VII
Two days later and at two a clock in the morning Andrée de Chagny and the phantom stood in the opera stables.
His piercing eyes examined Andrée from top to toe for the second time and then Erik growled deep and low: "I'll kill him..."
She shuddered and rubbed softly at her black eye: "This will go away, his scar will stay..." she flashed the phantom a grin, showing all her perfectly white teeth, "Who raises his hand against me has to pay. Brother or not..."
The phantom still growled and hit his fist into the tack room's planks leaving a crack only to repeat his action once more.
Andrée smiled up at her dark companion: "You'll gonna hurt yourself, Erik. Then I really have to kill him," with this she caught his fist in the middle of the next blow, "'cause it would be all his fault."
Erik stared wide eyed at her fingers around his slim wrist and – was to shocked to pull away as Andrée examined his left hand further, gently scolding: "Didn't I tell you so..." and before he even could think nor blink he felt her lips upon his skinned knuckles.
Erik nearly had a heart-attack and was literally paralyzed.
Why did he just have to remove his gloves to pat Ajith?
Her voice filled his dizzy head by whispering: "... kiss it better..." and then she gave his scratches a soft, wet lick.
Andrée came back to her senses when she tasted the metallic flavor of blood mixed with marble dust; her eyes shot open and upwards and – she was lost in Eriks flaring gaze.
"You... you..." he stammered, "... Andrée!" barely above a breathless whisper.
The countess broke the eye-contact only to look at the phantoms hand once again: "Artist's hands..." her hot breath ghosted over his cold skin and Erik shuddered in anticipation, "long, slender fingers..." her lips almost touched his skin once more, "sensitive and..." he still was immobile, could do nothing more than to stare as Andrée's rosy tongue liked at his fingertip, "marble-dust..." she purred.
And Erik gasped.
Her voice. Never in his live he had heard such a sensual timbre.
Erik lifted his other hand to touch Andrée's soft, blond curls and – the stable doors flew open.
Andrée de Chagny stared in bewilderment at the empty spot before her, from where Erik has vanished like a... like the phantom he pretended to be, still feeling his hand in hers.
Mme. Giry asked cautiously, peering into the stables: "Who is it?"
Andrée bit back a curse, put on her happy-face and cheered: "It's me, the countess, Mme. Giry!"
The box-keepers voice sounded a little upset as the women spoke next: "This's no place for a lady at this nightly hour. At least not with the phantom lurking around!"
Andrée really had to restrain her temper at this remark and so she growled with gritted teeth: "You'd see any phantom lurking here? And by the way: Like you'd said, this is no place for a lady. So what are you doing here, Mme. Giry? Rendezvous with a certain Persian?"
The older lady just stared at the countess who had took a step forward into the stables lanterns light and shook her head: "You've a black eye, countess..." she made a step closer to Andrée, "Who was it?"
"None of your business, Giry..." and Andrée opened the stable port and led Ajith out into the night, "bye!"
Erik meanwhile had fled the stables like hunted by a demon, his hand still burning where the countess had touched him.
She had kissed him.
Again.
Had kissed his injuries – and lapped at his skin.
Twice.
Andrée had called his skeleton, bony hands artist's hands.
Her purring voice still filling his spinning mind, made him shudder over and over.
"I wish you would be mine..." his voice was darker than ever, as he whispered the words into the lonesome darkness of his lair, pacing to his organ.
