A/N: Once again, we meet with dangerous, sarcastic Erik - my personal favorite of his many personas. I know he is a bit cruel right now, but remember, life continues to be unkind to him. You will definitely have some questions after reading this chapter, but answers are on the way. I will not let you down.
ackari smith: Thank you! You were my very first reviewer for this one. Glad you like it. Lots more to come.
The Eccentric Poet: Thank you for all of your thoughtful observations. Yes, I know the last chapter was very short, and I do apologize, but I tend to form my chapters based on segments of related action. I believe that last one is the shortest chapter I have ever written in any of my fics, so don't worry, it is not likely to happen again. Also, as I get deeper into the story, I find that my chapters tend to lengthen out. And yes, it is difficult to take a story like POTO that has sparked so many imaginations and create a fic that is entirely unique, but I think you will find that as you continue to read, there will be several twists and turns along the way that will hopefully help to make this one stand on its own.
Jema Moda: So good to hear from you again! Thank you for your loyal support. Glad to have you back aboard. You know that I am a hopeless romantic and hold a lifetime pass on the good ship EC, so without revealing too much, let me assure you that all you are wishing for will happen in good, sweet time. Lots more angst in this one though, so hang in there for it will be a bumpy ride. Oh, and I think this chapter should answer one of the questions you asked.
When Fate is Denied
Ch. 5 – Of Noble Blood
Staring down at the perfect, aristocratic features of his loathed rival, Erik felt the familiar surge of crimson rage beginning to cloud his judgment. This would not do, he reminded himself. He needed answers tonight, and those could not be gained from a corpse. He paused for a moment to reign in the inner demons clamoring for a bloody revenge. As he steadied himself, the initial fury that had openly colored his face but a moment before was replaced by a lazy mocking smile and an air of cool indifference.
Raoul watched Erik's face undergo the seemingly instantaneous transformation from a frenzied murderous expression to that of a sly, jungle predator with a shudder. He had sincerely hoped never to cross paths with this maniac ever again, and now here he stood in the creature's doorway of his own accord.
Raoul opened his mouth and then closed it again, still wondering how best to ask the question without revealing too much.
Erik leaned lazily against the door frame, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his smirk widening as he sensed the vicomte's discomfort.
"Lose something?" he asked softly, his drawling voice oozing sarcasm.
Raoul's face colored sharply. He was indeed embarrassed beyond imagination that he had not known the whereabouts of his wife for the past eight hours and was utterly humiliated that after six years of marriage she had once again sought out the comfort of this man whom he reviled. But even more importantly, he was relieved. At least now he knew for certain where she was, though in truth it was the last place on earth he wished for her to be.
The situation was so bizarre he was momentarily speechless, uncertain what to say to explain his presence. Worst of all, now that the evidence of their failing marriage had appeared on his doorstep, Raoul had no doubt that the arrogant man before him would see it as justification to take matters into his own bloody hands. There was no telling what the consequences would be if he learned everything.
Raoul shifted his weight uncomfortably. That evening, he had returned home to find the normally locked bottom drawer of his desk open wide with a pile of detective's reports scattered recklessly around the room. He had guessed immediately what she had discovered. But she had taken the document listing the monster's address, forcing him to travel to the chief detective's home on the other side of the city, roust him out of bed, and obtain the information from him before he had been able to track her down. Now, he was tired, hurt, wet, and angry, so a little embarrassment seemed the least of his worries.
Nonetheless, his pride would not let him allow the hated creature in front of him to see his weakness. He reminded himself that he was a vicomte, a de Chagny, and he would not allow himself to be made a fool of. He straightened his shoulders and replied calmly. "I wish to see my wife." He purposefully emphasized the word, smiling with satisfaction as the muscles in Erik's neck tightened noticeably. Raoul looked past Erik through the doorway into the house. "Where is she?" he asked impatiently. "This foolishness has gone on long enough. Take me to her at once."
Though his tone was confident and intentionally condescending, he realized immediately that he had made a grave error. He should have known that his feeble attempt to intimidate the powerful man before him would not only prove unsuccessful, but only serve to anger him further.
Erik's eyes narrowed dangerously and he straightened to his full height, but still he maintained his cool demeanor, grandly gesturing Raoul inside with a deep mocking bow. "By all means, be my guest, sir. But you forget yourself, Vicomte," he replied silkily, "Perhaps you have not heard my full name. I suppose I never felt it necessary to share it with you during our previous encounters. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Comte Erik Alexander Nicholas de Renoir the III."
Raoul's jaw tightened as he stepped inside and began to remove his leather gloves. "A purchased title, no doubt," he scoffed.
Erik smiled slowly. "Alas, it is not. I would wish nothing more than to have been born into some other family, one that cared more for the well being of their children than of their precious title and reputation. A common sin among the nobility it seems. But in the end, my wretched parents, despite their best efforts to the contrary, did in fact provide me with the means to a better life. After my past...transgressions, shall we say, my real name and title have in fact proved most useful in my...reformation. Phantom really wouldn't suit a changed man, now would it?"
Raoul clenched his fists. "Perhaps you would prefer 'murderer'?"
Erik arched an eyebrow in mock disappointment. "You do not trust in my repentance, good Vicomte?" His voice lowered dangerously as he stepped behind Raoul to close the door. The vicomte's hand moved slightly to the saber at his side. Stepping forward and leaning close to the young man's ear he purred, "Perhaps it is I who should be questioning your good reputation. After all, it is hardly proper, your wife showing up unconscious on my doorstep in the middle of the night, nearly dying in my doorway..."
Raoul's eyes widened, his face registering shock and fear. "Where is she?" he whispered. His last defense had left him as he read the insolent message intended between Erik's carefully chosen words. It couldn't be. Not again. Not after all he had done to prevent it. He dropped to his knees in Erik's foyer, his face in his hands.
At the crumbling of his rival's brave facade, Erik felt both triumph and disgust. It had been far too easy to break the young vicomte. After nearly six years, Erik had hoped he would prove a stronger adversary. Inwardly, a rather large part of him longed for the miserable fop to give him one good reason to strangle the life out of him with his bare hands. But seeing him reduced to tears in his foyer was almost as good of a start to the day, he mused.
The sun was indeed beginning to rise, leaving a red-tinged glow on the marble of the floor where scarlet blood had run only hours before. Looking up the stairs toward Christine's room, he felt a sudden need for urgency. She would be waking soon, and then circumstances would become, if possible, even more complex.
With an iron grip, he jerked the sobbing vicomte mercilessly from the floor and half drug his limp form into the den just behind the sitting room, depositing him roughly on the leather sofa. Erik closed the doors carefully behind him, turning the key from his pocket in the lock to ensure that they were not accidentally overheard or interrupted.
Raoul's red-rimmed eyes watched with resignation. Somehow he had the feeling that if he were ever to emerge alive from this room again, it would not be without paying a very heavy price.
