First, a thank you to everyone who reviewed. Chocolate, cookies and Erik plushies to you all, you've no idea of the effect your reviews have on me! Thanks to each and every one of you. I've been wanting to do this chapter for a long time, there was an issue that needs dealing with. And I hope I did a good job with it. Chapter 8, you wonderful people!


Our Games Of Make-believe Are At An End

Christine

The warm pressure against her back supported her through that cold, snowlit journey. He turned down a side alley and led them on a twisting path; how he could see amidst the whirling drifts of snow, she had no idea. The flakes massed around them, forming into odd phantasms before dispersing. She shivered and felt his arm tighten around her in response, prompting a thrill of warmth to race through her.

They stopped, behind her Erik slipped to the ground, then his hands encircled her waist. She laid hers on his shoulders and he lifted her down gently, tenderly. She savored the touch, so firm and yet so unsure. He drew her to him in a sudden gust of wind, shielding her from the icy blast. They stayed that way for a moment, rediscovering the intoxication between them. Christine breathed in the warm comfort he exuded, reveling in the lean, firm body against hers. Her head against his breast, she heard the slow beat of his heart. I don't deserve this. She realized. Had she never noticed before how perfectly she fit against him, the brilliance of his eyes, the deep power behind the angelic voice? How tenderly he touched her, how his eyes caressed hers, how he told her he loved her with less than the merest breath of a whisper? The way his eyes, the simple way he moved toward her, promised unconditional forgiveness, promised unquestioning devotion. I don't deserve him.

And yet... he loves me. The words sent a thrill up her spine as she closed her eyes. He loves me.

Erik came to himself first, glancing behind them, then, keeping an arm around her, leading her to a large, overgrown and seemingly unused grate. In his other hand he held the reins of the stallion that had carried them. His fingers moved reassuringly for a moment on her shoulder.

"Down this way, Christine." She followed him without hesitation, fearless in his presence. With her Angel beside her, she feared nothing.

The passage became progressively drier as they moved in the vague direction of the Opera. She noted several twisting turns off of the passage, he did not pause but led them swift and sure in the torchlight.

"How many entrances are there, Erik?" She asked as they passed yet another shadow-strewn passage.

"Three that I know of." He answered, voice low, soothing. "I have not explored them as extensively as I would prefer." He smiled faintly. "No one else lives down here, Christine."

She was still not convinced, looking over her shoulder from time to time.

"Are you afraid, Christine?"

The blunt question, asked in a voice soft as night, made her whip her head to stare at him. He shook his head, face between affection and worry. "You're tense." His voice warmed, bathing her in reassurance. "Don't be, Christine. Nothing down here will harm you."

Alone now, they made their way to the gondola. He ushered her into it, stepping in behind her. "What if they miss me in the theatre?" She asked, suddenly worried. What if Raoul should come and demand to see her, and she was not there?

They would search for her. And they would find him. Her heart contracted at the thought. Torches, fire, voices shouting. Cries and jeers against her Angel of Music. Adrenaline rushed through her, she turned to face him. They would debase her Angel if they found him, they would see only the scarred face and never hear the seraphic voice, see the eyes that blazed like starlight, the power and the purity contained in the earthly shell. They would never understand him, her Angel of Music. Her breath shuddered. He had to be protected from them. At any cost. At all cost. At whatever price she could pay. She turned her head to the dark one, bent upon her in concentration. She stood and tilted her head back to look at him.

He steadied the boat with the pole, than brushed her hair back from her face. "Firmin and Andre are currently entertaining the Opera Populaire's new patron. It is late, Christine. Soon they will all retire to their beds. And frankly," his lips curved into an amused smile "I doubt that even a riot would wake them tonight with all of the wine the managers have downed"

Her eyes were wide, she felt limp with relief. "Madame Giry is a wonder." She raised a hand to his cheek. "And so are you."

His eyes gleamed brightly in the light, a smile evident in them. "You flatter me, Christine." He sighed mock-mournfully. "And as much as I'd like to bask in your approval, most of it was Madame Giry"

She raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "Most?"

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, refusing to meet her gaze. "All."

"Ah." Smiling slightly, she settled against him as the boat glided toward the far shore.

Her Angel was safe.

Erik

He could have sworn he caught a fleeting smile on her face as she turned from him. Still annoyed at Madame Giry for being so competent, he lapsed into silence.

Then again, he reminded himself. If it weren't for her... He touched Christine's hair gently, lightly as a breath of wind. The heavy locks felt like silk under his fingers.

The boat nosed up onto the shore. Erik stepped out, feeling the sand shift under his boots. He propped the pole against the wall and turned to Christine. She was luminescent in the candlelight, eyes glowing like embers, skin and hair pearled with light. He was suddenly thrown back to the first night he had taken her here. She had the same look of rapture, her eyes carrying a message for him alone.

He stepped toward her, offering a hand. She took it, he marveled at the slender strength in those fingers, and he lifted her from the boat.

Impulsively, he led her before the organ. "Christine, would you sing for me?" He saw a smile curve the rose of her lips, for a moment, he simply stared at her, transmuted into a creature of softness and light under the candlelight, an angel. Than he blinked. Must you gawp at her, Erik? He felt thoroughly exasperated with himself.

Christine didn't seem to care. Her face was still, her eyes gleaming with repressed laughter. He set his fingers to the keys as she launched into songs.

"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why-"

He winced. "No, Christine. Not that." The disastrous Don Juan still haunted him. The beauty and the terror of it. Her eyes, wide and almost frightened when she had realized who had stolen the role of Don Juan. Frightened for him, he realized now. The smile of pure of wonder and delight. What sweet seduction lies before us? She had dropped his hand, he had stepped back reluctantly, and then, an ascension. A bold, dramatic ascension into something that tormented like Hell and blazed through him like Heaven- the little that he knew of it he had seen and heard in her... Her voice had soared around them, clearer and purer than he had ever heard her before. He had been breathless for a moment, than there was nothing except her as they paced deliberately toward each other, eyes locked, voices spiraling heavenward together. Their world reduced to flame and song, passion and need.

He still felt her against him. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn! Her skin had burned against him, she relaxed into his hold completely, body molded to his, face seraphic. The raw emotion she had sent through him roughened his voice, he had heard the desperation in it as she turned an endlessly mournful face toward him, eyes that begged for forgiveness, mouth a sad and tender smile.

All that he had wanted was her love. His heart had skipped as her hand caressed his face, brown eyes shining not with fire, but with tears. Christine- that's all I ask of-

And she had ripped the mask from his face with that same expression, the tender, grieving love.

He shivered.

And felt Christine's fingers at his cheek again. His heart beat against his ribs like a caged animal. "Christine-" His voice was unsteady, breathing uneven. "Christine"

She met his eyes fully. The light in them was not the reflection of candlelight, it was too bright, too strong for that. It was the look of a woman for the man she loved. It engulfed him like a wildfire, racing through him like flames through dry brush.

"No more masks, Erik."

He hesitated, backed one uncertain step away. "Christine, do you really- I don't want to frighten you again... My face... it's-"

She cradled his head between her hands, stroking softly with light fingertips, through his hair. "It was you, Erik, who cried out when I saw your face." He could feel her breath against his lips. "It was never a mask that I loved, Erik." Her eyes were effervescent, glowing in the light.

He closed his eyes. "Christine..."

She stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. For long moments, he lost himself to the sensation. His arms went around her instinctively, pressing her supple, slender body to his. Her hair tangled in his fingers, he felt her nails dig into his skin, running feverishly through his hair. There was a slow rocking behind his eyes, as though his soul were beating at his skin. He could feel her pulse race under his fingers, matching his own. The only sound was the harsh raggedness of breath, the loud pounding of his veins as lightening and song coursed through him. He ceased to be, he was a part of her, fused of this touch, this touch of desperation, this passion that seared him like fire.

It was not gentle. It was not tender. It was a thing of raw sensuality, sheer, overwhelming need. He couldn't think, couldn't move, could only gather her to him in an overpowering desire that shook him with its depth. He wondered how long he could remain sane, surely the body was not meant to taste Heaven before the soul had fled it, surely he would shatter with this intoxicating ecstasy.
A clatter echoed faintly around the cavern as she pulled away. He felt a faint breath of air cool the fire that seemed to have ignited under his skin. Their rough breathing was the only sound.

He felt wind faintly on the right side of his face, raised a hand in slow trepidation to it. Rough skin met his fingers, knotted and scarred. He ran his fingers tentatively across the ridges of raised and ravaged flesh. He knew very well what he looked like, having cursed himself for it his entire life. There were none who had not run from it. Save one. Save her. My God. Christine's eyes were blazing on his, focused and bright. He marveled at the radiance exuding from her, the fearlessness of her.

The child was gone. In her place was a woman, an angel. His Christine.

She reached for him again. He lifted her up and succumbed to the thundering melody once more.

Christine. His mind was in rhapsody, spiraling in a slow ascension to paradise. He knew that he did not deserve this, the compassionate, angelic woman that held herself to him. Oh, Christine. He drew back from the kiss, as slow and tender as the other had been wild. He breathed in slowly, and began the soft song that he had not completed, the only song he had not finished...

"Anywhere you go, let me go too." The words were not, as they had been, raised and roughened. They were soft, intent, meant for her ears alone. "Christine- that's all I ask of you..."

She raised her eyes to his, dark and intent. The smile on her face transformed it from earthly beauty to something less tangible, as though her soul were surfacing, transcending her mortal frame. She opened her mouth, the pure, rippling sound that came from her struck him breathless, bathed his stillness in a glowing paradise.

"Love me, that's all I ask of you"

He lowered his lips to hers in wordless answer.

I'm quite happy with this- I hope you are too! Review and tell me what you think! Love n' hugs.

Lee