1886
"…your soul is beautiful and that is what I fell in love with."
The words he'd never allowed himself to hope to hear fell easily from the girl's beautiful lips and for a while his only reply was stunned silence. It didn't matter? Of course it mattered! It always mattered. From the rejection by his family to the fear and hatred of Michel and his sons to the torments of Persia, the mask and the face beneath it had always dictated his fate. The very idea that this chorus girl could so carelessly brush aside the cause of all his pain stirred the embers of anger into a raging inferno. In a burst of speed impressive even to Christine, he leapt from his chair to spin her around and pin her to the wall.
"It doesn't matter, Mademoiselle? It. Doesn't. MATTER? How dare you mock me? You speak of things you know nothing about. This face has made women faint, children scream in terror, and men nauseous. It has driven me from my home away from a father who hated me to a cage in a freak show. It has terrified the harem girls in Persia to the point that one preferred death by her own hand to avoid being my bride. Do not say that it doesn't matter." Christine shrank against the door at the rage that battered at her senses and lit his eyes with an unholy gleam. She may be less than human but surely the very heavens quaked at the fury and pain in Erik's voice.
"But…beloved mate, there is more to you than your face." Her words, intended to be spoken in confidence, wavered uncertainly beneath the heat of his anger.
"Then feast your eyes, Mademoiselle, on the face of a demon!" With a single, harsh motion, Erik ripped the mask from his face revealing the distorted and discolored flesh that covered the right side from hairline to chin. Christine, frightened of his anger, gasped at the violence of the motion and, though she'd curse herself for it later, the initial shock of his face. "As I thought," he chuckled darkly, "the love you claim you feel cannot survive your fear of the monster. Am I not a handsome man, Christine Daaé? A regular Don Juan!" Placing a hand on either side of her head where she cringed against the wall, he closed the distance between their bodies to press his own firmly against her soft curves.
She was trapped between the cold, hard stone and the hard, tempting body of the man before her. His scent, a mixture of clean human male, sandalwood, and his own musk, assaulted her senses and shot heat straight to her core. Regardless of the distortion that covered his face, Erik was far too tempting and far too close. If she wasn't insane by the time she left his home, it would be a miracle.
"Please, step back." Her whispered plea was unashamed begging. Her mate only grinned maliciously and pressed more firmly against her curves. Christine closed her eyes with a whimper but that merely enhanced her other senses. She was trembling heavily from the strain of not touching him.
Erik watched her reaction to him with a sense of detached disappointment. Her obvious fear and disgust of him hurt him far more than he cared to admit. He'd refused to believe her claims that she didn't care what he looked like and yet, here she was retreating from the horror like all the others. Once more, it had been made quite clear yet that no one could love a monster with a face like his. Thinking to punish her for igniting even the faintest spark of hope, he moved one hand from the wall by her head and ran it lightly down the length of her body from her neck down her arm to the gentle curve of her hip where it rested.
"You don't want me to do that, Christine," his velvety soft voice whispered across her skin and set every nerve in her body aflame. "Do you?" A low moan escaped her when his breath teased her ear. Shaking her head, she whimpered once more knowing that she was quickly losing the battle with her natural instinct to lay claim to her mate. "Then tell me…what do you want?"
"You," her eyes snapped open and locked onto his golden ones, barely registering his surprise at seeing the once brown pupils now fully coated in a red haze. Reaching out to tangle her fingers into his hair, Christine growled low in her throat as she pulled him closer. "I want you, dammit. I want you to accept the bond or set me free!" And then she kissed him.
She kissed him with all the passion she'd been suppressing since she'd first sensed his presence in Paris a decade ago. Her tongue teased at his lips until they opened to allow her entry and she drank deeply of his nectar. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of and more and oh, how she'd dreamed! Briefly, their lips parted and he stared at her in shocked wonder. A kiss, his first kiss, and what a kiss! With another low, sensual growl, Christine pulled him back down to capture his lips again. This time, Erik responded by wrapping his arms around her waist to press her even more completely against the hard planes of his body. Every emotion he thought forever denied to him was in the two hungry lips that claimed him and the soft curves that writhed against him. This was more than desire and not even remotely associated with fear; this was pure unadulterated need. When their lips parted for him to take a much needed, shaky breath, Christine gazed up at the one who was destined to be hers. They were both shocked at the inferno that blazed between them but Erik was even more so. For the first time, he'd seen what she'd been trying to hide: the fangs that extended slightly below her lip.
"Now do you see?" She leaned in and nuzzled his neck, her voice a low, sensual purr. "Now do you understand how good we can be with each other?" Erik, however, was backing away from her, his eyes looking over her face as if he'd never seen her before.
"What are you?" The whispered words were ripped from his mouth before he ever gave consideration to how they sounded. Here was this gorgeous woman begging to be his and his mind was screaming at him to run, that she wasn't even human. Christine flinched as if he'd struck her.
"I expected so much more from you." Her tortured whisper lingered in the air long after she'd fled his home, the tunnels, and the opera house.
xxxx
Erik stood in the doorway of his home long after Christine had fled, trying to understand all that had happened. Unless his eyes had been playing tricks on him, he thought he'd seen fangs on the beautiful girl who'd professed love for him. Fangs! He shook his head as he tried to make sense of the strange evening. She'd claimed to have felt his birth; that she had seen him the night of the inaugural performance. How could that be possible unless she was something less than human? Running a hand over his hair, he felt the distorted uneven flesh of his right cheek and his heart thudded to a stop. Less than human? Who was he to make such a distinction when he'd been called a monster or worse for the entirety of his life? Determined to find answers, Erik slid on the mask and grabbed his cloak and fedora. He needed to find out where Christine lived. They needed to talk, really talk this time.
After an hour of pacing Madame Giry's small office, he had no more answers than he had before. Christine didn't reside in the dormitories and the address she'd given was of a second-rate theater in a questionable side of Paris: Le Théâtre de Mystère. Dawn was breaking when Meg joined them and provided a little more information but not enough to find the girl easily. She said that Christine had mentioned having a roommate from Russia named Tasha but that was all she knew. Defeated, Erik wandered the opera house aimlessly in hopes she would return for rehearsals. She did not. A message was delivered by courier stating that a family emergency had called her away and she would not be returning. Before he left the building, the masked man cornered the poor lad who'd brought the message and was told that he'd been hired by someone at the Mystère to carry the letter.
That night, the Opera Ghost of the Académie Nationale chose to haunt a different theater. He watched the production from his unseen position in the flies and was pleasantly surprised at the quality. No shrieking divas with constant temper tantrums here. While the principals and chorus may not have been excellent, none were terrible either. The show itself, however, was more surprising than even the level of talent and professionalism portrayed by the actors. It was a rather morbid piece about the Greek tragic love of Hades and Persephone and how he'd tricked her into spending part of her time in the Underworld. He was unable to note several things that could be improved in the production, from the atrocious violinist who gave credence to the thought that the beautiful instrument sometimes sounded like stomping a cat to the lead soprano whose breath control needed work so she could hold her notes longer and clearer. As intriguing as the show was, there was no sign of Christine Daaé.
Erik waited until the last of the stage lights had been doused before he descended from his perch. His feet had silently touched the floor when one of the spot lights flared to life, illuminating him in the darkened theater. He froze, momentarily blinded by the intense light, and then dove to the side behind one of the curtains, cursing his carelessness. The spotlight dimmed and then was extinguished, draping the stage in total darkness once more.
"Monsieur," an accented female voice reverberated around the theater and he smirked slightly at having his own gift of ventriloquism used against him, "from your clothing, I doubt you're a mere thief so I must ask what brings you to the Mystère?"
"I am looking for someone, Mademoiselle. We have unfinished business." Now that the spots were gone from his vision from the sudden light, Erik looked warily around him for some indication of the location of the voice.
"She no longer wishes to be found by you, Monsieur. Let her have what peace she can until you die and finally free her from the bond you rejected." The coldness in the female voice brought a shudder to even the infamous Opera Ghost. He had a feeling that, not only would he get no help from this woman, but she'd be more than happy if his death occurred sooner rather than later.
"I rejected nothing! I can't reject what I don't understand, Mademoiselle, and she left before it could be explained." The chuckle from the disembodied voice caused the hairs on his arm to stand on end.
"Did you really expect her to remain after calling her a monster, Monsieur, a thing? What I can't comprehend is how you, of all people, would dare to say such a thing. You, the gypsy child with the voice of an angel and the face of a devil, the trap-door lover, the master assassin; you had the unmitigated gall to look that beautiful, kind-hearted girl in the eyes and call her a monster! If I didn't know the pain it would cause her, Monsieur, I would cut you down where you stand and not lose a single second of sleep over it."
Erik had nothing to say in reply for the woman was correct; he had been all those things and more. If he couldn't still taste the sweetness of her kiss on his lips, he would do as this unknown female bid and stay away from Christine. Now that he knew the feel, the smell, the taste of her, he was not going to let her go.
xxxx
Sitting in the little office of the Mystère, Christine sipped from a warm mug and waited for Tasha to finish locking up. She was in no great hurry to return to their little apartment in the Rue di Rivoli; all that awaited her there were a pair of suitcases she'd packed earlier and placed by the door. She could no longer remain in Paris with her potential mate so very close and yet so unattainable so she was leaving in the morning for her home in Sweden. She dreaded the empty days ahead; days that would haunt her with memories of that amazing kiss followed by his disgust and rejection of her. When she'd fled the Académie Nationale de Musique, she was so hysterical that Tatiana had trouble comprehending her words. Once she did, however, she had to be restrained from harming the human that had dared to hurt her friend so terribly. Before the show that night, Tasha had helped her pack and secure train tickets out of Paris.
When the last of the lights were extinguished, Christine rose to meet her friend at the exit and say her final goodbyes. Then, one of the spotlights focused on a lone figure on the stage and struggled against the urge to go to him. She listened to Tasha berate her mate and felt his anger and confusion. She could not forgive so easily but perhaps she could give him his answers so he would leave her in peace. As much as the bond pulled, she'd not beg him to be hers. Decision made, Christine joined Tasha in the lighting booth.
"Ask your questions, Monsieur, and I will answer though I have a question of my own." Erik stiffened behind the curtain at the sound of that perfect voice, the one that he'd heard in his dream for years.
"Perhaps we could converse in a more conventional manner, Mademoiselle Daaé? I am uneasy bellowing my questions into the darkness for all to hear."
"This will be sufficient. There is no one in the theater but us three. Now, my question: what is your name?" Christine wasn't about to let him get that close to her again for fear of another rejection.
"I go by many names, Mademoiselle. I am the Devil's Child, the Opera Ghost, the Phantom, and Don Juan. Which would you prefer?"
"I would prefer a straight answer," her annoyance was very obvious, "and your name. The one given to you by your parents, written on your certificate of birth, and recorded in the journals of the church in which you were baptized."
"I wasn't given a name by the man who sired me and my mother died spitting my hideous self into the world. I have no birth certificate nor was I baptized; however, I was registered in the church's books as Erik St. John." Stepping onto the dark stage once more, Erik scanned the seats and boxes looking for Christine. "Now, a question of my own, Mademoiselle: what is this thing you call our 'bond'?"
"Just like the sun has its moon and the day has its night, each one of my kind has at least one perfect mate. We know when our mate is born; we feel when they die. It is a link that goes beyond companionship, beyond love. It is…it is two souls bound together in perfect harmony. It's hard to explain, like explaining the color red to a blind man." She ended on a sigh, not sure how to explain to this human what simply was. "It calls the two souls together in an effort to make both whole once more. It is why I can feel when you're near and, when you are close, I can feel your moods. Some are able to speak without words with their mates but I can only do so in times of great stress."
"Very well. You speak of your kind as if you were something more than human."
"More or less…it depends on who you ask, I suppose. I was born and traveled with my father for less than a score of years before I bonded with my first mate and made the Transition. I can trust you with nothing further at the moment, Monsieur St. John. That is for your safety as well as mine."
"That is not an answer, Mademoiselle." Now it was Erik's turn to be annoyed.
"I fear it's the only one you shall get. Is there anything else for I need my sleep? I have a train to catch in the morning. Distance is the only thing that will ease the pain of an unsealed bond."
"You're leaving Paris?" No! He couldn't lose her now that he was beginning to understand.
"I must, Monsieur. Surely you can feel it, too?" Christine sounded close to tears and Erik knew that if he let her leave in the morning, he'd probably never see her again.
"I do feel it, Mademoiselle, and I wish to understand it. Stay and teach me?"
There was a flurry of heated discussion in the lighting box but the masked man was too far away to comprehend the words. The owner of the disembodied voice sounded extremely angry while Christine remained somewhat calm. After several minutes, it was the other's voice that replied.
"She will stay but there is a condition that pertains to you, Monsieur."
"Which is…?" He asked warily. Conditions were generally never good.
"You will stay here, at the Mystère, and provide…shall we call it artistic direction…while the two of you come to terms with this relationship. I want you where I can see you, Monsieur. Christine may trust you; I, however, do not."
"Preposterous! My home is at the Académie Nationale de Musique. They are rehearsing for Hannibal and those two fools who manage my theater will bring disaster without my guidance."
"Then say your farewells tonight, Monsieur, for tomorrow she will be on that train." There was a long silence as Erik chafed at being manipulated and forced from his home.
"If that is your price, Mademoiselle, then so be it." Unconsciously, he echoed the words Christine had uttered during her meeting with Madame Giry while looking for him. "I must see to a few things at the opera house but will return here before dawn. If that is acceptable?" His voice was mocking but Tasha merely laughed.
"Quite, Monsieur. Upon the mantle over the exit to the west is a key that opens the door below it. Take it and return as soon as possible so we can get you situated in your new quarters." Without another word, Erik turned for the exit his cloak billowing out behind him like the wings of a giant bat or raven.