Page 76 of Angel's Mask

“Well, if Christine’s not bothering with it, I’m not going back to the salon,” Sorelli declared. “Shall we go to my flat? I told the staff to have a late supper ready.”

“That sounds lovely,” Philippe replied. “Raoul, are you coming?”

“In a moment,” Raoul called. Philippe and his coterie moved away down the hall, only Adèle looking back.

Raoul looked around, first to the dressing room – the door where he would have seen Christine leave – and then to the maid and her smug friend. “Are yousurethere’s no other way out of that room?” has asked, remembering the man’s voice and how that villain had disappeared as well.

“I don’t know, Monsieur,” the maid replied. “The Opera is a strange place.”

“Not so strange that people can just walk through walls,” Raoul snapped and to his shock, the girl Jammes laughed.

“You haven’t been around here much, have you?” the dancer sniggered, even as the maid glared at her.

“What are you talking about?” Raoul demanded, but the maid was already tugging the blonde away through the hall. “What did you mean by that!” Raoul called, moving to follow them just as a new visitor emerged from the bend in the hall, coming between Raoul and the females. For some reason, Raoul was not at all surprised to see the foreigner from earlier. He looked as worried and flustered as Raoul felt.

“She’ll be safe!” the maid called over her shoulder as she disappeared.

“Who will be safe?” The foreigner asked, his perfect French surprising Raoul. “Mademoiselle Daaé?”

“You know Christine?” Raoul demanded. Was this him? The man who had spoken to her before? No, he would recognize that voice.

“No, but I had hoped to speak with her,” the man replied.

“Well, you’re too late, she’s gone,” Raoul said. The man’s face grew grim in a way that made Raoul shiver. “Do you know where she might have gone to?”

“Nowhere we can reach her,” the man muttered. Without another word he turned and walked away, leaving Raoul alone in the empty hall with nothing but questions.

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Erik stood frozen,gazing at Christine as she lay in the bed. Inhisbed. He had not planned for this. Since Shaya had left the box, only one thought had driven him: getting her away from them all. From the Daroga and the managers and directors clambering at her door. And more than anything, away from the horrible, handsome boy who had carried her into the dressing room.

And so, Erik had taken her. He’d caught her as she fell and spirited her away into the dark, hypnotizing her with his song and her faith. He had become a strange Orpheus, leading his love into the underworld instead of out of it. The fleeting moments holding her had been maddening and magnificent. He had barely been able to let go. Even now, he wanted to embrace her again, to feel her warmth like the sun.

Her eyes opened, languid and unfocused as she searched for him. She was waiting for him. Waiting for him to reward her, to touch her as he’d promised. He’d told himself on the dark journey home that he would make his confession to her now. But how could he? How could he let her look at him with such trust and love, then break her heart and crush her soul?

“No, close your eyes,” he whispered. He didn’t want to be seen. Not now. Not as he was. Not as a monstrous man who had lied to her. He wanted to remain her angel. Just for a little while longer.

Her eyes closed and Erik’s voice rose in song. The one he knew would inflame her. Their song. She responded immediately, her legs shifting as her hands alit on her bodice. She undid the laces halfway, just enough that she could tug the low collar of her shift to expose her breasts, kneading them as she did.

He followed her lead without thinking, throwing off his hat, cape, and coat; and tearing open the top buttons on of his stifling shirt. He drifted towards her, singing to her in words she did not know, but with meaning she had always understood.“Close your eyes and forget all the world, in the dark you are mine, my love. From darkness you call me, and to darkness I lead you. But you are light, ever mine as I am yours.”

Her warmth called to him, and he was a moth to a flame, doomed and uncaring as he knelt on his bed and finally touched her. She whimpered as his fingers carefully traced the long curve of her neck, then her bare breasts rising and falling with strangled breaths. Without warning, her hand covered his, pressing his palm determinedly against the searing warmth of her skin.

The thrill was so intense that he shut his eyes. He could feel her heartbeat hammering as hard as his as she guided his hand across her breasts and a sigh escaped her lips. His voice was low and rough, praising her and entreating her with his song, and she pulled him closer still. He straddled her without thinking, suddenly trapping her beneath him as he found her unattended breast with his other hand, rolling her nipple between his fingers so that she sighed in delight.

Christine moved her hips beneath him. Not to escape, no; she was seeking more. But it was enough friction to alert him to his desperately hard cock. At the same moment, her free hand slipped between them to caress the bare skin of his chest, trailing up to his neck. Towards the mask.

He gasped, his song dying in his throat as panic seized him. Her touchburned, setting his skin ablaze with fear and memories of a hundred beatings, wounds, and scars. He acted on pure instinct, snatching her hands away from his skin and trapping them above her head in a powerful grasp.

“No,” he breathed, and she whimpered in turn, squirming beneath him in a way that sent intoxicating pleasure to war with the fear and panic still screaming in his head.

“Please, don’t stop, I need you,” Christine begged, her voice distant and desperate. “Bind me, blind me. Anything. Please. Just don’t stop.”

He knew in that moment that he could take her. In her lust and faith, she would give herself entirely to her angel. He could have her now as he’d always dreamed. Her angel could make love to her this one time in the dark before he fell forever.

Erik held his breath, terrified and tempted by the thought. He trapped her wrists against the pillow above her with one hand, undoing his belt with the other as he began to sing to her again. The belt slid free just as she sighed, lost in his song. She did not protest at all when he wove the smooth length of leather around her wrists. On the contrary, the restraint seemed to only increase her arousal.

“Please, take me, my angel, I’m yours, please...” she babbled as he rose. A silken kerchief was easy to find, assuring that no matter what, she would not open her eyes now. She was panting when he finished tying it, trailing his thumb over her lips as he drew away. One final touch then. He had placed the music box – a perfect copy of hers – on his bedside a week ago, so he too could have their secret song at his disposal beside him in the dark when he thought of her. And it would serve just as well now.

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