He raced toward the lake with preternatural speed. He had no need of illumination to find her. He followed her scent, and when he found her – floating face down – he plunged into the lake and drew her into his arms. Relief surged through him when she coughed up a mouthful of water. A thought took him to his lair. A wave of his hand lit a fire in the hearth.
Cursing his selfishness, Erik placed her on the bed and quickly removed her sodden clothing. If she died… No! He would not let that happen. Wrapping her in a thick quilt, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the rocking chair located in front of the fire. Sitting, he held her close, his hands massaging her back, her arms, and legs.
The throbbing of the pulse in the hollow of her throat called to his hunger, tempting him almost beyond his power to resist. But he would not take advantage of her, not now, when she was helpless. Nor, he realized, could he let her go, not when Fate had been kind enough to send her to him. Not when she knew what he was, though if she told the tale, he doubted anyone would believe her.
* * * * *
Awareness returned to Cristie a layer at a time. She felt warm. It was quiet, save for the soft music that filled the air. A gentle hand stroked her brow…
With a start, Cristie came fully awake to find herself cradled in the Phantom’s arms, staring up into his dark eyes.
Vampire.
“Please,” she murmured tremulously. “Please, let me go.”
His knuckles caressed her cheek. “Please stay,” he urged softly. “Be my Christine, if only for a little while.”
Fear made her mouth go dry. What would he do if she refused to stay? She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how she had always hated Christine for turning her back on the Phantom and going away with Raoul. Cristie frowned. Hadn’t she always said if given a choice, she would stay with the Phantom? But this wasn’t a play, and this Phantom was a vampire.
His voice rumbled against her ear. “A month, my Christine. Won’t you stay with me that long? The world you know will still be there when you return.”
“And if I refuse?”
He had meant to keep her against her will, if necessary, but looking at her now, seeing the fear in her eyes, he knew he would not.
“No harm will come to you,” he said. “I will take you back to the theater where I found you.”
Relief washed through her, but only for a moment. How could she refuse him? Never before had she seen such pain, such utter loneliness, reflected in anyone’s eyes. And yet, how could she stay? How did she know she could trust him to keep his word? What if he only wanted to drink her blood, or worse, turn her into a vampire too? The mere idea filled her with revulsion.
“I will take nothing you do not freely give,” Erik said quietly. “I want only your company for a time.”
Cristie glanced at her surroundings. She came to Paris looking for excitement. Was she going to turn her back on it now? She was in a place no one else had ever been, with a man no one believed existed. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell, she thought, ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that warned her she was being a fool to accept the word of a vampire.
“Will you stay?”
“Yes.” The word seemed to form of its own volition. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
He smiled at her, and she knew she would promise him anything to see that smile again.
* * * * *
They were sitting side by side on the bench in front of the organ. At Cristie’s request, Erik played the Phantom’s score for her, played it with such fervor that she saw it all clearly on the stage of her mind. Such a beautiful, bittersweet story.
With a sigh, she glanced at Erik. “How did you come to be here?” She lifted her hand to his smooth, left cheek. “What happened to you?”
“Three hundred years ago, when I was a young man, I ran into a burning building to save a child. A wall fell on me. It burned the right side of my face, and most of that side of my body. They took me to the hospital where the physician said there was nothing they could do. I was dying.
“Late that night, a woman came into my room. She said she could save my life, if I was willing, and when I agreed, she carried me out of the hospital and made me what she was. It saved my life, but it could not heal the damage done by the fire. Years later, I came to this place while it was in the last stages of construction. It has been my home ever since.”
“But the Phantom…he’s not real.”
“Men were more willing to believe in ghosts a hundred years ago. I found it easy to convince the owners of the theater that the Opera Ghost lived, easy to convince them to do my bidding.”
“But the play…”
“Is based, in part, on my life.”
“And Christine? Was she real?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to her?”
“She married Raoul, lived to a good old age, and passed away.”
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
“So, she never had to choose between you and Raoul?”
“No. I made that choice for her.”
“And you’ve lived alone ever since?”
He nodded.
“But…” A rush of heat warmed her cheeks. She wanted to ask if there had been other women, but couldn’t quite summon the nerve, any more than she could ask how and when he fed, and what became of those he preyed upon.
His mind brushed hers. “I am not a monk,” he said, answering the questions she dared not ask. “The managers pay me quite well. On occasion, I have entertained courtesans. As for those I prey upon, I pay them handsomely.”
“It’s none of my business, really.”
“Ask me what you will. I will hide nothing from you.”
“Do I look very much like her?”
He smiled wistfully. “Yes – and no.”
“What happened to the child you rescued?”
“He survived with only a few minor burns.”
Later that night, as Cristie lay in his bed, she thought of all Erik had told her. Only then, as sleep crept in, did she stop to wonder where he took his rest.
It was the first thing she asked him the following night.
“I have another lair deeper underground,” Erik replied. “And while it is not quite so elegantly appointed as this one, it serves its purpose.”
“I’ve put you out of your bed,” she murmured.
“I will find comfort in your scent when you are gone.”
“Erik…” Why did his voice have such power over her? Why did she long to take him in her arms and ease his pain, his loneliness? She scarcely knew him, yet, waking or sleeping, he consumed her thoughts. There was much she still wanted to see in Paris, but she was strangely content to stay down here, in this twilight world. To bask in the love shining in the depths of his dark eyes, to lose herself in the music he played for her each night, to listen to his voice as he sang the hauntingly beautiful songs of the Phantom.
As the days passed by, Cristie found herself yearning for Erik’s touch, and with that yearning came an increased curiosity to see what lay beneath the mask. But each time she started to ask, her courage deserted her.
One night, he took her up through the tunnels to watch the play. Close to his side, Cristie saw it all through his eyes. She felt her Phantom’s hurt, the pain of Christine’s betrayal, the loneliness living inside him, the anger residing deep in his soul. She cringed when the onstage Phantom killed Piangi, and wondered if the actor’s death was based on fact, as were some of the other parts of the story.
But fearing the answer, it was a question she did not ask.
Later, returning to Erik’s underground lair, she thought how sad that the people in the audience saw only the actor’s performance. Never knowing the real Phantom hid within their midst. Never hearing the haunting clarity of his voice, the very real anguish that could not be imitated; no matter how gifted the singer on stage.
Cristie quickly aligned her waking hours to Erik’s. I
n his underground lair, time lost all meaning, since she could not tell if it was morning or night. She didn’t know where he obtained her meals and, still reluctant to hear the answer, she never asked how or where he found those he preyed upon.
Erik proved to be an intelligent and interesting companion. He spoke several languages, and entertained her for hours with tales of his travels around the world. He had seen it all: the wonders of the Old World and the new. He had an impressive library, there, in the bowels of the theater, and he often read to her from the classics, his beautiful voice bringing the stories to life. They spent hours discussing the works of Bronte and Shakespeare, as well as the horror novels of Stephen King and Dean Koontz.
The days and weeks ran swiftly by, and with each passing hour, her affection for Erik grew stronger, deeper, as she came to know him better. How sad, that he was forced to live in this wretched place, shunned by humanity because of his dreadful scars – scars attained while saving the life of a child.
One day, while she was wandering around his lair, she discovered a small door at the far end of the room. Driven by boredom and curiosity, she plucked a candle from one of the sconces. When she opened the door, she found herself in a large cavernous room filled with a veritable treasure trove of paintings and works of art. Scattered here and there were weapons – a rusty sword, an old pistol, several knives and daggers. A jewelry box held a number of exquisite pieces – a diamond necklace, a ruby pendant, a bracelet set with emeralds.
Moving deeper into the room, she found another, smaller door. This one opened onto a stairway descending into a pit of blackness.
Heart pounding, she tiptoed down the stairs. The candle cast dancing shadows on the damp, stone walls as she descended the uneven stairway. At first, she saw nothing but an empty room. And then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw it, a shiny black coffin resting on a raised platform in a far corner. The thought of Erik lying inside, his hands folded on his chest, his long black hair spread across the white satin, sent a chill down her spine.
She stared at the casket for a long moment then she turned on her heels and ran swiftly up the stairs, any lingering doubts she might have had about what he was vanquished by the sight of that solitary coffin.
Chapter 4
She could tell, by the look in Erik’s eyes when she saw him that night, he knew she had seen where he took his rest. Though he didn’t speak of it, the knowledge hung heavily between them.
Does it matter? He didn’t speak the words aloud, but she heard them clearly in her mind.
Did it matter? To Cristie’s surprise, she realized it changed nothing between them. At any rate, it was of no consequence now. Her time in this dark, almost magical world was almost at an end.
As the last few days flew by, Cristie found herself increasingly reluctant to leave. How could she leave him there, alone, in his dark underground lair? But, of course, she couldn’t stay. Her old life, her friends and family, awaited her at home. She and Erik did not speak of the fact that their time together was almost over, but she saw the awareness in his eyes.
Their last night together came all too soon. After dinner, Cristie asked Erik to play for her, and as he did so, she sat down on the bench beside him and kissed his cheek.
Startled, his hands fell away from the keys. “What are you doing?”
“I…nothing. It was only a kiss.”
“Only a kiss.” He repeated her words slowly, distinctly. “No woman has willingly touched me in over three hundred years.”
She blinked at him. It was inconceivable that he should have lived so long, spent so many centuries alone. “I should like to do it again, if you don’t mind.”
He stared at her in profound disbelief. “I…You don’t mean it?”
“But I do.” She kissed his cheek again, and then, very lightly, she kissed him on the lips. They were warm and soft, untouched by the fire. Her gaze searched his. “Let me see your face.”
“No!” He drew back as if she had slapped him. “Why would you ask such a thing? No one, no one, should have to see it.”
“You said you would grant me anything I wished. I wish to see your face before I go.”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his breathing suddenly erratic. “Very well.” He ripped the mask from his face and tossed it aside. “Is this what you wanted to see?” he asked, his voice almost a snarl.
It looked horrible, worse than anything she had imagined. The skin on the right side of his face, and down his neck, was hideously puckered where the fire ravaged it. Did the rest of his body look the same? She couldn’t imagine the terrible agony he must have endured, the anguish of watching people turn away from him in horror and revulsion. No wonder he hid in this place!
“Are you satisfied?” he asked brusquely.
“Did you think I’d run screaming from your presence?” she asked.
“You would not be the first to do so,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness.
Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him again. “I expected you to be a monster, but you’ve treated me with the utmost kindness and respect. You could have taken me at your pleasure, yet you did not.” Rising, she took his hand in hers. “This is our last night together. Let us have something to remember.” Pulling him to his feet, she led him toward the bed.
He followed her as if in a trance, unable to believe that any woman would willingly give herself to him. He was no stranger to women. He had bedded many in his lifetime, before and after the fire, but never had a woman come to him willingly, or made love to him so tenderly. Never had he allowed any of them to see him without the mask. Nor did he let them caress him. His lovemaking had been one-sided and accomplished in total darkness, assuring that the women could not see his ruined flesh.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, they undressed each other. Erik held his breath, certain she would be repulsed when she saw his scars and puckered flesh, but if she found him repugnant, she hid it well. She kissed each ugly scar, and as she did so, they no longer seemed important. She explored his body as he explored hers. When she was breathless with need, hungry for his touch, he asked for that which he craved.
“A taste,” he whispered, his voice husky with longing. “Let me taste you.”
She stared up at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “Will it hurt?”
“No. It will only heighten each touch, each sensation.” She wanted to refuse, he could see it in her eyes. “Please, my sweet,” he begged softly. “One taste, freely given.”
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and canted her head to the side.
Erik gazed at the smooth skin of her throat, humbled by her willingness to trust him, to grant him a taste of her sweetness. Whispering endearments, he trailed kisses along the length of her neck before his fangs gently pierced her tender flesh. Ah, the joy, the ecstasy, the wonder of that first exquisite taste! Warm and sweet, her blood flowed over his tongue like the finest nectar, filling him with the very essence of life.
Cristie sighed as pleasure flowed through her. Why had she been afraid of this? She knew a moment of regret when he drew away, but only a moment as he took her in his arms again. In spite of his scars, his body was beautiful. Long and lean and well-muscled, his skin felt warm and taut beneath her questing fingertips. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, his chest, his belly, loving the way he quivered at her touch. She moaned as his body merged with hers. She had never known such pleasure, such wonder. He was a gentle lover, his touch almost reverent, his words of love, soft, poetic, filled with an aching tenderness that tugged at her heart. She prayed he would not ask her to stay longer, knew she could not bear to tell him no.
Sated and content, she fell asleep in his arms.
Erik watched her all through the night. Their last night together. Watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, hearing the slow, steady beat of her heart, he knew he could not bear to tell her good-bye, could not abide the pain of parting, of watching her walk out of his life. And so,
in the dark of the night, while she slept, he dressed her then carried her out of the theater, the ache in his heart growing with every step.
Chapter 5
Cristie woke to the warmth of the sun shining on her face. Opening her eyes, she squinted against the brightness she had not seen in weeks.
Sitting up, she glanced around, surprised to find herself lying on her bed in her hotel room with no recollection of how she had gotten there. Had it been nothing more than a dream, after all?
She lifted a hand to her neck, felt the sting of tears when her fingertips encountered two tiny puncture wounds. It hadn’t been a dream.
“Oh, Erik,” she murmured. “Couldn’t you at least have let me say good-bye?” And had her answer with the asking. He had left her before she could leave him.
It grieved her to go, but how could she stay? Her life was in the States. She taught kindergarten in an upscale school in Boston. She had family in the city, life-long friends, and a home of her own. Erik had no life outside the bowels of the Opera House. He had no friends or family, no home other than his underground lair. How could they have a life together? She could not live in his world, and he could not live in hers.
With a sigh, she dragged herself into the bathroom to shower and dress. Thank goodness she paid for her room in advance. Cristie frowned. How had Erik known where she was staying?
Leaving her room, she went downstairs for breakfast. There were still three weeks left of her vacation. Determined to see as much of Paris as possible, she decided to go sightseeing. She visited The Arc de Triomphe, which had been built to honor the men and women who died while fighting in the French Revolution. She visited the Eiffel Tower. She toured Notre Dame – which had taken one hundred and seventy years to build – walked around The Pantheon, which had been built as a church by Louis XV, but was now the final resting place of such notable French thinkers as Rousseau, Voltaire, Hugo, Zola, as well as scientists Pierre and Marie Curie.
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