Oh gosh, I couldn't wait to post this! I am far too impatient for my own good!
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Chapter 2: The Violinist's Daughter
Erik Destler had never touched a woman before; well, he may have brushed against one in passing, but never in his life had a woman fallen into his arms like Christine Daae had. Her bloodied hand was entwined with his, crushing him with the force of a python, but he had little care for the pain. She needed him and he refused to disappoint her.
He whispered consolations in her ear, hoping that his voice would soothe the tremors that wracked her body. Each word that passed his lips was honey coated, though not falsely as he had done in the past. He meant them this time. He felt the need to comfort her, unlike any other before. This small creature in his arms was his to care for and now that Gustave Daae was dead she needed a guardian. It had to be him.
Several minutes of heart-shattering sobbing had passed before she finally started to settle and loosened her hold on his hand. His fingers were sore and he wanted to stretch them, but he couldn't bear the thought of letting go of her. It was everything about her that kept him in place: the auburn curls that tickled his neck, the radiating heat of her body pressed up against his, but what weakened him the most was the intoxicating scent of lemon and lavender that filled his nostrils. He made a mental note to track down the same bath salts for her use.
Her soft sniffles broke every single protective barrier he had built over his thirty-four years of life and though he attempted to blink it away, a single tear leaked down his masked cheek. He was thankful it hadn't been on the exposed half, as he didn't have a hand free to wipe it away before she could see.
Erik stopped breathing when she shifted against him, then her face lifted to his. His heart stopped when their eyes connected. Hers were the color of chestnuts and so very beautiful, unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was then that he realized how very close they were. Her wet trembling lips were just inches from his and when she spoke he nearly lost himself completely.
"What is your name, monsieur?" she whispered. Her breath blew across his face and he had to suppress the moan that nearly escaped his lips.
He swallowed hard and attempted to make audible speech. "Erik." He was relieved the disclosure of his name hadn't sounded like a distressed hound.
She offered a soft smile with her perfect rosy lips followed by the sweetest words to ever bless his ears. "Thank you, Erik. Thank you for saving my life."
Erik returned her smile, though he was sure his was awfully lackluster compared to hers. After all, his lips would never be enticing to a woman...to her. "Anytime, mademoiselle." And he meant it. Anyone who dared to even think about harming her would meet a fate worse than death. Oh, but she would never be in danger under his care, he would be sure of it.
Her eyes scanned his face before landing on his mask. Of course, she was already interested in the mask, just as everyone was. He fought everything within himself not to jump out of the carriage and run the rest of the way home. But, there was no way in Hell he was leaving her alone, not after the promise he had made to his late friend.
Before she could question it, he craned his neck to the side so the mask was no longer visible to her. He couldn't risk the possibility of her removing it, not when they were in such close proximity to each other and she had nowhere to run and hide. Once glance and she would be wishing that he had allowed the blade of that knife to penetrate her heart.
He still felt her watchful gaze and he clenched his jaw as she shifted closer. Was she going to force him to turn back towards her so she could see beneath? He prepared himself to hear the screams of terror from the only woman he had ever felt anything for, but instead, she laid her head on his chest and let out a heavy breath. His heart thumped wildly as she nuzzled into him, then her soft sobs returned and he could do nothing else but continue his previous consolations.
xXx
An hour after the death of Gustave Daae, the carriage came to a halt in front of the small chateau that was Erik's home. Though the ride should have only taken twenty minutes, he had to be sure no one was following, so he had instructed the driver to take a specific route.
Erik wasn't sure if Christine was asleep or just deathly silent, so he reluctantly peeled his hand from hers. The previously sticky blood was now dried.
"Christine? Are you awake?"
She didn't answer so he moved her so her head was resting against the back wall of the carriage. Her eyes were fluttering behind the closed lids and her lips were parted allowing shallow breaths to escape. He envied her ability to sleep, even when she was in a time of great distress as well. He hardly slept and if he did, it was a fitful rest.
Now came the problem of how to get her inside. He could carry her, but what if she woke in his arms in a panic? He would drop her and he couldn't have that. He needed to wake her.
With a trembling hand, he reached out and shook her lightly. "Christine, wake up," he said softly. Her brows furrowed and she mumbled something incoherent before stilling.
"Christine," he repeated, raising his voice only slightly.
It seemed to work as her swollen eyes slotted open and she spoke faintly, "I apologize for falling asleep on you."
"Do not feel the need to apologize. You required rest," he replied, secretly wishing that he could tell her how much he enjoyed having her asleep on his chest. "We have arrived at my home, so let us go inside and I will show you to your room so you can rest even further."
She started to rise from the seat, but as soon as she lifted her bottom, she fell back. "I–I–oh, I can't. My legs are far too weak."
"Would you–would you permit me to carry you then?" He wanted to be a begging fool and fall to her feet asking for a "yes" but before he could act on the impulse, she nodded.
Oh, thank God, he thought to himself. He had an aching need to touch her again, even if it was only for a moment. Her nearness was enough for him to forget what he was completely. Besides, if she had refused, he wasn't sure how they would have gotten her inside.
"Alright, I am going to grab your case first, then I will return for you."
She nodded again and sank back into the seat. Her eyes wandered downwards and looked devoid of all emotion as they settled on the floor of the carriage. He watched her for a moment longer before pulling the large case from the other bench and ducking out the door.
His chateau was by no means elegant. It was merely a small home in the countryside right outside of Paris. There was nothing unique about it except for the man who dwelled inside for the past five years. He only hoped it was enough of a home for Christine. She would be living with him for an indefinite amount of time, that is until she grew tired of being in his presence.
Erik turned his attention to his task at hand and rushed inside and straight up the stairs. He threw open the door to his guest bedroom, though it was never once used, it would have to suffice. He laid the case on the armchair in the corner by the wardrobe and nearly flew back down the stairs. He already missed her, and being away for so long brought a pain he had never felt before.
When he returned to the carriage, he was breathless and had to pause at the rear to steady himself. He attempted to do so quietly in fear that Christine would hear him and think him a desperate fool. After several deep breaths, he was confident in his ability to present as a somewhat normal man.
Inside the carriage, Christine hadn't moved an inch. She glanced up when he arrived at the door. "Are you ready to head inside?" he asked as he reached his hand out to her.
Without hesitation, she clasped her hand with his and scooted closer to him. She shifted slightly, adjusting her cloak so it closed around her. He hadn't even noticed the deep blue that perfectly complimented her cream-colored skin. If any of God's creatures were sculpted by His hand alone, it surely had to be her.
He was sure to hook his arm beneath her knees in a way that kept her cloak in place. He couldn't have her freezing to death, not on his watch. His other arm went under her back and he hoisted her up against his chest. One of her hands rested on his chest along with her head, and he was certain she could hear the thundering of his heart but was glad she didn't know the cause.
With Christine cradled against him, the carriage rode off and he walked her up the pathway and into his home. He kicked the door closed behind them and slid the lock in place, being careful not to hit her head against the wall. The ascent of the stairs was the hardest part. While her weight was nothing compared to what he was used to, he didn't trust his trembling legs not to buckle beneath him, so he took one step at a time, being sure to stay close to the railing in case of emergency.
Finally, he reached the top of the flight and rounded the corner to her new bedroom. Once inside, he paused by the bed. He didn't want to let her go, not yet. He looked down at her, praying that she was asleep so he could hold her a while longer. Unfortunately, her eyes were wide open and wandering around the room.
He suppressed a sigh and gently placed her on the bed. "I placed your case on the armchair in the corner there. It's–it's right there in the corner...over there." He gestured to the single chair in the room.
Idiot, just spit it out already!
"Thank you." But, Christine didn't spare a single glance in the direction of her case, instead she sat up straight and adjusted her cloak once again. She held it tightly around herself and Erik wondered if it was a nervous tic.
"I can take your cloak for you. It's rather warm in here and I would hate for you to be uncomfortable."
Her eyes widened and she looked at the floor. A roseate blush enveloped her cheeks as she bit her bottom lip. "No, I would like to keep it on."
Erik's heart stuttered. If he had any lack of self-control, he would have taken her into his arms and begged her to allow him to join his lips with hers. But he needed to be a perfect gentleman, after all she just lost her father...his only friend...
Tears welled in his eyes and he quickly blinked them back. He could not allow himself to be a blubbering mess in front of Christine. What would she think of him if he showed any weakness? He was supposed to be her protector, not some sniveling fool that falls to her feet for comfort.
He watched intently as she raised her eyes to his. Her blush had lessened, but was still speckled across her perfect skin. "I want to know why and please give me the truth."
Erik exhaled heavily. He had expected her to ask, but figured he wouldn't have that encounter until the next day. "You wouldn't like the truth."
She squeezed her eyes shut and her tone surprised him. Through her teeth she spoke irately, "Please, I need to know why my father was murdered."
The flames emanating from the woman in front of him could surely rival that of the sun, yet he would gladly endure it if it meant touching the very source. When Gustave described her to him, he had been expecting a docile girl, but Christine had thoroughly proven him wrong with both her behavior at the Daae house and at that moment.
"Fine." By God, the things he would do for that man. He felt as if he were being sent in to fight off a feral lioness. "Gustave came to me just two hours ago. He told me of a family, a prominent family, the de Chagny's." Her eyes snapped open at the mention of the name, but she didn't say anything so he continued, "He had been borrowing their money to fuel his gambling addiction which I had no knowledge of until as of late. Tonight, someone made an attempt on his life on his way home and he came to me to ask for my help."
"Help?" She slid her eyes closed again and shifted to the edge of the bed. Her cloak fell open, though she made no movement to fix it around her again.
It became abundantly clear to him why she showed no interest in removing the cloak. Beneath the deep blue was an ivory sleeping gown. A sheer ivory sleeping gown and he could see everything, from the lacy hem of her stockings that wrapped around her milky thighs, to the neckline of her gown that he wished would dip lower than the top of her heaving breasts. He wondered what it would feel like to trail the pads of his fingers along the dip of her collarbone, or even down the length of her slender neck. Would the skin be as soft as her hand had been?
He was dizzy and he realized he had forgotten to breathe, so he inhaled deeply and steadied himself against the wall. He would forever be thankful that she had closed her eyes so she couldn't see him ogling her like a licentious bastard.
Erik remembered the matter at hand and braced himself in case she lunged at him. "The de Chagny's ordered a hit on him and the attempt confirmed his suspicions. He assumed that if they were coming after him, then they will do the same with you. I agreed to take you in, to protect you until he was able to safely return the money he borrowed but as I was passing him the francs–"
"No, no you are lying. My father is a man of God! He has never gambled!" Christine cried as her face twisted with anger. She rose from the bed and stalked over to him. "Leave me alone."
"As you wish," Erik said, then he turned and escaped from the room.
Normally, he would be irate if someone spoke to him as Christine had, but he couldn't bring himself to think a single ill wish towards her. Instead, he felt oddly proud of the fiery young woman. Perhaps, in time, they would get along after all.
Erik smirked and headed to his bedroom. He busied himself with pouring a large glass of absinthe, before working to divest himself of his clothing. Finally, he was free of the confines and slipped into his sleeping pants. His hand hovered over his mask and he pondered if removing it with a guest in the house would come with eventual consequences. He decided that there was no use hiding if he was in his room so he set the mask on the desk along with his wig.
He groaned as he settled into his desk chair, absinthe in hand, and rubbed the sore half of his face. He despised having to wear a mask whenever he went out. It was hardly comfortable and brought him far too much attention. He often wondered what type of attention he would receive if he hadn't been cursed by God. Perhaps, he would have a chance with a woman. With Christine.
By God, she was so devastatingly beautiful. He wasn't expecting her to be so perfect that she could put Aphrodite to shame. How was he to properly live with her when all he was going to think of in her presence was that damn sleeping gown!
Erik drank the contents of the glass and set it on the desk. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to push the thought of her lithe stockinged legs and full bosom from his mind...or the exposed flesh of her thighs...or her silken skin under–
Control yourself, you madman!
He was boiling, almost as if he were running a fever. A deep smoldering built in his loins and he was thankful that he was wearing pants that were looser than his trousers. With a frustrated grunt, he rose from the chair and rushed to his personal washroom. He flicked on the light and started the tap of his sink. He scooped the water into his hands and splashed it on his face and down his arms, attempting to soothe his burning skin.
Erik turned off the tap and gripped the edges of the sink to steady himself as he allowed the water to drip down the tip of his nose and chin. It had done nothing. His ears were roaring and he could hardly control his heaving breaths. He stared at the dripping faucet and tried to think of anything other than the daughter of Gustave Daae.
You sick bastard! Preying on the daughter of the only man who ever showed you any compassion! The only person who ever saw the monstrosity of your face and didn't scream in terror!
The man who had saved him from the circus when he was still a boy. The man who taught him to play the violin and encouraged his career in architecture. The man who entrusted him with the safety of his only child.
Hot tears streamed down his cheeks and plopped into the bowl of the sink. His legs trembled and he knew he would collapse if he stood any longer, so he gently lowered himself against the wall. His head fell into his hands and he sobbed harder than he ever had before.
Gustave Daae was dead and Erik felt truly alone for the first time in twenty years.
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