A/N: I love you guys! Thank you so much for all the encouragement and reviews and desire to see more of this story! Your wish is my command … ;-)

And now…

Chapter XXXV

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Christine numbly opened her mouth to speak, but her mind refused to function. Nor would any words come out of the cavern burning inside her chest. There was little room for voice or breath, with her heart so near to bursting, as frantically as it pounded.

The Phantom in all his dark glory loomed above her and glared down at her in her pathetic state. His cloak had been carelessly thrown about wide shoulders that in her heightened sense of panic seemed broader than she remembered. His hands were curled into fists that tightly clutched the edges of his cloak near his long legs, his boots planted an imposing distance apart on the bank of stone.

God, he was wholly terrifying and intensely beguiling all at once.

"I…" Her voice came hoarse, uncertain. "This is not what it seems."

His fiery eyes narrowed to golden slits, and her heart again slammed viciously into her ribcage. Silent and immovable as stone, he presented more of a threat than when he ranted at her or terrorized her with mention of his horrific traps. But the image was deceptive. Stone could not exude fierce emotion, the intensity of which made her tremble though he had yet to move a muscle, to utter a word. Danger wafted off of him in potent waves. Danger, and something breathless that shaped within her being fear and excitement all at once…

King Hades exerting dominance in his netherworld, and she cowering like Persephone caught trying to escape. She blinked. Her mouth went drier at the involuntary thought, that she would ever think of herself in such a role, as his trapped queen…though at this moment he looked more disposed to prepare her for a coffin rather than his bed.

"Please, won't you say something?" she pleaded in a near whisper. She would almost prefer his furious bellows to this unnerving strain of deep silence.

He moved then, so fast she did not realize his intent until he had pulled her up, his long fingers grabbing her below the shoulders in a grip that bruised. Face to face with her, now so close to him, his eyes had taken on a life of their own. They snapped and blazed in raw fury, and she sucked in a wavering breath, unable to move as he held her upright by the arms like a doll of rags. If he let go, she was certain she would slip back to the ground in a boneless heap.

"What it seems," he said, his voice low and deceptively soft, bearing a hidden blade beneath the velvet, so that if she pushed too far she would be cut, "is that you were attempting another escape. After you swore that you would not do so again."

Christine swallowed hard, struggling to form sensible words that would not set off the explosion.

"I…not exactly. At first, yes, but I - I changed my mind. I was coming back. I just - I wanted to reassure someone that I was well, to not do anything rash. I heard what you and Jolene said, that is…" His eyes burned, scorching through tissue and bone to reveal the secrets of her soul, and she took an anxious breath, "I know that the Vicom - that someone above looks for me and I only wished to find him - them! - and express my wish to call off the search."

It was the perfectly wrong thing to say, and she cursed her nervous slip. Before her eyes, she watched the silent panther bare his teeth in a snarl, in preparation of lunging for the jugular. She stared in horrified fascination at the flash of white and wondered a little hysterically if he really would bite her.

He shook her briefly but hard enough that Christine felt as if her head might snap from her neck.

"Damned little fool - deceitful Delilah! You expect me to believe you sought only brief escape with plans to return to this prison? That you changed your mind to execute what you've been planning since the night I brought you here? Damn you and your never-ending lies!"

Even to her ears, her excuse sounded weak and flawed and highly implausible though it was the truth. Before she could grope for an explanation he might accept of why he should believe her - difficult when she herself could not form or discern a reason - he roughly moved his hands over her back and hauled her effortlessly over his shoulder, like a dark incarnation of Samson bent on revenge.

Had she, in her frantic desire to save all of those involved, unwittingly brought down this underground temple of music to fall on her head?

Save for a muffled cry of shock at his unexpected act, Christine gave no other sound of protest. When he was this furious, she dared not fight him. She winced at the fresh pain even as she struggled for a tortured breath that had lodged somewhere deep in the recesses of her throat.

She felt him spin around with her and move at a fast clip toward the lake, bypassing the corridor she'd taken. For one petrified moment Christine wondered if he might throw her into the chill water, with the intent to drown her, having become weary of dealing with her. The idea prompted the insane urge to laugh though there was certainly no amusement to be found in this. God, she truly was on the path to lunacy, perhaps already there.

With her head hanging down, her only view was of his cloak. But in her alarm, even as dizzy as the position now made her, her senses were painfully aware…

The heat of his back warmed her trembling hands as she pressed her palms to his cloak to try and regain a measure of equilibrium. The effect brought on a different wave of faintness instilling a warmth that swept through to her center. She shivered but kept her hands in place against solid muscle and turned her head to see. He turned left and came to his bedchamber almost immediately, the distance between that room and the lake short, the way she'd taken a longer, circular route.

At once he came to a stop, and she saw his bed, her view of it distorted - tilted and inverted. The sudden image of him throwing her onto the coverlet then lunging on top of her before she could steady herself and fight him off sped to her mind with disturbing velocity. She became even more strongly aware of the heat of his trim, strong body against hers, the shocking position of his arm and hands - one arm branded at the back of her thighs, his fingers clutching her leg through the frightfully thin layers of material, his other large hand pressed firmly against her lower back. She inhaled a sharp breath of alarm at what was about to happen, but any appeal she might have given for leniency suffered a quick death in her throat.

He let out a growl of disgust, the rumble of it felt through her skin and sending tingles of shivers all down her spine. Again he moved, storming into the main lake chamber and through the passageway that led to her bedchamber. Her limbs hung frozen in dread, useless; she could not fight him, could not summon the power to struggle and break free. Against his rigid strength she felt powerless, could only hang limply from her enraged, solid perch and anxiously await what promised to be a grim outcome.

The Phantom strode through the corridor at a rapid clip, keeping his hold firmly over his wily captive.

Damn her to the very fires of Hades! For one moment, for one brief, foolish moment he had hoped, this once, he could trust her to honor her word. Fool that he was, he should have known better! He had allowed his doubts to falter, allowed her once again to unsheathe her talons to shred another furrow through his piteous heart - had believed her when she said she would stay and sing for him.

All the while she had smiled through her treacherous deceit, befriending the children and planning her way of escape -

All to be with him! The thrice-damned insolent son of a Comte!

He would make her forget that idiot boy if it was the last thing he did.

Having arrived at her chamber the Phantom stormed through the entrance and threw her onto the bed, giving no care to caution.

Sprawled on her back, Christine winced and struggled to sit up. She put her weight on her elbows, then her hands, a spark of her old spirit returning to aid in her defense, now that she lay at the feet of Hades to learn the lot he would cast her. But the ruler of this dark underworld seemed to have lost temporal interest in the punishment of his captive slave as he stood at the foot of her bed and stared at his open hand.

His eyes lifted from his palm, gravely focusing on her.

"Lower your gown from your shoulders."

At his low, impersonal words, her mouth dropped open and Christine gaped at him, aware of his scandalous and wicked reputation, but stunned to hear such a shocking command directed toward her, nonetheless. Some of the fire had left his eyes but his determination remained as fervent as before in the granite set of his jaw.

"No." She pulled the lapels of her robe more securely over her shift. "Never."

"Damn you, do as I say!" He strode to the side of the bed and she turned her head sharply to follow his movements, the helpless, wounded canary circumspect of the cruel, advancing cat.

"Now I am to be the quarry for your thirst for flesh?" she asked bitterly. "Is this how you intend to repay me for what you presume to be my crime? Will you now ravish me against my will?"

He laughed harshly, his soulless eyes devoid of all humor. Icy chills shivered through her at the disquieting sound and the burning look he gave. He lifted his hand in a careless, elegant manner as he spoke, the dark lord of his hidden castle.

"I assure you, mademoiselle, if I wished you in my bed, I would have no need to ravish you to make you mine. I would not need to take you against your will, like the lecherous vermin of your past. But such a prospect is unthinkable. I have no desire for your flesh, as tempting as you may think it."

His cutting words wounded though she could not fathom the reason and did not dare let him see her reaction.

"You seem to have a highly overrated opinion of yourself, monsieur, if you think I would ever welcome your touch upon me." Her sure claim brought a rush of uncomfortable heat prickling beneath her skin as words produced image of the bizarre dream of three nights ago, but she abolished it from spreading further with a little shake of her head. "Get out…"

Her order came wavering as she watched him move closer and slowly sink to the edge of her bed. Instantly she scooted away. He grabbed her wrist.

"Let me go!"

With a wicked smile, he moved even closer until the heat of his body burned her, the fraction of mattress between them scant. She held her breath.

"Not only would you welcome my touch, you would beg for more and never wish me to stop." His tone in an instant had turned to warm, seductive velvet, his breath fanning her face, the spicy scent of rich, dark wine as drugging as his words. "I could take you now if I so desired, to a place you have never dreamed, one you never knew existed…"

Beneath his grasp her pulse madly throbbed and Christine felt faint. She could not think with him so close, his golden eyes a weapon that burned away her will, to slowly and relentlessly melt all resolve. Desperate to retain sense, she again attempted to snatch her hand from his hold, but her act was feeble against his greater strength.

"But as I have no interest in claiming your body," he repeated in the same low, smooth tone, "that day will never come."

He released her wrist with a little push, and she rubbed the tingling skin with her other hand. He glanced down at her defensive little gesture then back into her eyes.

"Now, you will do as I have told you. Slip your gown from your shoulders…"

She opened her mouth to refuse a second time.

"…or I will remove it for you."

Her eyes widened at his softly delivered threat. By the steady look in his eyes, she knew he would not hesitate to strip her naked if she continued to resist.

"Why do you wish for me to do such a thing, if you have no interest in, in my body?" she pleaded the last in a nervous whisper, her words coming stilted.

"You are bleeding, mademoiselle." He showed her a red smear upon his palm. "And as I have no wish for a repeat performance of your stay in my bedchamber when you were ill, I will see what damage you have further caused."

Anger chased away timidity and Christine frowned in sudden aggravation.

"You could have told me, rather than let me go on believing your motives were impure."

"You gave me little opportunity to state my reason."

"You've never let that stop you before!"

She was certain by the wicked gleam in his eyes that he had taken cruel amusement from her misunderstanding, and had derived enjoyment in her being the helpless, frightened pawn in his little game of manipulation.

He shrugged, his manner calm and glib, but it was a deception. The fire had not left his eyes.

"You are so inclined to believe the worst about me, mademoiselle. Why should I bother to engage with the useless frivolity of explanations that you would no doubt reject?"

"I can hardly be blamed for opinions I have formed about your character, or the lack of it, due to my set of delightful circumstances." She dryly motioned with one hand toward the walls of her prison chamber.

His mouth pressed into a grim line. "Your tactics to delay will not work to your benefit. Lower. Your. Gown."

"Jolene can tend me," she said, her alarm returning when she realized he would not be swayed.

"Jolene must rise early to tend matters for me at the opera house. I will not see her sleep disturbed due to your devious imprudence. Nor will I argue the matter with you any further. Do as I say … Now!" he growled when she did not comply.

She sat, petrified. His hands went to her lapels, wresting away the wrapper, the loosened sash offering no restraint to his shocking objective.

"Please - no! I -" Her hands flew up to capture his and stop him. At the contact of his warm flesh against her cold skin, a swift current of shock rushed through her body and she dropped her hands quickly away, noting he did the same.

"I will do it," she finished quietly, her voice shaking with nervousness and embarrassment and an undercurrent of something more she didn't wish to consider or define.

Christine told herself that he had seen her in this state of dishabille before, when he treated her as she lay in a fever and had no knowledge of the act. But that did not force the present unease away, and now she was quite aware…

She swallowed over a dry throat and turned on the bed so that her back was entirely to him. With trembling hands she slid the wrapper from her shoulders, letting it fall slowly from her arms.

"I don't have all night, Miss Daaé ," he said coldly.

Cursing him beneath her breath, she slipped first one strap then the next from the curve of her shoulders, letting them fall to the bend of her elbows. She suddenly felt his hand in her hair, pushing the length of it over the front of her shoulder, his fingertips lightly brushing her neck with the act. Another shiver went through her, having little to do with the cold. Indeed, she felt as if her flesh was on fire.

"Lower," he rasped.

"But I -"

"Lower!"

With her entire body quivering, Christine slipped the straps down over her wrists, her loose shift pulling away from her bosom and falling to puddle at her waist. Vulnerable and exposed, she vainly attempted to cover herself with her hands, crossing them at the wrists, though he could not see her nakedness from where he sat behind her.

At the ghosted touch of his fingertips against the middle of her spine, an uneven breath escaped her constricted lungs.

"It is as I feared. You reopened the old wound and made a new one with your thoughtless attempt to escape."

"I told you, I wasn't escaping - I would have come back -"

"Silence," he hissed. "I will hear no more of your lies."

The steel in his voice was in direct opposition with the tenderness of his touch. She held her breath, finding it hard to believe both came from the same man.

He stood suddenly to his feet and she turned her head, fearing he would now move before her. "What are you doing?" she asked a little hysterically.

"I am attempting once again to repair what damage you have wrought by being where you did not belong and never should have attempted to go. The abrasions are shallow, but in these hellish, damp environs, they could become infected. We have no wish for a repeat of that to happen, do we?"

She gritted her teeth at his wry condescension, her annoyance changing to horror as he walked from his spot. "Monsieur! Please."

"What is the problem?" he growled and pivoted at the foot of the bed, her body now in profile to him.

She ducked her head and brought her shoulders forward in a vain attempt to hide herself, her hair he had swept there covering the side of her body furthest from him. The side closest to him lay exposed, save for the desperate span of her small hand.

Trapped in the unlikelihood of his mercy, she shyly whispered, "Please, if you would give me something to cover myself…" She did not risk moving either hand to reach for a pillow to use as a shield against his endless stare.

For an interminable span of time the Phantom did not move or make a sound.

Shrinking into herself, Christine closed her eyes, not daring to open them and look in his direction.

She heard the rapid whisk and slide of heavy material. Without warning, something heavy landed in her lap. She opened her eyes to see his cloak there.

"Use that," he ordered, his voice sounding strained. "I will return shortly."

At the door he seemed to change his mind and whirled to face her. She barely had pulled his cloak up to cover herself. Again, a short silence elapsed as his unfathomable, glowing eyes stared into her widened ones.

"If you should dare leave that bed, I swear to you I will not hesitate to exact upon you a punishment that will drain every shade of rose from that fair skin with the horror of what will befall you. Do I make myself clear, Miss Daaé ?"

She nodded dumbly, only taking in a shuddering breath once his shadow lunged out of sight from the corridor's cavern wall.

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xXx

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The Phantom stormed to his private chambers, not breaking his swift stride and certainly not trusting her to keep her word and remain in place, no matter what threats he hurled against her.

The memory of her sitting in all her feminine glory came unbidden and unwanted, and he cursed the hardness straining against his trousers as much as he cursed her for her damnable power to unhinge him and make him feel this way. Weakened in her presence. A wretched slave to her physical beauty. At that one glimpse of her clutching the swell of her breast, her flawless skin exposed to her waist, with the abundance of her dark hair cascading in gentle ringlets to one side, he had been too shaken for words and had stared for mindless seconds enraptured by the vision she made, before forcing his feckless gaze to the drab stone wall. He had torn his cloak from his shoulders and thrown it at her, as desperate for her to cover herself as she was to be covered. At the door he had turned, the sight of her clutching his cloak to her breasts engendering a helpless envy to be that damned cloak, and again striking him dumb with the intoxicating picture she presented.

Damn her for her infernal charms! And himself be twice damned for once again being influenced by her allure.

Not this time.

Never again.

The Phantom moved with precise order, gathering the items needed, his actions hurried. He thought of every disgusting and despicable thing imaginable to calm his flesh and relieve the uncomfortable swelling in his trousers. He did not expect to find her there upon his return, his annoyance at her sure trickery and continual deceit fueling his every step as he prepared to engage in another chase after his prisoner.

He came to a swift stop at the entrance, surprised and troubled by what he saw, all ideas of immediate retribution fading from his mind.

Christine had not moved from her place in the middle of the bed. With her head bowed, she now held his cloak beneath her chin, clutched in both hands, her dull gaze fixed to the ground before her. She appeared to have slipped into some trance-like state, such as when she'd been recovering from her illness, and he feared where her mind had taken her.

She should have never tried to flee from him - perhaps he should not have responded with such fury, but this - this he did not want!

He took a few hurried steps forward. She did not acknowledge his presence.

"Mademoiselle?"

Relief weakened his bones when she lifted eyes of awareness to his. He drew closer. Evidence of moisture glimmered beneath her lashes, the thick black fringes clumped with wetness, and instantly he felt like the ogre she thought him, for his earlier rough handling and acerbic treatment.

"It's alright," he said in the voice he used to soothe Cesar when his horse was frightened. "I will not hurt you."

Her tension eased by noticeable degrees, her eyes patently curious at the change in his temperament. Without further words, he returned to sit behind her, setting the basin filled with a thin film of heated water on the bed. He soaked the sponge and wrung it, turning to his task. At the long, slender expanse of her back laid before him, he took in a slow, deep breath for control and laid the sponge against her quivering skin.

Christine dared not move, allowing only shallow breaths to fill her lungs as the sponge stroked along the bottom of her shoulder blades and spine. The sting from the water was not as troubling as the feel of him so close, the heat of his body warming her chilled flesh. From all around, her senses swam with the scent, the sight, the touch of the Phantom. His cloak that she held against her breasts still retained a semblance of his warmth, the inner satin lining brushing her sensitive skin in wicked caress, his spicy masculine scent an enticing invasion to her nostrils. She had never felt so weak, so vulnerable, so unbearably …alive. And it frightened her at the same time it excited her.

No, there was one other time, but that was in a life long dead to her, better left forgotten, and she had felt no fear then.

She prayed for his ministrations to draw quickly to a close and felt relief when the sponge left her back and did not return, hoping he would now leave. Her relief was short-lived at the gentle press of his fingers against her spine.

She rasped in a sudden shaky breath. "What are you doing?" His fingers were warm but she jerked upright as if his hands were made of ice.

"I have made my intentions clear more than once, or have you so soon forgotten? It is becoming habitual, this inability of yours to remember what is important." The muscles of her shoulder blades remained tense and he let out a weary sigh. "I am applying the salve I used before. It has herbs to battle contagion."

Her eyes fell closed at his logical explanation and her illogical reaction to the touch of his hands. Dear God, those hands…

He did not dab the paste on with swift taps as Jolene had done, but drew all of his fingers in slow, gentle slides of damp heat along her skin. Her entire body suffered in reaction, her nipples becoming ultra sensitive to the brush of satin against them as she brought the cloak closer around her neck, the disturbing moisture increasing between her thighs, her breaths coming more labored though she tried forcefully and silently to slow them as if to do so would offer a deterrent to such endless feeling.

Dear God, she wished he would end this…

And she wished he would not.

Her eyes flew open at the wicked thought that mimicked what he earlier told her would happen.

…you would beg for more and never wish me to stop…

No - never!

Before she could pull away, he did.

"You are finished?" Her question came out as a plea. Despite his claim to the contrary, perhaps he had put her under a spell to seduce her or laced the salve with a drug to instigate these wanton feelings. Yes, that made sense. He had tampered with her wine to get her here…

He stood to his feet. She snapped out of her dazed state.

"Monsieur, if, if you will please wait outside, I will dress so that you may have your cl-cloak..."

He came to stand in front of her as she ended her fumbled request. Terrified that he would refuse and insist she dress with him in the room, she looked at him in wary confusion.

"I will leave the water and the salve," he said dispassionately. "I assume you can take care of the rest?"

"The rest?" Her mouth was dry.

His eyes lowered to her bosom, then again lifted to her eyes. "From what I noticed, your back was not the only place to suffer injury."

Her face grew flushed with a wave of embarrassed heat.

"You will tend to it then?"

"It is nothing. A- a faint scrape. Barely noticeable."

"Need I remind you of the risk of infection?"

The Phantom took a step closer. At the sudden image of his hand smoothing salve over her breast, Christine quickly spoke.

"Yes, I mean no! You needn't remind me. And yes, I - I will take care of it straightaway."

He inclined his head in an abrupt nod. "As you wish. I trust you will keep your word if you value your health. You may return my cloak in the morning when you come for your lesson." He moved toward the opening and again stopped, turning only slightly to look at her then away again. "If I…if I keep the door unbarred, will you remain?"

The soft question surprised her, more that it was delivered with careful hesitance. She felt curious that he would ask, that he would believe anything she might say. But she refrained from once more telling him she would not have remained absent, her escape only temporary, and would have returned to honor her vow to sing.

"Yes," she said, her voice firmer than it had been since his return to her chamber. "I will stay."

He paused as if reconsidering.

"In the event that you hatch another scheme in the night, the only way to the world above, without traversing the dark corridors you once visited, is through my inner chamber. I am a considerably light sleeper. When I sleep at all. Remember that well, Miss Daaé ."

She nodded though he did not look at her to see it. She wished only that he would go and leave her to find what scattered peace she could find.

At last, the Phantom strode from the room, closing the door behind him.

Christine waited but did not hear the bar fall into place.

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xXx