A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews! :) I probably don't need to say this after the last chapter, but...this chapter strongly deserves the rating. And now...

XXVII

He told her he remembered only shadows, and it was true – as if he experienced life unknown to him through another man's eyes, but never the corporeal sensation of that life. Thus, touching her now felt both foreign and familiar, as if he experienced this tangible closeness for the first time while his mind retained only a trace of their intimacy.

Memory was faint, grey and obscure, like distant shapes in the darkness of night. This sensation, to trace his hands against her bare skin, was entirely real and a bewilderment to his senses. To touch was necessary; without physical contact, he believed their encounter would surely fade into the oblivion of a dream and he would awaken alone, always alone - but more than that, to touch her was vital to his soul.

His fingertips tingled where they traced a line behind her thighs, his palms clasping the outsides of slender limbs, feeling the strong dancer's muscles there beneath the softness. His heart hammered at the warm satin feel of her, the svelte strength, and the blood pooled to his lower regions with a throb of need, so near her lower regions which were open to him, heated and bare.

His eyes wryly fell shut at the reminder of his new resolve. Why must that memory be prevalent when few others were?

Never one to explain or share his feelings, since he'd never had anyone to share them with, he usually resisted asking Christine questions to which he dreaded the answers. That much he did recall. However, what he'd meant as a shield to protect brought nothing but emptiness in their former century. One matter, of which he was made painfully aware, gave him pause. And he knew that in order to have any possibility of earning her trust in this lifetime to which they'd been brought, he must be candid with his thoughts, especially those troubling to him.

He clamped his hands tightly around her thighs, above her knees, so as not to stray further.

"Of those memories with you, many are indistinct as shadows, as I have said." His voice was a velvet rumble. "But one remains clear. That of manipulating you into marriage. I vowed to myself that I would never rob you of choice again. What I have done, even unaware, is no better than the ultimatum I gave you on the night of the Don Juan, to be my bride."

She shook her head a little in confusion. "Erik, why are you saying these things? You are my husband."

"A title forced upon you by the exploitation of your fears."

"No, that's not true." She shook her head in irritation at his frank assessment. "You were open and honest about all you expected from our arrangement, and I agreed. But you also told me that if I refused, you would still protect me. Do you not remember?"

He expelled a breath of frustration over the shortcoming of his mind. All he could recall was his scheme to feed his desire. His eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Why did you agree?"

"You held me and sang to me after I had a horrible nightmare; it felt like having you with me again. You don't remember that either?" she asked a little sadly. "Or any of our days and nights together at Notre Dame?"

"Mere fragments that drift amid the spans of time. I wish most implicitly that I could remember the sum of my life with you."

Her sigh came wistful as she traced her fingertips along his jaw. "As do I."

"It seems that all I have done is hurt you. Even now."

"No, Mon Ange, that's not true. You cannot help what's been done to you, however it happened. It's still so confusing."

His thumbs rubbed gently back and forth against her skin.

"How long have you known my true identity?"

"Since I first saw you. E-Erik…" she said a little breathlessly, as if she had trouble concentrating. He understood the feeling, but sought to understand. Anything that might happen between them, he did not wish to occur falsely with her subsequent regrets.

"You never once thought of me as truly being this Le Masque?"

Christine pondered her response. "I considered it, at first; you were so convincing that you were only a leader of bandits. I then thought you might be a twin, but the night before we went into Paris, I saw you with my ring and all doubt fled. I knew it was you." Her hand moved lightly to his collarbone, her fingertips resting in the soft tufts of hair exposed where his tunic had parted. "I tried to jog your memory, but soon feared doing so when it only seemed to bring on those awful dark spells and your misery. So I resigned myself to spend a life with you in your unwitting masquerade."

"Why?"

She blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"

His hands went still, but he did not remove them from her legs. "I assume your decision stemmed from the fear of finding yourself in an ancient century, with all things peculiar and mine the only familiar face. Even the devil you know would be fair companionship."

"Then you assume wrongly." She did not sound angry, only exasperated.

"How can you say that? Did you not leave me the ring, since you could no longer bear it in your possession once I tainted it with my foolish plot to seize you?"

"Of course not." She looked genuinely astonished, even hurt. "I wished you to have it, to remember me by. The words I sang as I left, to spend each night and day together, were for you. I thought you might understand, when I looked back to where you stood as I sang them. While it's true I had no conscious knowledge of my love for you or what our future might hold, a part of me did know that I still wanted you in my life, somehow. When Raoul informed me that you were found dead, even taking pleasure in saying those words," her tone came grim, "that was the evening I went to the stones, wishing only to turn back time and change the past. Never dreaming my wish might come true in this most bizarre manner…I wanted another chance, to change our future. I can never say enough how sorry I am for my part in betraying you with that wretched plot to capture you. I didn't know then that Raoul intended to have you killed all along."

Her confession to him was astounding, nothing he would have ever believed possible, that she could feel such things for him.

"You are forever extending apologies toward me for that night," he said gruffly, "when it is I who should humble myself at your feet and beg forgiveness. Never mind the havoc I wrought on the theatre, the manner in which I behaved toward you was unconscionable."

In their current position, he could hardly kneel, but there was a way he could begin to make amends. The idea of it forced his heart to a slow, almost painful pounding, desire slowly giving way to dread. But his motive was twofold. She avowed no longer to fear the monster. Before they could resume what she'd begun this night, it was paramount they both know that her words were sincere.

He lifted a hand to his face, then thought better of it and took one of her small hands, bringing the slender fingers up so that their tips touched the underside of his cheek.

"Remove the mask."

She stiffened against him in surprise at his low words that bore a slight tremor, her eyes going wide in curious question and glistening all the more. He gave the slightest of nods to show that he meant it. She had already seen much of his deformity on the night of the Don Juan in the brightest of stage lights. Later she had run, or so he had thought; but by her words tonight, she had left his side, wanting him to find and join her.

It was time to lay all doubts and misconceptions to rest and seek out the unvarnished truth. There had been enough pain and bloodshed stemming from this foul but necessary obstacle.

The gentlest tuck of her thumb beneath the leather cover, followed by the pressure of her fingers above made him tense, but he did not order her to stop. Nor did he close his eyes, though the self-protective force of his nature bade him to shut out the next few moments. Instead, he fixed his attention on her face, both grateful and remorseful that the moonlight at this angle cast more than half her features in its glow, making clear her every expression.

He felt the cool breeze rush beneath the mask in the process of being lifted and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, to prevent himself from crying out for her to stop.

She watched her motions as she set the mask on the ground then turned her head slowly back to look at him. For eternal beats of his swiftly pounding heart, she said nothing, her eyes following the ridges of skin that made up the pathetic excuse for a cheekbone, the malformed flesh that could hardly be called a nose, the sunken eyelid, the translucent and discolored flesh, and the red and blue veins bulging along the misshapen part of his brow. She said nothing…

And then she smiled.

He inhaled a shudder of breath at that beauteous smile, uncertain if his eyes deceived him. Gently she pressed her palm against the accursed side then bent to touch her lips to his.

Little impulses of shock popped along his nerve endings, intensified by her next whispered words.

"Erik, my Erik…after all these days - weeks without you, this is truly a beautiful face to behold."

It failed to matter that her words made no sense. It failed to matter that her gross exaggeration was rimmed in tears that hindered speech. All that held merit was this vibrant woman against him and the smile she gave so freely, followed by the faint caress of her laughter, in no way mocking but overcome with genuine happiness.

He lifted his hands to cradle her face, again bringing her close even as she leaned in toward him for his kiss. Tears he tried to restrain mingled with hers that fell freely.

He did not remember all of this life with her, no, but he was eager to learn and begin anew...

As his lips moved against hers and his long fingers entangled in her hair, his large hands cupping her skull, a little thrill went through Christine. He touched as if he had never touched her before. Tentative yet eager. Hopeful yet uncertain…as if he had never known the details of a woman and was experiencing that discovery for the first time.

He had taught her everything: to fear, and that she despised; to love, and that she cherished. When she first came to him in their marriage bed, unsure and timid, he taught her all of what love between a man and woman should entail.

He had forgotten more than he admitted; it was obvious in his nervous touch. But she remembered every tender and passionate moment that transpired between them.

They would start their union afresh, and now she would become his teacher...

The idea fanned the embers of her increasing desire, and slowly she brought herself up to sit atop him, fully straddling him, his hands falling from her head with the motion. At the hazy question in his darkened eyes, she clasped one of his hands with both of hers and lifted it to her breast. The manner in which his eyes flared with want, his breath drawn sharp, was gratifying. The feel of his large hand squeezing the soft globe, heavy with need, electrified her every nerve ending.

"This - my touch…" he rasped, his voice sliding over her like a sensual dark shimmer of velvet, "does it please you, Mon Ange?"

"Yes," she whispered, aching for the contact of his skin against hers. Not needing to be coaxed a second time, he brought his free hand up to cup her other breast, even as her hands went to the laces of her undergown and plucked loose the ties. She pulled the loosened neckline over her shoulders, allowing the material to fall to her elbows, its full descent impeded where his hands covered her. And then, in the next breath he stole hers, the barrier of linen replaced by the blaze of his hands upon her skin as he shifted his hold.

His eyes, awed and intrigued, followed the gentle motions of his long fingers that played her as if she were a fine instrument, newly discovered and long coveted. A frisson of delight tingled through her by his novel reaction, as if he was learning intimate knowledge of her for the first time – and in his mind, he was.

"I should like…" He lifted himself slightly with one hand, so that his head was only inches from her bared breasts. "I should like to taste the velvet of your skin beneath my lips. I wish to know what true beauty tastes like now that I have held it in my grasp…"

At his hesitation, and the lift of his eyes to hers, she realized he asked permission. She cradled his jaw within the light press of her fingers. "You have no need to ask," she reassured, softly bringing her upper body closer. "I am yours, my love, and I welcome - whatever you wish to give."

Her last words came as a gasp at the sudden sensation of his lips caressing then encircling the peak of her breast, which he cupped with one hand. His first ministrations were gentle, almost nonexistent. But as his confidence strengthened, his actions grew more decisive, the stroke of his tongue and nip of his teeth making her so very wet and warm…

"Beauty tastes of heat and sweetness," he whispered against her rigid crest. "And you are beautiful…so very beautiful, mon amour."

Christine could barely contain her need; she wanted him inside her so strongly, and as he laid claim to and adored each of her breasts, her own hands and lips were not idle. She held his head to her, kissing the crown, and moved her hands along his back and inside his loose tunic until her fingers could trace the raised scars. Slipping one hand between them, she rubbed her palm down the bulge of his trousers that encased him like a second skin. Relishing his groan, she felt for the fastening, ripping laces open as swiftly as she was able.

Finding what she desired, the urgency a desperation she gave full reign, she freed him and stroked her hand down the thick column of warmth, brushing with her thumb the bead of wetness at the tip. He emitted what sounded like a gasp enmeshed in a groan, his mouth barely sliding from her nipple.

"Christine," he half pleaded, half demanded in a voice of rough silk that swathed her senses, even as the heat of him inflamed her blood.

She raised herself so as to guide the throbbing length of him into her warm body, then sank against him with a soft moan at the delicious feel of his abundance so deeply inside.

Erik stared in a fog of stunned desire at the voluptuous nymph who slowly undulated her hips against his, producing a friction that was as much a pleasure as it was an agony, the sensation of her velvet, wet heat rubbing against his cock indescribable. This moment in time, a verity he once assumed would always remain a fantasy. Even with her so gracefully moving atop him, clearly savouring her own delight by the rapture of her shining face, he still found it difficult to believe in the truth of what transpired. That this angel-like goddess, with the moon casting a pearlescent glow over her perfect breasts, twin mounds of silvery-pale blue in the moonlight, eagerly sought to lie with him. Was indeed making love to him…he with the monstrous appellation for a face.

His Christine...

This was not their first time; she had told him that by her words and with her every bold action, and the fragmented shadows in his mind verified her claim. She moved with the skill of one well taught. It stunned him that he had been her teacher, he, who felt like no more than a novice. But as she rocked in a most sultry and sensual ballet, giving them both tremors of innate pleasure, his desire increased to volcanic proportions.

This was not their first time; no, he did not remember. But henceforth, he would cling to each memory of Christine with a vicious tenacity and live life with her to the fullest. What he did to deserve this remarkable woman, he failed to understand. He did not deserve her. But despite whatever embodiment of fate or faerie had erred in bringing them together, she was his, always to belong to him, and he would adore her with every breath.

His hands reached behind and beneath her gown that pooled around them, to clasp her bare buttocks – so smooth and round, so perfectly made to curve into his grasping palms.

His fingertips ghosted over crevices warm, the curls so soft and wet, and without meaning to he brushed against where they were joined as she again raised herself a few inches. The realization once more jarred him with the truth of their act. Though he felt himself inside her, God, how could he not, along with the awe that entailed, in the cloak of near-darkness to touch with his hands made their union even more real.

She hovered above, allowing his inquisitive touch to ghost along her damp flesh stretched and hugged so tightly around him. Her smile came sultry. Much more slowly she sank low, his fingers following the motion, until they were trapped in heat as their flesh fully met again, their nether curls rustling together as she leaned forward to place her palms on his shoulders.

"I know you don't remember all of our past, but there were times in the days after you introduced me to your Music of the Night," she admitted, her voice a husky kiss against his ears, "when I wished for this. To be with you. Exactly like this…"

She made another fluid circle with her hips, burying him deep, and grasped his head and shoulders, pulling him to her for her kiss. Slipping her tongue fully into his mouth, she rocked with him, moving her tongue with the same gradual motion. His hunger surpassed all sane boundaries of control, and he forgot all he did not know, the shadows urging him in what to do to aid in their pleasure.

Bringing his hands up to her shapely hips that had again lifted, he brought her down swift and hard, moving his own hips against hers and causing her to gasp with the tremors of sensation this caused inside. Perspiration beaded her luminous face, her motions coming a little more frantic as they strengthened their recumbent dance. Breaths quickened beyond soft pants, when suddenly she gave a long protracted groan, and he felt the most amazing and intimate sensation as her velvet walls constricted in shocking impulses around him.

Her eyes fluttered with satisfaction, her body slowing its motions. He pressed his palm low to her spine, his other hand gripping her thigh. In a swift motion that seized them both of breath, he turned them over so that she was beneath him.

"May I?" he growled softly, lifting her leg against his side. He felt her shudder against him, her eyes unfocused, dark, and wanting.

"Please, yes…"

He pulled his hips back and plunged in to the hilt, the motions of making love to her suddenly coming natural to him. The creamy sounds of their joining filled the dark night with a passionate strain of music, accompanied now and then by her delighted gasps and moans, interspersed with his own low, heartfelt exclamations. He pumped deeply inside her, his fluid strokes coming hard and harder still, until they both shuddered from an intrinsic release that instantly sapped them of all energy and left them melting into one another's embrace.

Before he could come to himself, to question if this truly had happened, to worry and wonder if she might have regrets to mate with a beast, Christine kissed his horrid, ravaged temple with tender lips.

"I love you so, Erik. I think I always have."

Overcome by her soft profession of adoration, in his exhaustion he could only squeeze out a scant few words in reply -

"And I, you..."

xXx

The insistent chirps of a sparrow mated with the chattering of some nearby forest creature brought Christine from slumber, to find herself nestled against a hard, warm body. Recognizing her husband without the need to open her eyes, she felt the bite of the chill air nip against bare shoulders and pulled the fur up closer around her neck. Her gown still lay about her waist, the hem riding up against her thighs, her legs entwined with his. He still wore his clothing, but she had been too exhausted to adjust her gown, slipping immediately into slumber, and did not care to bother with it now. Instead, she pressed her naked breasts against the warmth of his chest bared by the tunic that had parted with their lovemaking.

She should have fully stripped him last night, remorseful that impersonal linen prevented the delightful press of his heated flesh fully against her own. Slipping her hand into his tunic, she pressed her palm against the beating of his heart and closed her eyes, fully prepared to lose herself to dreams again while lying encased in fur and within her lover's arms.

She felt the light press of his lips in her hair and smiled.

"I had half-convinced myself that last night was but a dream, then I opened my eyes to find you lying here with me."

"And here, with you, is where I shall always stay." She lifted herself on one arm, the smile sliding from her lips to see that at some point in the night he had replaced his mask. Before she could question, he slipped his hand to the back of her scalp and pulled her in for his kiss; and for the present she was mollified.

He nibbled at her lips, breaking away to press his forehead to hers. "You are a most passionate woman. In all of creation, surely there is none like you."

"Did you…" She hated to ask but needed to know. "Did you remember anything last night. You seemed to…" Her face flushed with embarrassed warmth, but she went on, "to recall how we were together."

A slight smile twisted his lips. "Did I please you?"

"You need to ask?" She gave a light laugh. "I think, with what you can no longer remember, perhaps I will, um, fill in the lapses and relate our many encounters to you."

"Those of our sexual exploits together? I am intrigued."

Surely he only teased. Surely he did not expect her to speak in detail of their lovemaking!

Beneath the blanket, his hand took delightful liberties, clasping her side, while his thumb brushed back and forth over one roused nipple, making it difficult to form thoughts into sentences.

"Oui, ma damoiselle, I should like you to tell me everything you know of our experiences together."

She swallowed hard when he lightly pinched her nipple and rolled it between index finger and thumb.

"Oh, yes…um, yes, I will. There was the time I sang for coins, by the well..." She gasped at the swirl of pressure that spiraled toward her core with his gentle manipulations. "I..I have also thought, if we should not return to the campsite, m-maybe we should become…oh…um, like a singing troupe and travel – from village to village." She swallowed hard and gasped as he pulled down the fur to bring his lips to one pert globe.

Between kisses and pulls of the tender, hardened nub, he replied, "I will take that into consideration."

"What…?" she intoned dreamily. "Oh, yes. Right. Please do."

"Do what?" he asked slyly, sounding much like Le Masque, or perhaps, a man with newfound confidence that his love was requited and all expressions of it desired.

"Exactly that," she purred as he gave studied attention to driving her slowly insane with his seductive passion.

He tenderly suckled her needy breasts, even as his hand slipped between bare thighs and found the well of her warmth. He stroked her inside and out, as she loved to be stroked, and she wondered if perhaps some memory of their former intimacy had indeed revisited with the morn. There was no glimmer of the uncertainty and awe he exhibited last night, and under his skilled hands and lips, she felt as if she would combust and catch flame.

His head disappeared beneath the fur as he kissed a line of soft heat down her stomach, and she inhaled sharply, tensing with expectation at the touch of his lips near the crest of her damp curls.

The unmistakable thunder of distant hoofbeats intruded into the blissful moment. Christine let out a little yelp at the realization that their perfect solitude was about to be disrupted and jumped halfway to a sitting position. Erik froze then swore profusely. Coming up beneath the fur cover, he brought her half-discarded undergown up with him, helping her pull it swiftly over her shoulders. She turned her back to the source of the interruption and tied her laces while Erik jumped to his feet and fumbled to fasten his trousers. He threw his cloak around her shoulders in the split second before two horses appeared through the trees.

"My lord – it is you."

Christine felt relieved to see that it was only Le Masque's two most loyal cohorts, at the same time frustrated that they'd been found.

Eustace slipped off his horse after having greeted his leader with apparent relief, Tobias following suit. The youth glanced at Christine, his cheeks going ruddy, and gave a respectful nod.

"Milady…"

"Tobias." She returned the polite greeting and felt heat flash through her own face at the realization of what the two men would have witnessed, had their approach been more silent and come less than a minute earlier.

"We saw smoke from the campfire and assumed it was you," Eustace explained.

The Phantom pulled in a deep breath through his nostrils. "Why are you here?"

At his terse words, Eustace flinched. "There is trouble at the camp, my lord. You must return at once and put a stop to it."

Erik shared a look with Christine, and she saw all hope for their escape to another city disintegrate.

"Can you not take care of the matter?" Erik bit out.

Eustace looked at him in surprised confusion, clearly the reply unexpected for Le Masque to say. Which could cause more trouble for them, trouble they did not need.

Christine rose from the cocoon of furs to walk the short distance and stand by Erik's side. She caught his eye and slightly nodded, as did he, his gaze softening as he stared.

"Very well," he said, addressing his men. "We return to camp."

xXx

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed that! :D Reviews always appreciated – and thank you so much for them!