A/N - I just had to get this next chapter out instead of leaving a lot of readers in agony. I think a lot of you will be pleased with the direction of this chapter. Thank you all for waiting so patiently.

Chapter 22

She lay in the dark, nothing to light her way through it, nor stave off the inevitable fear that surrounded her.

"Where am I?" she murmured, voice hoarse with sickness.

There was no sound, no response. Christine struggled to sit up in what felt like a very large bed. Still, no light greeted her as she left the vestiges of sleep behind. I cannot see! What has happened? Oh God, where am I?

"Where am I!" she cried out, her voice trembling with fear. "Please!"

She heard a rustle of a garment and realized that someone had entered the room. She heard the striking of a match and the soft glow of an oil lamp as the match met the wick. Christine sighed softly, having feared the worst for her condition. She watched as the warm light spread throughout the large bedchamber. But most of all, she noticed the warm glow that washed over the man holding the lamp.

"Angel," she moaned.

He had set the lamp down on the bedside table, and now knelt beside her on the bed. His chiseled features, long noble nose, and elegantly arched eyebrow filled her field of vision.

"What's wrong, mon ange?" he said softly, his words almost a medicine in themselves. He reached out a hesitant hand to caress her flushed face. Steady fingers brushed across her forehead and he paused for a moment in his actions.

"Your fever is breaking," he breathed.

"Water," she begged softly, "I need water. I'm so. . .thirsty."

He retrieved a pitcher from the dresser and filled a glass for her before settling down beside her and carefully guiding it to her parched lips. Her eyes drooped with fatigue, her body obviously worn out from such a prolonged sickness.

Thank God, he thought to himself. There was color in her face now. Her cheeks were flushed with red from the breaking of the fever. A thin sheen of perspiration covered her skin. Christine had put the glass down and almost seemed to be gasping for air.

"I-It feels too h-hot in here," she struggled to say. Her hand had drifted to the neckline of her nightgown in a vain attempt to loosen it.

Erik's eyes wandered with her motion, seeing the creamy skin at her neck, the brushing of her fingers along the flesh. He felt a familiar, but almost forgotten stirring within him, and quickly turned his attention back to the present. He lifted her hair from her shoulders and she relaxed, dropping her head forward and almost sighing contentedly as cool air touched the back of her neck.

"You should rest," she heard him say, in that voice that drew such a myriad of feelings from her heart and body. "You need to gain your strength back."

"I cannot sleep yet," she cried wearily, rolling her head against his strong shoulder. "I feel much too warm."

"I can draw you a cool bath," he said, almost into the curls that rested near his cheek. "Wait here."

He rose quickly and left her there in the darkness. Erik had moved into an adjacent bathroom and Christine heard the sound of running water. This house, unlike many of those in the town in which she had spent much of her childhood and adolescence, had running water and proper plumbing.

The darkness felt like it would swallow her up. She still could not see anything in the darkened room beyond the dark frame of the four poster bed and the soft circle of light from the small oil lamp. In her fatigued state, fear began to creep into Christine's mind. She could not bear being alone in such a foreign place. She could not bear being consumed by such darkness.

"Erik," she whimpered, her voice still shaky. "Erik!"

She heard his footsteps as he moved stealthily back into the room, felt the rush of wind as he hurried to her side, and smelled the intoxicating mix of spices, cologne, and soap as he knelt by her side.

"Christine, what's wrong?" she heard him ask, the voice of her angel the one comfort she could never part with.

"It's dark," she cried softly, "I cannot bear to be alone in the dark."

She felt his arms winding around her weak body and lifting her from the nest of blankets. He cradled her against his chest and she felt her breathing slow as the beating of his heart filled her senses. Erik could sense the change too. She had tucked her head beneath his neck, pressing it against his broad chest. The rush of breath passed her lips tickled the exposed skin at his neck and he felt a shiver run throughout his body.

"Never fear the dark, angel," he murmured gently. "I am here."

Erik carried her gently to the bathroom, careful not to jolt his angel lest her discomfort increase. He set her down upon the floor, still supporting her weight with his arms. She was still too weak to support her own weight, and he could feel the trembling of her legs as she swayed in his arms. A large bath lay before her, filled with water, and smelling of lavender and rose.

"You are still too weak to stand," he said gently, his lips nearly brushing her ear. A shudder ran through her body and she felt her eyes flutter shut for a brief moment. The sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, all were much too pleasant.

There was hesitation in his step, in his hold on her, and he seemed to be debating his next course of action.

"I will fetch Madame Giry," he said. "She can assist you."

"No," Christine muttered softly, seizing the sleeves of his white shirt as he held her. "Please don't leave me."

"Christine," he said, "It would not be appropriate for me to stay."

"I-I don't care," she nearly wept, turning around in his embrace to bury her face in the sleeve of his shirt. "Don't leave. I could not bear it."

He felt such love for the trembling girl that clung to him like a lifeline. How could he deny her anything? How could he deny her his presence if she begged for it so? Finally, he unlatched her fingers from his arms, pulled her gently away from the warmth of his embrace, and turned her around slowly so that her back faced him. He pulled a chair forward from the adjacent room and had her sit down in it.

Christine sat down reluctantly, drawing her clenched hand up to her breast in uncertainty. She heard his unsteady breaths as he moved behind her.

"Can you undress yourself?" she heard him say, his voice having grown low and husky.

"The ties," she motioned behind her neck, "I cannot reach them. Could you. . ."

She felt his fingers upon the exposed skin at the base of her neck, felt them fumbling with the ties of her nightgown, and occasionally brushing against the skin in such frighteningly pleasurable strokes. Now loosened, she felt his hands withdraw from her skin. But the burning of his touch lingered. She could still feel his hand upon her skin. Her breathing had grown erratic now and her chest was visibly heaving.

Christine sat before him, unable to see him as he stood silently behind her. She suddenly felt utterly self conscious and nervous.

"I will not look," he said, as though reading her thoughts. She felt a stirring of wind and heard the rustle of a cloak behind her. Craning her neck ever so slightly, she saw that he had drawn up his cloak to bar his eyes from her state of undress.

Christine slowly and methodically removed the sweat-soaked nightgown and watched as it pooled upon the floor. She felt a cool breeze in the room upon her heated skin and smiled faintly at the relief it brought.

"Angel?" she said faintly, sounding more like a gentle plea then anything else. It was a cry for his company, for his presence, for an assurance that he was still near.

"Come," he said gently but firmly. She felt his cloak about her naked shoulders and felt his hands at her arms, guiding her up from the chair.

She now stood before him, naked and vulnerable to the world, but sheltered in the safety of his cloak. He seemed to linger much too long behind her, as though uncertain of what to do next. Her heart seemed to race now and would not show any signs of slowing. The touch of his hands upon her shoulders, though separated by the thin cloak, was nearly unbearable. She could feel his breath upon the skin of her neck again. Her angel lingered much too closely. Christine felt his finger slide upon her arms. She thought she could endure no more. That her body would fall apart if he caressed her much longer. It was agony, but an agony so exquisite, she thought she would die. This was how he used to make her feel, living in the house in the woods. She felt like she would die from his glance, from his words, but most of all, from his touch.

It was her tremble that shook him from his explicit daydreams. Here was his angel, so vulnerable and frail in his grasp, shaking from an emotion he could not begin to imagine. He had longed to pull the fabric from her skin, to touch the soft contours of her body, and to make her his. Such passion ran so fiercely through his mind that he had to pull away for a moment to regain his steely control.

Christine carefully lifted herself over the lip of the tub and settled in the water, as he followed closely behind her with the cloak to provide a fragile modesty to her state of undress. The skin on the back of her neck was raised in gooseflesh. She had drawn her arms up across her chest, even though she sat in the water with her back to him, shielding what wandering eyes he may have from the soft rise of her breasts.

Another soft breath cooled the skin of her shoulder. She trembled for a moment, almost anticipating the touch of his hand upon her skin. It would come, she knew, it had to. A finger glided across flesh of her shoulder, drawing a shudder like no other. A soft moan fell from her lips, but she dared not turn her head to see the fire that undoubtedly burned in his smoldering eyes.

A shudder. She cringes at my touch again. I can hear her unsteady breaths, I can smell the fear from her, and I can feel the shudder of abhorrence. A creature such as I has no right touching an angel. But this creature burns for her! This creature has taken a drink from the forbidden cup and will never be satiated again, save for consuming everything in it.

"I will leave you to your bath," he said quietly, his voice nearly quivering with unbridled desire.

There she was again. Such a beauty to behold! She had emerged from the bathroom, of her own accord, draped in a fresh nightgown and white dressing gown. Her curls shone once again, cascading down her back in impossible beauty. The color that had been lacking for weeks had returned to her face. A rose hue colored her cheeks, and her lips were soft and pink.

Erik felt his heart stir as she entered the room. Her strength was returning now. She no longer needed to lean on him to move about. She would no longer need him at all. Noticing the small table that he had prepared, Christine gratefully slipped into the chair and slowly finished the soup that lay steaming in a white china bowl. She smiled at the warmth of the broth, the warmth that spread through her stomach, and the pleasing taste of food that she had forsaken for what seemed like ages. When she had finished and suddenly noticed him sitting in the darkened corner of his chambers, watching her with strange intensity, Christine rose slowly and stood nervously by.

Erik had lit the room with a few oil lamps and had provided a pleasing glow to the room that had once fallen into darkness. A fire had once again been lit in the large fireplace. Still, she shivered and brushed an uneasy hand over the skirt of her dressing gown.

He watched her closely, saw that she hesitated for a moment and drew an uncertain glance towards the door before returning her unsteady gaze to the large four poster bed. His bed.

"You should return to bed, Christine," he said, his rich voice echoing softly in the room. "I already had the maids prepare your room."

She looked at him for a long moment, those soft brown eyes quivering in the orange glow from the fireplace. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words would not issue forth.

"What is wrong?" he asked, almost crooning.

"Why do you still hide from me?" she asked softly. "Even now, after all that you've done for me, you hide from me in shadow and deny me your presence."

"Surely you don't wish to see the face of a monster," he replied coolly.

She stepped towards him like a reluctant bride and stopped short of the chair in which he sat. "I am not frightened of your face."

Erik did not respond, and she felt emotion welling up beneath her calm exterior. How could he toy with my emotions like this? Can he not see what it does to me?

Christine dropped to her knees before him, felt her lips nearly meet the floor, but instead, drew her gaze to the well-polished shoes before her. Like a penitent servant, she bowed on the floor before him, her lovely curls grazing the hem of his trousers. She began to weep, her face hidden beneath the cascades of curls, but he could see her shoulders shake with emotion. He could hear the tremble in that angelic voice. A heart so carefully guarded with walls of steel began to soften and he could not help but pull his angel from the depths of her misery. Hands circled her arms and pulled her up until she sat on bended knees and gazed up at him with sorrowful eyes.

"Why do you not hold me as you once did?" she asked, tearing at his heart with her heartbroken eyes. "Why is there only coolness in your eyes when you look upon me? Do I disgust you that much? Do I disappoint you that much?"

"Christine," he said so softly, seizing her wrists as they tried to beat upon his chest.

"No! I will not be turned away again! I will not be sent away from your presence again! I cannot live without you near. I was dying since you turned me from your house. A prisoner. . .that is what I once was. But no longer. When you sent me away, you did not free me completely. You were always there. . .haunting my mind with your memory and I cried too many nights for your presence! I longed for your embrace," she cried. A sob wracked her thin body. "I wanted the man, not the angel nor the demon. I wanted you!"

He suddenly drew her up from the floor and pulled her to him. Christine fell against him, trapped in the embrace of his arms, upon his lap, as he sat in the armchair. She felt his embrace tighten more assuredly. His legs moved beneath her, pushing her forward so that she now sat between them. Her body instinctively lay back against his strong chest, and she felt his breaths coming rapidly now, nearly matching the merciless beating of her own heart.

The warmth that she felt sitting so intimately in his presence was intoxicating. Her eyes fluttered shut and her lips parted in a strangled moan. A finger looped beneath her chin and turned her head, as he gently pushed her forward before him so she could glimpse his face from the corner of her eyes. His face moved closer to hers, leaning to the side to face hers. She saw the desire in his eyes, felt it as his breath drew gooseflesh along the side of her neck, and she nearly sobbed his name.

Before she could cry out, before she could even move, his mouth descended upon hers. The lips which had mocked her for so long, which had grimaced at her, now claimed hers with such passion that she no longer could hang on to the shred of childlike innocence that she had carried for so long. His hand still cupped her face, holding it as he ravaged her mouth with the hunger of months of unrequited desire. Her lips parted and she felt him deepen the kiss, gliding his tongue along her soft lips before plunging into her mouth. She felt the velvet of his tongue as it glided along hers and nearly moaned into his mouth. Pulling back suddenly, he regarded her with intense curiosity. Her shoulders quaked before him, her breath running ragged as it passed through her swollen lips, and she could not hide the desire that ran rampant through her eyes.

Desire, he thought. I know what's in her eyes now, for I have seen the same thing in my own!

"Christine," his hypnotic voice was now filled with desire as it filled her senses. "Become my wife, I beg of you."

His mouth was now upon the exposed flesh of her neck and she moaned softly.

"I will be your wife," she cried out, before turning in the chair, between his legs, to look him fully in his eyes. "But only if you love me."

Something changed in his gaze. A sorrow or relief filled the emerald orbs of his eyes and he fought back some unnamed emotion.

"How could you ever doubt my love?" he cried. "I have loved you ever since I heard your voice."

"And I you," she whimpered.

"Marry me tomorrow, and do not make me wait another day. I must have you beside me. I must feel you in my arms."

She shuddered at his words, at the openness of his desire, for it mirrored her own so clearly.

"I will marry you," she replied, looking up at him shyly before he cupped her face and kissed her goodnight.

"Go to bed, mon ange," he urged her from his lap, rising behind her as she stepped uncertainly away. "Go to bed and dream of nothing but my love for you."

She hesitated and looked up at him with pleading eyes. "I do not wish to be parted from you anymore."

"Christine, if you stay. . .I cannot guard you from what I feel."

"I do not wish for more then your embrace tonight. I want to be yours only when we have said our vows. Please," she cried, her soft eyes so moist with emotion, "Angel, stay with me and hold me. Do not send me to an empty room."

He could not deny her anything. She slipped into his bed, having not removed the dressing gown. She may be a woman, but the fear of the unknown was still upon her. Erik slipped into bed beside her, after having removed his suit jacket, cravat, and shoes. His white shirt hung loosely upon his strong frame. Christine lay on her side, facing away from him as he settled down beside her. She could feel the strength of his body, the intoxicating fragrance of his masculinity, and wanted to surrender to its seduction. But her morals, her convictions, urged her to have strength one more night. And so she sheltered herself in his body, pressing her back into his chest and accepting his embrace as his arms wound around her trembling body.

She felt his lips upon her neck for a moment, as he slighted the skin with an affectionate caress. She felt a contented sigh fall from his lips behind her. Her own breath followed suit and she melted into a sleep that had been denied her for so long.