Chapter 12 is now up! I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. I've had this chapter waiting since chapter 8 I believe. Now it has a place.

Thanks a billion to my lovely and brilliant reviewers! Major love for you all! CaptainHooksGirl, Starcrier, WolfieLovesSilently, Sleepest-Angel, AngelBreeze, The Fan of Almost Everything, Alice Kettle, Roamerfromaofw, Alana Fox, smilin steph, AmberTyphosisShittyDick, Zebrakatten, Madam Oakheart a Shisou Kamen, x0allisonqt0x, AnimationLuvrs2, AprilLeeBee, and mayalewis16

Personal Responses:

darkgemwildcat- Thanks for the love for the lyrics, and yes some inspiration was taken from Webber's sequel.

Why Fireflies Flash- Awesome! You thought my lyrics were the real thing. Haha and I always love your reviews, so no worries on the 'amazing' thing.

Aubrey or Venture Wood-angelofmusic75 (thanks for permission)- Definitely not surprising that we have similar tastes (even in video games). Your comment about my reputation was so sweet and very encouraging. Thanks!

Amalia Santoro- I also am not fond of our friend Raoul, so no judgments here. Oh and thanks for the support for my one-shot. Very appreciated.

BandGeek25- I sincerely try to keep all of our friends in character and I am so happy that you believe I do. Thanks for your support ;)

(Again, if you wanted a personal response and didn't receive one, feel free to request one. Just leave a PR at the end of your review. Hope no feelings are hurt, as I adore you all!)

For the first time, I will be suggesting music to accompany this chapter. 'Drink Up Me Hearties' by Hanz Zimmer from Pirates of the Carribbean 3 inspired this entire chapter. Feel free to listen as you read!


Christine had never realized how vast Erik's new home was. All five stories were his to rule and each one held new discoveries and secrets. He had been missing all day, the distance between them emotionally was tangible and it made her ache for that easiness they had once shared. Deciding to make use of her time alone, she wandered the many rooms of his home. The cavenrous quality was so familiar. She welcomed it. She felt safe in such a place. Ascending the staircase, she heard music emanating from the floor above her.

Curious as ever, she followed the sounds. The music was mesmerizing, drawing her ever closer. There was a rough quality that suggested the music wasn't played live.

The large double doors were opened invitingly. She held her breath. Erik stood motionless, eyes closed with an intense expression. Suddenly he moved, gracefully dancing with an invisible partner across the large ballroom. It was airy and light with windows on every wall. Christine stood in the doorway watching him intuitively. Her eyes followed every gentle but masculine flow of movement. The muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled as he danced. The motion of his body followed the music precisely, yet emotion ruled it. As a professionally trained ballerina, she could appreciate the amazing natural poise he revealed in this hidden talent. She took a step inside the room and the small noise that accompanied the step alerted him to her presence. His dance ended abruptly. His light eyes snapped open and flickered to her. He seemed none too pleased to have been disturbed so rudely.

"I never thought you the type to eavesdrop or spy," he stated coolly, walking to turn off his phonograph. His tone alerted her to his present attitude for her. Cynical, still upset from her lack of decisiveness. He had almost reached the musical device, but before he could reach it she interrupted hastily.

"No, please don't!" Her hand quickly caught his wrist. When his gaze dropped to her restraining hands, she pulled away immediately. "I am sorry. The music is just so lovely I would hate for it to end. Was that one of yours?"

"Of course, one of the few compositions I have ever recorded." His answer was short and detached. His arms were crossed, his expression carefully controlled. He said nothing more, internally debating himself. How easy, how simple it would be to just give in to her bold advances. Every moment in her alluring presence tempted him to frustration's limits. The kisses she had laid against his skin still seemed to smolder. Seeing those perfectly shaped lips only made the aching burn intensify. Curbing the irrational longing, he stared mutely at her. He wondered what kinds of plans she had spinning in that clever mind.

"I didn't know you danced so well." She ventured cautiously. They had been so open, but now he seemed to revert back to his instinctive defensiveness. He didn't appear to desire to be in her company at all. She pushed the discouraging thought away.

"It must be quite a surprise for one who looks as I do to have such a skill." He mused, the bite in his voice unmistakable.

"That is not what I meant." She could not help but defend her motives.

"Of course you didn't," he muttered sarcastically. "My dear, I could see the question in your eyes more clearly than if you had shouted the words. Never mind that. I have had an influence in the choreography of every opera I have ever written, plus any that were performed at the Opera Populaire." In the same maddeningly emotionless voice he continued. "Every lyric, every chord can be transferred through the body, just as it can be with emotion. In each composition I pictured you in my mind's eye, channeling the melody through your body. Every leap of exultation, every bend and flex and turn expressed the mood of the piece. Though you were a singer dominantly, you always far exceeded the other ballerinas in feeling music instead of listening." Though the words were complimentary, they lacked any true sentiment behind them. She refused to let him cut her off from him again. No, she wasn't going to allow it.

Christine felt her heart speed as she requested, "Dance with me?"He stared at her proffered hands in unhidden bewilderment.

Erik felt his face register the shock her question had inspired. Hoping she hadn't noticed, he concealed his feelings again. He laughed as frigidly as he could, despite the conflicting emotions. "Really, Christine, are you truly asking to dance with the devil?"He spoke the condemning word to remind himself who he was and why he could not have her. Demons had no right to innocent angels.

"No," she answered decisively. "I am asking to dance with Erik, with you." Please don't push me away again, she thought. Her greatest fear of him now was rejection.

He glared at her. Did she realize who she was tempting? "Fine," he growled. Walking to the phonograph he switched the songs. Returning to her side he began to circle her speculatively, his eyes roaming her lean figure in a most forward manner. Then with a suddenness that stole her breath, he grabbed her waist and intertwined their hands. With a challenge in his green eyes, he began to step, turning slowly, but with a powerful movement driving him. The tempo of the introduction was deceptively slow, random staccatos trilling the slow entrance. Each advance made her brush against him. She felt the hardness of his tall figure against her and her hands grasped his tighter.

A great, rising crescendo registered and then they were flying. Christine reveled in the strength of his arms. They begin to waltz with the dizzying tempo. The tune was so complex, so swift, she felt disconcerted and unprepared. Erik's eyes never left hers. A look of dissatisfaction crossed them. "Stop listening," he commanded. "Feel it." She ceased to try and predict the next steps, only letting the pressure of Erik's hands and the swell and fall of the music guide her. They circled the great ballroom with a natural grace. His form was perfect and her elegant steps mirrored his exactly. He looked above her, trying desperately to avoid the wanting that was plaguing him. This should be, must be a dream, holding her so closely. Dancing, dancing with an angel. Christine could feel the undercurrent of restrained intensity. Though his hands never held her with more than a gentle pressure, she could sense the passion running through him. The music swirled into another vast crecendo, cresting with soaring runs. He spun her out, her long limbs extending gracefully. He couldn't bear even that meager seperation, and pulled her quickly back to him.

Suddenly their eyes met and everything was fire. The passion in their bodies was equaled. The rhythm made their hearts speed, the pounding intoxicating them. Erik's stoic expression unraveled, leaving only desire lighting his features. As his hand held the small of her back, she fell back against his support, one arm and leg lifting beautifully in the motion. He stopped fighting himself, and with a huff of defeat he pulled Christine back tightly to his chest. Her body shaped itself to his perfectly and he forgot everything of himself. All that mattered was him and her, together in this moment. She followed him willingly in every movement, allowing him to have her completely with no reservation or regret to come between. Her dress billowed as he spun her. Only his steady arms kept her grounded. At the exact moment his hands guided her hips down then up again, she leapt into the air. His palm caught her waist, the fingers of his other hand curling around her thigh, supporting her as she flew. Spinning her back into his embrace, the flames licked through their fingers. He was passion and she was desire, performing a dangerous dance in each other's arms.

The music bridged and flowed into an amazing symphony, beautiful and slow. Erik held her tenderly, staring down into her lovely flushed face. He changed their tempo, slower and slower, until they stood gazing at each other, completely transfixed by the other. The music was like a drug that overcame them completely. His hands tightened at her waist drawing her near and she leaned against him. Her head fell back, her eyes seeking his longingly. In one gaze his silent question was answered. They came together in the same instant, their lips tasting hungrily what they had been denied so long. Despite his passion, Erik was tentative, still unaccustomed to such overpowering sensations. He trembled beneath her spell. He held desperately, afraid to ever end such bliss. Her mouth was soft and inviting, welcoming every kiss he bestowed, receiving it with grateful fervor. Her fingertips traced his unmasked cheek, and he gasped at her touch. Trapping that hand to his skin, he turned his face to kiss every detail; trailing his lips softly from her palm to each tiny rounded finger tip. Pulling it behind his neck he sought her mouth again. There was no space between them as he devoured her. She whimpered against his lips when he dared to graze her lower lip with his teeth. He shivered in response to that beguiling sound. Holding her chin in earnest, he kissed her slowly, treasuring the delicious feeling he never thought to experience again. Christine burned under his lips, the passion overcoming every other sensation. She desired him, surrendering as his willing victim.

"Christine," he sighed hoarsely, leaning his forehead against hers. It was as if he needed to convince himself that she was real; that everything was real. Her eyes opened hazily, staring up with adoration flaming from their brown depths.

Christine's chin trembled. Oh Erik, how I love you. She wanted to tell him so badly; it caused her physical pain to remain silent. She wanted to laugh and sob at the same time. She was in love with Erik. There was no fighting or denying it anymore. But she knew such an admission would only break them both apart if she intended to leave him. I can't leave him! Her mind screamed over and over, insisting that this ghost of a man was essential to her. Yet she had to, whether she chose him or not. Either to return to Raoul or to tell him she wouldn't return. Both ways she would have to leave. But Erik needed something, anything to keep his hope alive.

Clearly fighting her anxiety, she pulled the gold and diamond ring off her finger. Taking his large palm, she carefully placed the token of Raoul's possession over her into his hand. "I-I believe you wanted this," she said softly. Erik looked with disbelieving glances from the ring in his hand to her eyes, trying to understand if she realized what she was doing.

"Are you certain? I'm not trying to threaten you into anything. If you make a decision, I want it to be real." He didn't want to reveal how completely frightened he was. If Christine gave in to him, he had everything to lose, again. And this time, oh this time he would be dead before he lost. No, she would be his as she always should have been, forever. She was a necessity to the very act of living. How could he let her go again? If she wanted him, he wouldn't. Nothing could change that. Nothing.

"I'm sure," she responded, touching his unmasked cheek softly. The small caress brought hazy desire back into his eyes. "But, I have to return to Raoul. He has to know. I can't, I won't leave him this way." Just the mention of the Vicomte made his eyes tighten in restrained anger.

"That is the only reason you are returning to him?" His question was skeptical, and she knew why. He was afraid that she was running from him again. Why shouldn't he have so little faith in her? She had given him very little reason to feel otherwise.

"Yes, Erik. That is my sole reason. I have to- to break his heart." He saw the sadness in her eyes. Despite his misgivings toward the boy, he felt truly sorry that Christine would suffer. She would hurt again because of him. Although he wanted to silently accept his victory, he had to press her to full recognition of this perilous situation.

"Christine, before you decide definitely, you need to realize something." He paused to prepare for rebuff, "I will not let you go this time." Each and every word was slow and deliberate, urging her to comprehend. "You have the power to end this now, but you take that step and there is no going back."

"Past the point of no return," she whispered with the ghost of a sorrowful smile. Erik almost winced at the very words. The pain it stirred to life was almost too much to endure with his future so close. The very same future he had lost after that fateful song.

Instead he agreed simply, "yes." Flashes of the past flew before his eyes. The unmasking, her tears, his own half-mad state driven by her cruelty. His hand clutched the white barrier tightly in remembered fear. Could she bear that monstrosity for the rest of her life? Never had she gazed upon it without trepidation and blatant fear. Even when she kissed him the first time, her eyes had held a muted terror, repressed in her determination.

"Erik," her tiny plea barely broke his reverie. His half aware eyes flickered to her, comprehension finally returning to him. She had watched as his hand had darted up to curl into a protective grasp on his mask, knowing what hurtful memories were inciting his frightened paranoia. Those events had all been connected, even all been caused by her. Guilt for his undeserved rejection assailed her. She wished only to replace those memories with better ones. So quietly she requested, "May I see your face?" She heard his immediate rough intake of breath. He only backed out of her embrace slowly, never releasing his grip on the mask.

"Please, Christine, don't ask me that." His voice held the rough edges of anger. The strands of fury were placed purposefully. He hoped pointlessly to disuade her using his volatile temper.

"Why? I want to see it," she pushed. She needed to prove to him that his face didn't matter; that she desired him not despite, but because of it.

"No, no you don't," he disagreed knowingly. "No one desires to look upon this poor excuse of a face. So just drop it and I'll pretend you never had the impudence to ask such a demeaning thing of me." He used the insulting words for their negative power. Please, please just leave it alone, his mind silently begged.

"I desire to see it. If only you will let me. Take off your mask, Erik. Let me see you." Her persuasions were careful, but insistant.

"Very well. If you insist tearing away my mask, do so yourself!" He commanded dropping his hand. "By all means, tear away the piece that hides the hideousness from the world. Tear apart what little hope for a future I had. For surely once you see my disgusting face, you will run back to the handsome devil waiting for you. Go ahead, Christine. Destroy everything again!" The last sentence almost killed him to say. He knew blaming her was wrong, that it pricked her tender conscience to recall her past sins. But he would do anything to preserve his dignity. Yet, he noted with a defensive scowl, his words had not taken their desired effect.

Taking small, measured steps, she closed the meager distance between them. Her every advance made his heart speed and stutter. But with an air of defiance, he stood resolutely still. It was as though he awaited death itself. She stopped only a breath away. Very gently, she raised a creamy hand to that cursed accessory. Though her body shook, it was only in nervousness. She took a breath to steady herself, and carefully lowered the pristine white mask. Erik's eyes avoided hers, not wanting to glimpse the abhorrent emotions surely showing in them.

Without his witnessing, she smiled, her perfect lips tilting sweetly at the corners. His scars were not what most would call beautiful, and surely not attractive. Yet Christine adored those discolored features. Each and every one marked him for the fallen angel he was, for the man she loved. Her fingers trailed a tentative line from his twisted brow down to the corner of his mouth. His gasp made her pull back sharply. "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" she asked fearfully. His eyelids were closed, but she couldn''t see pain in his relaxed features. Confused, she didn't dare move until he spoke.

"No, it doesn't hurt. It feels... extraordinary. No one has ever dared to touch me where my mask lies." After his confession, he said no more. Her hand returned to his scars. He gloried in the exploration of those tiny fingers. Every feather light touch seemed to seep from his malformed skin into the very core of his being. He shivered uncontrollably as each caress thrilled his skin. He opened his eyes to read her expression, utterly astounded at the emotion he found. She seemed happy. No, more than that. Elated. Her beautiful face held no trace of fear or disgust.

"How can you look at me that way?" he asked suddenly, truly baffled, a rare experience for him.

"What way?" she inquired innocently, still tracing his cheek.

"As if I'm- as if," he couldn't even utter the word in regard to himself. So instead he stopped to allow her room to speak.

"Beautiful," she answered in a whisper, "So very beautiful, Erik." And to Christine, he really was. For this was the face of her saving grace, the face of her guardian Angel of Music. When a soul matches your own so perfectly, you could never see anything less than glorious beauty. She stood up on the tips of her toes to lay a gentle kiss against his scars. "You are beautiful, Erik," she whispered against his skin. He shuddered down the length of his spine when her soft lips touch his marred cheek. The feeling was so beyond the simple word pleasure. No, surely something that altering had to be more.

Christine brushed away the slow tears on his cheeks, ignoring the ones making paths down her own. This wasn't about her anymore. It was about Erik and making things right between them. His hands suddenly wove around her waist, pulling her swiftly against him. He held her possessively, trying to be rid of the doubts in his mind. So many argued against the sanity of such a moment. "I want to live," he murmured against the curls on her shoulder. "And it seems I can't without you."


Raoul gazed warily upon the bounty hunter. Such men were not to be trusted, yet this was his last option. He had given up angrily when no one seemed to find any leads. Police, detectives, hired men all failed. Finally, an old Academy chum had given him the information on the seedy gent before him. Claude Arceneau had helped him track down a number of people owing debts to the government or that ran from their penalty. His friend was now a judge who, when the justice system failed, had his own agenda to find criminals. Most involved using the bounty hunter.

"How much?" the burly man asked. Obviously no words would be wasted with him. Raoul slid a signed check across his desk. He was satisfied to see Claude's eyes bug a little at the enormous amount.

"A bonus is to be paid for each upon their return," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Each? I was told I would be hunting a woman. Have you lost more than one?" He chuckled at his joke, ignoring the Vicomte's annoyed grimace.

"No, you happen to be hired to find a wanted murderer." The cold tone instantly altered the gravity of their exchange. "My fiancé was kidnapped by him."

"And you are certain he hasn't killed her yet?" The question was not unkind, only asked out of curiosity. Yet, Raoul hated to answer, for he knew how bizarre it would sound to describe the freak's attachment to his love.

"Absolutely."

"Who is the killer? Have I heard of him?"

"Perhaps. Does Opera Ghost or Phantom of the Opera ring any bells?" The hunter grew very serious.

"They do indeed. Do you want him brought back alive as well? Or is this a payoff for revenge?"

"No, I definitely want him alive so he may pay for his sins. I'm sure the justice system will love trying his case. Counts of murder and abduction tend to add up." He thought with grim anticipation of handing his rival over to the authorities. Finally, to be rid of him. "Here are photos and sketches of each. They will likely be secluded away from humanity. I know he feels comfortable in the dark or underground." Christine looked innocent and lovely as ever in her photo. Erik, on the other hand seemed menacing and monstrous in his mask.

Claude let out a slow whistle, "No wonder this freak abducted her and you're going to such trouble. I'd go after her too."

Raoul smiled darkly. Christine would be his again, if he had to tear France apart, city by city, to find her. Her ghost had the great misfortune of still being alive. Once he had her safely with him, he intended to remedy that.


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