Mind the rating. Things will get racier in this chapter, but still! Young ones, turn away!

I would highly recommend reading this chapter. I usually make it so that people can scan over the smut, but unfortunately, this smut is important to the story. haha!

"Holy shit!" Meg exclaimed as Erik and Christine entered Erik's home. "My God! What happened? Who's hurt?"

Christine looked over at Erik. Both of them were covered in Erik's blood, which had dried to hard, dark stains on both of their clothing.

"Neither of us is hurt," Erik said calmly. "Christine, perhaps you should get cleaned up, and explain to Meg what has happened."

Christine nodded.

Sometimes she was grateful for the fact that Erik often made her decisions for her.

"Come on, Christine," Meg said, taking her friend's hand. "Tell me everything."

Christine followed Meg, looking over her shoulder just once at the man who seemed to always be in the right place at the right time.


"And then, I pulled out the dagger," Christine said, leaning back in the bathtub that was steaming with bubbles.

Meg stopped biting her nails for a moment and looked over at Christine from the chair she was sitting on in the bathroom.

"So now you know," Meg said quietly.

Christine opened her eyes. "Know what?"

"That Erik can't be hurt," she said. Christine nodded.

"Apparently not," she replied. "When did he tell you?"

"He didn't," Meg said. "I had only been working here for like a month when I found out."

Christine looked expectedly at her friend, waiting for further explanation.

"I was cleaning the stained glass windows in the music room," Meg sighed. "I don't think Erik ever bothered to clean before I got here. The windows were horrendous…covered in dust. But I couldn't reach all the way to the top. So I decided to climb."

Christine listened, visualizing the tall windows in the music room.

"I thought I had good footing on the sill, but I lost my balance and fell into the glass," Meg continued. "I would have fallen completely out had Erik not been there to grab the back of my shirt."

Christine placed a hand to her mouth.

"He quickly pulled me back in, and once I had regained my wits, I noticed that his shirt was covered in blood...he had leaned onto the sharp glass remaining in the sill."

"What did you do?"

"I freaked out!" Meg replied. "I didn't know him that well…I insisted he let me take him to the hospital, but he refused. I demanded to see the wound. He lifted his shirt the slightest bit…and there was nothing there! No cut, no bruise, no scrape!"

"What did he say?" Christine asked.

Meg shrugged. "Nothing really…I was still very upset over the ordeal…he just sort of glazed over the whole thing."

"So what do you think he is?"

"What do you mean?" Meg asked.

"Well, he obviously can't die…he hasn't been "reborn" as we have…yet he's flesh and blood…" Christine mused.

"I don't know," Meg said. "I just know that he has amazing healing powers, the like of which I do not possess."

"How do you know you don't possess them?" Christine asked.

"About three weeks after my window incident I fell down the stairs here," Meg said. Christine raised her eyebrows. "I know, I'm a klutz," Meg smiled. "But I got a tremendous gash on my forehead," she lifted her bangs to reveal a thin white scar. "It bled like the dickens and took forever to heal."

"I don't have healing powers either," Christine said, lifting her leg from the soapy water to show Meg a decent sized scar on her knee. "I fell off my bike when I was 12…took them almost 40 stitches to close me back up."

Meg shrugged. "So he's different. So what?"

"So what?" Christine repeated. "So don't you think that's amazing?"

"Of course," Meg said. "But we all have things about us that make us special." She held out a large towel. "You done?"

Christine took the towel and wrapped it around herself quickly. "Thanks," she said.

Meg yawned. "I'm exhausted," she said. "Not as tired as you probably are, but tired none-the-less. Are you going to be alright?"

Christine nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Your room is connected to the bathroom here…just go through that door…" Meg began.

"I remember," Christine replied, smiling. "Thank you, Meg."

"Don't worry about it. We'll talk in the morning."


The mansion was positively frightening at night. Christine stood in her room, clothed in a tank top and black leggings, on loan from Meg. Her nerves were still jumpy, so sleep eluded her. Instead, she had leafed through the several ancient books that lined her room.

Finding nothing entertaining within the contents of the books, curiosity sunk in. Slowly, Christine moved to the door, pausing for only a split second before opening it and heading to the hallway.

She passed dozens of rooms…all empty or sparsely furnished. Christine shook her head, thinking of what a terrible waste all that space was.

At the end of a particularly long hallway was a closed door. Christine frowned. None of the other doors were closed…what made this room so special?

She looked behind her, making sure she was alone.

Then, she pushed the heavy door open.

And gasped.

It was a ballroom. A lavishly decorated, impossibly posh ballroom.

She felt around on the wall next to the door and flipped on a light switch. Immediately, her eyes were filled with the glitter of several large chandeliers.

Despite herself, Christine laughed.

"So you've discovered my dark little secret," Erik said, smiling at her from the ballroom entrance.

"God!" Christine exclaimed, placing a hand to her heart. "You scared me!"

"I apologize," Erik replied, still smiling.

"What's your dark secret?" Christine asked.

"That I like to dance," Erik replied.

Christine laughed. "Really, Erik, why do you have a room like this?"

Erik sighed. "The place came with it; the room's actually never been used."

"What a waste," Christine said.

"I don't exactly do a lot of entertaining, or haven't you noticed?" Erik replied.

"Touché," Christine answered.

Erik moved over to her. He was dressed more casually than she had seen him before…wearing simple black pants and a rumpled white shirt open to the middle of his chest and rolled up to his elbows.

Christine cleared her throat. "Why aren't you sleeping?" She asked him.

"Don't need to," Erik replied. Christine nodded. "Why aren't you?"

"Couldn't," she said, moving slightly away from him.

Erik stopped in his tracks. "Do I frighten you, Christine?" He asked.

Christine bit her lip. "Slightly," she admitted.

"Why?" He asked.

"Are you kidding? I've been frightened of you since I was a little girl! You were always there…this disembodied voice…this strange ghost of a man who showed up in my room…who walked through mirrors…who murdered and lied and dropped chandeliers on people!"

Erik scoffed. "I wasn't intentionally trying to drop the chandelier on people per say," he clarified. "I was creating a distraction."

"And I suppose a simple 'hey look over there,' wouldn't have sufficed?" Christine asked sarcastically.

"Ah, Christine," Erik sighed. "Where are the dramatics in that?"

The two stood in silence, caught up in memories of the past.

"Erik, do you remember the performance of Don Juan Triumphant?" Christine asked.

Erik looked at her. "Like it was yesterday." He answered.

"Why did you kill Piangi? Why not just demand to play the part of Don Juan yourself when you delivered the manuscripts to us at the Masquerade?" She asked.

The truth was, the question had bothered Christine for some time. She had always viewed Erik's murder of Piangi as purely evil and completely unnecessary.

Even for a madman.

"Would you have agreed to perform had I done that?" Erik asked. "Have you forgotten that I was, at that point, wanted and being actively pursued by the policefor the murder of Joseph Buquet?"

"No one could have proved that was you," Christine reasoned.

Erik snorted. "I was labeled as a murderer long before I took Buquet's life," he said. "Any mishap that occurred within the walls of the Opera Populaire was automatically blamed on the mysterious Opera Ghost."

Christine nodded. "But murdering Piangi…couldn't you have simply detained him? Tied him up or something?"

"Christine, hindsight is always 20/20," Erik said, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. "There are many things I would do differently if given the chance."

"For example?" Christine pried.

"I wouldn't have let you go," he said suddenly.

Christine bit her lip again. "Erik," she said softly.

Erik waived his hand. "But again, that's in the past."

Christine looked at him. A pang of sorrow coursed through her.

"I wish I could see your entire face," she said quietly.

Erik's head snapped to attention. "Why?" He asked suspiciously.

"Because," Christine replied. "Because I want to see you."

Erik moved closer to her. "There is something I need to discuss with you first," he said.

Christine looked up at him, her entire body aware of his presence. "Yes?" She asked breathlessly.

"Something is happening to me, Christine," Erik said, his voice becoming more excited. "Something that I cannot explain."

"Big surprise," she commented.

"I must express something before I explain," Erik continued. "What is happening has nothing to do with my desire to have you nearby. What is happening, however, directly correlates with your presence."

Christine nodded, enthralled by his excitement.

"You must not think, even for a moment, that I am using you for my own purposes, Christine." Erik said, grasping her hand.

"Why do you need me here, Erik?" Christine asked, her voice husky.

Erik smiled, allowing his bare hand to trace her face, the curve of her lips, the dimple in her cheek. "Because, Christine," he said. "I love you."

Slowly, he leaned down, claiming her lips with his own. Overwhelmed by this man, Christine allowed herself to lean into him, to kiss him back. Rapidly, the embrace intensified. Where their previous two kisses had been under less than tender circumstances, this one spoke of passion…of desire…

Of them.

Erik growled and lifted Christine into his arms, carrying her away from the ballroom.

Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing the pulse that fluttered at the base of his throat.

Erik groaned and kicked in the door to his bedroom.

Christine looked around, noting the sensual personal details of the man who held her in his arms.

Erik brought her immediately to the swan bed that was draped in black silks. She pulled him down with her, resuming their passionate kisses.

Erik allowed his hands to roam her body, slipping beneath her thin tank top, filling his palms with the softness of Christine's breasts.

She sighed and buried her hands in his hair, kissing him deeply.

Her hands pushed the thin white shirt from his body, throwing it in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

Her tank top immediately followed.

Christine edged back further onto the bed, seductively challenging Erik to follow her. He did, slowly, on all fours, looking for all the world like a lion stalking his prey.

He knelt before her, allowing his tongue to trail a path of liquid fire down her throat, her chest, her stomach.

Christine's hand found the button at the top of Erik's pants.

Suddenly, his hand went to hers, stopping her.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked in a sultry voice.

"I still need to discuss something with you," Erik replied, his breath coming heavily.

"Can't it wait?" Christine asked, moving to suck at the soft spot beneath his ear.

Erik groaned. "I think it's best you see this now," he replied.

Christine pulled away, looking at him quizzically. "See this?" She repeated.

Erik nodded.

Slowly, he took her hand in his and brought it to the white mask that was partially obscured by Erik's black hair.

She caressed the mask slowly, following his fingers as they led her to the mask's edge.

He took a breath. "Take it off," he commanded.

Christine hesitated. "Are you certain?" She asked.

Erik nodded.

Slowly, she obliged, pulling the surprisingly heavy mask from his face.

And then, Christine screamed.

Erik's face was completely healed.