As it was, he had fallen asleep almost immediately, as naturally as if he had done this every night of his life and expected to continue to do so every night of his life.
His mind wandered as his eyes reluctantly opened. Before his conscience was fully awake, he allowed himself to indulge in the pure pleasure of remembering the physical act between himself and Lily. He recalled each fevered caress, the way her warm, lithe little body had seemed to mold itself perfectly to his. He remembered the flavor of their kisses and the look in her eyes.
Then, as the unfortunate sun rose in a sky he never saw, his conscience asserted itself. What had he done? But once the first pang of panic had passed as he struggled to find an answer, the question seemed to change on him. What had he done?
His first reaction was that he had betrayed Christine. But several breaths later, he realized that one cannot betray someone who doesn't believe you exist in the first place. Besides, a little niggling voice had told him, hadn't she already betrayed him first by pledging her love to that boy?
He turned the thought over and over in his mind, considering it carefully before he even allowed himself to turn his head and gaze at Lily, whose soft breathing announced that she still slept peacefully.
No, he realized. There was no betrayal on his part for what he had done. Christine, too, was somehow innocent of betrayal. The thought struck him forcibly, making him suck in his breath.
The sound made Lily stir next to him. He marveled at the peaceful expression on her face. In all the nights he had secretly stolen into her room to watch over her, he had learned to tell her dreams from the way she slept. This was the first time he had ever seen her sleep so contentedly. There was even a small smile on her face. It made him smile.
But the act of smiling made him suddenly and painfully aware that there was no mask rubbing against his skin. Instinctively, his hand flew to his face. The movement startled Lily out of her sleep. She blinked a few times, like a kitten awakening from a nap, before her eyes focused on him.
He saw that she noticed the hand covering the ruined side of his face, and he cringed, preparing himself for the recoiling in disgust that he knew was coming.
Never in a thousand lifetimes would he have expected her to gently remove his hand and replace it with her own hand, gently stroking the mottled skin of his cheek with her thumb. He was even more dumbstruck when she reached over to him and kissed him.
It had to be a dream. Perhaps he was still asleep. A woman had made love to him and still loved him in the morning, when the light of passion was no longer there to diffuse the awfulness of his visage.
"Lily," he whispered in awe.
Lily grinned and replied by playfully tugging at his lower lip with her teeth and snuggling her bare body next to his.
"What are you doing?" he asked, suddenly petrified by the contact between them.
Lily quirked an eyebrow and pulled him to her, desire evident in her eyes.
He could no longer doubt, only surrender.
Some time later, Lily, who had been lying with her head on his shoulder and tracing lazy patterns on his chest with her finger, suddenly tapped him to get his attention - as if it could have wandered from the angel in his arms.
She patted her stomach, which obligingly growled.
"Hungry?" he asked with a smile. It still felt odd to be without his mask, but he was slowly getting used to the idea that Lily saw him no differently with or without it.
She nodded vigorously.
"Thank God," he said with a small laugh. "You still don't eat enough, you know."
She pouted.
"All right, all right, let's go and get you some food," he replied, unable to help grinning.
It was shy work to rise and dress in front of each other, as intimate as they had been under the covers. But he managed it, turning his back so Lily could dress as well. As she dressed, he wandered back over to his organ and shuffled absently through the sheaves of papers with snatches of melodies and arias written on them. He found himself smiling quietly, wondering at his sudden good fortune.
A sound - not from his bedroom alcove - caught his attention. Instantly, he was alert, wary and ready to dispense with any intruder who was foolish enough to seek the lair of the opera ghost.
"Where is she!"
The voice belonged to that damnable boy, and he was seized with the sudden urge to reach for that Punjab lasso. But what stayed his hand was the appearance of Madame Giry with the boy.
"Raoul has told me that you are keeping a girl prisoner here," she said quietly. "You cannot do such a thing. It is not right."
He growled, panic and rage reddening his vision and robbing him of speech.
"Lily! Thank God! Are you all right?" Raoul said suddenly, rushing down the stone ledge to get as close as he could.
He glanced behind him. Lily now stood at the entrance of the bedroom alcove. Her face was white, as white as the knuckles that clutched at her skirt. He felt a small flickering of hope at the sight of her narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils.
"Lily, come with me," Raoul pleaded. "I will take care of you."
Lily didn't move and continued to glare at the boy.
"Why are you doing this?" Madame Giry asked softly, coming to stand beside Raoul, then moving past him to approach the organ.
"She is here by her own choice," he hissed.
"Is she?"
Madame Giry's words cut him as sure as any knife, planting the evil seed of doubt within his heart. How could Lily be here of her own volition? He was a monster, after all. True, he had cared for her, and she had been grateful.
Then the awful thought struck him. Had last night been a repayment of sorts? Was that her way of showing gratitude and not love?
"Tell me, even if she was here by her own choice," La Giry continued in a quiet tone of reason, "What kind of life can you give her? Living in hiding with a man who is not supposed to exist, never to see the sun?"
She paused and put her hand on his arm.
"Do you truly love her?" she asked.
He knew that it was a loaded question. La Giry knew of his infatuation with Christine. But he knew now that it had only been that. An infatuation with someone who had not run away from him.
But she had not run away because she had never seen him. Not until last night. And then, how she ran...
"I do," he whispered.
"Then let her go," La Giry said.
He could see the sympathy in her eyes for him. He knew in that instant that the ballet mistress was not there to destroy him, but to help him. A strange kind of help that broke his heart.
"Let her go," she repeated. "Let her be taken back into the world where she can be helped and cared for. Raoul will make things right for her. He will set her up with a house and an income so that she will never want for anything."
He stared hard at La Giry. What she said began to sound more and more reasonable and right. He could not condemn the woman he loved to live in darkness, to exist in the shadow of a man who was a ghost. If he loved her, truly loved her, he would want her to be happy. He would want the best for her.
To keep her was selfish. His love for her had redeemed him, and now it was time for him to repay her. His heart and his body protested that she could be happy with him, that he could give her the love she needed more than gold.
He turned back to look at Lily, who stood still and white as a statue...a beautiful statue. And he realized that she would not be without love for long. Her goodness, her beauty would bring her a good man with a whole face who would love her for all her days.
He felt as though he was dying inside as he steeled himself to make the ultimate sacrifice.
"Take her," he growled.
Those words were all that Raoul needed to dash past him and grab Lily. He could not look back at her, dared not meet her eyes. But he heard the sounds of her struggle, and the awful, mangled screams that were all she could manage without a tongue.
He barely felt La Giry's sympathetic squeeze on his arm. Everything was fading into darkness around him. His love...his love...
His love was gone.
It only took a few moments for him to be alone again in the darkness of his lair. And it was when he was finally alone that he sank to his knees and finally broke down.
He cried for his love. He cried for the price of his redemption. He cried for the empty life that lay before him.
And for the first time he could remember, he prayed.
He prayed that Lily would be happy.
A/N: Thank you again to all my reviewers. Reviews make my day! If you like my writing, you might be interested to check out my books - yes, I'm a published author, LOL.
In particular, I have a book out called "Portrait of Desire." It's the story of a young woman in Paris, 1901. She is a painter with no interest in love, until a mysterious stranger comes to teach her that life, love and art are inseperable. If you are interested, check it out atSiren Publishing (just Google Siren Publishing, and it'll take you to it...or you can visit my website, which is in my profile). It's the first in a three-book trilogy called "La Belle Epoque."
And no, this is not the end for Lily and Erik. But it ain't gonna be easy. And the title for the chapter comes from one of my favorite songs, "A Prayer for the Dying" from Seal...
Yours in mischief,
Kate September