Disclaimer: same old thing. Don't own characters orignially created by Leroux. Originals and plot are mine. Earning no money from this and am poor college student writing for the joy of writing.

Hello all! This is literally hot off the presses, I've been writing a little bit every day of my spring break and just finished at what is now nearly midnight here. Not too slow of an update, for me...

A thousand thank you's to reviewers! You all rock! Thank you again and again.

Anyway, on to battle. Hope you enjoy it.

Note: a little bit of blood in this chapter, I mean if you stab a werewolf, confetti doesn't burst out of his abdomen...ye be forwarned

The sun was setting and Christine was absently watching out the window, wondering if was hawk or a bat that she had just seen when she was again disrupted from her reveries and forced back to the current conversation.

"I'm sorry, what we were talking of?" she asked for fourth time that evening.

"Are you sure you're alright, Christine?" Meg fretted.

"Just a small headache, it will pass."

"Shall I fetch a doctor?" the Baron offered courteously.

"No, that won't be necessary. I've just been having trouble sleeping lately. I think I'll just turn in early tonight. Goodnight, everyone." Raoul rose from his chair to escort her but she added, "No, please don't trouble yourself Raoul."

"Christine, it's no trouble at all."

"Nothing's going to attack me in the hallways, Raoul," she knew that was a mistake as soon as she said it yet plowed on, "Please, enjoy our wonderful company, for my sake."

"Alright, Christine. If you're sure."

"Yes, thank you. I shall be better tomorrow."

"Perhaps you should follow the same idea, Raoul. You look as though you could do with some rest," Meg added, noting the dark circles that stood out under Raoul's eyes.

Though he looked as though he was about to refuse, his own yawn stifled his protests. He nodded reluctantly then sheepishly waved, meeting Christine at the door. He popped his head out and glanced both ways warily before entering the hallway, offering Christine his arm. Shaking her head, she took his arm and they both headed toward their respective rooms.

Madame Giry followed the couple with her eyes before returning back to her knitting. None of their excuses were holding up under her inspection, at least not at the same time or for this long. Something was certainly amiss.

Meg giggled absently already distracted from her concern, leaning instead toward the charm of her attentive companion. Her mother shook her head and excused herself as well, letting the two of them chat privately, even if the act bordered on the edge of impropriety to leave her daughter without a chaperone; still, she trusted the young man enough…and would cause him great bodily harm should he cross any lines.

Stuffing her knitting into her bag, she marched confidently down the hallway and knocked on Christine's door. With Christine's muffled reply, Madame Giry strode purposefully into the room. Christine brushed through her hair, obviously more caught in her tangled thoughts than the tangles in her tresses.

"My dear, will you not tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? Christine, you've been far from successful in hiding your discomfort, fatigue, and overall flightiness. More so than usual," she added with a gentle smile. "Have you not been sleeping well?"

"No, not at all actually."

"What have you done about it?"

"Nothing."

"I see. What do you plan to do?"

A strange smile crept over Christine's face. "I suppose I'll have to decide something."

When Christine turned away again, Danielle Giry, frustrated, burst out, "I wish you would tell me."

"I wish that I could."

"This isn't about Erik again, is it?"

Christine whipped her head around, confirmation in her momentarily frightened features. "I suppose it is. There are new complications."

"He's a man, dear. There are always new complications."

She gave a small half-smile. "Perhaps, just not like this. I don't know about his soul anymore."

Madame Giry was quiet for a moment, wondering how much Christine knew and how much could just have been spoken ironically. She decided to go out on a limb: "It's difficult to say for those who aren't truly dead. I wonder if he even knows anymore."

Christine's eyes widened before focusing with an uncharacteristic anger. "You knew? You've known since Paris, haven't you? That's why you were so angry when I told you about what happened and why you didn't think I was just imagining things. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"It wasn't my place to say. I won't even ask why he's here. I told Erik not to drag you down into his underworld."

"Maybe I wanted to go," Christine mumbled.

Madame Giry's eyes widened. "Christine, you don't know what that means."

"Yes I do."

"You can't be serious."

"Why can't I? Why can't I be serious about this? I'm so tired of having this problem on my conscious for the past…God I don't know how long now."

"And Raoul?"

"Yes," Christine said sadly. "And Raoul. I really don't know what to do about him. There would be no way to let him down easily, would there?"

Madame Giry glanced at Christine skeptically and sighed. "If you're already decided, then you owe him the truth."

"And what would I tell him? Would I say that I'm willing to wander about with a vampire for the rest of my earthly life instead of becoming his wife, the mother of his children?"

"Are you? Is that what you want?"

Christine closed her eyes and sat down on the bed. "I don't know."

Madame Giry sat down next to her. "Tell me everything, Christine. Don't be ashamed, just tell me everything."

She nodded slowly then proceeded to pour out her heart to her surrogate mother, discovering that perhaps she really did know the answers all along, even if they weren't exactly easy or explainable, ultimately grateful for the relief on her heavy heart.

∞†∞

The before flight pep-talk had been far from reassuring. Apparently, biting was off limits, seeing as how no one was exactly certain what it would lead to. Furthermore, strangulation and other similar methods were not guaranteed to completely kill the creature. When the majority of the pack was down, a group of vampires was picked to either stab the creatures with a spike of silver (though everyone was supplied with at least one, brought by a vampire from Germany who had once been rather wealthy) or shoot it, for as long as the silver bullets held out, in order to be certain that werewolf wasn't coming back.

His face set in grim determination, Erik shifted into the form of a bat and followed after the strange hoard from the cellar. Philippe, next to him, flew more sluggishly than usual but was strangely excited.

"So how many drooling beasts are you going to take down?"

"Enough as necessary."

"Are you sure you don't want to swear revenge for the harm they did to you dear, dear friend Philippe and slaughter the whole pack? I bet Donald would give you a medal or something. Just what you needed." He added cheekily.

"Perhaps. You'd have to die first though, for it to be true revenge."

"And miss the action? No way."

Erik rolled his eyes and glanced about warily, receiving more input from his amazing hearing. Something was definitely down there and more than a few trees. He circled slowly around the area, ignoring Philippe for the time being and focusing on the task ahead, aware that it would be far from easy.

Donald led the flock away from the trees and the werewolves below followed, their upturned eyes glinting vaguely in what light there was. Erik counted about fourteen in all so the vampires had numbers on their side. However, Yuri, through Margaret, had said something along the lines that each werewolf was worth three vampires as far as fighting and endurance; they would have to use their minds, understanding that the forcibly transformed creatures were rather primitive and thought more with their claws than any attempt at strategy. But then, who knew what new powers this pack had found.

With a signaling screech, Donald swooped down upon the foremost of the pack, transmuting back into human form right before slamming feet first on top of the creature. While it struggled under his weight, Donald reached into his jacket and pulled out a silver stake, thrusting it deep into the werewolf's ululating body. He leapt off with amazing celerity. "Go! Leave no survivors," he commanded as the struck werewolf behind him melted into the shape of an ordinary man for his last few moments on earth. The other vampires soon followed suite, though few were as successful as their leader, the pack obviously capable of some basic learning.

Then there was chaos. Piercing shrieks, growls. Fur matted with blood and once fine clothes stained in streaks of sticky scarlet. Anger and basic rage in every hard glare and vicious snarl.

Philippe landed just outside the group and took careful aim with his small pistol, wary to immerse himself in the thick so soon. Erik kept to the skies longer than the rest, still searching for his unsuspecting victim. From the west, there was movement. Screeching out his warning, Erik headed for the large horde advancing to aid their brethren-beasts' cause. A pack of fourteen was unheard of, but the reinforcements would surely triple the werewolf numbers at least. They could count corpses later.

Landing at a run, Erik made for the first of the group, a silver stake gripped tightly in his palm. Impaling the first, he leapt over the falling body and plunged the silver into the body of another werewolf and continued to run against the stream, not lessening his pace. He stabbed the stake with a sickening slide into the shoulder of one who then howled wildly, flailing its arms; one lucky stroke smacked Erik squarely in the chest, knocking him off-course and nearly to be trampled by the hoard.

A mighty tug at his collar hoisted him to his feet. Ezekiel waggled a finger, "You're not supposed to die tonight. Go play nice, now." Momentarily perplexed, Erik stared until Ezekiel's glazed eyes focused and he swung an arm to the side, thrusting his supplied stake into the monster's throat. "Go on, play now," he urged, shooing Erik on with his hands.

Shrugging, Erik returned his attention to the battle. Silver may have been poisonous to the beasts but they would fight until the bitter end, a wounded werewolf adding up to a more dangerous creature. All the same, a handful of bodies still spanned over the once quiet hillside, vampire and once-werewolf alike. His stake still imbedded in one werewolf's shoulder, Erik reached for his lasso. One creature was eager to slash Ezekiel from behind and Erik could hear a light "Thank you!" tossed over Ezekiel's shoulder just before the rope settled around the creature's neck and, with a quick jerk at the rope, resulted in a loud crack. The light left the werewolf's eyes before he even hit the ground, then melted slowly back into the shape of a man. Several of the other vampires appeared to be having little luck but for a handful who slashed purposefully and accurately. Margaret, arm still in a sling, stood next to Philippe as they attempted to pick off those they could. Dane walked from one side to the other, reaching out with bit of silver and side-stepping when necessary. Annabelle had a claw mark down her cheek, which somehow only gave her an exotic look, rather than mar her looks. Irving lay still on the ground, neither confirmed one way or another but there was little time to check.

One werewolf in the center of the mass raised his head and gave a long cry to the heavens. It must have been a signal of some sort, because all the other wolves raced for the center and began attacking from a new angle (the look of surprise was forever frozen on Yuri's face). Evidently, the werewolves had chosen a leader of sorts, another "unheard of" refuted. Donald tried to manage over the circle of beasts but was met in the air, both trying to rip at the other. A few others made the attempt but Erik didn't bother, instead melting into a shadow and sliding underneath their claws.

This werewolf didn't look much different to Erik though it did have a burnished piece of silver jutting out from its shoulder. The other werewolves surrounding it were otherwise engaged in battle and Erik pulled the rope taut in his fists.

Then something unexpected happened. A strange ball of light emerged from behind the beast's ear and it slumped to the ground with a sigh, suddenly human. The man curled defensively but Erik was momentarily more interested in the speck of light that zipped around his head before landing behind his ear. He tried to grab the creature but met with no success.

Then there was a voice in his head: "You tried to strangle this one before but I would not let him die. I will not let him die yet, even though you have struck him down with silver…unless he is no longer useful. Perhaps you will make a better host."

"What are you?" Erik demanded aloud.

"Soon to be your new master, yes there is much mischief we can do. I can see it all in your thoughts."

"What are you?" Erik repeated with gritted teeth, furious that this something should invade his privacy in such a manner.

"If you must know…well, I'd still rather not tell you. Sprites do as they please." The little voice made an offensive sound before continuing to murmur bits of its approval as it rooted through his memories. Strange flashes of times past floated through Erik's conscious, many events that he did not wish to relive. With a great cry of effort, he forced the creature from his head.

The little ball of light swooped about with a few angry squeaks before nearing the man it had left. The man had just begun to recover, glancing about as if seeing the world for the first time.

"I'm free?" he whispered. The ball of light whizzed closer and landed behind the man's ear. "No! Not again. Don't make me change again!" He clutched his head pitifully. He then turned his eyes to Erik: "Sir! If you could show me mercy, kill me now before…before," the poor man's speech dissolved into horrible yells which became more animalistic yelps as his body expanded and stretched unnaturally. The man's irises shifted from blue to black, the white turning yellow. Flecks of spit fell from the beast's vicious teeth as it slowly turned into a warped smile.

The creature laughed, a guttural, jeering growl of a laugh. "I saw much more in your mind than your abilities, Monsieur le Fantôme." It then turned and sprinted away, four feet pounding on the ground…directly toward the Baron's manor.

A flash of honest-to-God terror jolted through Erik's veins as he rocketed after, flying fast and hard to get to Christine before the werewolf.

Authoress rambling: Yikes...anyway, I thought I'd throw that nice little curve in there...or rather my muse did. She's so smart. Anyway, take care everyone...I really can't think of anything I want to say.

The usual: Love it or hate it, please let me know! (Reviewers get a bonus homework coupon and a werewolf plushie with removable sprite, pull out your silver bullets because this adorable little werewolf plushie will attack your heart)