So, as promised, I have continued to update and write this story. As a warning, there is some material in this chapter that pertains to sexuality, but it is nothing too serious, I promise you. I couldn't seem to make myself go into the gory details. Heh. Also, as a special treat (coughs) there's two E.A.P. quotes here.

Enjoy! And please review!

,')-'-,-'--

"From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by --
From the thunder, and the storm --
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view --"
- "Alone"

"Scorching my seared heart with a pain, not hell shall make me fear again."
- "Tamerlane"

,')-'-,-'--

It was deafeningly quiet once the door slammed behind Sorrel. Only the sound of her footsteps was noticeable under the palpitations of the increasingly anxious muscle inside Christine's chest. She was sure he could hear it as well, for once the vile woman had left their sight, he turned on her like a vulture.

"Alone at last…." he breathed, his voice as smooth as pine needles as he whispered into her ear. As his grip on her turned cobra-like, she immediately and instinctively tripped off the bed and stood far away from him, slowly inching towards the door even with his eyes locked on hers.

"No need to get all worked up so early, Christine," he intimated, withdrawing a long, sharp dagger from the far reaches of his coat and stroking it arduously. "After all, Lady Sorrel did give us several hours…very generously, if you were susceptible to viewing it that way."

Christine said nothing, only continued to watch him closely, both his eyes and his knife.

He took a few steps towards her, causing Christine to glance around in alarm. She realized that he was strategically moving her, angling his body in such a way that as he stalked towards her, she walked straight into a corner of the room. The heel of her foot met a dresser as she backed up, and she winced in pain when her back met the wall.

His face was a disturbing mask of seething malice. Without meaning to, Christine could not help but further compare this demon of a man before her to the enigma that was Erik. Both had such different masks of hatred and power, yet so vastly different that she could not even begin to describe how contrasting they were. But above all else, she noticed that whilst Erik's eyes were the only real part of him that were expressive, besides the small amount of his mouth that she could see, they held a passion so deep that no matter what he felt - pain, loneliness, fear, love - they shone with more light than the sun. The man in front of her, however, only seemed to absorb the light, but radiated none back. Like something dead.

"Keep in mind that this is strictly business. If that helps," he added matter-of-factly as he approached. "I get paid a pretty penny for slicing your pretty neck." He laid the edge of his icy blade against her neck, and with every carefully-collected breath, Christine could feel the sharpness of the metal against her skin. "However…" he sighed, running his other hand down her side until he reached her wrist and drew it up above her head, "I might choose not to kill you until that magical hour if you persuade me."

Christine's breathes turned panicked, and with a sharp intake of breath, she felt the blade slice gently so, without his bidding, and draw the smallest of red rivers to flow down her collar.

"The idea excites you, apparently," the sadist commented, watching with a sick kind of stoic pleasure as the edge of his knife made her bleed. "Seeing as how I am a gentlemanly kind of person," Christine sent him a very ugly look at that, which he somehow missed, "I will give you twenty minutes to think on it." When Christine's look of panic turned into full-fledged horror, he merely tried to calm her fears by rubbing his calloused fingers against her jaw. She shuddered in disgust. "Oh, do not feel trepidation, Christine. I assure you, it will not be a difficult decision to make." And with that, he was gone.

,')-'-,-'--

"Good God, man, it is the middle of the day. How do you suppose you will be received if you traipse across town with that thing on your face?"

Erik turned around on the middle of the stairwell and gave Raoul a disbelieving, irritated look. "Are you proposing I take off the mask, Vicomte? For if you are, be prepared for a monstrous and deadly visage to assault your vision."

When Raoul did not respond, Erik finished his descent, ignoring the sounds of shocked servants as he strode past them doing their menial jobs around the house. Raoul once again tried to protest against Erik's actions as the latter moved towards the horse stables.

"At least let us take the carriage -" Raoul began, but Erik cut him off sarcastically.

"Yes, my good Vicomte, let us take that ostentatious vessel of yours to the very place where we are most expected, to carry out the somewhat risky recapturing of a certain endangered and highly coveted possession." Erik shook his head disgustedly, carrying on towards the stables in a slinking, graceful manner that left Raoul somewhat bewildered, even after he had grabbed a hold of his senses and began to follow.

"She is not a possession, you know," Raoul contested, feeling somewhat put off that the very man who was most likely his enemy was leading him towards his own stables - and what was worse, was directing him as to what they should do! Raoul's distress was short-lived as his worry and anxiety began to accumulate.

"A possession is something that can be stolen, and stolen she has been." Erik began to saddle up the largest, strongest-looking horse as he said this. A thoughtful look came over his eyes then, and he added something, quietly. "Nevertheless, you are right, boy. She is certainly not a possession. Her childish stubborn streak would see to that."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Raoul demanded, defensive.

When Erik did not answer and only continued to fix the horse's reins, Raoul gave a strange start and complained, "That's my horse!"

Erik gave Raoul a pointed glare, and with a somewhat satisfied up-turning of the corners of his lips said, "Yes, and what a fine beast it is. Now would you be so kind as to take a horse? We really do have to be going, the matter is quite urgent." Erik said this last sentence quite menacingly, as if the boy weren't taking the situation very seriously at all.

Raoul grunted, and made a face. However, he followed directions and obediently took the horse in the next stable over.

"Now, listen very carefully boy, for I will not repeat myself. You will ride ahead and lead the way into town. You are not to stop to talk to anyone, and you shall not capture attention by riding fast or looking anxious. If anyone does call out to you, you are to stop and comment briefly on the weather. If they ask why you are riding a horse through town, you are to shrug it off and pass it as a mere fancy you had."

"People will think me mad," Raoul muttered discontentedly.

Erik did not pay attention. "When we reach the house, you will be standing guard outside while I break in and find Christine."

"Shouldn't we be calling the police? Have them do this?"

Erik gave the emotional young man a disapproving look. "Do you honestly believe that would work? A depressed nobleman and a disfigured maniac against the likes of one of the most respected families in Paris? You are as naive as you are foolish."

"Who do you call a fool, sir? Unless I am mistaken, and God help me if I am, you are the one who allowed Christine to be kidnapped in the first place!"

"I am not the man who made it possible for her to overhear that disgusting display of treachery!" Erik fumed, unable to contain himself any longer. Cold, stony rage filled his eyes.

Raoul was silent for several moments. "But you couldn't possibly have overheard -"

"There is only one thing," Erik stated, "that could have caused Christine to flee. Not until your horrid example of a brother practically professed his lowly opinion of your so-called 'love' did Christine try to get away from that house. And she went to the only other place she could. She is terrified of me at times, but at least she knows that I will forever treat her like the angel that she is, rather than a less-than-suitable option."

Raoul approached closely on his horse, ready to defend the honor of both his brother and himself. "What are you implying, sir? That I or my brother thinks the future mistress of my home and mother of my children isn't the most precious thing to me in this world?"

Erik flinched, the consideration of that future never once coming into his contemplations. The implications of that statement sent a very deep hurting through his heart, obliterating any smugness he felt over accusing Raoul of malignancy. "No. I am merely saying that we are equal in responsibility, and I ask that in this one endeavor, you follow what I tell you - that it has nothing to do with me, but everything to do with her."

Raoul considered this, and nodded gallantly. "Follow, if you can."

,')-'-,-'--

Once the frenzied tremors subsided, she was able to compose herself enough to allow the full enormity of her predicament to hit her. There was no doubt in her mind that there was a very good chance that she would not escape with her life. In fact, she was certain that that was the only possible conclusion.

Alternating temperatures of extreme hot and cold rose through her, and a furious profusion of moisture broke out across her brow. But with the migrating sensations of fear, regret, and sorrow passed, another thought more frightening than any possibility of death occurred to her: she was running out of time, and quickly.

She had choices, two very, very horrendously earth-shattering choices that could cause her world to crumble in its' very wake. On the one hand, she could die, saving her virtue and dignity and cutting out the remaining hours of waiting for her death. On the other hand, she could give in to the devil's desire, succumbing her body to the gratification of a lecher.

The thought sent waves of negative energy coursing through her as she stared out across the room blankly at a candlestick holder on the nightstand. She knew she could not do that to herself. She could not betray her beliefs, the very foundation on which she was raised for the sake of a few more imprisoned hours upon this unfair, wretched sphere. She could not betray Raoul that way; "sleeping with the enemy" took on a more frightening tone in that light.

Nor could she do that to Erik. She was sure that, if she did go through with it, the small part of her soul that did not already belong to him would be lost forever.

And yet, she did not want to die. Above all other things - above the shame she felt, the unworthiness of their love, the guilt of playing once against the other - she did not want to feel the clammy palms of Death. She had a passion for life, for all things living, and that had lived. To give in to death so easily would be a tragedy of the very greatest magnitude. She had to live. For her parents, for Mama and Papa Valerius, for Raoul, for Erik, and most of all, for herself.

The thought of Mama Valerius brought a flood of remorse that prickled viciously. To disappear off the face of the planet with no one to tell Mama the wiser would a very rare and ugly cruelty. She could not allow that to happen.

She wouldn't.

It was at the moment that the door crept slowly forward did she realize she had made her decision without consciously making it.

A sly, slimy grin adorned his face as he reentered the room. Christine stood slowly, bones creaking and weak with fatigue. She held tightly to the folds of her ripped dress to keep her sweating palms from shaking too fiercely and giving her away. Even so, she felt any false move she made would lead her to break out into violent sobs. It took every ounce of her strength to prevent herself from doing so.

"Made a decision, have we?"

Christine stared off in the other direction, unable to agree and yet unwilling to be sentenced so soon.

"Rejecting me then, are you? Well, I'm sure we can think of another task to occupy our time…" he said dispassionately as he raised the blade from the hidden sheath.

"No!" she cried out, stunned by the mouse-like quality of her own voice. She sounded desperate as well, a fact that was as distasteful as it was unhelpful to her cause.

To her shock, this seemed to only prove useful to her. His entire mien transformed, and at once he seemed less of a snake, and more of a panther. The metallic glint shone briefly and disappeared as he put it away, and for a moment he looked at her, as if assessing her willingness and which action next to take. It was not due to a lack of fervor or of confidence that he did not move. Rather, he seemed to be contemplating her, as if she were prey to be devoured and he was ascertaining the perfect way to seduce her.

In the end, it seemed as if commanding won out. "Come here," he barked curtly, yet in his tone was a subtle softness that at first was difficult to pinpoint. Christine discovered this soon enough, and realized with dawning comprehension that this was a very dangerous thing he was doing. If Lady Sorrel found out about this tryst, there was a very good chance he would be killed (after he had killed her, of course), for the sake of pride and jealousy.

Meekly, Christine tiptoed across the space between them, looking at her feet, afraid to meet his death's eyes. But even as the dread raced inside her, she let the calming and angelic voice of her mind's version of Erik sooth away her worries and guide her along. He commanded her to use her training, to use the natural gifts given to her to keep her alive.

Not only that of a vocalist, but of an accomplished actress as well.

This would prove very difficult indeed.

Although the actions were hers, the suppressed and buried part of her consciousness screamed and bashed out against what she was currently doing. It went against her very nature and personality, doing what she was doing, and yet she knew Erik and Raoul and whoever else she would probably answer to would forgive her for using her wiles thusly.

She looked up.

She could see the hunger in his face, the naked desire the rake felt by being so close to a woman who was ready and willing. But she knew that in that singular moment, she held the power, and that was something she had to keep - in whatever way she could.

Christine gave him a meaningful look - a look she hoped conveyed a sense of reciprocated desire that urged him to join her in this dance. Slowly, and with careful precision as to the movement of her hips, she walked towards the bed, facing the right side and beginning to unlace the back of her dress.

After several seconds of undoing the ties, she began to worry. He would come over and help her undo the rest, wouldn't he? What would she do if he didn't? She did not think her bravado could last much longer in this farce of a rendezvous.

Finally, she felt the callous and bruising fingers of her captor take up her task as her fumbling hands failed to aid her undressing. His rate was alarmingly fast, and she knew that at this moment of vulnerability, she had to act quickly.

With a motion so fast she wasn't sure if she had done it at all, she took the heel of her foot and slammed it into the curve of his boot. Moaning a sharp oath, he stumbled away from her, taken by surprise, which was the very reaction she was hoping for. Turning to face him, she quickly sidestepped the man as he attempted to reach out and restrain her. Missing, he fell on the bed with a loud thump, and at that exact moment, before Christine could think twice, she grabbed and raised the candlestick holder above his head and gave the assassin a sound whack.

His body jerked and crumbled like a rag dolls, and the large piece of furnishing fell to the floor. Horrified, Christine could only stand like a statue, breathing heavily and grasping her middle as the breaths stole in and out of her body. It had been simple, far, far too simple, and yet she knew now what she should have known all along. She was destined to live. And no one, not jealous witches, nor anyone else, could steal that right from her.

While the first job had been carried out, the second would certainly not be quite so easy: escaping unseen. With a shiver of horror, she overturned the man gently, not for his sake, but for hers. She removed the blade from his coat, and in doing so, also discovered a revolver and a small change purse. After collecting these items, she turned to go, but with a second thought, returned and, ever so carefully, removed his coat and donned it. With a smile, she walked out the door, an aura of pride and freedom trailing behind her.