A/N - OK, so, I'm cranking up the fluff/angst in this chapter. I'm still trying to decide if I want to graduate this story from a T to an M. Although, this chapter is getting into the high T's. Thanks for the enthusiastic reviews. I was a little slow getting this one out, but I hope you can forgive me. Enjoy!

Chapter 16

Erik had been gone for nearly three days. Christine spent every day wandering the halls listlessly. The house was too quiet now. If it had been quiet before, now, the silence was unbearable. She had wandered from room to room, thinking about the last several months. If ever she had wanted time to think now it had been granted most generously. She longed to hear him play his music. She longed to join her voice with his. It felt as though they had not sung together in ages.

Christine sat at his piano and sadly ran her slender fingers across the keys. She imagined seeing his hands gracing the keys, running through the scales as she trained her voice. Where had her angel of music gone? He had once been a rock in her life. But now she knew he was a mortal man. She longed for his tenderness again, the way his hand would drift along her face. The way it would hesitate over her flesh. But she had only her dreams at night to feed the unspoken need. Only in them could she feel him holding her with such passion. Feel his breath as it teased the stray hairs at her temple. Feel the shudder run down her spine whenever he drew close.

Oh that haunted face! How can I rid my memory of such a face? It did not frighten her. It never had. But his wild temper did. She could not understand what passions had driven his genius mind, cursed with a face that resembled an angel's chiseled and carefully sculpted visage on one side and twisted as a demonic creature on the other.

Oh but his music! Never had she heard anything more beautiful, more tragic, more. . .seductive. The feelings that had coursed through her body that night when he raged on his piano began to flood back into her limbs. She felt her body slump against the wall and her hand draw up to touch the bare skin at her neck. The rhythm of the song was harsh, barbaric, but it had thrummed with a strange, foreign, primal, yet instinctive thrust. She felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart begin to pound, but most of all an incredible emptiness.

My God, Erik. Where have you gone? Do you not know how fragile my heart is? Do you not know the power you have? You hold my heart in your hands and yet you do not realize it. I will wilt if you stay away too long. I will die.

She could not force herself to return to her own silent room. And so she spent each night in his bed. She would dream that he was beside her, holding her in his arms, keeping her safe, and watching over her like a messenger of heaven.

It was in the middle of the night, on the third night, when he finally came. She was fast asleep, the last remnant of tears staining her porcelain face, with moonlight washing over her skin from the nearest windows. Her hair cascaded over the pillows and framed her solemn face with dark curls. She did not stir as he entered, and he was not surprised, for he had developed his own stealth over the years.

But he was surprised to find her sleeping in his bed. Erik tried in vain to tear his eyes from her body. The steady rise and fall of her breast beneath the white nightgown was nearly his undoing. She looked drained of energy. Even with her eyes closed, and her long lashes falling upon her cheek, he could see the dark circles that lined her eyes. He could hear her murmur softly in her sleep. Sometimes, he could hear her cry.

My poor lamb, he thought, I have left you unattended for too long. You wither away in my absence. I do not understand why you turned away from that boy, but it is clear that you need my protection.

He sat down beside her, no longer afraid to stroke her soft face as she slept. In my bed, he noted. You would not sleep here so soundly if you knew my thoughts. You would not rest in childlike innocence if you saw what was in my eyes this very moment. You lay in the lion's den. A lamb, my lamb, so unknowing, so innocent, so trusting, of the lion that lingers in the dark and watches.

But as you sleep I see you stir in dream. I see your limbs writhe beneath the covers and think darkly for a moment. Oh, the gleam in my eyes must be particularly singular tonight! I see you clutch at the pillow with your hand. A soft moan escapes your lips and the beast threatens to steal itself from the dark and capture its prey in an eternal embrace. Your lips, so soft, so swollen they seem, are parted. I hear you murmur a word, but too softly for even my keen ears to hear. I bend over your vulnerable body, leaning my ear to nearly touch your lips, and hear a word that feeds the fire in my blood.

Erik.

I cannot stay here a moment longer. You will not be my spotless angel for long. For I would taint you. I would make you scream my name.

I love you too much to harm you. I love you too much to take away your innocence to feed my own desire. I have always loved you. I always will.

He left the room quickly, but only after he had laid a rose on her pillow.

The room was silent when she awoke. Christine turned in bed, almost blinded by the sunlight that shone through the narrow separation of the drapes. He was not here. She was expecting another day of silence, filled only by the pacing of her feet in the halls, or by quiet reflection in the library.

But as she turned her head, she found a rose resting on the pillow beside her. Her hand touched it so softly, as though she feared it was not real and would vanish if her fingers fell upon its fragile bloom. A soft smile tugged at her lips.

"You're awake," she heard his voice echo in the room.

She sat up abruptly, pulling the sheets up with her and glanced about warily. Beyond the ray of light, hidden in the shadows of the room, she finally found the dark figure in the corner.

"Where have you been?" she called out softly.

She heard a rustle as he straightened up and slowing approached her, still cloaked in shadow.

"I had to pay my dear friend Nadir a visit," he stated coolly.

"You. . .you did not harm him, did you?" she asked, nearly gasping.

She heard a gentle sigh. "I am a murderer in your eyes now."

She could not reply to his comment, only watch him with wide, knowing eyes, as he stood at the foot of her bed. . .his bed. Beyond the shadow that fell upon his looming body, all she could see was the brilliant gleam of his eyes, and they suddenly reminded her of the predator. A wolf's eyes. Christine stirred uncomfortably beneath the sheets as he studied her for what seemed an eternity.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, his voice had become gentler.

"I was afraid," she replied quietly. "You left and I was. . .alone."

"But surely these inanimate sheets are no different then your own," he said, as though arguing his case.

Christine glanced away from him. "I felt that. . .you were closer here then in any other place. I felt safe."

"In my bed?" he added, his voice having grown husky.

"Yes," she replied. "I am a silly girl, I know."

"No," Erik said abruptly, catching her eyes with his penetrating gaze, "but you do not know what you seek. You do not know the repercussions."

She watched him warily, the sheets pulled up about her shoulders.

"Come," he said gently, extending his hand.

Christine drew her body out of the large bed and seemed to cower before him, acutely aware of her state of undress. His eyes drew over her body hungrily, taking in the long gown of thin cotton and lace - the way it fit her curves and lay upon her creamy skin. He still held her hand in his and he could feel her fingers quiver. His hand fell softly upon her face, stroking the side of it with such care that she shut her eyes under his ministrations. She pressed her cheek into his hand and even he noticed the subtle action.

"Christine," he murmured ardently.

A soft moan fell from her lips, and he found himself strangely drawn to them. Her eyes opened slowly and she looked up into his eyes. The compelling emerald eyes were now filled with a passion she could never have imagined. She tried to pull away, not realizing that his hand now secured her upper arm. She felt his breath upon her face.

"Please," she whimpered softly, looking up at him with those eyes that pleaded for his touch and cried out for mercy at the same time.

"Please what, Christine?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper as his hand lingered on her face.

A soft cry escaped her lips again as his hand at her arm wound slowly around her back, pulling her closer. She shivered in his arms.

"Why do you resist me, Christine?" he asked, almost sadly, but his desire-filled eyes never left her face.

"I'm afraid," she murmured.

"Do you abhor this face that you have seen?"

Christine shook her head softly. "It does not matter to me."

"What frightens you so?" he asked, tenderly stroking her face, and brushing an errant lock behind her ear. His finger grazed the sensitive flesh of her neck.

"Your love," she replied, glancing up at him with fearful eyes.

"I would never harm you, my love," he said.

"Then why do I feel this way around you?" she cried. "Why do I feel like I am drowning when you touch me?"

"Let go," Erik whispered in her ear. "For one moment, give in. Let me show you that you do not need to fear me."

"I. . .can't," she cried out, gripping the sleeves of his arms with her slender fingers.

But she could not fight him. She could not force her body away from his. As his mouth descended upon hers, she felt the fear again, but it seemed to wash away with each caress of his lips upon hers. When his arms tightened around her body, drawing her into the protective embrace of his, she surrendered. She found that the strength had left her body, and she was falling against his for support. But his strong arms, now winding tightly around her lower back, held her firmly to him. His lips moved slowly upon hers at first, unsure and hesitant. But with each soft cry from her, with each loosening of her grip upon his shoulders, Erik found his kiss growing stronger. A starved man for years, he could not control the passion that flooded his mind. She felt her lips part of their own accord and felt his kiss deepen. His tongue drew across her lower lip and finally entered her mouth. She had plummeted over the edge of the precipice that she had stood upon for so long. Now, there was only the hungry, demanding kiss he wrought upon her lips.

She felt his lips leave hers and moaned softly in protest, but they traveled across her cheek and down her neck. Erik pulled her tightly to him, almost roughly, as he ravaged her neck. Christine gasped, feeling the gentle nip of his teeth upon the bare flesh at the curve of her neck. His hands tightened upon her, gripping the fabric of her thin nightgown with a strange urgency. She felt her body pulled again towards him. Her body, now flush against his, and suddenly feeling so vulnerable, seemed to throb. But as he gripped her tightly, his mouth roaming across her neck, she felt his desire and cried out softly. Pressed so tightly against her stomach, she could feel the passion, a passion she had never felt before, and tensed.

He moved away from her neck, the desire still clouding his brilliant green eyes. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses. But her neck, now red from his hungered passion, seemed to burn angrily before him. Her eyes were clouded as well, although glistening with a strange emotion. She looked so helpless in his arms. His ardor was more then she had expected. Idiot! You fool! You're like a hungry animal with its prey. Look at the fear in her eyes. You have forced yourself upon her, upon this innocent girl, without any regard for her. You are just an animal to her. Look at how she looks at you right now. Disgusted, obviously. You loathsome animal. . .caring for nothing but your desire to take her, to make her scream, to make her yours!

He pulled away from her abruptly and she nearly collapsed as the support of his arms left her.

"Forgive me," he uttered, raking a hand through his dark hair.

Christine stood there, quivering in the thin ray of light that fled the curtains. Her shoulders shook with emotion, her hand drew up to her neck, stroking the reddened skin, and her eyes wavered upon his.

"Go," he said softly.

Erik watched as she turned, almost not knowing what action to take next, and left the room. His hand drew up to the bedpost and he leaned heavily against it, sighing deeply. Now I know why the shah kept his harem. This lust was such a mystery to me, but now I have come to understand it. Why must I now be tortured with this knowledge? Why must I know desire? Why must I crave her body like nothing else? She knows nothing of this. She is a child in the world's eyes. She has not seen what I have seen. But now I move to thrust her into the role of a harem girl, wide eyed and innocent. She looks to me to guide her. I am disgusting!

But does she feel what I feel? Does she yearn for my touch as I yearn for hers? Does she feel the same stirring in her body?

It was late afternoon when he finally emerged from wherever he had hidden himself. Christine sat in the study, amusing herself with books and trying to rid her mind of the events from the morning. But when Erik entered the room, leaning heavily against the doorframe and watching her quietly as she read, Christine could not help but lose her focus completely.

"Forgive me for my forwardness," he said coolly, every word stated as formally as possible. This was the voice of her teacher, her maestro, and her mentor.

She nodded gently at him, shifting her eyes away and watching the wayward sun dropping closer to the horizon.

"Tell me," she began softly, trying to encourage a conversation, "why did you not tell me that you are Count Bellamont?"

Erik sighed, moving from his position at the door to seat himself at a safe distance from her, in one of the two armchairs. His suit jacket was gone and instead, he wore a dark waist coat over his white dress shirt. A dark cravat was tied at his throat. In the waning light of the late afternoon, he looked quite striking. Christine struggled to pull her eyes from her quiet examination.

He rested his brow in his hand now, leaning to the side in the chair, and appeared to be relieving a headache.

"Would it have changed anything?" he uttered.

"No," she replied, "but I don't understand why you did not tell me."

"I do not care for titles. It wasn't even mine to begin with. When I returned to France, I came upon an old man one day. He was injured at the side of the road in an overturned carriage. His men were all dead. . .robbers undoubtedly assailed him. I assisted him and returned him to his home – the estate you saw. There, he learned of my musical abilities and employed me while recovering from his injuries. Count Bellamont had no heirs to speak of and before he passed, he gave his title and his wealth to me."

"And this place? Why do you live here instead?"

Erik looked away from her for a moment. "I do not care to live among the rich, much less any other human being. And when I first saw you. . ."

"Wait," she suddenly interrupted. "When did you first see me?"

He looked at her again, this time with a strange intensity. "When you were young, just after your father died, I saw you at your father's grave."

Christine's gaze drifted to him. "But I. . .I. . .why did you not reveal yourself? Did you get some sick pleasure from watching my pain?"

"No," he said firmly, moving to sit beside her. A tear coursed down her cheek and he swiftly brushed it away. "It was then that I knew I had to watch over you. . .that I had to have you at my side."

She looked at him with glistening eyes. "The lottery?"

"Yes," he answered, dropping his head for a moment in defeat.

"My God," she cried out, glancing away from him while her eyes filled with grief. "You made me leave everything that I had? You made me leave Madame Giry and Meg? I was so afraid," she whispered hoarsely. "When they took me out into the woods, I thought I would die. . .I wished for it. I was so afraid when they tied me to the tree and left me for whatever horror lived within the woods. And then you listened to me cry for hours and did nothing. Why? Why!"

Her fists were gathered at his chest. Tears were streaming down her face now. Anger choked her sobs. His hands drifted to her face again and brushed away the tears.

"Because I loved you. There was nothing before you. Only hate and despair. But when I laid eyes on you, I knew what I needed. I needed you," he answered, his voice wrought with emotion. "Forgive me."

She finally looked up at him again. Pain filled her gentle features and his heart throbbed in agony at seeing the anguish in his angel's expression. "What did you intend for me? What reason was there to be here with you? Was I to be your mistress?"

"I wanted you," he seethed, "as my wife."

She pulled away from him, angered by his words, but his hands latched onto her arms. Christine struggled in his grasp, cries of protest falling from her lips.

"I will not be your wife! You cannot force me to be your wife! I am a free person and as such, I will leave this house," she hissed.

"I will not let you go," Erik responded quietly. "I cannot."

"Yes," she shouted, "you will!"

"No, Christine," he roared in desperation. "You're mine! You belong to me!"

She looked at him in shock, ceasing her struggles as she regarded him in horror. Where was her angel? Where was the man with such tenderness in his heart? "You truly are a monster," she whispered hauntingly. "How could I have ever said I loved you?"

"Come, my dear," he said, clutching her arm as he stood. He was tired of her games. Tired of being taken for a fool every time she walked in the room.

Erik led her forcefully down the hall and to her room. She looked at him in confusion and for a moment, he wanted to brush away her tears and take her in his arms. But his anger drove him to lock her in her room. She pounded on the door in protest, but he stormed down the hall in a rage. He could hear her cries for help but dared not listen to them.

I will make her desire me as much as I've desired her. She will burn for me.

And so his music echoed loudly throughout the house as he pounded away on the piano. The seductive elements of the unfinished opera, Don Juan Triumphant, circulated the house like a deadly poison. Gone were any restraints he had before. Now, only the naked, visceral, and passionate melodies could be heard. They wove down the hall and beneath the door to Christine's room where she lay huddled on the floor. She wept unceasingly, but as the notes drifted through, she found her sobs begin to fade.

No, she cried inwardly, I will not be seduced by his music. I will not allow myself to be. But it was futile. No ordinary person had ever heard such music before. It was as though heaven's gate had been laid asunder and the music that lay hidden now spilled forth with such power and fury. But this music was like none other. Perhaps it was the gates of hell that had been opened. Only something as dark as hell could produce such shocking and vulgar melodies. The music ebbed and flowed. It took hold of her body and relaxed every muscle. But the powerful throb of its tempo washed through her, willed her body to follow its movements, and took hold her mind.

Christine cried out as she slid to the floor. She could feel every note course through her body. It seemed to build an unbearable tension. Every dream of him, every thought she had of him, everything. . .was revealed simultaneously. Fingers drifted across her face, lips ravished hers, hands traveled down her body. She could feel him. Feel his passion. His desire. His lust. And now she felt it herself. She writhed on the floor, waiting for some release that never came.

But when the fury of his music ceased, she cried out, gasping for air, tormented by the end that never came. She could hear his footsteps in the hall again – loud and pronounced. She could hear him unlocking the door. Christine quickly slid away from it as it opened and Erik loomed in the doorway, all of the fury of his music displayed in his brilliant eyes.

He picked her up, jerking her by the arm, and threw her at the bed. Her body collapsed into it, and she tensed, watching as he advanced upon her. Unbridled lust was in his eyes. She was frozen, unable to move, utterly terrified, and could not even cry out when he stood over her quaking body.

His hungry eyes traveled over her body. Hands gripped the hem of her dress and hiked it up to her thighs.

"Christine," he hissed, bending over her. His lips found her neck and nipped ravenously at the tender flesh.

She moaned softly, suddenly not wanting his mouth to leave her skin. But it did. Instead, he hummed the strange operatic melody he had so mercilessly forced out upon the piano. She could feel his body move with the rhythm of the song. Hers began to move as well. Her back arched involuntarily, pushing her thighs flush against his. She could feel his desire through fabric of her dress as she was pressed tightly against him. Again, he began to torture her skin with his mouth, and his hips continued their seductive rhythm.

Christine felt her body succumbing to his movements. She felt the heat pool below her stomach and whimpered. His arousal, so foreign and terrifying to her, was not close enough. Her body thrust against his without thought.

"Tell me what you want, Christine," he growled into her ear.

When she did not answer, he jerked away from her and looked into her clear eyes. The spell was suddenly broken. For in that instant, he saw the innocent, beautiful girl that he had so painstakingly taught to sing. He saw the daughter of a poor violinist crying over her father's grave. He saw the sorrow in her eyes and remembered the feeling of her head pressed against his chest for comfort.

Erik moved away quickly and stood away from her, his hands outstretched at his sides, as though he had committed an unspeakable evil. He looked down upon her. Her chest was heaving with breath. Dark ringlets of her hair pooled around her head. Her lovely gown was torn and riding dangerously up her thighs. Fear began to replace the desire in her eyes. The desire that I forced upon her. I raped her with my music. Her lips trembled with emotion. He could see the tears welling in her lovely brown eyes.

Erik quickly went to the wardrobe and grabbed a new dress, a cloak, and her boots. He laid them on the bed beside her and forced himself away from her.

"Dress quickly. Leave this place," he ordered her urgently, adding, "now! Leave this monster lest he harms you."

After several moments, she stumbled to her feet and trembled as she lifted the gown from the bed. Erik left the room, shutting the door behind him. He fell against the wall in the hallway, breathing heavily. A few minutes later, she emerged from her room and did not hesitate to run down the hall, past his shaking form, and out the door. He could hear the distant neigh of a horse before the sounds disappeared altogether.

My God, what have I done, he cried to himself.

Lotte Rose 37 - Your reviews make me laugh. . .in a good way. Very cheerful. When I wrote the scene where Christine first goes to sleep in his bed, I was thinking of an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer where Buffy was feeling a little vulnerable and found Angel's bed to sleep in. Awwww.

Marie Phantom - How was kissing in this one? A little more. . .ahem. . .heated?

Morbid Flower - Glad to hear you love the story! I really appreciate your review.