A/N: I am overwhelmed and so grateful for the amount of comments you all have been leaving. THANK YOU, again, to all of my dear lurkers, and my darling readers. This chapter is a good bit longer than the last one, never fear. And also, I have taken the liberty of creating my own Metropolitan Opera House. So no, its depiction is not historically accurate…but please do enjoy the wonders of this "Angelic" Opera House…I think you will find it quite suitable :) Please enjoy…
The Orphaned Blossom
She did not notice the frightfully cool brush of the wind against her skin, for her body was filled with an undying heat that danced inside of each nerve ending – flittering within every fiber that created her essence, her soaring spirit. She looked behind once, just to glimpse the double glass doors swing shut behind her…and for the first time, she did not fear their shuddering clicks, or the silence that followed.
He seemed to swallow up the night with the bold lines of his shoulders and back – he seemed to command the howls of the city. He was its leader, its emperor and protector…and now, seemingly hers, as well. Christine itched to speak his name, she longed to tug upon his hand and ask him something, anything…just so she could hear the smooth velvet of his voice entangle with the night air, just to turn his eyes back to hers – undressing her with their golden glow, leaving her stark naked underneath the light of the pale moon.
A long inky Cadillac was parked at the curb, only a couple paces away from the lobby doors. As they neared it, Christine could hear a low thrumming emitting from the sinfully slick vehicle, growling like a great lion that paced in the shadows of towering, sand colored buildings…
Lying amidst the in-between.
Erik released her hand from his, and she stood swaying like an orphaned blossom in a barren field; the last budding rose to be picked from the snares of the world.
He stepped down from the curb, pulling the back door to the vehicle open with one swift movement. His grace and courtesy stunned her, for she had never been offered a car door with such magnificence – it was as if he paved the way for a great queen, even bowing his head slightly to her, inclining her to step inside the darkness – his darkness. His eyes glittered mischievously behind the leather of the mask.
Christine averted her eyes from his, a deep blush spreading across her face yet again. She nodded in quiet understanding, stepping forward to duck her head inside of the car. She felt his hand guiding her lower back lightly, as if to ensure a silky transition into this strange new world – one that smelled of rich leather and spilt champagne.
He joined her in the backseat from the opposite side, keeping a small space between them as he leaned forward, gripping the right side of the drivers seat with his hand.
"Bruce sent you?" Erik asked the driver stiffly, keeping his voice low, yet Christine could still hear.
"Yes Sir, I've been waiting here for fifteen minutes, although I expected to wait an hour," the driver responded nonchalantly – there was a nip of an English accent within his tone. Erik reclined back into the leather seat, scoffing faintly to himself.
"Tell Bruce I can call a car myself," he replied stubbornly, reaching toward an indented compartment in the middle of the car. Christine followed his hands with her eyes, watching as he meticulously uncorked a bottle of wine. He pulled a glass from a lower and shadowed area, pouring the scarlet wine with ease. The lights of another car passed by, and it lit the surface of his hands – scarred up and large, they were – holding the glass as if it were a child's toy.
"I would have, Sir, but I pray he was quite adamant that you arrive early, tonight," Gabriel responded graciously as the car lurched forward, merging with the flourish of nightlife traffic. Erik ignored his irritating but proper response, and bent his body awkwardly to half face Christine. Her heart jumped at the uncomfortable looking position, yearning to reach out and touch him in the muted fortress of leather and glass. Erik held the twisted position of his torso, offering her the glass of wine.
"Are you nervous, being here…with me?" he asked her softly, the shadows of moving streetlights and darkness falling across the mask on his face.
Christine accepted the glass of wine thankfully, sipping it deeply before responding. She could not shake his body positioning from her mind; what man would twist as he did…what sort of soul would make themselves uncomfortable for the ease of another? It reminded her of his figure at the piano as she watched hungrily from above…why did he bend to her so ardently? It caused her to feel shy yet again, and she bit her lip to sustain her ladylike composure.
"I am a bit nervous…simply for the gala," she stammered, cursing herself immediately for her clumsy reply. "And I…well, I wanted to apologize, for…for spying…on you," she added hastily, avoiding the glint of his eyes as she took another sip of wine. It was dry and red – it would stain her lips with crimson blood, like a scarred up kiss…
Erik half smiled at her, causing a wrinkle in his carefully sutured stitches. "Yes, you were spying, weren't you?" He teased, reaching down for a second empty wine glass. He filled it almost to the brim, dumping half the glass down as if it were a shot of bourbon whiskey. Christine observed him with wide eyes as he licked his lips, fixating his eyes upon her as if peering again into her soul.
"What were you doing on the roof? Or are angels not permitted to describe their nightly excursions?" His eyes gleamed playfully, and the side of his mouth twitched, as if holding back a full smirk.
Christine blushed again. "Forgive me, please, I…I heard music above me, from your apartment. I did not know the panes to your vault would be open, it was just…well, I wanted to see…I wanted to hear it up close," she finished breathlessly, downing the rest of her wine. Her fingers tapped the side of the glass anxiously as she eyed him, searching for disapproval in the deep of his eyes. His face lived in shadow, except for the occasional shimmer of headlights that revealed his thoughtful, golden eyes. She squinted in the darkness at him, expecting irritation or disapproval from him…yet the only emotion she could now see was a small piece of sadness that poured out from behind his mask – and then she suddenly knew something, without even actually knowing at all – he was just as miserable as she.
Erik was silent for a long moment, but soon broke the stillness between them with an elegant outstretched hand, reaching for her glass.
"Would you like more?" his voice was silky and haunting, so dense that it was like smoke hanging stagnant between them. She nodded quickly, searching his face for more secretive expressions as he filled her glass again. The car skidded to a stop at an intersection, and suddenly it was as if the world had ceased to move – for he slid his leg over, touching hers through the fabric of her dress. She did not dare look into his eyes now, for surely she would give herself away…
The car lurched forward, its engine rumbling and roaring, shattering the thickness of the air – the words that were kept unsaid. Erik left his leg touching hers slightly, and handed her back the glass filled once more with blood red wine.
"There was a voice that night," he pondered aloud, emptying the rest of his drink in one swallow. "I could hear it in my apartment, as if it were nearby…you wouldn't happened to have heard it too, now did you?" He smiled widely at her, raising his eyebrows from behind the mask. Christine immediately broke her eyes away from his, staring down into the contents of her glass.
"Oh," she whispered meekly, tucking her head down to hide behind a curtain of soft curls. "Yes, well…I…I am terribly sorry if it…if I disturbed you, Mr. Vanderbilt…"
Erik chuckled softly. "Enough with your terribly polite manners, little dove…my name is Erik. And you could never disturb me…" he made a sound in his throat, a gentle laugh that sent a sensual warmth unfurling between her legs. Christine clenched her teeth, forcing a small smile in response.
"A pleasure to officially meet you…I'm Christine," she offered her hand to him as stylishly as she could muster. Instead of taking her hand, Erik extended a single forefinger, running it down the length of her exposed forearm to the ends of her fingertips.
"Your skin is lovely," he whispered, almost to himself, bending his head low to kiss the edges of her fingers. "So are your hands."
Christine sat immobilized as he lingered, fighting back the urge to reach out and feel his lips. She wanted them to kiss more than her fingers – she wanted them to suckle on the skin of her neck, to lick and bite at the nipples of her breasts…
The screeching of tires and jolt of the car caused her to withdraw her hand quickly. Erik pulled his head up, watching her hand retract back into her lap. His eyes lingered again, for a moment, and Christine bit her bottom lip harder. She could not say no to him, whatever he might ask of her…she did not have the will to do so…
"We have arrived, Sir," Gabriel's voice cut into her nervous stream of thoughts, slamming her back to reality. Erik grimaced at his words, and ran his hands through his hair, perfecting the dark waves that curled a bit at the ends.
"So we have," Erik responded gruffly, dumping his empty wine glass into a basin below the indented space. He kicked the door open on his side, stepping nimbly out of the car. Christine watched through the window as he shut the door, admiring the grand staircase that led up to the majesty of the Opera House. She was so caught up in its beauty that she almost did not notice her side of the car open, where Erik stood waiting with an outstretched hand.
Christine slipped her hand into his once again, and he lifted her out of the interior of the Cadillac. He did not release her as they stepped away from the car and into the throngs of tight silk dresses and tuxedoes – all slowly ascending the idyllic staircase that lay before them.
But unlike the crowd, Erik stopped at the foot of the staircase, lifting his head toward the towering cupola that seemed to brush the sky. "If you look close enough, each side comes to a point," he explained, adjusting his hand underneath hers to point at the shimmering dome, using her fingers to trace an invisible pattern. "Each point holds homage to an Archangel…it is said that they protect the Opera House from harm, and the music…the music is what keeps them alive."
Christine gasped in her throat, squeezing her eyes to see the distant figures that lived amongst the skyline. His hand felt so wonderful against the skin of her palm – it was rough and ridged with scar tissue, but she found his movements to be gentle and alluring, as if every touch was calculated and rhythmic…Just like the melancholy of his music that came back to her in waves, playing in her head over and over…so achingly desirable upon her tongue that she felt compelled to sing that very melody to him, right at the foot of yet another staircase…
Erik let out a small laugh, shaking his head at himself. "Architecture is always overlooked…people are too preoccupied with themselves to even notice its splendor."
He abruptly let go of Christine's hand, offering her his arm instead. "Come," he said lightly, although there were undertones of darkness in his voice. Christine obeyed, slipping her arm around his. He seemed to bulk out from the confines of his tuxedo, and she wondered how long it had been since he had worn one. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable and anxious, lifting his free hand up to touch the edge of his mask. She pretended not to notice, and walked beside him carefully as they ascended the grand staircase.
As they entered in through the doors, Christine let go of his arm, bringing both hands up to cover her mouth. Erik stopped alongside her, and she felt his eyes on her as she took in the brilliance of the three crystal chandeliers that hung from a high vaulted ceiling – in a room that was larger than the entire ballet conservatory itself. Panels of the vaults were painted with lifelike angels – all depicted with chiseled pectorals and swords made of brassy sky. The men's genitals hung out in all of their glory to be ogled, and the female angels revealed ample breasts that were outlined in slivers of rose colored strokes. Some were holding various musical instruments, and others seemed to be valiantly readied for war – to defend the very music of their counterparts, it seemed.
"You were right," Christine turned to him, intertwining her arm with his once again. "They do protect the music. It is…the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!"
She did not know what it was, exactly, but an exquisite confidence began to take over her – not of arrogance, nor the many looks that women eyed her with, enviously – it was a sudden feeling of belonging, as if she had been an angel estranged, kept away from her brothers and sisters…an orphan of heaven, lost in a mortal world…
Until now.
"Yes," Erik responded, his tone filled with a fascination of delight. "The last time I was here, it was under very different circumstances…yet I find that my feelings have not changed. I could enter in through the doors a thousand times, and still, I would stand in awe."
"Is there more?" Christine asked excitedly, turning to look up at him. Her dark skirts whirled around her like a midnight lake, with glimmers of stars floating upon their reflection. He gave her a small smile, tightening his grip upon her arm unconsciously. "Yes, there is more…but I fear it will have to wait. I must see to my brother...unfortunately," he sighed, as if contemplating a strenuous chore. "I promised him I would show," he muttered, leading her toward a waiter dressed in a starch white shirt, balancing a silver platter of champagne. Erik shook his head wearily at the waiter, pulling Christine past and toward a far corner of the seemingly infinite room.
"I despise champagne," he hissed in a low voice, turning his head slightly toward her as if to whisper a secret. "It's the drink of the arrogant noblemen."
As Erik wove his way through the great masses of colored dresses and black tuxedos, Christine was pulled along with him – a swan sailing upon a supple river current. She accidently caught the eye of a woman that had been staring, with light blonde hair that was fashioned into a wavy bob. The woman began to move toward them through the crowd, and Christine immediately broke eye contact, worried she had perhaps done something wrong, or snagged the attention of one of Raoul's "midnight encounters"…
The woman certainly was beautiful enough.
"Erik! My my, you look handsome!" The woman had blocked their path, smoothing slender fingers down the skin tight velvet of her scarlet dress. Erik came to a halt, his arm growing tense beneath Christine's hold. His jaw seemed to tighten as he looked upon the woman, the dull roar of the foyer filling in the silent spaces. The woman cocked her head to one side, her deep red lips breaking open to reveal a perfect set of teeth.
"I had hoped we could reschedule our…fornication, for this evening…I had something come up, last night…oh, don't be cross with me!" She seemed to now pretend as if Christine did not exist, as her eyes were now preoccupied, raking up and down Erik's stately form.
Erik let out an impatient sigh. "Apologies, Lydia. Another time, perhaps," he replied tersely, stepping swiftly to the left to avoid her full confrontation. Christine felt a flicker of jealousy ignite inside of her, but immediately doused it with imaginary water. She did not own him…she barely even knew him…and although she had slipped off her wedding ring, she reminded herself that indeed, she still remained married…
To Raoul.
The man that Erik had thrown down the staircase.
"Oh, I see! So you're angry that I was too busy for you, is that what this is about? So selfish that you've replaced me with a well paid prostitute?" the woman laughed bitterly as they walked past, but Erik jolted to an unexpected halt. He turned to Christine, lowering his head to speak softly in her ear: "One moment." Christine nodded numbly, a bit embarrassed by the woman – Lydia's, choice of words, but also secretly enthralled by his closeness to the soft skin of her neck.
Erik dropped Christine's arm gently, turning back around stealthily to face Lydia.
"A prostitute," he repeated, staring her down with a foreboding glare. "If I had wanted a prostitute, I would have called you back." And with Lydia frozen to the spot with her red lipped mouth held open, he promptly returned to Christine.
"I do apologize for that," he commented smoothly, his eyes facing forward, scanning the edges of the crowd.
"It's…it's fine," Christine assured him, feigning a lie through her teeth. "I am not offended, I assure you…"
"It is because you are kind, and compassionate to others," he remarked, still seeming to search through faces within the crowds.
"But you barely know me," Christine burst out, immediately embarrassed, wishing she could take the words back. But Erik did not seem to mind – in fact, he turned to look at her intently, his eyes ablaze with sudden adoration. "And you barely know me," he responded gently, running another finger along her wrist…
"Yet here we are."
Christine shivered, and was certain that he saw it – but she did not stray from his eyes. She found that she could not rip her eyes from his.
"Brother!" a strong male voice interrupted the seemingly silent moment, smashing it to pieces, were it a mirror – a tall man strode through the crowd, with light hazel eyes and darkly slicked hair. He carried a pretty young woman along with him who was covered in stringed pearls, a shy expression lingering upon her dainty face.
"You're early! Oh, thank god, Erik, really…I was about to have a heart attack given the time," the man smiled widely, resting a hand on Erik's broad shoulder. Erik shook it off in evident irritation.
"Bruce, this is Christine," he motioned gracefully to Christine at his side, and she bowed her head slightly.
"Lovely to meet you," she said warmly, smiling up at Bruce. He reached out and kissed her hand, and Erik swatted crossly at Bruce's extended arm.
"I'll put you on the floor," Erik warned, and Bruce let out a hearty laugh. "My god, let the woman breathe! I apologize for his behavior, he has no idea how to socialize," Bruce leaned into Christine teasingly, and Erik gave him a light shove. Christine looked up at Erik worriedly, but relaxed when she saw the corners of his mouth twitching. It seemed as though he was fighting back a smile.
"Brother, as I recall, last time we fought…didn't I best you?" Bruce prodded, his date standing soundlessly beside him. Erik threw his head back and laughed, and Christine smiled warmly at the sound. She loved how open and deep it sounded, like the first chord of a darkened melody.
"I let you feel superior for once," Erik quipped, cocking his head to the side. "I know how hard it must feel to constantly live in my shadow."
Bruce waved a hand in front of Erik's face. "Seems your arrogance grows by the hour," he retorted through a large grin. "And as much as I'd love to best you here and now, it should most certainly wait for later…for now, we are in the presence of angels!"
Erik moved his arm out from around Christine's, entangling his fingers with her own. She felt her heart flutter, for she was beginning to get used to the feeling of his hands…
Doing whatever they pleased…
"Erik, straighten out your coat…I see father coming," Bruce said in a strangled voice, pulling his quiet date in closer as if she could protect him, somehow.
Christine felt Erik's hand tighten around her own, and without thinking, she gave his fingers a quick squeeze. He held fast to her hand as the crowd opened up to an older man with light hazel eyes – almost golden, with streaks of grey in his raven hair.
A/N: Don't kill me for the cliffhanger! More is to come quite soon…As per usual, every single comment is held so very close to my heart, so leave a thought if you have the time :) Thank you, my loves…