A/N: Thank you for the reviews! A note so as not to confuse: the chapter headings not matching with Fanfiction's was confusing to me- I replaced a chapter last night and almost changed out the wrong chapter. 0_0 ) So to match up with Fanfiction, this is chapter 3 & 4- haha … Again, this is using WH as backstory, but will always have a strong Phantom feel, more so as story progresses and a lot of my own ideas blended in as well ... as you no doubt have seen by now, my Christine has a lot of fire and spirit, almost an equal to Erik's. They've grown up with only themselves for companions & are alike in many ways, both in the good and in the bad …
(III) IV
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"Do you ever wonder what the future will hold for us?" Christine lay beside Erik in the hayloft, her head on his shoulder, and stared up through the cracks of the roof at the stars. A lantern hung from a peg on the wall nearby, its sole, steady flame their only light.
"What do you mean?"
She blew out an impatient breath. "Oh, I don't know. Just what life will be like … perhaps … a year from this night?" She rolled to her side, propping her head on her hand. "I will likely be married. And when I do marry, I will give to my husband – who will be strong and wild and passionate and tender – not only my body, for it will become his. But he shall also have my soul. The heart can be fickle but the soul is everlasting. That is what marriage should be, the giving of one's soul. He will give me his and I will give him mine. But the two of us must be of like mind before I should ever agree to marry him."
She watched him closely, studying the lean features of his face nearest her, the side not covered by the cloth. He had a nice face, the part that could be seen, and his thick hair, a rich sable brown with dark golden highlights, had grown to reach his shoulders. His body was hard and lean with whipcord strength, more so since her cruel cousin sent Erik to live in the barn to work as a stable hand, the day after Papa's funeral. At least he'd let him stay at The Heights as a servant. Henri never considered Erik a member of the family, but Christine still took advantage of every opportunity to be with him. Through the past years they'd become inseparable, though Henri didn't approve of her spending time with him and often told her so.
"Well?" she insisted. "Have you nothing to say in reply?"
"You read too many gothic novels."
"You dare scorn matters of the heart?"
"You said the heart was fickle."
She smacked his shoulder, curbing a smile at seeing his own. "Now you mock me. You know what I meant … Is that all you have to say?"
He rolled his eyes. "You are only fifteen ..."
"—Two weeks shy of being sixteen!"
"… and still a child," he finished, as though she'd not spoken.
"Oh, you think so? A child, am I?" She sat up in a huff, pushing her chest out and shoulders back. "Tell me, you – who Papa alleged to have such great genius – does THIS look like the form of a child?"
She sensed he fought it, but his golden eyes rolled toward her. He stared at her bodice, at the white half globes of her breasts now heaving against the frills of her square neckline with each indignant breath she took, and she almost wished she'd not said a word. His eyes on her bare flesh made her feel strangely … faint … made her feel emotions in the pit of her stomach that disturbed her. He glanced away, looking back up at the stars.
"We shouldn't be discussing such matters," he grunted.
His swift disinterest stiffened her resolve and provoked her exasperation. "Why not? You cannot ignore time, Erik. It passes as surely as the seasons give way to new ones … we grow older. And things … change … like the seasons …"
She leaned closer toward him and looked at his lips, the bottom one a little fuller than the top. They had a slight natural curl at the corners, an almost mocking tilt as if he taunted the world and all who were in it. His mouth suited him.
Her heart began to beat unevenly. "Have you ever wondered what it would feel like?"
"What?"
"To kiss."
His eyes closed, as if to shut her out. "You should return to the house now."
At his terse words, she grew angry. "I don't want to return to the house. I want to stay here, with you."
"Then you should behave."
"BEHAVE?" she snorted a disbelieving laugh. "This, coming from you? You're the one who taught me naughty and wild are so much more exhilarating."
"You have always been wild," he growled. "I never taught you, and as for naughty ..."
"Well, I have wondered," she interrupted, moistening her lips with her tongue. "I have often wondered, and I grow weary of wondering."
Before she lost courage or he could move away, she pressed her mouth lightly to his. His lips were shut tight, unyielding, but that only made her more determined. She pressed harder, her mouth opening with the effort, and her tongue brushed against him. He gasped and suddenly she found herself the slightest bit inside. Nervous, she found she couldn't move for breathless seconds. Neither did he. More curious than uncertain she tentatively pushed her tongue deeper until it touched his. His lips softened and an intense warmth shot through her like she'd never known. Her hands reached up to cup his face.
He almost bit her tongue off as fast as he pushed her away and clapped a hand to the cloth that was still tied firmly in place.
"Damn it, Erik! I wish you would stop doing that. It's not like I haven't seen before!"
What few times he let her, always by accident and never on his own initiative.
"Why, Christine? Are you curious to see the monster you kissed? Do you wish to stare at the freak like those at the sideshow did?"
"Ohhh! How can you even say such things to me? I HATE you when you talk like that!"
She hit him hard then, hit him with both her fists, moving over him as he blocked her wild punches, her hands taking turns pummeling him and reaching for his face, her fingers like claws. She would pull that horrible cloth away if it was the last thing she did! He was just as determined not to let her, and he was also much stronger.
They struggled in the hay. Soon she was on her back, his hands gripped around her wrists, both of them breathing hard and fast as he now leaned over her, his knees straddling her hips.
They glared into each other's eyes, his golden fire, hers dark and stormy.
"Why, Christine?" he rasped.
"Why do I hate you?" she sneered.
"Why do you wish to see?"
"For your information, I wasn't trying to pull the stupid thing away. I was only trying to touch your face, you big lout!"
His eyes flickered. "Why?" he asked more quietly, looking down at her mouth. "Why should you want to . . ."
"Why do you think? Because I lo –"
And suddenly Erik's mouth was on hers, silencing her and kissing her with a new frenzy that took her very breath. Now his tongue pushed into her mouth, and she gasped, curling her tongue against his then darting away as he did, playing a passionate game of cat and mouse as they experimented, until their tongues finally, firmly met and slowly danced around each other, all of it making her dizzy though she lay on her back. His hard chest pressed against hers. Her bodice felt tighter, her breasts straining against the material with each rapid, constricted breath. Her body grew warmer, and just when she thought she might float away or burn to a crisp he tore his mouth from hers.
They gasped for air – as if they'd run all the way from The Heights to the top of the summit – and looked into each other's eyes. Suddenly Erik flung himself from her, leaving Christine to stare at the roof as she tried to make sense of what happened.
Cautiously she sat up. He sat with his back to her.
"Erik?"
"Don't say what you don't mean, Christine." His voice was angry. "Ever!"
"I didn't! I never do – not with you!"
He shuffled through his box and the papers she had sneaked out of the house to give him.
"What are you …you're COMPOSING? NOW?"
Whenever he got upset he turned to his music.
His shoulders stiffened but he didn't turn to look at her. "Go back to bed, Christine. Go back to the house. It's late."
Her mouth thinned at his bossiness. She would not be pushed away like a child!
"I'm not tired." She scooted toward the edge of the loft, rustling through the hay toward the ladder. "I think I fancy a ride on the moors."
He was by her side in a flash, his hand gripping her arm to stop her. "The night is too dark."
She pulled her brows down at such an odd statement. "When has that curbed my desires before? Or yours?"
"You shun the darkness ..."
"—There is a moon."
"… and it looks as if it may rain."
"Has it not rained nearly every day this week?"
He compressed his lips. "You'll break your fool neck!"
"I never have before."
"Damn it, Christine! You cannot go riding alone in the night!"
"Then come with me," she said, smiling sweetly.
He threw his papers down in the box and she knew she had won. "One day, your folly will be the death of both of us," he growled.
"Perhaps. But at least such folly would ensure that we will be together forever. Otherwise, I shall have to haunt you. Or you will have to haunt me."
She laughed lightly, moved a few rungs down the ladder then looked up at him as he pulled on his boots.
"Erik …?"
"WHAT?" He snarled, concentrating on his task.
"About wondering what it would feel like …"
He froze but didn't look at her.
"I only wonder why we didn't do it sooner."
Her face warming with a strange sort of exhilarating shyness, she moved down the ladder and toward the stalls, pleased when he soon joined her. His temper had at least calmed, though his manner became strangely silent.
xXx
The wild wind of the moors blew Christine's thick mass of tight curls from her face, pressing her skirts to her body as they flew out behind her. The stars swept through the wispy gray clouds above and she spun slowly around, her arms held out, her eyes closing, until the wind did not steal her music. With all that was within her, she lifted her voice in pure song to the heavens, her voice haunting in the night as it echoed back to her off the tall circle of rocks.
Think of me,
Think of me waking, silent and resigned,
Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind,
Recall those days, look back on all those times,
Think of the things we'll never do,
There will never be a day when I won't think of you!
She opened her eyes to find Erik standing right before her. Her long hair and skirts whipped around both of them in the tempestuous wind.
"You have the voice of an angel," he said, his eyes adoring as his long fingers lightly circled her throat in a caress, so feather-light, it made her heart pound.
"I thought you didn't believe in angels."
"I believe in you."
She stared up into his eyes, which glowed darkly golden in the night, the same breathlessness she felt from earlier constricting her chest.
"And Christine? I, too, have wondered …"
She inhaled a soft breath at his frank admission that came quietly before his lips grazed her own. Her hand flew up to circle the back of his neck and keep him there. Gently he nibbled her lower lip then pressed in harder. Their kiss grew deep, his arms encircling her in his strong hold, and trembling again she held on to him so as not to fall.
"Tell me, Erik," she gasped, when they paused for breath, a sudden strange and frightening sense that she would lose him as she lost her mama and papa causing her to clutch his shirt firmly at the shoulders. "Tell me that all will be well. That things will never change between us."
"Yet, as you have said, time changes all things."
"Yes, but some things, some things are not meant to change. They are meant to stay eternal … as these wild moors and the rocks beneath our feet are, so should we be." Her hands went to his jaw, clutching it fiercely. Her eyes were intense. "Swear to me we'll always be together, even should death take us. Swear it!"
"Nothing shall keep me from you."
"Not even death."
"Not even death, if the devil himself should rise up with all of his minions. I swear it, Christine, not even then."
She swallowed hard and nodded, trying to rid herself of the frightful omen, trying to recapture the spontaneity of the moment and the freedom of their nocturnal outing. She laughed, though it sounded forced. "Where shall we begin?"
"Begin?"
"Our musical debut, of course! London? Italy? Paris? You will write and perform the music and I will sing your masterful compositions to the adoring crowds, who will then throw roses at my feet and award you with standing ovations."
He grinned. "Wherever you wish to go, that is where we will be. The world is our stage."
"Yes, my love," she laughed. "We shall take on the world!"
The faint sound of stringed instruments came to them on the wind and made her eyes widen.
"Listen, Erik ... do you hear? The night air is filled with music. Oh, isn't it beautiful?" she said dreamily. "Our music of the night …"
"The gods are paying you homage for your song."
She giggled. "Not likely. I still have much to learn, as I know you can tell. You're so clever when it comes to arias and operas and compositions and such." She grinned at him. "Maybe you should become my Angel of Music and bless me with your guidance."
He snorted. "I'm hardly an angel, Christine."
"No, but you're my angel …" The sweet melody came louder as the wind shifted. "Oh, where is that music coming from!"
She turned in a circle where she stood, scanning the moors, hoping to locate the source and gasped softly as the outline of The Grange came into view at the foot of the summit. In the darkness, golden light shone from what appeared to be every window of the manor.
"Look, Erik. They must be having a ball." The nugget of an idea made her feel exuberant and playful, her earlier dread all but forgotten as she turned back to her companion. "Do you remember how much fun we had when we were little and spied on the silly children who lived there?" She grabbed his arms. "Let's do so again."
He frowned and shook his head. "I don't want to go down there. We should return to The Heights before Berta finds you missing from your bed."
"Oh, don't be such a stick-in-the-mud." She giggled again at the foolish notion; Erik was anything but straitlaced. "Berta went to visit her sister tonight, did I not tell you? Come. It will be fun. Like when we were children."
His body tensed against hers. "Christine, no …"
"No one will see you. Or me." She pulled away and clasped his large hand between both of her small ones. "I promise. We'll stay in the shadows and watch. Come along, Erik. Please don't say no to me … "
At last he nodded in reluctant consent, and Christine felt as if she must be glowing like one of the stars in the heavens with her small triumph. Even with the face covering he'd created from black silk, Erik remained hidden when strangers were about and spoke to no one outside of The Heights. He rarely left the stables, except to roam the moors, wild and free with her, where they were the only two people in existence. This was their world. And tonight, Christine felt invincible, as if together, they could take on any and all who lived outside their kingdom.
xXx
A/N: All credit goes to Charles Hart, Richard Stilgoe and Andrew Lloyd Webber for the lyrics to "Think of Me."