confident no woman would have ever turned to him with longing in her eyes.

That is until he met Anna, and currently, her eyes had narrowed to pinpricks.

“Absolutely not!” Erik spat back at her. Unmasked, he scowled, taking full advantage of the fact that she could see the displeasure on his face.

Anna ignored his suffering and stared toward the center of their latest camp. Dozens of wayward misfits danced happily from partner to partner as music filled the air.

“You need to get used to these communal camps,” Anna insisted. “We can’t stay in villages or fancy hotels. Fugitives don’t have that luxury.” She grabbed his hand and leaned all her weight away from him in an attempt to coax him into the crowd. It was like a feather trying to tug a freight train.

Erik didn’t budge but yanked his hand back. “I will not, you insolent shrew.” He pointed toward the crowd ignoring the roll of her eyes. “These camps are nothing short of slums, and that type of dancing is barbaric. I will say nothing about that music!”

“It is not. The contredance is a way of meeting and greeting.”

Erik blocked Anna’s enthusiasm with folded arms.

“Fine, suit yourself,” she dismissed. “But I’m spending tonight enjoying what fun I can while the authorities aren’t nipping at my heels.”

Erik glowered as Anna stomped toward the center of the camp her long braid swaying against the top of her rump. Damn her and her eternal optimism. Perturbed, he spun toward their fire, took up a log and slammed it down on the flames. Orange sparks twisted their way to the stars as he dropped to the ground. These camps were demoralizing, and Anna’s comfort with it was getting on his nerves. This was not the direction their life should have gone in.

How many campfires had past since they fled the Opera Garnier? Erik huffed under his breath and pulled a horse blanket around him. As if it mattered. There’d only be more camps, so why bother counting? He rolled his left shoulder, working out the stiffness the cold air sank into his bones. The night chill beckoned him to shift closer to the fire.

Stretched beside it, he propped himself up on one arm and ignored the carousing of the other travelers. A fine layer of ash began to coat the music sheets spread on the ground before him, turning his work a sooty gray. Notes usually flew from his mind at night, but now they were locked in his head, trapped there by his wretchedly pessimistic mood.

Blowing his attitude out on a sigh, he rolled to his back and studied the stars trimming the sky, jealous that their steadfast glow remained unchanging night after night. He used to be a wealthy maestro burrowed like a mole in the cellars of an opera house. Now, what was he; nothing more than a fugitive composing by a campfire, wrapping himself in a vulgar horse blanket? He couldn’t possibly be missing that theater?

Depressive vaults.

Rubbing his unmasked face, he moved back to his side. The heat from the flames warmed the sunken hollows of his cheeks until they burned.

This must be what it felt like to be in hell.

Laughter swirled around him. Erik seethed to hear it. He searched for Anna through the crowd, finding her skipping from man-to-man and woman-to-woman. She was entirely comfortable in the life he thought degrading. Erik groaned. He wanted to relax with her; he was no stranger to life on the run. The problem was the more extensive the manhunt, the more significant his guilt over involving her in the first place.

Erik wasn’t used to feeling guilty.

She stood at the end of the line smiling with the rest of the vagabonds. Her tiny hands clapped to the music, exhibiting the endless hope that had restored his faith in the human race. Their eyes locked. Anna tilted her head in a last attempt to coax him into her world.

Erik frowned, uncomfortable, even at such distance, to allow her to see him vulnerable.

The flames swayed back and forth as he snatched up a stick and stabbed a log. Erik watched the tip blaze yellow then the area around the wood grow dark as her name seeped into his mind again: Christine Daaé, the Vicomtesse de Chagny.

This manhunt is your fault. I hope you are comfortable wining and dining on all the things I long to give Anna.

Erik pressed too hard, and the stick snapped with a resounding pop. He rammed the rest into the flames; glad the echo of Christine’s name burned to ash like the wood. Reaching beside him, he lifted the black mask that usually concealed his face, except for his thin lips. He hated the feel of it in his hands almost as much as he hated the weight of it on his face. What would life be like had he never crossed paths with Christine again? Would he be here now, the elusive Phantom of the Opera, wanted by half of France for murders and a kidnapping—this time—he didn’t commit?

He slid his eyes back toward Anna. Well, some murders he didn’t commit.

He should never have risen from his blissfully faked death! If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be here feeling sorry for himself, burdened with guilt over the life he was giving Anna and resenting Christine Daaé. Erik threw the mask to the dirt beside him, not liking the feel of it lingering on his fingers.

Contemptuous jailer.

The heat burned his eyes, blurring his vision. Each time he chanced looking up he saw Anna laughing, her feet as light as the song to which she danced.

Damn this manhunt!

Erik punched the ground and threw a fist full of dirt and leaves into the flames. How dare he even think of Christine! He wanted to forget her. Forget every last betraying inch of her!

Jubilant sounds whooped through the air as another dance began, jerking Erik’s attention back to the crowd. Anna wove in and out of her partners not giving a care to anything but the moment.

That did it. He had enough of watching her degrade herself.

Grabbing his mask, Erik replaced it on his face with one fluid motion. It molded to his skull like a second skin. Not stopping until he strode right into the middle of the racket, Erik grabbed Anna’s hand and hauled her from her the crowd. She sputtered her protest, and Erik caught a few gasps from the other travelers, but he chose to ignore them all as he marched her back to their distant campfire.

“Let go of me, Erik!” Yanking backward Anna broke his grip and shoved her small fist under his chin. No easy task considering her size and his height. “Your possessiveness has got to change. What’s the matter with you?”

The gold band around her ring finger caught the firelight and flared almost as bright as the bolts of lightning shooting from her eyes. Swallowing his smile, Erik studied her pout.

He always did find that bottom lip alluring. Her eyes, when they got that weird pinch to them, were another matter.

“The least you can do let me forget that half of France unjustly wants me because of you,” she shouted. “I’ll not stay at your side if you’re not willing to—Ooaf!”

Hooking her around the waist one-handed, Erik tugged her so tightly against him a small puff of air broke through her lips. The blush deepening on her cheeks should silence her flapping tongue. Erik seized on her silence. He brushed her body backward first with one leg, then the next, moving them to the symphonies he wove in his mind. He turned her, holding her like spun silk between them, his eyes sliding down her face until they locked on her lips and the sigh that slipped through.

“What on earth are you doing?” she whispered.

There was a smile in her voice now. The pinch to her eyes gone. The campfire popped and cracked, adding its beat to the music in his mind, while the leaves beneath their feet crunched.

“Dancing,” he replied liking more the confusion on her face. “No opera houses, no masquerades, no disreputable strangers.” He nodded back toward the center of camp. “If we dance, we dance.”

Whether they had an audience of a thousand eyes on a stage lit by limelight or a simple campfire, Erik spared nothing in his imagination for his Anna.

“I see,” Anna said. “You can take the man out of the opera but not the opera out of the man.”

Her eyes shone up at him with that trust he adored. From the moment they met he’d been a man in her eyes, not the monster the world thought he was or the madman he knew himself to be. Erik made easy work of whirling her around the fire. He might have been waltzing with a feather—she weighed nothing in his arms.

“Why do you do such things?” she mused, her mouth slipping open

He wanted every inch of her. Wanted her tiny frame against him, wanted to see the look in her eyes as his heat met hers. He wanted to hear her gasp as he pushed himself far inside her. He stopped, tracing her lips with his thumb before running a finger across the scarred burn on her temple.

“I do it because I love you.”

He breathed her name against her lips possessing them with a slow, circular motion. Erik threaded his hand around her braid and held the base of her head against his passion. The weight of her body slipped to the crook of his arm. Not daring to break their kiss, he pressed one leg between hers and lowered them to the bedroll. He parted her mouth, his tongue stroking hers, stirring embers inside of him that outdid the fire cracking at their side. When he pulled away to study if she desired more, the blush running from her cheeks down her neck rushed a heat across him that made him want to gather her close and not let go.

“Anna—”

She pressed a finger to his lips, stilling his words. Her hands lifted to his face. Erik’s breath hitched as she dropped his mask the ground.

How she could look on his monstrous face with such love in her eyes, he’d never know.

“Anna.” With the husky sound of her name, she surrendered completely to him. Erik paused in his worship just long enough to press his desire against her and say, “We dance.”

Only a few hours and the pink light of dawn separated Erik from the night he salvaged to another unpredictable morning on the run. Most travelers had left hours earlier, leaving just he, Anna, and an annoying old man to pick through the remains of the camp.

Erik inspected the contents of an abandoned sack. Various items hit the ground as he flipped each aside, baffled to the senselessness of most of them. He tossed a rusty cup and a useless key. Disgusting that he had to resort to picking through trash to find things that might be of use, but as Anna said, fugitives didn’t have a life of luxury. Nor did it seem they had any peace.

An annoying out of tune melody broke through his cynical thoughts, making Erik sneer in the old man’s direction. That irritating whistling was starting to shred his nerves. Erik did his best to focus on the task at hand lest he twist the old timer’s vocal cords in a knot.

The leftover loaf was a foolish thing to leave. That Erik would take, though doing so frustrated him to the point pain raced up his jaw as he clenched his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to lay a fresh platter of jams before Anna and offer her a warm, satisfying cup of coffee in the morning instead of near rock-hard bread.

What he wouldn’t give to rip the lips off of that old man.

Erik shoved the loaf under his arm and upended rest of the sack. A flash of color caught his eye as a ribbon drifted lazily toward the ground; plucking it from the mud, Erik ran it over and under his fingers in one long, undulating wave of color. Someday he’d buy Anna the most exquisite dress in all of Paris. He’d walk arm and arm with her through the Bois and after their stroll; he’d find a milliner and purchase her a fashionable hat to match the dress.

For now, a discarded hair silk would have to do.

Tucking the muddy ribbon in his pocket, he glanced around the camp one last time until his eyes locked with the grubby traveler. The old man hitched one shaggy eyebrow, making Erik’s jaw stiffen even more. He was about to tell the nosy songbird to mind his own business when Anna’s shout echoed across the camp.

“Put it down! That pack is ours!”

“Not any longer,” came a gruff reply. “Don’t come one step closer. I’m warning you! Back off, you little bitch!”

A dull thud followed by her sharp cry made the old man’s whistling come to an abrupt stop. Erik’s attention shot over the old man’s shoulder and instantly the world filmed red. He spied Anna tumbling to the ground near the remains of last night’s fire, just as the other traveler pulled his hand back to strike her again.

“Pig!” Anna cried, regaining her balance and coming up swinging. Her small hand fired off a poorly aimed punch in retaliation that angered her assailant off more.

The loaf and sack hit the ground as Erik propelled himself across the camp, blood pounding in his ears. He saw nothing but murder when the vagabond grabbed Anna’s fist mid punch and flung her to the ground a second time.

On the bastard in a second’s time, a vicious growl writhed from behind Erik’s teeth. The scum tried to gargle out a cry of shock, but Erik’s hand encased his throat. Beneath his fingers, the flesh of the stranger’s windpipe collapsed as the man struggled for control.

“I swore that my days of murder were over,” Erik snarled. “However, if I cross paths with you again I will rip your throat out and feed it to the next pathetic creature I come across. Understand?”

The man clawed at Erik’s hand and nodded, his eyes bulging into terrified white orbs. Erik backed him away from Anna, his hand still tight around his miserable throat.

“Wait,” Anna spat struggling to her feet. Planting herself in-between the arms-length space of her assailant and Erik, she looked the jerk right in the eye before ramming her knee up hard and fast. A cry tore out his mouth full force as Erik released his grip and shoved him backward.

“I hope you can’t piss for a year!” Anna shouted as the man staggered, fast as he could, toward the tree line.

Erik watched in gathering dismay as Anna, back still to him, rubbed her hands down the sides of her dress. A sure-fire sign she’d been rattled. “Anna?” he called, surprised at the gentleness to his voice. It didn’t match seizing in his chest.

She turned to him, shoulders heaving, and breath coming far too fast. His heart didn’t slow any either as she gingerly prodded her reddened cheek. Her brave scowl evaporated as she winced.

“Come here.” Guiding her into him, he held her close. “We need to move. He was not one of the usual wanderers.”

With Anna’s hand locked firmly in his, he whistled for their stallion to follow. Dutifully, the stolen beast obeyed. As they passed the old man, Erik sneered at the loaf sticking triumphantly out from under one arm.

So much for their breakfast.

The old man’s brow lifted high as the stallion ambled passed him. Erik followed the traveler’s gaze to the bridle, and the coat of arms of its former master still emblazed upon it. It wasn’t easy schooling his anger but wasting his extraordinary temper on an old man was not worth the self-loathing it would cause.

Fury this profound was best spent directed at the Vicomte de Chagny.

In her short twenty-three years, there was not much in which Anna had not seen. She wasn’t a hardened criminal, instead a product of her upbringing. One does what one must to survive, especially when the child of one of Europe’s most infamous con-artists. Anna turned her back on that life years ago, preferring to spend her days repenting by ministering to the less fortunate. Had she known doing so would drop her in the lap of a man as notorious as the Phantom, she would have thought twice about a lot of things.

“Let me kill him,” Erik begged.

“No.”

“Let me kill him?”

“Phrasing it as a question doesn’t change the answer.”

“Please, just this once, let me kill him?”

“Just this once? What sort of sick comment is that?”

“Let me kill him!”

“No!”

Anna’s harsh whisper scattered the leaves on the ground where she lay. Safely off the road hidden by a cluster of trees, she kept her face low and her focus on her target. The nearby sound of their horse chewing on grass, made her stomach growl and shored up her determination that for once, she’d have a decent meal. It had been days since their last communal camp, and if she crammed another berry in her mouth, she’d vomit. The grass beneath her tickled her nose, the damp ground soaked her dress, and Erik tried her patience. Though he lay next to her, his focus rested on a more substantial less adorable target than a rabbit. This was not a good day. She should have stayed behind in their last camp.

Anna remained calm under the faint out-of-tune whistling that was making Erik irritable. She’d been fighting the temptation to thrust a dagger into his ear because of it all day. It would put both of them out of their misery. His moaning about the injustice done to music was nothing compared to the crimes against her stomach. Her gaze swept across the rabbit and back toward the road in search of that old man and his jaunty tune, but she came up empty. The traveler had stuck to them like an unwanted tick. They thought they had lost him around the last bend, but no luck. His tune grew louder, as did the lopsided clip of his old mare. As soon as the sway-backed horse appeared in the distance, Erik scrambled.

“I am going to kill him!”

“If you don’t get back down here I’m going to kill you.” Anna reached up one handed and yanked him back down to his knees.

A seductive groan rumbled out his lips as he dropped to the ground. “Is it odd to be aroused by that comment?”

Anna closed her eyes as she counted to five. “Erik, the only thing you are arousing right now is my temper.”

When she opened her eyes, Anna ignored his expression. The mask hid the eyebrow he raised, but he had done so. Every nuance of Erik’s body read like an open book to her. She understood the odd tilts of his head, the tremble of his fingers, and the particular ways his lips would move with his mood. The humor he found in her idle threat went unappreciated, and she turned her attention toward the task at hand. At times like this, when her stomach was gnawing her from the inside out, she had no patience for Erik’s unpredictability. As much as she wanted to blame him for her hunger, she couldn’t. The roles she played in the manhunt were just as shocking as his.

The rabbit was starting to hop toward the road making Anna uncoil a sheer length of silk wrapped around her wrist. Mud ground into her dress as she began to crawl, turning faded blue to sludgy brown. Her arms and legs moved with military precision. Not a sound rustled from her clothing. Her eyes narrowed as her mouth moistened over the idea of a freshly charred rabbit.

“I beg you, Anna,” Erik groaned. “Let me kill him?”

Mother of God, she was going to strangle him! Anna rolled onto her side launching a fistful of leaves and mud at Erik’s face. The rabbit scurried off.

“Now look what you did! That was my dinner!” She rolled onto her back, whining to the treetops. “Erik, I’ve not slept. I’ve not eaten. I’ve not bathed in days, and you’re not helping! You’re inches away from meeting your maker.”

“Wonderful.” Erik flicked a clump of mud off his shoulder and waved a hand over his mask. “There is the small matter of my face I have meant to discuss with Him.”

Anna lunged forward imagining herself pummeling some sense into him when additional hooves blended in with the approach of the old mare. Freezing for a second, Erik and Anna shared a panicked looked before he grabbed her close and rolled them farther into the underbrush.

“Anna,” he whispered, holding her tight atop his chest, “where is our horse?”

Barely looking up through the thin wall of branches that hid them, she surveyed the oncoming men. “Out of sight, over by the trees.”

“How many men are there?”

“Three.”

“Can you tell?”

She squinted and lifted herself from Erik’s chest as high as she dared. “Two are Paris authorities, one from Chagny.”

Erik’s hand covered the back of her head and forced her down toward him again. Safe in his arms, she sank into his grip and let her mind go numb. Anna buried her face in his neck, not sure how she would still her breath and prayed hard her pounding heart wouldn’t betray them. She glanced up again when the hoof beats stopped.

The horses circled the graying man and his mare. Anna’s heart lodged in her throat. Their location rested on a salty vagabond. This did not bode well. The old man pulled on his reins and stopped his whistling to stare down the gendarmes. His face, grubby and riddled with wrinkles, puckered when he scowled. The old coot shifted on his horse, a shocking mass of gray hair tumbling every way on his head.

He sniffed loudly. “Can’t continue on my way if you’re blocking the damn road.”

“May we have a moment of your time, Monsieur? We’re looking for some undesirables who may be heading in this direction. Perhaps you’ve seen them?”

“That depends on what you classify as an undesirable.” The old man spat something distasteful off the side of his horse.

The gendarmes’ lips curled. “We’re looking for two people, a petite woman and a tall, masked man known as the Phantom. He’s dangerously insane. He was seen last in this area after attempting to kill a traveler.”

Anna shifted her head enough to glance at Erik’s face. His lip twitched again—not a good sign. It only did that when his anger was reaching disastrous levels.

“You don’t say,” the old man murmured, drawing Anna’s attention his way. He rubbed his wrinkles and scratched his stubble. “I’ve seen them.”

Anna gasped. That rotten old codger! Erik’s arms tightened around her back and good thing they did. “You should have killed him,” she whispered, glancing down to see Erik’s lips stretched into a thin line.

“Can you tell us which direction they went?” a gendarme asked.

The old man passed his hand through his untamed hair. “Yup,” he pointed down the road. “I saw them two days back heading north.”

North? Erik and Anna shared a confused look. Leather cracked as the horsemen shifted in their saddles.

“Are you certain, Monsieur?”

“Yes, I’m certain. I may be old, but I’m not blind.” He leaned over in his saddle and gestured for the men to come closer. “Spunky, little vixen that woman. Piss-and-vinegar. Wouldn’t call her undesirable if you know what I mean.” He laughed, voice rising. “And the man is a hummer. Keeps moving his head about like the damn thing is screwed on wrong. Can’t carry a tune for his life.”

Anna bit her tongue. Erik’s lips were so tight they drained of color. Any longer and he would take perverse pleasure in killing the old goat. A marksman reached into his vest and extended a small pouch.

“Merci, Monsieur. Here is something for your assistance, courtesy of the estate de Chagny.”

Anna and Erik stayed locked together until the gendarme called to his men and thundered down the road and out of sight.

Anna saw old man waved them off, but he never bothered to watch them ride away. Instead, his fingers rippled through the coins like he was the luckiest beggar around. Stuffing the pouch into his pocket, he removed a chewed-up pipe and popped it between his teeth.

“You can haul your sorry asses out of the underbrush now. They’re gone.”

Anna turned to look at Erik, noting his lipped had plumped up and regained color. Anna wiggled free from his arms, but they remained rooted to their spots for a minute before creeping toward the roadside.

The old man slouched in his saddle as Anna brushed leaves from her dress. Caution coiled her stomach as he stared beyond her to Erik.

“Still want to kill me?” he drawled tapping his pipe on his teeth.

“Who are you, old man?” Erik studied him out of the corner of his eye as Anna retrieved their stallion.

“Just that. An old man. Who are you?”

Erik replied with another question. “Why are you following us?”

“Not following you. I’m going in the same direction.”

Anna approached with their horse equally curious as to his mindset. “Why did you do that?”

A grin spread from across his face, making his loose flesh pile into mountains of wrinkles. “Because you’re entertaining and I don’t have much in life to entertain me.” He clicked to his mare and started down the road, in the lead for a change. “Now—I have money jingling in my pocket, and there’s a village nearby where I’m sure there’s food with no fur still on it. You look like you could use a good meal and I need a smoke. Either follow or lead, but no matter what, I’m whistling.”

Erik and Anna stared incredulously at the mare as it plodded down the road ahead of them before mounting their stallion. They followed for a while, eventually letting the horse fall into step next to the mare.

“I hum in tune,” Erik snapped, making the man laugh so heartedly Anna rocked back against Erik’s chest.

“See, that’s entertainment. You two obviously have trouble following you around, and he’s concerned about me insulting his humming.”

“Men have died for less, old man,” Erik threatened.

“Pappy. Not old man. And if you’re going to kill me I’d like to know your name.”

Anna had years of experience on the open road, but even a novice traveler could tell that those wrinkles in the old man’s brow came from years of seeing much and fearing little. Anna twisted to glance over her shoulder at Erik. She relaxed when the left side of his lip drew down.

Good. He was only scowling this time.

“Erik,” he replied. “Just Erik.”

“Well, Just Erik, if you don’t mind, I’m going to whistle now.”

That was the last word for a long while. Any conversation Erik and Anna may have shared as they roamed the dusty roads ceased. Each was too absorbed in trying to make sense of the unflappable curmudgeon who seemed determined to upend their status quo. Apparently the idea that they were wanted fugitives didn’t concern him. Ann couldn’t tell if her stomach rolled out of wariness over that or hunger. Despite it all, she couldn’t help but suppress a grin as Pappy launched into another tune. Tramps were a unique sort. Anna had met quite a few in her years roaming the countryside as a runaway. Consequently, none of Pappy’s random tales, strange observations, or lively tunes bothered her.

They wandered down the main thoroughfare of a country village, stopping when Pappy dismounted outside a small pub. Raucous laughter and even worse music spilled into the streets. Erik dismounted first and tied the stallion in line with the other horses. He looked at the entrance and cautiously pulled Anna off the horse.

“We should leave. I do not trust this place, or him.” He jerked his head toward the old man.

Anna’s stomach churned. Granted, the pub was crowded, but she was starving. “Erik, he’s ancient and probably harmless. I’m hungry, please?”

Pappy yanked a worn wool cloak from his saddlebag. “I know what you’re thinking, so here.” The cloak soared through the air until it smacked against Erik’s chest. “That hood is broad enough to keep your face hidden from whatever it is you’re already hiding. I’ve seen some weird things in my life, but wearing a mask seems cowardly to me.”

Much to Anna’s surprise, Erik didn’t argue, instead swung the cloak on and drew up the hood casting his entire face into shadow. Pappy’s expression warped, and for the first time, he seemed unnerved. Anna glanced up at Erik. No wonder. A yellow glow, like two lit candles coming out of total darkness, had leveled a warning on the old man as soon as the hood shrouded Erik’s face. Erik’s eyes, so profoundly set they were nearly unseen, had an inhuman golden-hue when cast into the darkest shadows.

“You should know I do not trust you old man,” he warned.

“Pardon me while I quake in fear,” Pappy grumbled. He entered the pub, giving them no choice but to follow.

The room was dimly lit and smelled of sweat, horses, and the open road. The smoky haze of cigars hovered above most tables as patrons focused on their card games or conversations. Nobody seemed to care about the new customers except for the bartender who nodded an acknowledgment. Pappy pointed them to a distant table in a dark corner while he turned to the bar. Once seated and concealed in shadow, Erik and Anna surveyed the room. Backs to the wall, they relaxed, confident they were not drawing attention. Pappy returned, placing a tray with bowls of stew and a few ales on the table.

“Merci, Monsieur,” Anna said, mouth watering.

“Bitte sehr, Fräulein,” Pappy replied dragging out a chair and groaning as he sat.

She knew it! From the first moment they passed the old man on the road, she suspected him to be German but didn’t want to approach the idea lest she ignite Erik’s already aggravated temper.

“Prosit?” She raised her glass in cheers. Pappy winked. The flirt.

“Prosit.”

Anna turned to Erik; her mood suddenly brighter than it had been in days. The glower she met smoldered behind his eyes.

“Pardon?” Erik rumbled.

“Nein, entschuldigen, Sie,” Anna corrected.

She’d been making attempts for weeks to break through his distaste for Germans and get him to learn her native tongue. It wasn’t an easy task for an Austrian to win over a Frenchman, given politics.

“Erik, you’re going to have to learn sometime.” They’d never make it out of France and to the Austrian border with any ease if he didn’t. Anna gestured to her right. “Pappy here is German.”

“Prussian,” Pappy corrected.

Erik grabbed the mug in front of him, his already pallid knuckles turning even whiter. He looked ready to launch the stein at Pappy’s head. “Wonderful,” he rumbled

“Wünderbar,” Anna corrected between mouthfuls of saucy stew.

“See, there’s that entertainment again.” Pappy lit his pipe and took a long, contented puff. He took a good look at both of them. “You’re an odd sort. The yarns I could spin about the pair of you could be endless entertainment at the next communal campfire. So, are you going to fill me in on the details as to why you apparently have half of France breathing down your necks?”

Erik pushed his stew away. Anna greedily slid it toward her bowl.

“No,” he replied.

“Come on, you’ve told me enough to whet my curiosity. When first we met, you said you were a murderer, maestro, magician, and mastermind. Who’d you kill?”

Anna kept her mouth shut and poked at a potato as Erik leaned across the table. She thought about calming his foul mood, but what good would it do; when Erik wanted to intimidate, he could be as stubborn as a mule. Anna had a feeling he’d be on the losing end this time. She popped the potato in her mouth.

“That depends, old man,” Erik replied. “Which murder are we talking about?”

The potato went down her throat sideways. She wasn’t expecting him to be that frank. Anna coughed and looked to Pappy. The buzzard didn’t flinch. She fished for a carrot to cover her grin.

“Let’s keep it focused on the one that irritated France.” A stream of smoke seeped out Pappy’s nostrils making him look like a fire-breathing dragon.

Erik laughed sadistically, drawing Anna’s eyes off Pappy. He slid the back of his cold hand down the length of Anna’s stew stuffed cheek before slinging his arm over the back of his chair.

“Then that would be her father.”

Stew flew from her mouth as she choked. Anna mumbled an apology and reached for a napkin. She could feel Pappy’s eyes drilling into her. It spurred Erik on.

“Or perhaps you speak of the alleged kidnapping of a nobleman’s wife or the so-called murders of the pompous cheats behind the scheme. Pick your poison. Of these crimes, I am mostly innocent.”

“You’re traveling with your father’s murderer?” Pappy’s voice held a hint of concern.

Anna flicked her eyes to Erik. Only she could register the droop to his shoulders that carried the weight of his remorse. They didn’t speak of the past often. It always launched Erik into a pit of self-despair that she’d spend days reeling him out of. There had been too many years Erik spent fighting the side of his persona that labeled him a madman. As much as she wanted him to choose between being a man or a madman, Anna had learned to bury the reminders he had of his madness. Sane or not—she loved him and knew Erik didn’t like being forced to kill.

“What does it matter to you who she travels with?” Erik warned. “She is not your concern.”

“But the man who abducted and killed my only child is.” Pappy shot his attention off Anna to square off eye-to-eye with Erik. For the first time, her appetite soured. “So when I see a seemingly innocent little lady traveling with a man like you—”

“A man like me? You assume I have killed for the pleasure of killing?”

“You know nothing of what I assume.”

It was time to step in, lest the two lock horns. Anna cleared her throat and spoke softly to a piece of celery bobbing in her bowl. “My father wasn’t a very nice man. What Erik did, he did to protect the Vicomtesse de Chagny and me.”

Erik stiffened making Anna instantly regret mentioning that name. He didn’t do so because she revealed too much, no, the posture he had now she’d learned was Erik on the defensive. He fiercely protected the vicomtesse like a wolf does his pack, even if he continually denied it. It vexed her, seeing as the vicomtesse was primarily to blame. Anna chased a boiled onion around her bowl.

“My father is the criminal in all this, not us. It’s none of your business.” Anna stabbed her fork in the onion and pushed her bowl away. She followed Pappy’s glimpse to the gold band on her ring finger.

“I think it is strange you’d travel with a murderer,” Pappy stated. “Don’t you?”

Anna saw the invisible hook Pappy baited, and she wouldn’t bite. She judged people by their character, not their pasts. Erik’s posture wound tighter than a spring the longer they sat there, so Anna wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and leaned toward the old man to break the tension.

“Would you believe he’s a well-skilled lover?”

They way Pappy’s face contorted made her forehead hit the table as she burst out laughing. That was worth every bit of shock it caused. Anna yanked her head up in time to dodge Erik’s arm as it cleared the glasses and bowls from the table. Patrons turned as stew slapped to the floor and dripped off the side of the table. Pappy waved the crowded room off, and the din returned to its usual timbre.

Anna jerked to her feet. “You’d better be damn happy I have a sense of humor over all of this Erik because despite the circumstance it still doesn’t sit well with me.” She wiped her dress free of ale and plunked back in her chair.

“Maestro apparently has a temper?” Pappy asked her but smiled at Erik.

“Hold your tongue, old man,” Erik warned.

“And can’t take a ribbing?”

“I said, hold your tongue.”

Erik’s voice switched to an all too familiar timbre. Nothing would shake him to his senses once that tone came about. Sighing, Anna rose. “My thanks, Herr Pappy. We best continue on our way. You’ve been most kind.”

Erik stood as well. He took Anna’s arm and made a few steps toward the door before turning. “A wise man would not follow us.”

Pappy didn’t seem alarmed by the authority behind Erik’s voice; he appeared more concerned with the manner in which Erik held her arm. Anna saw a world of hurt and fear on his face in that second. Meeting Pappy’s eyes, she laid her hand over Erik’s grip and caressed her thumb across his hand in a loving gesture.

When Pappy nodded, Anna knew she had driven her point home. She was no stranger to wandering. With the old man’s confession of his loss, she couldn’t fault him for his concern. Anna hid a smile as Pappy raised a bushy eyebrow and drew out his heavy German accent.

“And I’m not following you. I’m going in the same damn direction.”