by Skye Warren
I love you. I want you. I need you. Marry me. Whatever you want I’ll give to you.
There’s no time to feel joy over his proposal. It sparks in my chest anyway, inappropriate in this moment of danger. What could have happened to Josh? I want to hope for a communication malfunction. Or maybe confusion over the procedure. I hope he’s going to be found in a stairwell with a French countess, shirking his duties so he can have sex. Anything would be better than finding out he’s hurt.
Voices echo off the stone around me. My blood turns to ice.
Water laps softly against the edge. More voices. I’m not alone down here.
It’s not Liam. I can tell from the timbre of the voice. And the fact that he isn’t calling my name. It’s too soon for him to be back, which means these are the people after me. There is a natural sense of self-preservation. I don’t want to die in this cavern, even if there is a poetic symmetry to doing it where Christine was captured by the Phantom. More than that, I don’t want Liam to live with the guilt. He’d never forgive himself.
I look around for a place to hide. There’s only stone down here. And water.
I press along the wall, scooting back, back, back. My foot slips into a puddle. The splash makes my heart stop. The voices continue, the rhythm unbroken. They didn’t hear. Or they assumed it was a drop from the ceiling into the never-ending caverns.
My foot slips again, this time almost toppling me. I glance back to see the faintest, far-away ripples. It looks like some kind of hole. A well. I’ll be disguised down there. Even now I can barely see any glint of light on the water’s surface.
I turn to kneel at the edge and hang from my hands.
Then I let go.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After two decades of experimental forms, Debussy finally decided to write in the ultra-traditional form for his first and only violin sonata. Its debut was his last public performance before his death.
Liam
A black form sprawls in the alley. Dark liquid reflects the moonlight. The carnage of a gunshot to the jaw. My stomach clenches. There isn’t any gore that could make me heave, but the thought of my brother threatens my calm.
Calm is everything to a soldier.
I touch two fingers to his temple to turn him. As soon as I do, I know it’s not Josh. The wrong shape, the wrong hair color. Relief almost steals my voice. “Unidentified white male,” I say into my watch. “DOA. Keep looking.”
That night he held Elijah up above the water, I swore I’d never put them in danger again. They followed me into the military because it was the only thing we knew how to do. It wasn’t even the violence that drew us. It was the act of survival. What was life without the constant threat of death? I didn’t want them to join North Security. I tried to keep them out of combat. It didn’t always work, but none of that mattered when it came to protecting Samantha.
Samantha. She’s back in the theater, and any hope that this was a false alarm has been shattered with the discovery of the dead body. Do I head back to the caverns? Or do I find my brother? I’m torn between the woman I love and the man that’s flesh and blood.
I’m not going to let you feel that guilt. Help him.
He might be lying in a pool of blood like this sorry bastard.
“Boss,” comes a voice that I recognize as Webb. “We found something on the roof. One of these angel sculptures up here? It had a false side. There’s enough meal packs in here to last a month. And it smells rank.”
That explains how they got past our defenses. They were already here.
Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.
What if the angels are strangers in disguise?
“Code Omega,” I say, and in case there’s any doubt: “Shut the place down.”
We had a hundred different scenarios. Ten different responses. This one’s the most extreme. The kitchen sink. The French police are going to shit their pants over what happens next, but with my brother and my future wife in danger, I don’t care.
There is a small part of my brain that worries for Samantha when the flashbangs drop into the caverns. I need her to be strong for this. What’s more important is that anyone with her is immobilized. A moan draws my attention farther back in the alley.
I draw my weapon and stride over.
Josh stares down the barrel of my gun. “Hell,” he says.
His eyes are dilated. I check him for gunshot wounds. He mumbles something that I can’t understand. It might be “Bethany.” Without ceremony I sling him over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry. I make it back in time to hear the sirens wail. Webb guards the entrance to the caverns. I shove Josh at him, who curses me in three different languages.
I didn’t even know he spoke Arabic.
Then I’m climbing down the metal stairs, fighting the panic.
“Samantha!”
Fear.
Real fear, the kind that puts metal in my mouth. I’m not sure I’ve felt this since I was trapped at the bottom of the well. I’ve fought long and hard so I’d never have to feel fear again, but loving Samantha’s made me vulnerable. It’s made me weak.
Liam. It’s more the suggestions of sound than actual vibration. The cave walls seem to echo it back, mocking me, making me wonder if it’s just hopefulness. Webb. And, Christ, so is Josh. He’s probably going to fall into the water.
Frans climbs down after them, looking out of place in his bespoke tux, except I know that he can handle himself in combat. “I found Rogers. He’s got three of them on the floor face down. Alive. One of them’s already talking. The other two can’t shut him up.”
That should be a relief. That’s what we need to end the threat to Samantha, except that she’s not here. She’s not in my arms. What if she’s already hurt? It was my own goddamn hubris to think I could save them both—my brother and my lover. An impossible choice.
“Samantha! Say something. Let me hear you.”
“Liam!”
This time I’m sure she answered me, but the call bounces off the walls, making the source unclear. “Split up,” I say without waiting to see if they obey.
I take the forward path, the darkest one.
“Liam!” She sounds louder now. “I’m down here.”
A hard knot in my stomach. I take a step forward. My eyes stare into blackness. Then she turns her face toward me, pale and so small. She’s in a well. That’s all I can think about. The stench of old water. The creatures that live in the bottom of the earth. It was something I knew well. I would have killed so that Samantha never knew that. I would have died for it.
“A rope.” My voice comes out hoarse. I turn to call back louder. “I found her. We need rope. Get some goddamn rope. Now.”
Samantha
Panic claws at the edges of my mind.
The darkness tries to close in, but there is one thought that holds me steady: Liam will find me. When he does, I want to be calm for him. I want to be strong for him. Despite my intentions, I almost sob with relief when I hear him call my name.
A rope is lowered down, and I hook it under my arms. Then I hold on with both my hands, kicking off the side of the cavern so I don’t slam into it. When I reach the top, Liam crushes me in a hold that would probably be painful if I weren’t numb.
His hands work at my clothes, which have frozen stiff against my skin. On the train he had the presence of mind to drag me into the lavatories. Now he doesn’t have that. It’s more important that he gets the gown off me, the cold and wet of it. There’s probably a hundred diseases in this cloth that he rips from me. The cavern air doesn’t even feel cold. It occurs to me belatedly that it’s a bad thing, not being able to feel.
There are other men with him. I recognize some of them. Normally Liam would protect my modesty at all costs. Now my safety is more important. My health. He strips me down, not concerned with whether or not they see me. Or maybe too overwrought to notice.
They turn to give me privacy, one by one. To give Liam priv
acy as he touches my body, every place, not a sensual caress, but making sure it’s still there—pulse beating beneath my blueish skin. Josh turns away first. Then Frans. Then Romeo. Even Alexander. They form a circle around us, of protection. Of privacy. Liam tears the T-shirt over his head and covers me, finally, so that I have his body warmth. Someone hands back a blanket, thick and hard and pilling, which Liam wraps around me before lifting me into his arms. That’s the way we leave the chamber, with him shirtless and me clad in a blanket. Christine was carried down into this place by the Phantom and rescued by her vicomte. I was carried in and taken away by the same person, my villain and my hero, the man who will always be by my side.
CHAPTER TWENTY
In playing Christine’s father in this movie, Ramin Karimloo became the only actor to have played all three of Christine’s loves. Her father in the movie version, and both Raoul and the Phantom on the stage.
Samantha
Evening drapes shadows across the furniture, across the rugs. It limns Liam’s body in a vibrant yellow. Even half-dark, he has never looked so alive to me. Like the soldiers who fought the Romans, he’s naked. Impractical, he said. He doesn’t wear any armor.
My gaze lingers on his broad shoulders. The strong arms that pulled me out of a cistern. The abs bunched tight from the casual way he sits. There’s only a pink line where his scar used to be, almost fully healed now. Muscle forms long lines across his legs, not obscured by the coarse hair across them. In this position there’s only a hint of the paler skin of his ass. Only a suggestion of the part between his legs.
He turns to notice me, and I’m struck anew at the deep green of his eyes. Like a gemstone. A vibrant meadow. A thousand things in nature, but he’s both the most unique and the most ordinary of them—a man. “I should put you in bed.”
“You did that.” It had been the only way he relinquished me. Not during the ride in the armored SUV to the chateau or up the stairs. Only in the plush, overlarge bed would he finally set me down. Dirty. Wet. I ruined the sheets. He didn’t care.
A doctor arrived to examine me. There are antibiotics and pain medications on the dresser—more a precaution than because I need them. More because Liam demanded the doctor do something. A healthy body can survive a lot.
After all, look at Liam. He spent nights in a place like that as a child. I understand better the isolation that haunts him. The silence becomes almost a physical being, both a companion and a barrier to the rest of the world. This after only thirty minutes in the water. What would happen if a boy were kept there over days, weeks, years?
He allowed me to take a long, warm bath without him only if Isa remained in the bathroom with me, in case I should suddenly lose consciousness or become sick. That had been surprisingly useful. Isa gave me some ideas about what I could do to ease Liam’s worry.
Or at least distract him.
The red silk robe I’m wearing belongs to her. It falls only to the middle of my thighs. A silk length cinches it closed at the waist, but there’s plenty to see above that, where the sides lean open. Liam tries not to look. Bless him, he tries.
“You’re the most noble man I’ve ever met,” I say, tugging at the loose ends.
That earns me a low growl. “You’re tired.”
The silk flows like liquid off my shoulders. I’m wearing a lacy black bra and matching panties, also courtesy of Isa. It seemed a little pointless to put on underwear with the plan to remove it right away, but she was sure it would help. Now that I saw the muscle clenching in Liam’s jaw, I know she’s right.
“Not that tired.”
“It’s the adrenaline. You’ll crash soon.”
I reach behind me to unhook the bra. It falls forward in my arms, the cups rasping against my nipples. A shiver runs through me. The garment falls to the floor. “Crash with me.”
He’s not unaffected. The proof of that rises between his legs, no longer at rest but thick and proud. There’s no embarrassment about his erection, about his body. He’s the picture of masculine arousal. “Don’t tempt me, Samantha.”
It’s all I’ve wanted to do, tempt him. I realized that down in the water. Before that I wanted him to love me. Not only as a guardian. There were these rules transcribed in my heart. It doesn’t matter that they came from the wistfulness of being orphaned. They weren’t fair to him. Instead of wanting his love, I’m going to love him. Simple and complex. Immediate and eternal. There’s no requirement that he loves me back. Love is a word. It’s a weakness. I protect you. That’s all that matters. Yes, protection would be enough from this man. Maybe one day he would wake up in an ordinary, domestic life and finally believe I won’t ever leave. Or maybe he’ll doubt me for the rest of his life. I’ll make no demands. That’s the surest sign of faith I know how to give him.
I hook my thumbs into my panties and push them down my legs. A step out of them. It feels like walking out of an ocean. I’m on the shore now, my toes in the sand. He stares at me like I’m an otherworld creature. Love isn’t a weakness, Liam. Look at me. I’m strong because of you. And I can protect you, too.
I sink to my knees, but he grasps my wrist.
“No,” he says.
“No?”
He turns me so that I’m sitting on the ledge, the waning sun warm on my back, my legs pushed apart by the height of my perch. A palm on my thighs opens me farther. His gaze turns to malachite as he stares at my center. “My turn.”
A caveman could not sound more primitive. More possessive.
“Your turn to do what?” I ask, even as he kneels in front of me. My sex clenches in anticipation of his touch. His mouth. My turn, as if it’s something he’s been wanting. “Oh.”
His thumb slicks through my core, and I squirm, pressing my back against the window. If anyone takes a walk on the lawn, they’ll see my bare bottom. My naked back. My hair falling around my shoulders. If anyone sees me they’ll know my legs are spread for him.
Liam
“Such a brave girl,” I murmur, my mouth already watering. She smells like saltwater and sunshine. I press my face against her sex, wanting her more than air. A turn to the side. I bite down on the inside of her thigh. The high-pitched sound she makes in response almost has me coming on the carpet like a goddamn teenager.
Her sex glistens with arousal. I slide my tongue to taste her. Yes. It’s the reassurance I needed. The reassurance I would never have demanded—that she’s safe and alive and here with me. The terror of the cisterns still nips at my composure. I’m still not convinced she’s unscathed. Those kind of experiences can haunt a person. I should know. There was no way to refuse her offering, not with her breasts high and tight, the dark hair between her legs already fragrant. A flick of my tongue on her clit makes her moan.
It’s almost enough to distract me from my purpose. Another lick. Another. I could make her come, hear her screams, do it again. I’d be inside her pulsing sex before she could ask, pumping deep enough that she’d forget about earlier, that she’d forget everything.
I clamp down on my urges. Patience, you bastard.
Of all people, Samantha deserves my patience. She’s certainly waited long enough for this. My dress pants are draped over the chair. I grab them and pull out the black velvet box. “My turn to taste you, yes. I’m going to. It’s also my turn to tell you that I love you. That I want you any way that you’ll have me—but I hope you’ll have me as your husband.”
She stares at the black box, looking almost… frightened?
I become aware that I’m naked. She’s naked. Maybe she would rather be dressed for a proposal. Maybe she wanted something in the middle of a ballroom of people. Shaking hands take the box from me. She opens it. Tears shield her reaction.
“If you want a regular diamond, we can do that. This was a private sale, and Frans seemed sure… now that I think about it, I have no idea why I would have listened to him.”
“It’s perfect,” she whispers.
“I suppose it’s because he’s married.
That makes you think he knows how it’s done. Of course I have no idea how it’s done. I’m going to make a million mistakes, but I’ll do it with love. With adoration. With gratitude, if you’ll let me try.”
Her gaze meets mine, swimming with a sense of uncertainty. “I didn’t expect this from you. You didn’t have to, you know that right? This kind of openness…”
My chest tightens. How could she doubt me? Because I gave her every reason to doubt me. “It was never a question of loving you, Samantha. I always did that. In the right ways. In the wrong ways. In the dirty ways.” It’s probably unfair that I stroke my thumb along the inside of her thigh as I speak. If it convinces her to stay with me, all the better. Her breath catches. “The only question was whether I could stop trying to sacrifice myself for you.”
A tremulous smile. “And can you?”
“You don’t want a martyr. God knows you don’t need one. I figured that out in the alley outside the Palais Garnier, looking down at a dead body and thinking it might be my brother. There’s no honor in giving you up. Both of us lose that way. I was afraid, plain and simple. Afraid you’d leave me. Afraid you wouldn’t leave me, and you’d see what’s underneath this military training. You deserve someone as brave as you. I’ve decided that’s going to be me.”
She throws her arms around my neck. I let her tumble us back onto the rug. The black velvet box rolls to a stop beside us. I pull out the ring. It’s a two-carat green emerald that once belonged to Charles X. Yellow gold filigree fans out from the center. It’s what Frans’s private jeweler called an estate piece. Something that could be handed down through generations. I only care if Samantha likes it. Her eyes glitter with joy as I slip it on her finger.
Her breasts press against my chest, and I struggle to focus on the sentiment of the moment. Definitely not the way her stomach rubs against my cock. Until she does it again. And again. “Very naughty,” I say with a grunt.