Chapter twenty-two.

Three dark figures, hooded and cloaked, walked swiftly along the side of the looming building, their capes billowing around their ankles from a sudden gust of wind. An ominous figure swathed in black swept to the front of the group; his commanding presence undeniable. He towered over his companions, with broad shoulders and a gaze that stung like fire. He turned his neck to glance further down the way, as they approached the corner of the cracked path, peering out from the inside of his scratchy hood, watching for any tell-tale signs of movement.

Pressing his bruised frame into the stone, he tilted his head slightly in the hood to listen for quiet footsteps, rustling leaves, anything that might betray that they were being followed. He beckoned swiftly to his companions, who joined him shortly. Across the cobbled stone street were the three horses the Persian had secured for transportation, yet the three waited silently with bated breath to discover whether a trap had been set. After several long and anxious moments, Erik swept across the street, seizing the reins of the dark stallion that would bear him to Thornhill. After stroking the soft velvet of the animal's nose reassuringly, Erik leapt upon his mount, beckoning for his companions to follow, as he kicked his horse into a fast trot, weaving in and out of the alleyways to avoid the main streets.

As the horse's hooves beat rhythmically down the cobblestone street, Erik turned his thoughts back to the situation at present. His sharp eyes scanned the neighbourhood for any telltale movements – the flash of clothing, a slight shifting of shadows, the rustling of a bush. The night was still and silent around them, the silver sliver of moonlight barely illuminating their path. As the horses bore them out of the city, Erik hunched down low upon his steed, riding ahead of Nadir and Meg, golden eyes ablaze in the darkness as he lead them down an overgrown and unkempt dirt track that snaked its way away from the main road. Thornhill manor rose like a ghostly silhouette upon the far horizon, and Erik felt his heart beat unsteadily at the thought of what he would find within. Had Christine escaped? Was she safe? Would she be waiting for him with the warmth of her embrace that he had been denied for so long?

Only time would tell.

The soft glow of candlelight flickered through the grimy panes of the parlour windows. Thornhill manor. Erik's golden gaze lingered on its warm glow, heat spreading throughout his entire body as his heart beat erratically and painfully within his chest. He eased his horse to a walk, pulling the hood of his cloak deeper around his face. The Persian drew his horse to Erik's side, gazing levelly at his friend, who regarded the house with a mixture of disdain and contempt for the life he once lived there, and fear and hope for what he may now find within. Nadir surveyed the stillness of his friend's countenance, his granite-hewn features; hard and chiseled; which if one were to observe only from the left hand side could be deemed handsome, were drawn in some internal war. Erik's brow was so deeply furrowed, that the slant of his eyebrows only enhanced the squareness of his forehead; already made square by the horizontal sweep of his raven-black hair. His gold eyes blazed wildly under his hard gaze.

"Erik," Nadir's deep voice cut the suffocating silence of the night air, as he turned his head within his cloak to ensure that Meg had arrived behind him. He lowered his voice. "We should not linger. If Monsieur Raynaud did indeed succeed in acquiring Christine, it is imperative that we hasten our departure - for Madame Giry's sake. "

Erik's gaze hardened imperceptibly, as he flung one booted leg over the saddle of his horse, and landing with a soft thud; the loose gravel of the driveway crunching under his weight. His sharp eyes remained riveted on the heavy oak door that stood as a barrier between him and fate. The Persian stepped forth to assist Meg in demounting her horse, as she, too, stared awe-struck at the regal aura exuded by the old manor.

Erik stood tall and erect before the heavy wooden door, his breath hissing softly in the night air. He extended his right hand towards the blackened brass handle of the door, squeezing the metal in a death-like grip as he ever so slowly turned it within his palm. The mechanism clicked open, sending chills racing down Erik's spine.

Foolish boy! He did not lock the door – his incompetence and stupidity could have cost Christine her life!

He crossed the threshold of the door-way as silent as a wraith, his cloak whispering ever so slightly across the surface of the marble tiles. A small sphere of soft candlelight flooded through the parlour door, causing Erik to halt in his advance. A young man, no more than thirty, sat within the parlour; dressed in black trousers, his white shirt hanging from his lean, muscled frame, and his young, boyish face perfectly shaved. He sat with his legs crossed; one booted foot balancing atop the other knee as he stared intently into the empty grate of the fireplace, his blonde curls falling haphazardly into his intense green eyes. Erik felt the snake of jealousy coil around his heart, the beat of it own thundering throughout his ears. He felt his blood curdle.

Without hesitation he advanced on the man, tearing the Punjab lasso from its place of concealment at his hip, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he whipped the rope about Patrick's neck and pulled it taught, forcing the young man to his knees. Patrick gasped with shock and horror as he beheld the face of the man that stood before him. He paused in disbelief, his mouth gaping in mute astonishment as the creature snarled, choking the rope tighter. The dark angel fixed him with an icy glare, his cold eyes snapping in bitter irony.

"You should learn to bolt the front door, monsieur. I could have been anyone!" He loosed his death grip upon Patrick's throat a little, allowing the man to breathe. The Persian and Meg entered the house behind him, hooded and cloaked. The young girl gasped with horror as she beheld the scene before her. She was about to run to Patrick's side, before a firm hand from Nadir placated her, holding her back.

"Erik!" The Persian snapped harshly. "Unhand him!"

Erik glanced momentarily over his shoulder, before his eyes flicked back to Patrick's choking form. "You are lucky, monsieur, that I did not come here to kill you. Now, tell me - where is Christine!"

XxXxXxX

The sound of a loud commotion downstairs startled Christine from her silent reverie, as she sat morose and subdued within the room she had affectionately deemed as Erik's chambers. Voices from the parlour grew louder in intensity and anger, and she felt her heart skip a beat and her stomach plummet away. The sound of a deep, rich voice boomed throughout the downstairs quarters, filtering through the heavy wooden door. Could it be? Erik…?!

"Erik," she breathed. Suddenly, as if the single word was a prayer for his deliverance, she flung the chamber door open; rushing down the hallway where she flew to the banister, gripping the railing so tightly within her little pale hands, her knuckles shone pearly white like bone. Through the dim light of the parlour, it was difficult to make out any clear distinction of the three figures that loomed in the entryway; hooded and cloaked; one of whom was making increasingly angrier and louder demands of Patrick, whilst the other spoke to his companion; his voice low and deep in an effort to calm him. Erik's appearance was the picture of a man consumed with anger and desperation – his body was rigid, his raven hair wild beneath his cloak; his countenance burning like fire. He grit his teeth together tightly and took short, shallow breath in an effort to contain the frenzied ire that grew steadily inside him.

"Where is Christine!"

Christine felt an involuntary chill race up her spine, as she once again caught the rich timbre of a man's voice which belonged, undeniably, to her angel.

The tall man growled and stepped forward.

"Erik!"

Erik started at the sound of his name and glanced up at the woman upon the stairs. His hood fell away, revealing his unmasked, macabre face.

"Christine," he murmured under his breath.

The young woman flew down the stairs and threw herself into his arms, the impact so forceful that Erik staggered back to maintain his balance. Her hands fisted around his torn shirt fabric as she sobbed against his chest.

His bruised and battered arms enveloped her, ignoring the pain jarring his ribs as he crushed her thin form against him in a long awaited embrace.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his face again and again. "Thank God!" she sobbed into his neck. "You are alive, and you are safe! Oh God, I was so afraid that-"

Erik's mouth quickly came down upon hers, silencing her words with a hard kiss that had behind it all of his own fear and fury he had suffered in their time apart.

With green eyes alight and wary, Patrick watched the scene unfold with incredulity. So this was the man for whom Christine, and through her – he, had risked his life for? The man who had threatened his life mere moments ago? Morbid fascination ensured the fixation of his steady gaze upon the two lovers, as he saw with a sickening clarity, the horror of Erik's abhorrent, twisted features. Yet she embraced him, with a warmness and tenderness that seemed beyond all earthly bounds. Meg had thrown herself into his embrace the moment her eyes had sought him out in the gloom of the parlour, yet his eyes had remained intently fixated on the newly reanimated Christine, as he watched her over Meg's shoulder. He saw new life breathe into her, and she came to life beneath the passionate ministrations of her former teacher.

The Persian caught his eye, beckoning he and Meg to quit the parlour, where Erik and Christine may rejoice in their reunion without the presence of prying eyes. Victory was not yet fully theirs, not while Madame Giry remained incarcerated, but as for Erik and his ingénue; fate had seen them suffer more than they ought to – now was their time to salvage what little peace they could, to grasp at what little happiness and relief their situations had afforded them.

Engulfing her arms around his waist, Christine pinned her tear-stained cheek against Erik's own. He closed his eyes and pressed the unscathed portion of his face fervently against her, dwelling in the indescribable sensation of flesh against flesh. As she lifted a hand to cradle his opposite cheek, he swiftly turned his head to capture her palm with his lips. Christine united his lips passionately with her own, a small cry escaping her mouth at the realization that she had not lost her beloved angel. More than anything he wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her all would be fine, but he could not do that, even if it was the truth. Before she could tell him how much she loved him, he pressed a finger softly to her lips.

"Hush, mon amour… I am here now."

Gently, he replaced his finger with his lips, softly claiming hers in a sweet kiss that seemed to cleanse his very soul. How was it that one kiss could wash away all the pain he had endured? One kiss could make him forget… make him feel… make him human. A soft moan grew at the back of Christine's throat, as she sighed in pleasure, snaking her arms about his neck and drawing him closer, drawing him inwards. Hesitantly, Erik allowed the tip of his tongue to run along the bottom of her lower lip, begging for entrance. She eagerly complied, pressing her body firmly against him in her need to reassure herself that this was indeed, real. She tore her mouth away from his, her breathing low and ragged.

"Oh God, Erik! I thought I lost you!" She pressed feverish kisses across the marred side of his face and along his jaw line, returned to his mouth where she eagerly delved inside, her hands balled in fists as she tugged desperately at the ragged material of his shirt.

"I love you, I love you! Oh, God… Erik, I love you so much!"

His eyes flew open at her unbridled and unrestrained passion, his entire face clinching with the overwhelming emotions that consumed him. He had almost given up… almost lost the one thing that meant the world to him. Inside, his heart was breaking.

He threaded his fingers into her hair, pulled her mouth to his and kissed her so deeply, every nerve in his body trembled with energy. Finally, he felt her relax against him and sigh, her lips moving against his neck.

"I have missed you so much," she murmured.

"And I you." He buried his face in her brown curls and rested there, knowing there would never be another peace as complete as this. It was with great reluctance that he pulled away, resting his forehead gently against her own so that he could look her deeply in the eyes. "And the Comte… did he hurt you?"

Scenes from her imprisonment in the de Chagny estate swept across her mind's eye, causing her eyes to mist over with barely suppressed tears. She shook her head defiantly, trying to place as much truth and conviction as she could manage in that one syllable. "No."

Erik detected the slight waver in her tone and was unconvinced. He placed two fingers beneath her chin and brought her watery gaze to meet his. "Tell me." It was then that he noticed the ugly red marks that spattered her wrists and forearms. So consumed was he by his passion for her, that he had not noticed, however blatantly obvious it was.

"What is this?" he growled sharply, grasping her wrist firmly, but gently.

"Nothing!" She tried to pull from his grasp.

"Nothing?! Tell me, Christine."

"I-" she sucked in a deep breath. "I tried to escape..."

"And?"

"I broke through the window and cut myself. That is all."

"No…" he pulled her gaze to his again. "That's not all, is it?"

"That's it, I swear!"

"Don't lie to me, Christine! Tell me what he did to you!"

Christine's eyes clouded with fear at the fierceness of Erik's gaze, a gaze that stung like fire. He would KILL Raoul if he knew! "Please Erik…," she whimpered into the ragged folds of his shirt. "You can't go after him. I'll not have you lying dead at my feet after so long without you."

Erik felt an internal war rage within him. His sheer want of revenge against the Comte curdled his blood and seeped within the very pit of his stomach. Yet his love for his beloved angel clenched around his heart, willing him to stay and protect her. For the time being his heart won out, swearing that he would exact his revenge upon the foolish boy when he was least expecting it. Revenge, after all, was a dish best served cold. He sighed into her hair, "you will tell me, Christine." It was not a request, but a command. The Comte would pay for all he had done, and seeing the fear that shone from his beloved's eyes, he knew the boy had committed grave atrocities against his wife.

Wife. The word chilled him to the core, refueling his anger and hatred towards the boy. Christine is still his wife!

But she belongs to ME!

He pulled away from her.

"What's wrong?" Christine's brows furrowed in confusion.

"I… I need to bathe." He suddenly sounded exhausted, and his demeanor was one of defeat. Slowly he clambered up the stairs, wincing as the broken bones crunched painfully with each step. Christine watched from the foot of the stairs, confusion and hurt splayed across her face at his sudden abruptness. Oh God, what happened to him?

XxXxXxX

"Erik?"

No answer. Christine knocked again. "Erik, it's me."

"Come in."

A rush of hot air and steam flooded out when she opened the door and she squinted inside, peering into the fog. Erik was there in the bathtub, head tilted and eyes closed, his arms resting on the metal sides. His bony shoulders and back were spattered with ugly bruises and cuts, some of them red and angry from neglect. Christine winced as she noticed some of his ribs jutted out at odd angles. There was no doubt that several of them were broken. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she hugged the towels to her and stepped into the room, pushing the door closed behind her.

"Erik?" she whispered, settling on her knees at his side. His arms rested on the metal sides of the tub, and Christine felt a sharp jolt of pain and horror as she noticed his left hand for the first time.

"Oh Erik, what did he do to you?" she whispered sorrowfully.

His eyes cracked open as she gently took the hand cradled at his side. Her fingers gently wrapped around his broken ones and she lifted them to her lips. A lone tear trickled from the corner of her eye and fell upon his crooked hand, searing a path across his raw skin.

He carefully extracted it from her grasp and turned from her, his mouth pursing thinly. "Nothing that should concern you, my angel," he snapped.

Christine lowered her head. "Erik… please allow me to work on your hand," she whispered quietly. "I have seen many dislocated and broken bones in my time at the opera. If I do not straighten the bones, you may never be able to use your hand again."

Erik knew Christine was right, but he loathed how helpless he felt. He had never had anyone to care for him in the entirety of his life. It was something he was unaccustomed to… he did not like feeling so dependant. Reluctantly he held his hand out to Christine, where she took it and pressed a faint kiss to his palm.

"Thank you."

Christine left the bathroom the gather her supplies. Ice from the ice box, a leather strap, bandages and several small splints, and carried them upstairs. Erik was waiting patiently for her when she arrived.

"You know this is going to hurt…"

"I am no stranger to pain, Christine, just get on with it."

Christine handed him the leather strap to bite down on, and allowed his fingers to numb somewhat in the ice. Finally she set to work, her nimble fingers determining the positions of the bones in his thumb. With a sickening crack that sent shivers racing down her spine, Christine thrust the first joint back into place. Erik's grunts of pain were muffled against the leather strap, yet her stomach clenched painfully at the excruciating pain she was causing him. "Forgive me," she whispered, before cracking the second bone into place.

This continued for the following half hour, until all the bones in Erik's fingers had been realigned, strapped to splints and bandaged. She took the strap from his mouth and ran a loving hand across the marred side of his cheek. Perspiration ran in rivulets down his forehead, where she brought a cool cloth to wipe the dirt and grime from his face.

"I'm sorry."

'You did what you had to," Erik panted, "Do not apologize."

XxXxXxX

When Christine returned to the bathroom, she found that Erik had wandered to his bedchambers. Christine still could not believe that this entire house, Thornhill, had belonged to Erik, and yet he had never sought to use it. When she arrived in the doorway of the room he had already discovered a set of clothing and mask preciously stowed away in the closet, and was busy struggling through a row of buttons on his crisp, white shirt. He had yet to replace a mask upon his ravaged features. Christine smiled at his unusual carelessness.

"Damned things," he muttered in frustration, forgoing the top two collar buttons and folding up the cuffs over his slender wrists.

Christine's eyes swept over his ill-fitted clothing with concern. "I did not think it was possible for you to be any thinner, Erik. You've lost a considerable amount of weight."

"You would too, if you were imprisoned within an asylum for two months!" He snapped harshly.

Christine caught her lip between her teeth, mentally chiding herself for her blunder.

Erik sighed and held out his hand to her. She eagerly complied and was swept into his arms. He pressed a kiss upon the top of her unruly curls, breathing in her scent. "Forgive me, mon ange."

Christine nodded silently, feeling the tears threaten to wash down her cheeks once more. "Erik?"

"Mmm?"

"What has become of Monsieur Khan, Patrick, Meg and Madame Giry?"

"Nadir discovered that Antoinette was imprisoned in Paris. He, Monsieur Raynaud and Mademoiselle Giry set out immediately to free her. I daresay, having learned that they are indeed quite a formidable team, that it shan't be long before the entire party is joining us here at Thornhill." He stroked her flaxen curls softly as he relayed this information to her, wondering at their silkiness.

She nuzzled his neck. "Erik?"

"Mmm?"

"Will we really be safe here?"

He pulled back from her slightly with surprise, gently lifting her chin to meet her eyes. "Of course we will, mon ange, I won't let anybody hurt you."

"But what about London? Your career? The life that you built for yourself… Raoul has taken it all away!"

"No," He grasped her shoulders forcefully, his golden eyes searing her skin with his penetrating gaze. "He hasn't taken it all away! Don't you see, Christine? I can compose anywhere…. But my life, my home… is with you."

The thumb of his good hand softly stroked her pale cheek, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"You came back to me, my little songbird. Nothing else matters."

Her breath stilled within her chest.

"Kiss me, Erik."

He stared at her in surprise before his gaze softened and he leant down to capture her lips in a sweet kiss. She reveled in the feel of his soft lips moving against her own, and her arms instinctively encircled his waist, careful not to place pressure on the few broken ribs.

Erik gently pulled his face away from hers, and swallowed hard, looking first to her eyes before his gaze fell to her mouth. He brought his hand to her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip as he watched it quiver beneath his touch. His own lips parted; doubt and joy warring inside him with the overwhelming need to claim her.

Every ounce of restraint lost, he gave into his growing desire and captured her lips in a blistering kiss. He moaned into her, as his tongue once more entered and was greeted with equal fervor. In a tidal wave of emotion and desire, she fell back against the settee, his body leaning over hers as he held her as a drowning man clings to a single piece of floating wreckage. To lose her now would certainly be the death of him, and it had almost been too late. So much time… they had already wasted so much time ensnared by guilt and doubt. The walls had come crashing down. She loved him, craved him, needed him. It was all he ever wanted, and he was powerless to resist her. He pulled back from her face and stared at her, his golden eyes ablaze with a passionate fire so intense, she thought she would surely burn under his gaze. His passionate, dominating control was overwhelming, and she succumbed. Tasting, joining, and loving as they became lost in one another.

He broke their kiss and she whimpered at the loss. "Oh mon amour… if I should die now, I would die a happy man…" For several long moments he held her face before him, drinking in the emotion he saw in her eyes. She looked on him as a lover; a woman in need of him and his love. "I l-love you Christine… mon ange… I have been such a fool, about so many things. Forgive me… Forgive your poor Erik."

"Hush now. There is nothing to forgive." Exposed and vulnerable, he could only hold his breath as she tenderly pressed her hand to his ravaged features, caressing the crags and twists that stretched across the entire right side of his face. And then her mouth fervently traced the paths her fingers had laid upon his sensitive skin, banishing the sorrow from his stricken soul with her gentle touch.

His eyes blinked shut, his entire face clinching as if determined to close his senses off from the entire world and focus solely on the beautiful creature that cradled his face so lovingly. Inside, his heart was breaking.

Erik stood up, pulling Christine with him. He gathered the light material of her chemise in his hands. Pausing for a moment, his eyes locked upon hers, seeking her approval. She nodded. He slid the thin white cotton from her small frame and drew her to him. Her body was perfect… soft, warm, and beautifully flawed in ways that made her all the more real to his touch. Every single inch of her was at once familiar and foreign. The dim light from the candle flickered off a dull metal object hung about his beloved's neck, moving with the rise and fall of her chest. Erik's fierce gaze was drawn immediately to it, his heart clenching painfully within his chest.

Recognition flooded through his being and his eyes widened a little with shock and disbelief. No… it couldn't be… Christine followed his gaze, her eyes fixed upon his face, desperately trying to discern some sort of reaction from her angel. His eyes rose to meet hers, and she nodded almost imperceptibly, her fingers slowly entwining with the gold metal band that had hung secretly about her neck for what seemed an age; a secret longing to come out.

"You kept my…" His voice shook with barely suppressed emotion, and Christine felt her heart break a little at the helpless look of disbelief and adoration that filled his eyes.

Slowly his thin fingers skimmed the soft skin of her arms, traveling up over her shoulders and tracing the outline of her collarbone. One lone finger traced its way down her neck, tenderly encircling the wedding band he had given Christine all those years ago. He stroked the pliant metal lovingly, so many unnamed emotions swelling within his chest. Christine's pale fingers encircled his own, lifting the ring from its secret hiding place, its chain trailing a burning line up her neck as she removed it from her person. His hands folded gently atop hers, pulling the ring from the chain and gazing at her lovingly.

"You kept the ring… w-why?" His voice choked with emotion.

She stared into his loving gaze, wonderment and adoration pouring forth with his smouldering golden eyes. "Because I never forgot you… I never stopped loving you…" She hesitated, "I just took me a little longer to realize it… and the day I came back for you is the day I was told you were dead."

Silent tears spilled down her cheeks and her brow furrowed in despair. "It's you. It's always been you! And… I thought I had lost you!"

He took the ring from her, pushing the metal band onto her finger with sheer determination. "Never," he whispered possessively. He brought her hand to his lips where he pressed a faint kiss to her knuckles, skimming over her silky skin with revere. "I will never leave you."

Slowly, he laced his fingers through hers, falling to his knees as Christine pulled him down with her onto their bed. Her hands skimmed up his legs and torso, freeing his shirt that he had struggled with so hard to put on from its confines, and lifting the silken material from his body. Tossing it aside, she pressed her mouth to his naked flesh and tenderly kissed each of the criss-crossed marks upon his skin, trying to heal wounds that had long ago scarred. He shivered violently.

"Erik," she breathed, as he hovered above her.

He kissed her forehead tenderly, and clasped her hand within his. "I have been a monster all my life, Christine." Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, making her heart race wildly within her breast. "Nobody has ever loved me, not even my own mother – no, let me finish. But you, you came to me… a beacon of light in my darkness, and gave me hope. Hope that I… that I could be loved. That I could be saved… that I could live as a normal man…" He took a long, shuddering breath. "I love you Christine, with all that I am. Everything I am is yours. All I ask of you is to make me human again. If you could accomplish this one thing, Christine, then I swear that I will live every day of my life for you…" Erik's eyes met hers, apprehensive and entreating her to answer.

Christine found that she could not speak, for she was certain that if she opened her mouth, she would weep and never cease. He loved her. He loved her… and she needed him. They were like two sides of the same coin; bound by music, their souls had fused together the moment their voices had risen as one. He was hers, and she was his. Everything she was belonged to him; heart, mind, soul, and finally… body. Gently she took Erik's face in her hands and kissed it over and over… his sunken cheeks, twisting flesh and deformed nose… until love gave way to longings so furious, they could only glory in their joys and sorrows. The reality of their union was no longer a distant thought – some unspoken ideal dreamed of but never attained. Time seemed to cease altogether as they became a single soul, a fact that had always been true yet never consummated. To feel the bareness of each other's skin, the life of each other's breath, and every movement of each other's bodies – was a sensation beyond measured time or comparison. And when the fires abated and blood once more stilled, Erik wrapped his arms around Christine's trembling form, where she laid her cheek against his chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart; a sound that held hope.

Erik kissed her forehead and pressed his lips to the top of her curls, breathing in her heavenly scent as they lay entwined beneath the sheets. "I love you, Christine."

She smiled contently in the darkness, closing her eyes and welcoming the blissfulness of sleep.

Yes, it was a sound that held hope. It was a sound that held… a future

A/N: Hmm... where have all my faithful readers gone? Are you still out there:(