A short chapter here. I'm going to ask you guys to mind the rating in the chapter following this one.
Enjoy!
-Nico
Being stabbed through the heart felt differently than Christine expected. She felt heavy pressure across her whole body.
It was as if someone was laying on top of her.
Christine opened her eyes, surprised to find she was not in pain.
Her eyes fell onto a human form draped in black.
With a jewel-handled dagger sticking out of his back.
Erik.
Christine scrambled out from under him, surveying the situation as best as her swimming mind could.
Emily was nowhere to be seen.
Christine knelt beside Erik, who was breathing heavily. A steady stream of blood oozed from the dagger which was lodged between his shoulder and spine.
"Erik!" Christine exclaimed frantically. "Erik! Can you hear me?"
Erik groaned, pulling himself painfully to his knees.
"You do nothing but cause me trouble," he said, his voice harsh with pain.
"God, Erik…I have to get you to a hospital!" Christine said, holding him up as he swooned slightly.
"No," Erik rasped callously. "No hospitals."
"Erik…you've lost so much blood…and you have a dagger in your back!" Christine reasoned loudly.
"I am aware of the situation, Christine," Erik replied, grunting as he tried to reach the impossibly placed dagger. Soon enough he gave up and looked at Christine, sweat forming on his creased brow.
"You have to pull it out," he told her.
"Erik…I…I can't!" Christine exclaimed, horrified.
"You must!" Erik bellowed. "Now!"
Christine swallowed, refusing to break down when the man who saved her life…twice now…needed her help. She quickly grasped the dagger's handle, feeling sick as she noticed just how deeply it was lodged within his flesh.
She hesitated.
"Do it," Erik commanded. "Quickly."
He looked at her, his eyes clouded with pain. Christine's brows knotted together nervously.
"I trust you," Erik said softly. "Christine, I trust you."
Fueled by his passionate words, Christine tightened her grasp…
And pulled.
Erik roared simultaneously with Christine's shriek as she removed the dagger.
The force of the motion knocked Christine onto her rear end. Erik waited a moment, and then rose, standing finally to his full six feet.
Christine looked up at the man…he looked positively ethereal.
His long black coat swirled around him. His black as pitch hair hung about his face, over the gleaming white mask that was still in place. His clothing created long, lean lines against the darkness of the evening.
He walked over to Christine, holding out his hand to help her up.
She took his hand, astonished that a man who had just been stabbed was now offering to assist her.
She stood slowly, the bloodied dagger still in her right hand.
Erik pulled her to him, close enough to wrap a possessive hand around her thin waist.
His mouth hovered just above hers.
Christine licked her lips. "Erik," she whispered. "You need medical attention."
Erik smiled, a slow grin that suggested much more than happiness.
"Do I?" He asked, his voice deep and husky.
Christine nodded. "The dagger," she looked down at the weapon in her hand, "the blade is nearly six inches long…and she plunged it into you up to the hilt."
"I do not require aid, Christine," Erik said softly.
"But you must! I cannot imagine what damage has been caused…what organs have been hit…Erik…"
"Christine," he interrupted her, placing a gloved hand on her cheek.
Slowly, he allowed his hands to run down the length of her arms, finally reaching her hands.
Christine instinctively dropped the dagger.
He pulled her small hands into his and brought them to the top button of his crisp white shirt.
A shirt that was stained in crimson.
He brought her slender fingers to the top button. With her hands underneath his, he undid the top button. He moved her hands down, encouraging her to continue undoing the buttons down the length of the shirt.
In complete silence, Christine allowed her trembling fingers to do as he silently commanded, removing button after button from the eyelet.
He watched her intently as she continued her ministrations…how she bit her pink bottom lip…how she shyly looked up at him from time to time as if seeking his approval.
When the shirt was finally undone, Christine moved her hands to his shoulders, slowly pushing both his coat and the stained shirt from his bronzed, muscular torso.
He turned his back to her slowly, allowing her to inspect the degree of his wound.
Where Christine expected to see a pulsing, gaping wound there was simply a smear of blood.
Her mouth fell open as she moved her hand across the pool of warm liquid, searching for the dagger wound.
Her fingertips found completely healed, smooth skin.
Erik turned back to her, still smiling.
"How is this possible," Christine breathed, her face white.
Erik didn't answer.
"You were stabbed…I pulled the dagger out myself!"
"Christine…there are things I cannot explain further than saying that it has always been this way," Erik replied. "My physical differences go deeper than this," he said, gesturing to his face.
"And this is why you did not want to go to the hospital," Christine said softly.
"There would have been no point," he replied.
Christine took a step backwards. "What are you?" She asked suddenly.
"Pardon me?" Erik asked, pulling his shirt back on.
"You're obviously not human…so what are you?"
"I most certainly am human," Erik replied.
"Then how is this possible?" Christine asked again.
"I don't have an answer to that, Christine." Erik said slowly. "I am different."
Christine hugged herself, suddenly feeling impossibly cold.
"Are you alright?" Erik asked.
Christine half-laughed. "Besides the fact that some crazy woman just tried to kill me…and the fact that I'm standing in front of a man who was just stabbed and now has no symptoms of the wound…I suppose I'm alright."
"Have you reconsidered my offer to return to my home?" Erik asked.
Christine looked at him.
"It is obviously not safe for you here," he continued.
"I don't understand why she would do this," Christine said suddenly.
"Perhaps she is jealous," Erik offered.
"But we're not in competition," Christine argued. "She's the lead dancer, not a singer."
"Perhaps you offended her in some way."
Christine shook her head. Then, she suddenly remembered Emily's words to her.
"He had no business fighting in that war."
Christine gasped. "My God!" She exclaimed.
"What is it?" Erik asked.
"She knows…she knows about my past…she knows about Raoul…about Nicholas…"
"Who is Nicholas?" Erik asked.
Christine looked at him. For some reason, she had assumed he had known about her son.
"Nicholas was my son," she said softly.
Erik felt rage bubble in his stomach.
She had a son.
With him.
"How could she have known?" Christine said, oblivious to the pain she had just inflicted on Erik unintentionally.
"Christine, I think it's best we leave," Erik said suddenly. "It is not safe here."
Christine looked at the man standing before her.
He was right. It was not safe for her to remain at the Opera House. She had almost been killed.
By a woman who knew more about her than Christine was comfortable with.
Erik's home was an appealing opportunity…she would be living with Meg…
But also him.
"I will return with you," Christine said slowly. "But only until a more appropriate living situation is arranged."
Erik's eyes darkened slightly. "Very well," he agreed.
Without speaking, he extended his hand to her once more.
Christine hesitated briefly before lightly grasping the much larger hand.
Tenderly he led her to the roof's exit and through the Opera House, into a cab waiting to bring the mysterious couple back to the dark mansion in the Paris countryside.
