She liiiives! Virtual teaching has been the absolute pits. I return to the classroom in a week, so I thought I needed to push to get another chapter out. This wraps up this little plot point.

Chapter 17: bond

When she came back to herself, Erik still lay atop her, bathing her neck with the flat of his tongue. His heart thudded rapidly against hers, his tall frame warmed by her own living blood. His draws from her vein had been steady and long and… far more wonderful than she could have imagined. She felt so languid that she thought she would never move again.

After a moment, he moved off her, sliding himself from her body in an odd sensation that made her suck in a breath.

"I should not have done that," he said gruffly, tucking himself back into his pants unseen.

Her eyes stung. "Do not take it back from me. I wanted and cherished every moment of what we did, and I would not change anything."

"Oh Christine." He caressed the side of her face with tender, shaking fingers. "You have saved me in more ways than one this night."

She rolled onto her side to face him and kissed his upper arm. Words failed her, but what more could she say than what had already transpired between them?

He continued to stroke her hair, slowly lulling her into a light doze. At some point, she was aware that he pressed a soft cloth between her legs, the warmth heavenly against her sore flesh. He pulled back the heavy covers and brought her beneath them. Before she could worry that he would leave, he had slipped in by her side.

She tumbled in and out of sleep for the next few hours, always dazedly blinking to find Erik still lying next to her, sometimes with a book or piece of parchment. She was uncertain how much time had passed when she woke again to find the spot next to her vacant.

At once, she sat up, far more awake now. Her body jolted with new aches. She cupped a hand to her throat, the skin sore there but unbroken. Her lips felt kiss-sore, roughened by hard lips against her own. Between her legs, she was swollen and damp, and she flushed to remember what had transpired between them earlier. She was… different, in more ways than one.

A healthy fire blazed in the hearth. Erik could not have been gone long. At her feet, a silk robe rested, and she pulled it on. She tucked her feet into the thick slippers left neatly at the end of the bed and trudged over to the fireplace. A glance at the mantle told her that she had slept half the night away – it was nearly two o'clock.

What had awakened her?

On the small chaise near the fire, she found fresh articles of her own clothing: a set of new underthings, as well as everything she needed to dress in her now usual mourning garb. She also found a tray of food on the low table with various cheeses, fruit, and pastries. She lifted the lid of a teapot to smell the wonderful scent within. The liquid was still warm.

It was the middle of the night, but it did not seem too odd to pour herself a cup of tea, add a little sugar, and sip it while also picking at bits of food. This was her new life, was it not? With a husband who roamed at night and slept during the day? For a moment, an ache rose within her. Would that she had someone to speak to who existed outside of her new reality. To be able to speak her worries and fears aloud seemed like such a novelty now.

Once she had finished her cup, she felt ready enough to dress. An outer layer of clothing had been left for her, and she set the clasp of a thick cloak at her throat and pulled on warm, lined gloves. Her hair she left unbound, flowing in thick golden waves down her back.

Something called to her, caused her to quicken her steps. She moved upon booted feet down a hall beyond Erik's bedroom. A sconce on the wall flickered, highlighting a door at the end of the hall that she had not passed through before. The doorknob turned easily in her hand. She shivered as cool air tumbled out of the dark space beyond and swirled around her bare face, the temperature shifting noticeably.

A new hallway yawned before her, reminiscent of the spaces in which she had traveled with Erik earlier that day. Truly, had it only been five hours since he had led her beneath his estate?

A lifetime had passed in the span of those five hours.

She heard the rush of air being pulled into flame. A second sconce flared to life, this time further down the tunnel. The walls were smooth but made of unfinished stone as though carved from the very Earth itself. Careful with her footsteps, Christine made her way to the second light. No sooner had she arrived near it, a third bloomed to life, and the glow showed her where to venture next. In this manner, she made her way through the tunnel until she found herself staring at a spiraling staircase that led upwards.

She took up fistfuls of her skirts and carefully climbed. Despite the height, despite the narrowness of the stairs and the steep slope, the flight upward felt solid beneath her feet. As she left the base behind, the light grew dimmer. At the top, she reached out a hand and felt the smoothness of wood before her. She glided her hand around until she felt a handle, and she push-pulled until something gave way, and the panel opened.

She stepped out into a small dressing room, this time with a lit gas lamp curling bright flame upon a low table. Closing the panel behind her, she was startled by her own face reflecting within a large mirror; she had entered this room from behind a secret mirrored door.

Where was she?

She tore her gaze from her own wide-eyed face. Grasping the lantern, she held it aloft and left the room through the single small door, which opened to a long, dark hallway. Inexplicably, she turned left, walking past more small doors, until she entered a large rotunda lined in mirrors. She could smell the clean wooden flooring, which gleamed with a newly-polished shine. Curved wooden bars stood at spaced intervals. This was… a practice room? For ballet, she gathered, spying a pair of pointe shoes that had been left behind. For a moment, she thought of Meg, but she shook those memories away.

There were several exits from here, but she seemed to know where to go. A force pulled her across the room to another hallway at the far end. Here, she moved through heavy curtains, between towering, shadowy sets balanced atop large wheels, one a scene of a jungle, another a beach with trees she had never seen before. She found another small door and walked through it, finding herself in a curved hallway lined in red velvet wallpaper. Door after door appeared, each one identical to the next, and before she knew it, she had reached one that forced her feet to stop.

Her fingertips touched the doorknob, hovered, and then turned it. It was a small room with a bench to either side and a red velvet curtain at the far end, which was pulled halfway open. Two chairs, also in red velvet, faced toward her, both empty. Her heartbeat sped up. She felt certain that she was in the right place, but she had no idea how she knew.

"Erik?" she called.

Only silence answered her. Somewhere, he was watching her, pacing impatiently, a predator on the prowl, waiting… but for what?

She stepped closer to the chairs, placing the lantern on the floor at her feet. A wide expanse of darkness stretched before her, and even though she could see nothing in front of her, she knew the space was vast, empty, the kind of openness that only came from the theater. She touched one of the backs of the chairs, and the velvet was soft under her fingertips.

She was standing in one of the private boxes at the Palais Garnier.

"Hello, Madame Voclain."

She turned. Lucas stood in the opening of the curtain, an easy smile stretched wide upon his face. He was dressed in a casual brown suit, and a black band encased his upper arm, a tribute to her father.

"Lucas! I'm rather surprised to see you here," she said.

He gave a little laugh. "You get used to the odd hours, madame, with the company that we keep."

It was a prodding comment, and one that Christine saw right through. "You know about Erik."

"I do." He stepped into the box and sat in one of the chairs, giving the other one a pat to invite her to join him. She did so, and in the glow of the lantern, she noticed what she had never noticed before: the flush of his cheeks, the normal color of his dark brown eyes, the flat shape of his teeth.

"You aren't… you aren't one of them."

He smiled again. He had dimples in both cheeks. "I am human just like you. I was born in a small town outside of Paris, but I have lived here most of my twenty-two years. I do hope that one day Darius will see fit to turn me, but that's not what I came to speak to you about."

Her eyes widened. "Darius. He is vampyre too?"

"And Monsieur Khan."

How naïve she had been. Now that the truth was flayed open, the signs had all been there. The three men – no, the three vampyre – had not been able to use their glamours to blind her to reality, but she had been too consumed by other things to take the time to notice what had been right in front of her.

"How long have you known?" she asked.

"You mean, did I know before I fell in love with Darius? I knew something was different the moment I met him. I was at a tavern having a drink after work when I saw him from across the room. He was staring at me, and I had a feeling that he had been for quite some time. Before I knew it, he was at my side, and we had talked half the night away. He was the most beautiful person I had ever seen."

Lucas paused, another smile tugging at his full lips. "He was lonely, and so was I. It was easy to feel the allure of his full attention. On the way back to my flat, he guided me into an alley and asked if he could drink from my wrist."

"Were you frightened?"

"I would be lying if I said no, but he was so calm and friendly. I was fascinated with him. From the beginning, he was honest with me, and if I'd said the word, he would have left me alone forever. But we became inseparable. Darius… you know him. He can be a bit stiff, a bit focused on decorum, but when he's truly at ease, his smile is brilliant. I whole-heartedly believe it was fate that we met."

Christine clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She wanted to hear more, to ask him more questions, but the sense of time pulled at her with an urgency she could not have explained. "Lucas… why are you here?"

"To make certain you know why you are here." He turned in his chair to face her more fully. "It is not an easy thing to love a vampyre. Their ways are not our ways. They need our blood to survive, and yes, I can see that Monsieur Voclain has fed from you already. When his heart began to beat again, the bond formed between you. When you accepted him, when you allowed his bite, the bond was able to strengthen."

Christine pressed a hand to her neck. "But it is not finished."

"No, it's not. There is one final step: the acceptance of you into their clan."

"Clan? What does that mean?"

"Their family, of sorts. A coterie. When new vampyre are created, they are bound together by the shared blood of their Master. Monsieur Khan created Darius, and so they are part of the same coterie."

"But humans… they can be accepted into the group?" She swallowed. "How- how does that work?"

Lucas stretched out one of his arms and unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve with quick movements. Peeling back the white linen, he revealed two circular scars upon the inside of his wrist. He had been bitten, but the marks had not been healed the way Erik had healed her.

"They will mark you as one of theirs," he explained. "When they do this, they will claim you as one of their own, offering any protections that come with the status. Even though we are not vampyre, we are still Bonded." He fastened his sleeve back into place. "It's not the most pleasant of bites, I will admit. They cannot use their own blood to lessen the pain. However, with the bond comes certain advantages. No doubt you wonder how you managed to find yourself here, yes?"

Christine's heart thudded within her chest. "You said they."

"An older vampyre will have to mark you first." And at this he glanced into the darkness beyond them.

In the lamplight, Nadir's eyes seemed to glow a dark amber color, the brown bleeding into the color from the lantern. It was a wonder that she had never noticed how inhuman he looked. His brown skin was smooth and blemish-free, and the lines in the corners of his eyes seemed more painted on than wrinkles formed with time. His careful, slow movements were that of a performer, intentionally designed not to startle.

Nadir kept his distance while she rose from the chair. "My dear Christine. You are all right?"

"Yes." Her eyes swept over him. "You should have told me. You all should have told me."

He bowed his head. "It was Erik's decision to make. I can only hope you will one day understand that. Has Lucas explained what is to happen next?"

"He showed me the scars on his wrist, and he told me an older vampyre had to mark me first. I- I suppose that means you?"

"It does." He gestured at the small area behind the chairs. "Maybe I come closer?"

Christine frowned. "Monsieur Khan, should I be afraid of you?"

He blinked. "No, madame."

"Then I am not. I am not made of glass, nor will I run screaming if you approach me."

That seemed to break the tension. A relieved chuckle emerged from Nadir, and the tightness in his shoulders eased. "There will be much more time for questions and answers later, I assure you. However, right now –"

"Our time is short," she finished for him. "It will be dawn soon, won't it? Your kind… they cannot tolerate the sunlight?"

"It is lethal," he affirmed. "We must rest during the day. If we are to finish this bond, it must be done so quickly."

"You make it sound like there is a choice."

His eyebrows rose. "There is a choice, Christine. There has always been a choice."

"For me." She finished the unspoken end of his statement. "There is no choice for Erik, is there?"

Nadir's lips parted, and then he pressed them together in semblance of a frown.

Lucas rose and moved to the side of the room, still present but giving the vampyre space. "No, there is no choice for them," the human said. "For them, the bond is so much more extreme than for us. We feel its effects, yes, and we sense that growing connection, but for them, their very existence depends upon the bond from the moment it begins."

Christine looked back at Nadir. "Erik will die if I don't do this."

He met her gaze. "In a manner of speaking, he will."

She took a long, steadying breath and released it in one long stream through her nose. For God knows how long, Erik had not been able to perform that simple function, and yet this night, her blood had brought him back to life again. If she could give up so little to help him, then she would do so without any more hesitation.

"Left or right wrist?" she asked.

His eyes flared wide, just a little. "Left," Nadir said, voice hoarse.

Christine plucked at the fingers of her glove, pulled it off, and extended her arm. "Let us have at it then."

His pupils blew, leaving only a sliver of brown around his irises. Nadir pressed his lips together firmly, and she realized headily that he was covering his fangs as they extended in his mouth. He tugged off his gloves and placed them inside one of his coat pockets. Then, he reached out and grasped her palm gently with his own broad fingers. With a slight tug, he led her to sit back upon one of the velveted chairs.

"You should leave before blood is spilt," he said to Lucas.

The young man fidgeted, his first sign of discomfort at the situation. Christine offered a thin smile. "I will be fine."

He nodded and left through the curtained doorway, leaving her alone with Nadir.

But they were not truly alone, were they? She had not been alone since the moment she woke up in Erik's underground home. She had sensed his presence around her like an invisible mist, swirling about her ankles, guiding her unseen to this moment. He was here now, hidden somewhere in the dark recesses of the opera house, still waiting.

Nadir did not join her upon the other chair, instead bending to one knee near her skirts. He still clasped her palm, and his other hand came up to grasp just below her elbow. Though his touch was exceedingly light, she knew he could immobilize her with the barest of touches.

"Do you understand what we are?" he asked, wrenching his eyes from the pale expanse of her wrist to meet her wide-eyed stare.

"Y-Yes," she whispered. "You are vampyre."

"Do you understand that you are now bonding yourself to one of us? For as long as you draw breath, he will be yours."

"Yes. I- I understand."

"Then give me your wrist."

She stretched out her arm further to him and felt his fingers clamp onto her palm and below her elbow. He radiated more heat than Erik. He smoothed a broad thumb over her wrist, stirring the veins there to plump. His lips parted, revealing long white fangs.

"There is no way to lessen this pain. Forgive me."

He struck. Christine stared as his fangs sank into the flesh at her wrist, parting the thin skin there without resistance. Pain licked up her arm, hot as flame, and she gave a soft moan of discomfort. She felt a tongue lap between the fangs, and his throat bobbed above his collar as he swallowed. Her vision swam with a rush of tears.

And then he disengaged, sliding free of her without tearing her further. Still cupping the back of her hand, he used his other hand to tug out a handkerchief from his breast pocket and press it against the back of her wrist. Twin holes dotted her wrist, each filled with fresh blood as the wounds bled freely.

"Nadir –"

She cut herself off. Erik had appeared at her side, drifting down upon both his knees. His black cape settled about his lithe form like a wave of thick smoke, clinging to his broad shoulders and puddling around her ankles. He drank in the sight of her with glittering golden eyes. Long, bare fingers wrapped around her hand and arm, his touch cool but not chilled.

A gleam of fang and he had fastened his lips around her wrist.

Christine cried out as the pain intensified. Erik seemed to deepen the punctures that Nadir had first wrought, ensuring that they would not close, claiming her in the manner of his people. She stared at his bent head, at the smooth, perfect shape of his black wig, at the thin tie that held his mask tightly to his face. She stared at the edges of that bone-white mask, at the twists and valleys of the flesh beneath that were just visible.

Nadir slipped away mostly unnoticed.

"E-Erik," she gasped when he sucked a long drag from her. It was a different sort of feeling, this marking, this digging of fang into her wrist instead of directly into her vein. The intent was not to feed but to possess. She felt every sharp edge of his teeth. Her free hand came up to grasp onto his shoulder, her fingers twisting into the fabric there.

Oh, it hurt. She throbbed around his fangs, a pulse that burned nearly to her shoulder now. Tears let loose and cut tracks down her cheeks, and that was when he receded, unclamping his lips, sliding himself free of her. Hot blood pooled in the twin holes.

Erik had come prepared. Quickly, he bandaged her wrist, fastening clean white cloth around the punctures so tightly that she winced at the pressure. As soon as he had finished, she reached forward, pressing her palm between his layers of clothing to the smoothness of the shirt above his left breastbone. His heart whipped at her fingertips there, the strong pump echoing her own racing heartbeat.

"You are all right," she whispered. "Our bond… it worked."

He swallowed. Red bloomed upon the inside of his lips, the red of her blood, but flicks of his tongue washed the rest away. "Dearest Christine, my Christine, yes, it has worked."

He sat back on his heels, bent, and pressed her palm to the cheek of his mask. The cold material seeped into her aching limb, and she stayed very still to let the relief linger. She expected him to eventually pull away, but he did not. His gesture was a surrender; in this moment, she could command the most vulnerable part of him should she request it, and she knew, she knew, he would do nothing to stop her.

Perhaps she should have tempered the flair of anger she felt swell at his action. Could he truly equate in equal measure his bare face with the fact that she had just allowed two vampyre to sink their teeth into her wrist? She twisted her hand, catching the thumb across the nose of his mask, her fingers hooking onto the edge. He froze but did not pull away. She should do it. He had demanded so much of her tonight. She wanted to demand something of him.

Her fingertips trailed down the boundary between mask and twisted flesh until she reached his bare jawline. There, she tilted up his head, focusing wide amber eyes upon her own.

"Kiss me," she said.

He rose upon the points of his knees, his height now equivalent to hers. His mouth grazed hers with the barest of touches, thin lips feather-soft in their ministrations. His cool breath fanned across her face as he drew back to press tender kisses to the dip of her temple, the wetness beneath one eye, the frown between her eyebrows. She felt the tension within her relax in the wake of each caress.

When he found her mouth again, she felt the prod of his tongue at the seam of her lips, and she parted, allowing him entrance. He groaned and shifted closer. Long fingers delved into the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck, not insisting in any way but rather cradling her as though she might break. Well, she was not made of glass, was she?

Far from it, in fact.

Christine pulled up the front of her heavy skirts and slid from the edge of the chair. Erik chuffed a surprised breath against her lips, but then his hands were upon the puddles of black fabric, lifting the layers free of her legs. He lowered himself to sit upon his heels, bring her with him, her knees parting around his thighs, their lips never losing contact with each other. She could feel the hard muscles bunched against the inside of her legs, with only the rough linen of his pants and the thin material of her drawers to separate them.

His touch ever so careful, he guided her left arm across his shoulder so that her wrist hung free without pressure upon the bandaged punctures. Then he was wrapping his arms around her, stroking the ends of her hair, dancing his fingers up and down her spine as though he could not get enough of the feel of her.

She fisted his jacket at his waist with her uninjured hand, urging him closer still. He slanted his mouth to deepen their kiss; she flicked her tongue between his fangs, and a growl rumbled in his chest, the vibration sending a thrill through her. Christine's hips shot forward, flexing of their own accord, seeking more friction in a way they seemed to know how to do on their own. She let go of his coat to press her hand between their bodies, and the rigid length of him met her palm. He broke away from her mouth to trail firm lips down her neck. Then he dug a hand into her curls, angled her head, and devoured her mouth again.

She felt his other hand cover hers. She thought he was going to stop her exploration of him, but instead he loosened the front of his trousers, and suddenly he was heavy in her palm. Curving, smooth flesh jutted against her belly, and she wondered at the soft skin, at the warmth radiating from this part of him. Curiosity made her want to look, but there were far too many layers of clothing in the way.

She could stand it no longer. She rose upon her knees and struggled with the volumes of black clothing puddles around them. Suddenly, Erik delved beneath her gown, and hands lifted skirts to free her thighs. She was not certain how, if she shifted or if he arched under her, but she felt the solid tip of him between the slit of her drawers. She was still swollen and sore from what had occurred only hours earlier, and she shuddered at the uncomfortable invasion. She felt every bit of him, an unforgiving hardness that split her open around him.

His hands quested under her skirts to find the curve of her bottom beneath her bustle. Without effort, he shifted her, pulling himself free so that she slid over the shape of him without penetration. She gasped, arching to seek more of this new, delicious friction. His hands cupping her aided her movement until every motion forward caused him to drag just so on her tender flesh, throwing sparks dancing up her spine.

She was more ready for him the next time he angled into her. He slid inside with less resistance, and by the time she adjusted to the fullness, he was already moving. Long fingers dug into her hips, and she clutched his shoulders with one arm. It was all pushing and pulling, skin gliding on skin, panting fervent breaths each other's mouths, and she could do nothing more than give herself over to the primal tilting of her hips. She chased her own release, clutching him to her lest she lose that point of pressure.

Her body clamped around him, and she threw back her head to gasp, her shoulders convulsing, her actions no longer of her own accord. Erik stilled, letting her ride out her own pleasure. Wave after wave made her shudder, muscles fluttering deep within her.

His lips found the wild pulse in her throat. Although she felt the impression of his fangs, he kept them away from her, instead tracing the shape of her artery, rich with oxygenated blood, with the firm lines of his lips. It was a sensual movement that she relished. He had claimed possession of her in every way, and this too was his. Her strength fed him, stirred life back into him, and she would not have stopped him from biting her now.

His arms clamped around her again, holding her hips in a vice as he began to move once more. It did not take long for him to follow her into release. A few unsteady pumps, and he trembled beneath her, pressing his face into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

They held each other as their heartbeats slowed, as their muscles relaxed. Erik slid his lips against hers with the barest of touches; his fangs had grown too large and sharp for more kisses now, and he had held himself at bay for her sake.

Emotions threatened to overwhelm her along with a bone-deep weariness. She laid her head upon his shoulder, enjoying the throb of him still inside her and the gentle tug of his fingers on the ends of her hair. When her eyes began to close, he eased himself free of her and pushed her back upon his long thighs enough so he could fasten his trousers.

Hands upon her waist, he easily raised her to sit upon one of the chairs. She blinked blearily at him. She was sore in so many places. Two spots of blood dotted her bandaged wrist. She thought she might topple over if asked to stand.

"You need rest," Erik said softly. His own golden eyes were heavy, and she wondered just how close they were to dawn. "I want… I want you to return underground with me. Stay with me until nightfall. Would you do this, Christine?"

She did not hesitate to nod, and that was all the consent he needed. In a swift blur of black cloth, he had stood, bent, and scooped her into his arms. He wound her cloak around her like a blanket and pressed his lips to her temple.

She was asleep before they had even reached the mirrored door.

Mayhap it's time to return to the main plot, hmm?