Page 24 of Angel's Kiss
“Well, ask him about what sort of name Zambelli is,” Sabine chided. “I’m sure he’s a better influence than that gypsy Daaé. Or those two libertines inside.”
“I prefer the term ‘connoisseur of Paris’s many delights,’ Mademoiselle la Vicomtesse.” Raoul rolled his eyes at the sound of Antoine’s voice. The man still smelled of cigars as he slunk towards Sabine. “Of which you, of course, are the loveliest.”
“A libertine, as I said,” Sabine replied with a smile that betrayed her flattery and amusement. Raoul took in the satisfaction on Antoine’s pale, angular face. He was an impressively tall man, Raoul always noted, with pale hair and cold blue eyes that reminded one of a glacier. A viper made of ice that somehow continued to charm his sister.
“Of course, my dear Sabine,” Antoine replied with a wink as he took Sabine’s hand to kiss. Raoul rolled his eyes so vigorously he could nearly see the moon. “I came to bid you a fond goodnight. And invite you to the Opera on Saturday. Again.”
“In my own family’s box?” Sabine asked, her expression more amused than annoyed. “I will consider.”
“We’ll need you there to keep this one from leaping over the orchestra to fall at his little Swedish Nightingale’s feet,” Antoine laughed. “Though I have heard a rumor she won’t be long for the National Academy of Music.”
“Good riddance then,” Sabine said with a meaningful look at her brother. “Everyone will be better off with her gone.”
Raoul bristled. “Sabine! There is no such rumor!”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, my young friend,” Antoine laughed with a sharp look in his eyes. “You have a lot to learn about the Opera. As does your ingenue.” The older man turned on his heel with a laugh and left the Chagny siblings standing alone in the deepening chill of the January night.
“What rumors could he have meant?” Raoul muttered.
“I don’t know, or care,” Sabine sighed. “But I don’t think anything I say will dissuade you from trying to find out, will it?”
––––––––
Erik still hoped thatone day it would not be so disconcerting to wake up in the dark, but after years underground, it still left him in confusion and panic to open his eyes to nothing but shadow and no hint of dawn. He groped for a match on the bedside table, cursing himself for not leaving an oil lamp burning low. Another casualty of his constant distraction and tension lately. A flare of flame and the clock told him it was the small hours of the morning. The last he remembered, it had been midnight. At least he had slept for a little while, until the dreams had awoken him again.
Five nights she had been with him now, as she had promised. Five nights, Christine had shared his bread and home and fire in a miracle of trust and kindness. And for five nights, he had dreamed of shattering that trust to pieces and awoken with screams choking his throat.
Each night he dreamed of the searing warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair, the wet evidence of her desire staining his hands between her thighs. It was strange, how in dreams he was so bold. He dreamed of taking her. Whether pressed against the wall or trapped in the ivory sheets of her bed, he would lose himself in her silken heat until she tore off his mask and screamed. She screamed as her nails tore at his skin, screamed as he defiled her. He begged for her to stop, but the screams went on and on.
Erik shook his head and pressed his hands to his ears, muffling the memories and nightmares and forcing himself to come back to reality. It hadn’t been real. It would never be real because he would not let it be. He could not.
Then what are you doing?A cruel, cold voice out of somewhere deep in his damned soul demanded of him.Why trap her here in the tomb with you if not to take her? You know you could.
“Shut up,” Erik said aloud, hands shaking as he confirmed his mask was still safely in place. He tried to rise from the tangle of his sheets, but the other physical evidence of the dream stopped him. He was soaked with sweat and still breathless from the terror, and yet, he was still hard, his unsatisfied desire throbbing with shameful lust in the dark.
It would beeasy, the voice whispered. Erik laid back in his bed, trying to breathe and pretend he was not listening to the darkness for sounds of movement, a room away. If she was asleep, maybe it was safe. Maybe a moment of release would drive away the dreams and he could truly rest. But he couldn’t...
Five days he’d spent in her light and warmth. And five nights he’d woken wanting her. He’d refused to succumb to it. He washed in icy water and forced himself to remember a hundred different pains and humiliations. He’d think of the horror and fear in her eyes, not the way she looked at him with the old desire. He was dreaming that. He would dig his nails into his skin and think of his horrible reflection until the blood drained from his traitorous cock. But he was so tired tonight and it was so late and so quiet.It would be so easy.
Alone in the dark, locked away from the world, it was safe to remember and to dream. He could remember the way she made him smile and how he could make her laugh. He loved the sound of her laugh. His body began to relax and ache at the same time, as he sank into the memories of her. Too exhausted to fight it any longer, he let his hand descend to his desperate erection.
Erik exhaled slowly, overcome by the sensation and the memory of Christine’s smile as he moved his hand over his hot length. He remembered the way she sang for him and gripped harder.
Their lessons were the most sublime part of their days together. He never had felt so transported and ineffably connected to another as when she sang for him with nothing in between them. He dared not sing with her though, it was dangerous enough to singtoher. But he could not refuse when she asked for that. He sped up his strokes at the memory, chasing pleasure and escape. She wanted one part of him, the one clean, good part of him that had always been able to cast a magic spell. To ease her tears and stem his pain. The one part of him that was untainted.
You tainted it when you seduced her.No.When you sang her to sin. When she came on her fingers and you wished they were yours. When you bound her and blinded her and took her innocence.No...When you could have done so much more.
His release came swiftly, dull and pale, staining his sheets with the evidence of his weakness. There was no bliss to it, nor peace, it was nothing but a second to breathe and rest before the shame and fear came crashing down on him again. He had violated her trust again. He had tried to be strong and failed. He had given in and now all he wanted was more.
Coward, the ghosts whispered around him.Fool. Liar.Erik shut his eyes and begged for rest again. He couldn’t play because every song would sound like her. He couldn’t sleep because she would only haunt him again. He couldn’t run because he had made her a promise.
Monster. He had to be strong. He had to protect them both.Monster, the voices he could not flee repeated again and again.
––––––––
Christine closed hereyes and lay absolutely still in her bed, forcing herself to catalogue the sensations and textures: the yielding comfort of the down mattress, the warm scratch of her chemise against her skin, the scent of wax, a faint perfume of roses. She focused on the still silence of the shadows, pierced only by the sound of her breath. And his.
She kept her eyes closed, even knowing that doing so would make the prickling sensation of his eyes watching her all the more intense. With her eyes closed, he was only a shadow, a memory. But even as a shadow and an angel he had been able to touch her. Just as he did now. His fingertips were so cold as they drew over her skin.
