Page 33 of Angel's Kiss
“No. No!” Buquet screamed as Erik advanced on him. He grabbed a handful of muck from behind him and threw it blindly, stalling Erik long enough for him to scramble to his feet and flee into the street, Erik glowering after him. Christine finally let out a quavering breath in relief and Erik turned to her.
“Are you alright?” Erik asked, rushing to her and kneeling. To Christine’s shock and incredible relief, he took her hands without hesitation.
“I’m fine,” Christine stammered, trying to breathe as Erik gently touched her face.
“You see, I do come above ground sometimes,” Erik muttered and held her gaze before the man on the ground moaned. “We have to go.”
“Where?” Christine demanded as Erik pulled her up by the wrist and rushed with her from the alley. “How?” Her question was answered in the most improbable manner when she saw, waiting for them like it was the most normal thing in the world, César, the white gelding (and true star) from the Opera’s stables. “Youstole a horse?”
“Borrowed. I had to get here quickly.”
Erik lifted her with a hiss at the effort, and Christine told herself it was not the time to think about his hands on her waist or how close he was when he took his place behind her and urged César into a canter.
They had to be a strange sight, two figures in dark cloaks sharing a white horse, but it was past dusk, and the people of Paris had little interest in anything beyond their own journeys home through the cold. In no time they were at the stable gates, the exact place Christine had entered the Opera all those months ago.
“Here,” Erik said as he dismounted and helped Christine down, massaging his side as he did, as if the effort hurt. “Thank you, César,” he added, patting a hand against the horse’s white flank. And leaving a handprint that was unmistakably red, even in the dim lantern light. “Well, that’s ominous,” Erik muttered before stumbling back to lean on the stable wall, hand clutched to his side.
“Erik!” Christine cried, rushing to him.
“It’s just a cut,” Erik protested through gritted teeth.
“Let me see,” Christine ordered as Erik sank to the ground. He made a sound of protest as Christine pushed back his hand to reveal the wound. There was a great deal of blood, but she could see that the knife that had undoubtedly done this had cut through Erik’s layers of clothes and deep into the flesh beneath. “Jesus Christ, this is not just a cut!”
“I’m—”
“Take off your jacket, we’ll use it to slow the bleeding for now,” Christine commanded. Erik obeyed with clear difficulty, then a fresh hiss of pain as Christine tied the garment tightly around the wound. “Keep pressure on it. We need to get you home to tend to it. Come on.”
Erik did as he was told, staring at Christine with a combination of annoyance and wonder as she helped him up and draped his arm over her shoulder. She lit the lantern and held it as she opened Erik’s hidden door into the cellars, letting Erik guide them slowly downwards on the path to his home. They turned too quickly after one staircase, and Erik grunted at the effort.
Christine glared at him in the flickering light. “You are not allowed to bleed to death and leave me alone down here.”
“I shall try,” Erik muttered in return.
At last, they reached Erik’s door. He leaned on the wall, holding his side as Christine triggered the musical locking mechanism as he had taught her. Finally, they entered Erik’s parlor, where he immediately stumbled towards one of the chairs by the fire and collapsed a foot short of it.
“I should be clearer,” Christine chided, throwing off her cape and rushing to him to prop him against one of the chairs. “You are not allowed to bleed to death on my watchat all.”
Erik gave her a look that was warm and dubious at the same time. “I do not intend to die today. It would make a terrible ending.”
“Where are your medical supplies?” Christine demanded, tearing her eyes from his besotted gaze. It was ridiculous to blush when there were far more important tasks at hand. Erik looked confused.
“In my room, in the bath. There’s a box under the wash basin. I can get them,” Erik protested, trying to rise.
“Stay,” Christine said with force in her voice that pushed Erik back to the floor. She spun away before he could protest and stalked away.
She had only been in this room once before, and she would be damned if she wasted time thinking about waking up in Erik’s bed or anything else that had happened there while she had the man’s blood all over her hands. His bath chamber was far more ornate than hers, but it was easy to find the wooden box full of vials and bandages. With a quick search, Christine found a surgeon’s needle and thread in the store. She quickly washed her hands – which were unsurprising, but unfortunately – shaking terribly, before seizing the kit and several towels before heading back into the bedroom.
Where of course Erik was leaning on the frame of his bed.
“I told you to stay put!” Christine cried, flying to Erik’s side and depositing the box on the bed just in time to catch him as he faltered to the mattress.
“I thought I’d meet you halfway. And the brandy is in here.” Christine realized Erik had also somehow procured a dusty bottle of liquor from who-knows-where. She helped him onto the bed, and he wasted no time in taking a long draught of it. “I’ll attend to the wound. You don’t need to watch.”
“Like hell you will,” Christine growled, to Erik’s clear shock.
“I’m...fine,” Erik replied with clear effort, his breath shallow.
“You’ve been stabbed, you fool!”
