A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! : ) To make up for the long wait, here's a long chapter… enjoy!
Chapter XXXII
.
The following day dawned as St. Stephen's Day, what Christine learned from the minister's housemaid was otherwise known and celebrated in the shire as Boxing Day. A day of charitable festivity, when those of more fortunate means boxed up a minute portion of their wealth and belongings and gave to the impoverished, also presenting boxes of goods to their household staff, who usually took the day off for outdoor revelries.
Christine had little to call her own, her splendid trousseau from Paris having not yet arrived, though Erik often assured her that what was his was hers. Still, she did not feel confident enough to dole out any of his possessions, personal or otherwise. That should be his to give, if he so chose.
She did, however, own a serviceable and rarely worn shawl of soft lamb's wool in a deep cerulean blue, like the sea, and after careful inspection to ensure its pristine condition she hunted for and located a small empty box. In the spirit of the holiday she tucked the shawl inside, using one of her hair ribbons to tie it closed in a pretty bow, and went in search of Mihaela.
Last night, after she and Erik sang festive carols, their voices entwining together in a glorious blend Christine was stunned to behold, she had shared with him her plans to commemorate the holiday. He had not disagreed with her objective and assured her that he would see to gifts for Gregor, Anton, and Archer.
The ease of harmony had continued throughout their cordial parting, Christine then retiring to her room for the night, this time without a macabre novel or troubling journal to help exhaust her mind so that she could sleep. Again her undivided attention had wandered repeatedly to the closed door, wretchedly aware of the lengthy silence as well as every distant sound that came from the opposite side. When footsteps at last approached and paused directly outside, Christine's heart had hammered against her ribs. She sat up and craned forward - this time more out of anticipation than with fear. Yet a lingering apprehension not completely dissipated still prevented her from calling out to him. Once his footsteps moved away and she heard the dull creak of his bedchamber door open then close, such despair, such emptiness had weighted her soul that a second night tears wet her pillow as she fell into uneasy slumber scattered with nightmares too wretched to recall...
And yet, all of what had become the crux of her life.
She had finally come to accept the alarming truth of what her husband was, what those of her bloodline were called to fight, and though Christine made a firm decision never to lift a hand against him she had not yet resigned herself to her uncertain role in this unexpected twist of their marriage.
That she loved him Christine did not doubt; she did not lie to him that night. The wealth of feeling that had accumulated over months, over years simply did not disappear once flaws or trouble manifested. Her feelings ran deep, not shallow, and had slowly begun to form ever since she had met a man of mystery who posed as an angel through chapel walls…
Now she knew the darkest of secrets he'd kept hidden and detested her foolish reaction when he would so unexpectedly draw near - the inadvertent recoil for which she immediately apologized, certain it must be some despicable trait of all that came with the Van Helsing lineage. He would softly command her to cease with all apology, stating it wasn't her fault, but she could see the pain in his eyes each time and hated herself for putting it there.
Oh, how she wished to cut out all that made a slayer from her body!
She had asked for time and prayed the passage of hours into days would solve this dilemma, clearly noting Erik's impatience with her inability to manage the situation. He said nothing to that effect, as broodingly silent as always, and would only quit her company or ignore her on those occasions she shied away, putting his attention to other things. Certainly he had much to keep him busy, and she wished she could say the same.
He detested what he had become but learned to live with it. She loathed her calling and wished to expunge it. Surely they could find some sort of common ground in that.
Still, there were additional questions of importance she needed to ask… and dreaded to know. Questions more difficult than those already posed. And she felt she could not go forward to somehow mend what had been broken until they were at last answered.
Christine found Mihaela dusting in one of the downstairs chambers and presented her with the gift box. Shocked to receive it, clearly having no idea how to respond, she thanked Christine for the shawl, immediately wrapping the soft wool around her shoulders. She seemed as if she wished to say more but refrained. Christine gently prompted her to speak, sensing the girl still felt awkward around her.
"My lady, it is only that I wish to say…" In clear unease, Mihaela clutched the handle of the duster in both hands near her skirts. "There are men who are bad – evil men – but the Count is not one of them. He loves you, I know this. Never have I heard him to take a woman. Never through the centuries has he had a wife. Until you."
Touched by her words, Christine looked at her thoughtfully. "Are you one of them also?"
Even after acknowledging that such beings did in fact exist, she could not bring herself to name them in the course of casual conversation. There was simply nothing casual about it.
"Oh, no, milady. Such power is not meant for our family. We are meant only to serve."
Strange words, but the girl seemed content. "Have you known the Count long?"
"All of my life, whenever he would come to Romania and the castle there. I do not know him well; I am but a servant and he a prince of his kind. But he has always been good to my family. There is no reason to fear him."
Doubtless, during her previous two morning visits, the young maid acknowledged Christine in bed alone and in her shift, having not been visited by her husband in the night, unlike the first two mornings she caught Christine au naturel.
Her face warmed and she hurried to change the subject.
"Thank you, Mihaela, I will take your words into consideration. As this is Boxing Day, from what I've been told it also entails outdoor recreation for the staff. You should take part in that."
"Re-cre…?" the girl repeated in slow uncertainty.
"Recreation. A type of leisure and amusement. The minister's housekeeper from the village told me that servants from different households often gather to watch men kick around a ball and cheer for one of two teams…though I can't see how they would do that in the snow. But I'm certain there are other activities planned for the day."
"I see." Mihaela sounded no less doubtful.
"Of course, you needn't go to the village if you prefer not to. You could take a picnic with your family - though it might be rather cold for that," she instantly corrected herself, then blew out a breath. "The point is, Mihaela, you may have the day off to do as you like."
"The day off?"
"A day to take time away from your chores at the castle, to relax and have fun."
Mihaela shook her head doubtfully. "I do not think my uncle will agree."
Which hardly came as a surprise, since Gregor contradicted Christine's wishes at every turn.
"I will ask the Count to talk with him. This day only comes once a year. You should enjoy it."
A short time later Erik did speak with Gregor at Christine's behest. The old man was reluctant, but finally agreed that he would use the opportunity for the outing to take the wagon into the village for repairs, also stating one of the horses needed re-shod.
Not exactly what Christine pictured for recreation, and she wondered if the blacksmith would also close up shop, but she supposed she could count it a triumph that Gregor at last surrendered and he and his family would adhere to the general idea of a special day shared. Why he seemed to detest the Yuletide, a time for family, cheer, and togetherness, posed yet another mystery. He treated it as a curse, not a blessing …
"With the staff absent for the day, have you also made plans?"
Broken from her absorbed thoughts, Christine whirled around in shock, unconsciously taking a swift step in retreat.
Sorrow filled Erik's yellow-gold eyes, his easy smile twisting into one of mockery.
"I'm sorry –"
"Do not," he ordered soft and abrupt, holding both his hands up to stop her. He gave the barest of nods and began to walk away.
"It's only that you took me by surprise," she hurriedly called after him. "I rarely hear you coming."
She winced, not intending her words to sound accusatory, like he was stalking prey. He turned again to look at her, his eyes pinpointing hers.
"A trait mastered long ago, to defend and protect…" He paused in his explanation that seemed to reflect what she'd been thinking. "And attack."
He offered her complete honesty, as she asked of him, but Christine could not prevent a shudder at the memory of all she witnessed in the forest on the night she learned her husband was one of the Dark Ones. His wretched words were the perfect segue to ask what more she needed to know, but she curbed her curiosity...
For now.
"Have you made plans?" She switched the question back to him.
"My day is without obligation." His eyes narrowed behind the mask. "What have you in mind?"
"I should like to visit Lucy, in the hope that she has improved. I left her in such a wretched state."
He gave a short nod. "I will instruct Archer to ready the carriage."
"Did he not go to the village with the others?"
"He cannot travel by day."
Five simple words, but they rocked Christine, and the puzzle of the boy's odd behavior since the moment she'd first met him finally made sense.
"He is like you."
She did not ask, having no need. Nor did he answer. How many more secrets was she so blithely to uncover?
Feeling a sudden desire for the cold bracing air, she made a decision. "Instead of taking the carriage, I should like to ride Mist."
He glanced out the window at the dull, overcast sky. "That can be arranged. Before leaving, you must retrieve your talisman off my desk in the library. The broken links have been repaired. I will speak with Archer."
He left before she could respond, but any disappointment felt for him to so quickly dismiss her evaporated when Christine stepped outside after she donned the pendant and all necessary outerwear and saw Erik mounted atop his black stallion. The reins to her smaller gray horse he held in one gloved hand.
He registered her surprise. "I do not want you to travel alone, even by day." His words were solicitous but grim. "Do you need a hand up?"
Once, he would not have asked only acted. While grateful for his consideration of her tumultuous feelings in keeping his distance, she missed the easy rapport they had found and shared in Paris.
"I can manage. I only hope that Mist doesn't bolt like last time."
"You will find your horse much more placid and not so easily spooked."
His words, as they so often did, painted a mystery. But she was resolved to initiate the conversation she had been avoiding, and once they walked their horses abreast of one another through the snowy lane that twisted through the forest, Christine at last brought up the topic that had made her toss and turn the past two nights.
"I have another question I should like to know."
She darted a glance his way, noting how his jaw had hardened beneath the mask.
"Go on," he said quietly through his teeth.
She took a deep stabilizing breath for courage. How silent the wintry forest was for midday! Sound was amplified, the swish and soft crunch of the horse's hooves plodding through the snow and occasional mild snort from the two beasts all that could be heard.
"What you said, that you are not responsible for the carnage of the villagers…"
She hesitated, struggling with how best to phrase such a difficult question to what would certainly result in a harsh respsonse.
"To survive, I know you must…" Once more her words trailed off and Christine paused, searching to find a tactful way to finish her statement.
"To survive, I must feed on the blood of others," he finished for her in clipped reply. "Is that what you meant to say?"
She gave a brisk nod. "That – and, and how…I mean, well, who…"
"Christine, take caution. You seek for that which you may not wish to find."
She firmed her shoulders and her determination. "I need to know the truth of it, Erik. All of it."
"It will not endear me to you and will likely drive you further away. Is that what you truly wish?"
"You have told me a number of startling and gruesome things, and I'm here with you now," she argued in frustration. "I am not some delicate flower, ready to swoon at the first mention of blood and violence. I think I have more than proved that."
In truth, despite her recent knowledge of his secret identity and all that stemmed from it, nothing had truly changed in his character. His alluring mystique was still and had always been a part of him. His unconventional wisdom; his great affinity and spectacular talent for music and the arts - the crowning touch, his angelic voice; his love of Christine and desire to keep her safe – all of what first drew her to him remained intact. Moreover, from what Gregor let slip, Erik often battled his own kind to ensure no harm would come to her.
Even in the guise of a frightful being, he only ever acted toward her as a benevolent angel. And yet, for all that, there were those grisly matters revealed that were irrefutable and those matters only partially disclosed, the knowledge with which she was not yet satisfied.
In the resulting silence, Christine attempted to answer her own question, determined not to let the matter drop now that it had been introduced.
"You lured me from the crowd at the festival of Samhain, before knowing I was Lotte, thinking me only a stranger." She glanced his way, noting his gloved knuckles had tightened within the reins he held. "You seduced me, would have bitten me…taken that which by no rights under heaven is yours to have - my very lifeblood."
He pulled up hard on the reins, and surprised, she did the same. The horses gave little protesting whinnies, snorting puffs of white smoke into the frozen air.
Despite the freezing cold, the Count's eyes burned, twin flames behind the mask.
"Never, never would I have taken your life, Christine. I thought I made that clear."
A shiver of apprehension raced down her spine, but she did not let his quiet fury deter her resolve to know. "Is that how you gain what you need?" she insisted as though he'd not spoken, her words slowly gaining strength as a new emotion took hold. "By seducing unescorted women into solitude to do with them as you will? After recalling the passion and fire you displayed during each of those occasions with me – does it stop with a bite to the neck with them? Or do you seek to know them intimately as well?"
Bafflement blew away the embers of the Count's rising anger. It was inconceivable, and yet he heard the stiff resentment that colored her words, much like she'd spoken to him when she learned that he spent time in Lucy's company years after he left the Opera House.
Christine was jealous? That was what upset her? Not so much that he must feed on blood, but his preference of whom he had chosen to supply that need?
He shook his head a little in disbelief, recognizing the spirited fire that flashed in her dark eyes once she turned them on him when he remained silent. Her cheeks flamed brighter than the cold had made them. In light of all they currently faced and the physical distance she forged in her preference for 'time,' it was unimaginable that she cared enough what more he had done with his prey to allow such trivialities to disturb her.
Yet it gave him a measure of hope missing of late, and he mulled over his imminent response. Her curiosity was too often insatiable, requiring continual satisfaction. An innate trait of every true slayer, doubtless to aid them in the hunt. Yet what deplorable traits of his vampyric needs could he actually reveal to satisfy and put an end to this wretched line of questioning? Certainly he could not speak of the macabre details that composed his nature, not if he didn't want her fleeing back to Paris on the next train…
"I seem to have arrived at the truth," she said woodenly.
He shook his head in disgust, knowing if he did not address this now she would never let it go and likely build up all sorts of incredible and absurd notions in her mind.
"Once, decades before you were even born, that was my method of choice. You were the first woman I have approached in that manner since that era."
Christine felt only mildly reassured. "You told me that you aren't responsible for the deaths of the villagers. So if it wasn't them, who did you - or do you - hunt to fulfill your current needs?"
"Can we not table this discussion for another time?" he asked curtly.
Christine could see how grueling this was for him to talk about, it was atrocious to hear, but there was one more thing she must know –
"Do you kill your victims too?" she practically whispered.
"Damn it, Christine! Why is it so important to know the myriad horrors of what my life has become? Do you wish me to respond when to do so will only paint me into more of a monster than I have already become to you?!"
She struggled not to lose courage in the face of his burgeoning wrath.
"Yes or no, Erik…"
"I do all that is necessary to survive. Come! We have reached the clearing and I wish to return to the castle before nightfall."
Erik jabbed booted heels into his stallion's sides and took off at a swift gallop.
Despondent, Christine had no choice but to follow. She had expected such answers, they came as no true surprise, but that made them no less painful to hear, and his evasion to answer the most difficult questions spoke volumes.
x
Minutes later they stood on the outside stoop, awaiting admittance into Montmarte. Erik had not said a word since the debacle of their discussion that had gone so terribly amiss, and Christine felt uncertain how to break this new silence.
Raoul opened the door to their summons of the bell pull. His expression registered surprise, followed by a quick appraisal of Erik, head to toe, Raoul's gaze then shooting upward to the day-lit sky. Had the situation not been so grim, Christine could almost laugh at her cousin's clear disappointment to believe his preternatural theory of the Count to be wrong – when in truth it was so wretchedly right!
"I will remain here while you go upstairs and visit with Lucy. I have business to discuss with the Vicomte."
Her mouth parted in astonishment, and Christine regarded him with wide eyes. Erik said the words with all the careless aplomb of a gentleman out for an afternoon visit, but Christine felt the result of such an encounter between unprofessed rivals to be anything but the standard conversation over brandy and cigars. If concern for Lucy did not order her steps, she would remain to hear what business the Count could possibly have with her cousin …
Did he also know that Raoul was a slayer, fanatical in his role, and what Erik had declared in the forest to be his mortal enemy?
"Perhaps you should come with me instead," Christine softly insisted. "Lucy will wish to see you."
"Why should our cousin wish to see a man she has never before met?" Raoul asked her, his suspicious gaze settling on Erik.
Loyalty. One of three conditions he demanded of her and she had promised him.
"Introductions are in order," Christine hastily agreed. "What better time than the present?"
Raoul directed a look riddled with incredulity her way. "I hardly think it proper to conduct such affairs inside Lucy's bedchamber. Certainly there is a 'better time' than that!"
Of course he was right. In her determination to keep Erik with her and away from her overzealous cousin, Christine spoke without thinking her words through. Raoul possessed no knowledge of Erik's former acquaintance with Lucy, nor did he realize that the Count had already spoken with the girl two nights ago in said bedchamber….
"It will be alright, my dear," her husband assured, voice calm and full of meaning, his words going deeper than the mere subject of his remaining below. "Go visit with your cousin."
Reluctant to leave the two enemies alone, the mortal and the immortal, but keen to see Lucy and how she was faring, Christine gave one last look toward Erik, fraught with a silent plea – both to take caution and abstain from violence. He gave a slow, mocking nod of his head in acknowledgement before she finally took the stairs.
"Shall we take our business out of the foyer and adjourn to the parlor," the Vicomte said with stiff courtesy in the pretense of polite host.
Erik nodded and followed. The Vicomte immediately went to a table that held crystal bottles of liquor.
"Would you care for a libation?" the boy asked picking up a decanter of golden-brown liquid.
To decline might stir his never-ending damnable suspicions, so Erik gave a curt nod, accepting the glass offered and taking a healthy swallow before getting down to the business at hand.
"I understand a physician was in to examine Lucy. I wish to know his findings."
"I hardly see that it is any of your concern."
Erik gave a twisted smirk. "I beg to differ, monsieur. Due to an agreement made with the earl before taking Christine as my bride, I alone am paying the physicians their due in all matters that pertain to the girl, and wish to keep abreast of the situation."
The boy frowned. "My uncle told me nothing of this."
"Nonetheless, it was arranged between us."
The Vicomte narrowed his eyes and tossed back the modicum of brandy in his glass.
"Speak to them then if you wish it, but you will have to wait. Two physicians are presently with Lucy."
They were upstairs? How strange that the fool boy had not informed Christine since she would surely be made to wait in the corridor until they finished their current examination. As if the boy trailed his thoughts as he did all else, he spoke –
"I didn't tell Christine because I sought this opportunity to speak to you."
Erik warily watched the Vicomte set down his empty glass and cover the distance to within a few feet of where he stood. His muscles tensed as he took note of the determination in the boy's eyes.
"I don't know what you have done to Christine, what spell you have put her under to so fully succumb to your wishes and agree to wedlock after having known you only a matter of weeks - but I do know what manner of man you are. Your intentions can hardly be considered honorable or in her best interest."
The Count worked to control his temper, putting a trace of soft incredulity into his biting reply. "A spell? You think me a warlock, monsieur? If so, and I am without honor as you have stated, what is to stop me from turning you into a toad?"
The boy's mouth thinned into a white line at Erik's sarcasm.
"A monster does not need to possess the form of one, though such traits can easily be camouflaged, even hidden…" He pointedly looked at his mask. "The soul cannot be seen, monsieur. Only through actions will its true nature be revealed. You may think you hold the ace – but make no mistake, I mean to uncover the evil that lurks within your black heart and open Christine's eyes to the truth if it's the last thing I do!"
So, the gloves were off. Gone was the pretense of civility and any deception of sociability, the challenge issued…
Exactly how the Count preferred it.
xXx
Once Christine left the secretly warring rivals alone in the foyer, she hurried upstairs only to find the carved doors to Lucy's bedchamber closed with the earl pacing before it.
He stopped mid-stride and looked at her in astonishment.
"What are you doing here?"
"I wish to see Lucy." She glanced at the closed doors. "Is she sleeping?"
"No, she is not. The physician is inside, along with his colleague." He shook his head. "You should have stayed at the castle. It is the best place for you."
A prickling of unease coursed through Christine to hear those words a third time, delivered by rote, as if well learned.
"Why do you keep saying that?"
"It is the truth and the only way to keep you safe. I haven't the ability to do so…"
Before she could respond to his even stranger words, the door opened admitting Lucy's physician and another bewhiskered gentleman. The former looked none the worse for wear after his traumatic encounter in the forest with the rogue Dark One.
"Dr. MacMatthis, I am pleased to see that you are looking well," she said in relief once he closed the door behind him.
He looked at her oddly. "Why would I not be?"
"It is only after your frightful experience in the forest the other night… I – I heard you were attacked," Christine uttered the last weakly when he continued to look at her as if she should be the one given the examination.
"My dear Countess, you must have me confused with someone else. I was never attacked." He looked to the earl. "We require a word with you."
"Of course. This way, gentlemen." He moved with them toward the staircase without another word to Christine.
She glanced at the closed doors then at their retreating forms, hesitant to disturb Lucy and wishing only to take a few minutes to reassure herself of the girl's well-being before hurrying back downstairs.
"Lucy…?" she whispered as she opened the door to the dimly-lit room.
Her cousin lay beneath the covers of her bed. She still appeared pale and wan, having been changed into a modest, high-necked ivory gown, the ruffles of which nearly brushed her jaw and completely concealed any evidence of a bite from her neck or a lack thereof. Daisy sat near the bed. At Christine's entrance she gave a slight nod in greeting then left the room.
Lucy seemed despondent, if tense, but no longer wild and uncontrollable, her delph blue eyes quickly traveling from Christine's face down to her bosom, no doubt looking for the talisman Christine had dropped to conceal within her bodice. Seeming reassured that it was absent, the girl visibly relaxed.
"I came to see how you are faring," Christine began. "You look as if you are feeling better." The words were more out of hope than a fact.
Lucy did not respond, glancing toward the window seat of plush satin pillows and porcelain dolls, and Christine feared her cousin might again travel to imaginary realms. With that belief, Christine carefully framed her next words.
"I heard that a second dark faerie came to your bedchamber to visit with you the other night."
This got the girl's immediate surprised attention.
"You mustn't tell," she insisted softly. "It's a secret."
"I trust he didn't hurt you in any way?"
Christine desperately wished to believe in Erik's innocence, that it was as he had informed her and he would never harm Lucy. But after all she had seen and read and now knew, Christine wasn't certain what to believe anymore.
"No, he would never do that. He is only ever so kind. He talked with me and sang me to sleep. I have missed his voice so much. He sings like an angel."
Christine understood the girl's fascination, having once believed Erik to be that celestial being.
Lucy yawned and Christine knew she should cut the visit short.
"You need your rest. I will come to visit again another day. Only Lucy…" Christine hesitated, reluctant to bring up the subject but feeling as if she must. "Please stay in bed until you are strong again. And no more visits to the maze. It's not safe."
The wistful expression drifted from Lucy's face, her eyes becoming more fixed, as minutes ago Christine had witnessed the same happen to the girl's father.
"I must remain in bed for the week and rest to recover my strength."
The words should have relieved Christine, and in a sense they did. But the soft monotone in which they were delivered presented a similar unease she had felt when speaking with the earl, the manner in which both responses given, the same.
"Yes, you do that. I will return soon."
Christine left, closing the door behind her, and returned to the main floor in search of her husband. She felt certain only he held the key to unlock the suspicion that had begun to crowd her mind.
Outside the closed drawing room doors, she heard Raoul's raised voice -
"…make no mistake, I mean to uncover the evil that lurks within your black heart and open Christine's eyes to the truth if it's the last thing I do!"
Christine gasped to hear the vitriol in her cousin's voice and hesitated, her hand on the latch. Certainly her intrusion would be unwelcome, certainly Erik could take care of himself, certainly her cousin had no idea what danger he taunted…
"Listen well, Vicomte," Erik's dark velvet voice could barely be heard from where Christine stood, the sound of it like chords of music when compared to Raoul's grating tenor. She put her ear to the door to hear more clearly. "You will desist with whatever you have planned in your foolish agenda against me, which is not even needful. Your presence is required here, at the manor, to guard Lucy."
His voice came hypnotic, even soothing, but no less authoritative.
"I must remain at the manor to guard Lucy," her cousin parroted with the same dull monotone Christine had heard once too often.
"Furthermore, you are to desist in these wretched forays to seek out information -"
Christine did not wait to hear more of the Count's demands but put her hands to the latches of both doors, swinging them wide open.
Erik abruptly looked over his shoulder, his golden eyes brimming with latent fury and exasperation locking with hers. Raoul blinked and retreated a step, putting more than what had been a foot of distance between them.
"Oh! I do apologize," she feigned embarrassed remorse. "Did I interrupt something?"
"Not at all, my dear," Erik said on the bare edge of civility. His burning eyes swept to the open doors behind her. "If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend."
Christine barely registered his words before he swept past her and exited the room. A glance in that direction showed the two physicians standing in conversation just outside the door, Erik approaching them. With her husband occupied, Christine approached her cousin. He looked somewhat dazed, and she decided to put her presumption to the test.
"I am so pleased to see that Lucy is recovering," she began. "Perhaps, since the holidays have been so…difficult," she sought for a fitting word that did not discolor the moment in overly dark tones, "we might meet in the village for supper. Tomorrow perhaps? I would like to discuss the journals with you."
She used a lure that she was certain he could not refuse.
"I'm sorry, Christine, but I must remain at the manor, to guard Lucy."
She managed to keep her smile intact.
"Oh, we don't have to meet tomorrow. Any time this week I am available."
"I'm sorry, Christine. I must remain at the manor the entire week."
"Oh, but surely an hour away in the village won't matter –"
"Christine." Erik's voice came from behind, fierce, soft, and demanding. "We must go. The weather has taken a turn for the worse and we must return to the castle."
His eyes branded her then scorched Raoul, before turning toward the exit as he stalked from the room. Christine bid a hasty farewell to her cousin and hurried to catch up with Erik's swift strides.
"Erik – wait."
"There is no time for this," he bit out as he opened the door.
A sudden gale of windblown snow lifted the hem of her skirts and blew her cloak out behind her, whipping locks of hair against her face. The blizzard foretold and delayed was making its presence known.
"Stay here, I will retrieve the horses," he ordered brusquely.
Christine secured the scarf over her head and around her neck. She watched him hurry toward the stable as the doctors' carriage passed him by. Wistfully she glanced at it, regretting her decision to ride on horseback.
The snow blew heavier by the time Erik returned, leading both horses.
"Perhaps we should stay and wait this out," Christine called out over the wind that threatened to steal her voice.
His expression and manner softened. "Trust me, mon ange. I have weathered many a blizzard in my lifetime. This is not one of the worst I've seen. But if we do not leave now, we could be trapped here for days…"
Christine shivered, not from the biting cold or the unpleasant thought of staying under the earl's roof, but from the manner in which Erik delivered the words – as if he'd spoken into her ear, without a need to raise his voice. Another vampyric trick of his?
Once he helped her to mount and sat astride his own beast, at long last they made their way to the castle. Christine felt thankful for the tether Erik held as he guided her horse through what had become a blaze of swirling white, the trees all around them barely seen. She was no expert horsewoman, still learning the rudiments of the skill, and certainly would never have been able to manage in a snowstorm such as the one they traveled through now. Instead, she fiercely clung to the saddle horn then the horse's neck, praying the freezing wind would not blow her off and carry her away, her cries for help with it, as Erik led Mist through what must be forest but appeared only as a void, with a sea and sky and walls of white.
Through the churning brightness the tower of Castle Dragan suddenly and blessedly rose into view. Christine almost wept with relief, though surely any tears would have immediately frozen to icicles on her cheeks. Her gloved fingers were numb. She could barely unclench them or her arms from where they had been wrapped around Mist's neck, and she feared her legs would never again move, also having gone numb beneath her skirts.
Erik wasted no time as he pulled her frozen shell off the horse and into his arms, carrying her into the dimly lit silence of the castle and leaving the wintry beast howling behind them. He set her on his throne, near the hearth, cursing to himself to see the flames unattended, the fire no more than a few sparks and glowing red embers.
Casting a swift glance her way, he took her in from cloaked head to snow-encrusted boot tips, then turned back to the fire. With a wide sweep of his hand before it, flames leapt to attention as if suddenly and viciously stoked, the fire growing hotter and brighter and taller in that instant.
Christine's eyes widened to see this new magic; but truly, nothing surprised her anymore.
"I must see to the horses. Will you be alright while I'm gone?"
She gave a slight nod, all she could manage, her vocal chords also needing to thaw. Though she doubted she could manage any legible words through the chatter of her teeth.
Once he left and her fingers began to sting with the blood that had begun to melt and course through her veins, she slipped out of her cloak, moist from the snow, and tested shaky legs, which also had begun to sting with renewed life. Drawing toward the open fire but careful not to step too close, she held her hands out before the revitalizing heat.
Such was the position Erik found her in when he returned minutes later.
"This will help to warm you," he said, handing her one of two brandy snifters he held. He had doffed his cloak, gloves, and hat. "The servants have not yet returned. The wagon is absent from the stable."
Concern knitted her brow. "You think they are caught in this?"
"In the country from which we hail, blizzards are a common occurrence. Gregor would know well enough to remain in the village and not attempt a return to the castle."
"You didn't."
"But as we both know, I am different."
Christine averted her gaze from his direct stare, taking a moment to sip the fiery brew, appreciating the instantaneous rush of warmth it offered.
"Perhaps you might be so kind as to tell me why in the hell you were so determined to meet alone in the village with that boy…"
Christine winced at the bitter heat that laced his words and took a moment to frame her reply.
"Though Raoul is family and I have no desire to push him out of my life, I had no true intention of meeting up with him either. I only issued the invitation to see if he would accept."
Erik shook his head in confusion. "And the reason for this bizarre action is…?"
She frowned and turned to confront him.
"You said that you manipulate minds to obey your will. You did so with Raoul and with Lucy, even with the earl. And I'm sure there are countless others. Is that not so?"
"It is." At her evident surprise with his easy admission, he snorted. "You know my darkest secret, Christine. I see no reason to withhold this discovery from you any longer. I compel when the need arises. In those cases you mentioned, I did so for Lucy's safety. For your safety."
She considered his disclosure but sensed there was more. He had admitted to attempting to lure her under his control to no avail, before he realized that slayer blood coursed through her veins.
"Is that the only reason you put people under your spell?"
A heavy silence descended between them. He moved to the hearth and looked into the roaring fire, taking a long drink from his glass.
"You know it is not," he said at last. "However, as I told you, I only compel if there is a need."
Before she could inquire into the details, he turned his head to pose his own question –
"Why did you not tell me that the bite wound from Lucy's neck had disappeared?"
"What…?" Taken aback, Christine blinked at him.
"The physicians were discussing the matter when I approached, finding the occurrence 'most bizarre' as they put it."
She shook her head in confusion. "Does it even matter?"
"It makes all the difference." His words were somber as he again approached, stopping before her. "Lucy has remained indoors since the boy found her. That kind of wound does not heal but by one method. You saw it when I healed your hand."
The mention of his hot tongue running along her palm made Christine feel as lightheaded as she did then. She forced her thoughts to concentrate solely on his terse explanation.
"The blood of the vampyre seals the flesh. It is used to prevent discovery or waylay suspicion. Those newly turned, without a sire to lead them, have not been taught this…"
She nodded for him to continue, though was fearful to hear what more he would say.
"There is only one explanation available – Nicolae has been inside Montmarte."
At the horror of his low words, Christine clasped her hands together, wringing them in her skirts.
"You are certain?"
"No other explanation exists. The summons must have been issued in the past, if not by Lucy, then by her ancestor of the 18th century. I assumed it essential to repeat the invitation with each new owner to take possession of the estate, but perhaps that is not the case and it works throughout a familial bloodline. I have never made the attempt nor heard of an attempt made to know its validity. I do not revisit old haunts besides my own."
Christine's brow furrowed. "What then shall we do?"
"'We' will do nothing, as there is nothing you can do."
"Perhaps we should have stayed to wait out the storm and watch over Lucy."
"Had I spent one more minute in that house than necessary I could not have guaranteed the boy's safety. He dogs my every move, like an irksome English Pointer. But I am not game to be caught, will not allow his pathetic attempts at capture, and to dwell under the same roof for even a day is unconscionable."
She swallowed hard. "Then you know that Raoul is like me."
Erik snorted a laugh. "I am no fool, my dear. I have known of the Vicomte's wretched plans to rid monsters such as myself from the earth since the day he entered Berwickshire, six months ago. He does little to conceal his true motives. Interviewing the villagers. Chasing about the forest in the dark of night…"
She said nothing, and he cocked his head in a puzzled manner.
"However, I find it curious…"
She arched her brows in question. "What?"
"He has the same blood as your ancestors coursing through his veins, purports to have the same damnable calling, but unlike you, I had no trouble compelling him to my will."
She stared at him in shock. "But…what does that mean?"
"It means that he is no true slayer, my dear. I would assume only those of your line who bear the mark of your calling are impervious to mind control. It is all that makes sense."
Raoul had lied to her?! Pretended to be what he was not? But why would he do such a thing…?
Erik slowly and purposefully lifted his hand to her cheek, awaiting a flinch that did not come. Emboldened, he rubbed his knuckles softly along her jaw as if she were made of the finest porcelain and might break.
"I tell you this only to relieve your mind, Christine. I did compel him, yes, to guard Lucy and cease to leave the manor for his little nighttime jaunts. I also compelled the maid to stay by your cousin's side and never leave her alone as she regains strength. There is nothing else I can do for her at this time."
She faintly nodded, and he sighed.
"I was going to suggest a lesson, but after all that has transpired, perhaps you would prefer to turn in early."
It was on the tip of her tongue to agree, to accept the escape offered. But to sequester herself alone a third night with thoughts that had proven to be her tormentors held no appeal. Neither did a strenuous lesson with her teacher who was so often strict when it came to matters of music.
"I would like to sing," she said hopefully. "But as we did last night. Together, in duet."
He studied her a moment, then nodded once and turned to the music room.
"Come then, when you are ready."
She did not hesitate but followed him to the piano, where he picked up a folder that lay on top of the glossy black wood. He shuffled through it, at last pulling a sheet of music from within its confines and placing it on the scrolled narrow ledge above the ivory keys.
He looked to where she had taken her place standing in the bow of the piano.
"As I have only one copy, you will need to look on to see the lyrics," he instructed, flipping out the tails of his coat and taking a seat on the bench.
Butterflies flitted madly inside her midsection as Christine drew near, but they weren't hatched from fear. The recollection of the last time they stood close and entwined their voices in song coaxed and excited her. In those cherished moments, fleeting though they were, all had felt between them as it did before she learned what she once believed only a terrible fantasy…
In those moments, such as this, while immersed in his music, it was easy to forget…
Christine watched him from the back as his skilled hands began to pick out a gentle melody. A love song she guessed, as most duets between a man and woman were. She studied the breadth of his shoulders beneath his black tail coat, his slim torso moving in a gentle sway as he became one with the chords he gently struck. Wisps of his hair had come loose from his queue, and she had the sudden urge to pull the ribbon loose and run her fingers through the straight dark strands, recalling how soft they felt against her skin…his skin scarred and smooth and icy cold, with the ability to grow warm against hers – a complex man of differing traits and talents and emotions…
Angel.
Monster.
She had met the former and was curious to understand the latter, the shock and fright of the revelation having dissolved with the never-ending desire to know more. To know everything, the good, the bad. The endearing. The terrifying…
But in this cherished moment, all she knew and felt was her Maestro, her Angel, her teacher, and the need to bring their voices together in sweet unity once more.
She drew close enough to feel the chill from his body, with only the smallest of space separating them. Christine sensed his shoulders stiffen, but he did not cease to play.
Looking over his shoulder, she read the artistic scrawl of lyrics, lyrics that he had clearly written, and she realized with astonishment that this was his own composition!
All thought fled as Erik's rich voice poured into her soul, a fluid melody of words that sent shivers along her every nerve ending.
He sang of music in the night and savoring the sensation as it caressed her soul. Christine's eyes briefly fell shut, and as her intro approached, her hands lifted lightly to rest atop his shoulders.
She felt the sudden shock of tension from her touch then the gradual give as his body relaxed and their voices entwined to lift in glorious accord. Still new to his aria, at times she fumbled, though he did not stop to correct her; nor did it mar the beauty of the melody they produced.
Once the last line was sung and the final chord played, they remained motionless, still absorbed in a shimmering aura of tranquility. Wishing it could last forever and they need not face tomorrow.
"That was beautiful," she breathed at last. "The words, your voice, our voices together…was beautiful."
"It is an inclusion to the first act of an opera I have written, which it is my hope that you will one day sing."
She dropped her light hold and walked around to face him.
"You mean it," she said with a trace of disbelief. After all that had transpired in these last two weeks alone, the thought of the normalcy of one day singing an opera seemed so farfetched.
"I still want you to sing for me," he said dryly. "That is, if you will agree to sing for a monster."
And just like that, the fantasy of peace evaporated as she was reminded of their wretched reality.
"Of course I will. I promised."
The words were hardly reassuring, mere wisps of air that vacated her lungs, and he looked her up and down critically.
"You should retire to your room and get some rest," he dismissed her as he always dismissed her when he wished for solitude. He turned back to his music, picking up a nearby quill and dipping it in its inkwell to make a notation.
"Erik…?" she said before she lost all courage.
He did not turn to look at her but halted in his task, waiting for what she would say.
"It really was beautiful, and I consider it an honor that you have chosen me to sing your opera."
He did not again look at her but gave a terse nod. She studied him a moment more, before retreating to the stairwell, all the while trying and failing to convince herself that what weighed so heavily on her shoulders wasn't the mantle of disappointment, only fatigue.
How she wished their life together could be different, that she and Erik could be as they once were before everything went so terribly wrong!
Alone in her bedchamber, Christine hesitated with her hand on the key but this time did not turn the brass metal in the lock. Wearily she undressed and slipped beneath the thick pile of covers.
Only later would she recall the unforeseen danger of her heartfelt wish, the shock of how soon it was to be granted – and in a manner too horrible to have imagined.
xXx
A/N: I have decided to take turns with this story for a bit – swapping out each second turn. For instance, I'll do a chapter of another story, then this one. Then another story, then this one – and continue with this process, until I reach a certain point. : ) I trust you guys are in favor of that? As the last words of this chapter testify, the next chapter promises a wild spin toward a crucial turning point of the plot … (muwahaha)
Also, for the first time since I started writing here, I did not follow tradition and post a new story for my birthday in May – simply because I have so many irons in he fire right now with my works here – but when I finish one of the ongoing stories (I am nearing that with A Phantom's Blood), I'll be posting the start of another PotO story – or maybe my LND one…
And of course will continue with all the other ones too. ;-)