Chapter Twelve: Fever
February 21, 1881
Rue de Rivoli
Paris, France
Hot.
Christine was so unbearably hot.
As the 17-year-old moaned weakly, her raw throat not allowing for anything more, she could almost feel a faint sensation of something cool and wet on her forehead.
Yet she knew that was impossible, she was in the middle of the desert, for Heaven's sake!
Suddenly, there was a crushing wave of dizziness and the young girl staggered briefly, then collapsed facedown in the burning sands as everything went dark.
Nadir sighed to himself, rubbing his jaw slightly as he watched his masked friend gently wiping Mademoiselle Daaé's forehead with a cool cloth, humming under his breath.
The poor child was burning with fever.
For the past three days, Erik had been spoonfeeding the unconscious girl broth, wiping her forehead with damp cloths, and singing to her when she would be caught in the terrifying grasp of yet another fever-induced nightmare.
Any and all attempts to get the masked man to leave the sick girl's side were met with stubborn, and in the last case, violent, refusals, until the Persian finally just gave up.
Nadir silently wished his friend good luck with this one, praying desperately that his masked friend didn't get his heart broken again.
Because if young Mademoiselle Daaé were to betray Erik's love like that conniving little snake Luciana Altieri had, he knew that his friend would never recover...
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