Chapter 83 Padre
Erik had watched her go through the cemetery. She sat down at the foot of the mausoleum he hid behind, her head bent, her spirit extinguished. How he longed to reach out and take her into his arms. But what she'd most asked for as he'd listened had been the return of her father, not himself. His brow furrowed, pulling the mask across his skin.
He took less than a heartbeat to decide. Desperation to somehow – someway - remain a part of her life forced his hand. If she wanted, if she needed, a father - then that was all he'd be to her. Pride was a luxury he could no longer afford, so he began to softly answer her prayers.
Christine lifted her head, quite unable to believe what she was hearing.
He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his head back against the stone wall behind him as she answered. She listed four names of what she wanted him to be to her. But there was one missing. Lover. The only word she did not use; the only word he was destined never to be.
Rising slowly to her feet, almost unable to believe what was happening, she resolved to speak only truth to him now, and grasp at her final chance of salvation. Any childish thoughts she still clung to of Angels and spirits fell from her shoulders as she stood and answered him as a woman.
Erik's eyes opened with a snap. Turning quickly, his hands against the stone, he was unable to stop himself berating her slightly for the time she'd spent away from him. Then he cursed his weakness as he again feigned being nothing more than a father to her. But as her soul answered his in a crescendo of longing, he vowed it would be the last time he'd ever play a part to her again.
She knew it was wrong, she knew she'd promised herself to another, yet how could she resist the pull she felt dragging her up the steps towards him? If he'd forgiven her, she had to forgive herself. The mistakes they'd both made meant nothing compared to the rapture of seeing him again.
He could hardly believe it. Everything he'd ever asked for, everything he'd ever wanted, she echoed with her words. She did belong to him. The love they'd given voice to that night in his home, before all this had happened and the world had fought to keep them apart, was still there as strong as ever, burning through them both.
Everything would be different now, she knew. That knowledge both strengthened and frightened her, making her steps hesitant. How could she cope with the fire in her heart, matched only by the desire in his voice, once in his arms again? He called to her as he once had, so many months ago now, in Carlotta's dressing room and she no longer cared about anything but being with him again.
Erik's heart leapt into his throat as he looked up at the sound of horse's hooves and de Chagny rode into view. A white horse, how sickeningly appropriate. Thinking quickly, he scrambled up the back of the mausoleum, drawing his sword as de Chagny dismounted and ran up the steps to grab hold of Christine's arm. "Every God in Heaven be damned," Erik swore. "You will not take her from me again."
Christine swung around to face Raoul, shock and devastation at his intrusion clearly evident in her eyes. She vaguely heard him call her Angel a 'thing' and was about to firmly rebuke him when something blotted out the light.
With a growl of anger, Erik leapt from the roof to stand between them both, lunging with his sword towards the Vicomte.
Wrong-footed from the start, Raoul staggered backwards and almost fell, unable to counter the blows raining down on him with relentless fury. Faced with such an onslaught, any skill he'd ever had with a sword was worthless.
Erik forced him across the graveyard, not giving him any quarter. To de Chagny this might be a duel for Christine's honour - but Erik knew this was a fight for his life, because she was his life. The young cur hadn't known what demon he'd unleashed when he'd drawn his sword first and issued the challenge that Erik was determined to meet. He fought like the animal they imagined him to be, snarling only when pushing de Chagny out of the way to retrieve his sword and continue their desperate battle.
Christine had never felt so physically sick with fear in her entire life. Frozen to terrified silence, her heart stuck in her throat, she could do nothing but watch as her Angel forced Raoul to the ground and sliced his arm open with her sword. She jumped out of her skin at Raoul's shout of pain, even though he'd been making grunts of exertion throughout.
Erik eyes shone with triumph as he saw crimson red begin to stain de Chagny's white shirt. But instead of conceding to his defeat, the bastard scrambled to his feet and continued to duel. Unbalanced by such a cowardly act, Erik was momentarily stunned and fought hard to regain the upper hand.
Slashing away with as much ferocity as he'd been shown, Raoul ignored every rule of fighting he'd ever been taught. He was determined to end this man - this creature - here and now. Ignoring the pain burning through his arm, he gained control, sending his opponent to the ground and kicking away his sword.
Erik tried to scramble after it, but it was too far away. He looked up at the Vicomte, facing his fate with not an ounce of fear. 'Do it,' his mind mocked. Let Christine see how little honour you have, to slay an un-armed man who lays at your feet.
Raoul raised his arm for the kill. Spurred into action, Christine found her voice. "Don't!" she screamed.
Raoul turned to look at her, surprise and incomprehension clear upon his face.
"Please don't," Christine breathed. God, what could she say next? Wasn't she supposed to want this outcome? She could see from Raoul's eyes that he thought he was doing her bidding. What could she say that wouldn't make it clear to him that she loved the man now at his feet? "Don't let him make a murderer of you," she pleaded. "He's un-armed now. You've already won."
Furious that victory was now lost to him, Raoul quickly sheathed his sword. Striding over to Christine, he took her by the arm and marched her over to his horse. If she wouldn't let him kill this beast, the least she could let him do was take her far away from him.
Christine looked back at her Angel, still lying in the snow, panting harshly. She patted the horse before her, not knowing what else to do. Raoul was - yet again - giving her no choice in the matter. She thanked God that he'd listened to her and not killed the man whose eyes she could not tear hers away from. She asked him silently to forgive her for leaving him like this, then took Raoul's hand and let herself be carried away, back to the Opera House.
Rising to his feet, Erik angrily shook the snow from his cloak. How could she have left with that cretin after what she'd just said back to him at her father's grave? She should have let de Chagny kill him, rather than leave him with the sight of her huddled in her fiancé's arms upon his noble steed. And how could de Chagny have ignored every code of conduct and not conceded when injured? But then, that would mean Erik had been treated like a man - like an equal. When he was neither to them both.
He cursed them, then the realisation struck him. She didn't make a sound when his sword sliced through the Vicomte's flesh - only when his own life had been in danger. His heart leapt - then sank when he remembered that though her voice had saved him yet again – she'd still left when de Chagny ordered her to.
He began to walk back to the carriage, deeply lost in thought. If she'd been so ready to stay her fiancé's hand, why did she then obey him so unquestionably, after what had just occurred between them both? He knew what she'd said to him only moments ago had been no dream. She'd spoken of beauty, echoing his call to her soul; his head spun, remembering. She'd asked for his protection - not de Chagny's.
The sight of her in de Chagny's arms made him burn with anger. But what if she believed she had no choice in the matter? Though everyone around them was forcing them apart, they were still fighting - to their last breath if need be - to be together.
"You may have won this small battle, Vicomte," he said contemptuously, as he climbed up into the carriage, "but you have yet to win the war."
