A/N: Surprise! : ) I really really wanted to get this up in time for Halloween, but a small home emergency destroyed that goal! Oh well - everything's fixed (I hope! lol) - and now I can post … I hope you guys enjoy! : ) I did borrow some lines from the movie to fit with the story, and this chapter strongly deserves the rating...

And now...


Chapter XXXVII

.

"A chorus girl? Don't be silly."

"She has been taking lessons from a great teacher," Madame Giry went on, extolling Christine's virtues.

Monsieur Andre's dark brows went up in skepticism and his taller companion frowned.

"Who?" Andre directed the question to Christine who had remained silent since Madame brought her forward for the managers' appraisal.

Why it should so astonish them that a chorus girl would audition for the lead role Christine failed to understand. Perhaps they were still so new to their positions that they did not realize the way things were run in a musical establishment. No doubt, they wanted a singer the public already considered a star – and surely her months' long absence from the Opera House did not aid her cause. Still, Christine did not appreciate their arrogance in treating her - who had been practically raised in the theatre - as if she was clueless and lacking in talent without even having heard her sing.

Granted, she had not known the name of her skilled teacher until recently, always thinking of him as her Angel of Music. If she satisfied Monsieur Andre's irksome curiosity with that name, they would surely think her daft and ban her from the role - possibly the theatre. Yet fairly certain that her reclusive husband would not appreciate his true name revealed to these pompous men – to anyone in the theatre – Christine told yet another little white lie. With the many frightening and startling revelations it seemed that she daily had come to encounter, deception was regrettably becoming second nature to her.

"I don't know his name, monsieur," she said meekly and felt Meg's sudden sharp stare.

"Let her sing for you," Madame Giry persuaded. "She has been well taught."

Andre sighed in grudging approval and shook his head of straggled gray hair. "Alright. Come along then…" He motioned for Christine to take her place up front, center stage. "Come, come - don't be shy."

"This is doing nothing for my nerves," Firmin complained to Andre, loud enough to be overheard.

Her own nerves felt frayed as every eye turned to watch, and Christine took a deep breath, recalling the detailed instruction of her Maestro throughout these past weeks and months. Her lessons coming not as often as she would have liked, but even his brief training had been most excellent. How she wished he could be here now, to watch and silently encourage. And yet, though she had left him behind a great distance away, in another country, she sensed him with her in spirit and concentrated on that feeling as she brought forth the first notes. It also helped to close her eyes and imagine him near.

Despite that the intro at first proved a little shaky, she soon found her anchor of tranquility that allowed her song to take flight.

The proof came at the end of the aria, when after her crystalline run of high notes, the short resulting silence was broken with boisterous applause from all around the stage.

"Yes, yes," Andre said, smiling wide and nodding, looking once to Monsieur Firmin then back again.

"We are agreed that you shall take on the role of understudy to La Carlotta," Monsieur Firmin spoke. "Should she not return by week's end, you will be required to take the stage for the performance. Be prepared should that eventuality occur."

To be awarded such a coveted role she could easily forget her earlier grievances against these men and smiled in gratitude. "Thank you, messieurs. I will not disappoint."

"See that you don't," Firmin advised in his high-handed manner, though with a kinder expression in his brown eyes than before. "Madame, I will leave you to it." He nodded once to Madame Giry, and both he and Andre exited the stage.

Meg wasted no time in rushing to her side. "Oh, Christine – how wonderful for you! And I'm certain the Phantom will be well pleased."

"The Phantom?" Christine looked at her friend curiously, also aware of a group of nearby chorus girls who shot her disgusted glances and talked quietly among themselves, clearly upset that they had not been given their chance to audition.

"Oh – that's right! You weren't here yet…" Noticing Christine's attention had strayed, Meg looked behind and let out a huff of annoyance. "Oh, don't mind them – they're just pea green with envy. Fits with the witches they are." She took hold of Christine's arm, steering her toward the dressing room Christine currently inhabited.

"It was before the rehearsal started," Meg went on, "Maman received another note from the Opera Ghost."

"Another note?"

"Yes, in the week before you arrived, there were two notes, detailing how 'his' theatre should be run," she explained. "That's how he speaks of it. Today his note brought up the audition, and that the managers should look to new arrivals to find what they needed." Meg thought a moment and smiled. "Why, that sounds as if he was describing you!"

"But why should he?" Christine insisted. "He doesn't know me. He's never even heard me sing."

"You don't know that for certain. If he's truly a ghost, chances are he's heard you at some point in years gone by."

"A ghost?" Christine laughed through the frisson of uncertainty that tingled down her spine. "More like a disgruntled worker, surely."

"But why would a disgruntled worker even care?"

Why indeed.

Later, alone in her dressing room, Meg's words came back to Christine as she fingered the bright red petals of a rose that had been left on the vanity table. A slender black ribbon of silk trailed from its stem.

"Little Lotte," a masculine voice came from the door, "forever living within a dream world of angels."

"Raoul," she said in surprised consternation, turning her head to face him. "Why are you here?"

"Now, is that any sort of proper greeting?" he said with a careless smile as he closed the door and approached her. "Granted, we have only been apart a matter of weeks, but I had hoped you might be pleased to see me."

"Pleased?" She regarded him incredulously, leaning away from him. "After what happened in the maze?"

He shook his head slightly. "What happened in the maze?"

"You cannot be serious." She looked at him hard, puzzled to see nothing but polite confusion in his blue eyes. "With Lucy?" she reminded, barely able to keep from hissing the words.

A somber expression crossed his features. "A damnable tragedy that, her falling into a demon's clutches." He squatted down before her, balancing on the toes of his boots. "I know it's difficult after what's happened, but there's nothing to be done but live on – and I hear you've been doing just that. Winning the part of understudy so soon after your return. I am impressed, Christine."

Mystified, she continued to stare, wishing she could see into his mind. "I don't speak of what happened to Lucy when she was first attacked – but of what happened later with her. In the maze."

He shook his head. "You're not making a jot of sense."

"When we were last together at Montmarte!"

"At the family tomb? That is the last I saw of you, my dear girl. If you assume differently, then you must have been dreaming," he said the words half in jest, half in concern.

She shook her head. How could he not remember something so horrible? Something so despicable. Had he blotted the incident from his mind out of guilt, unable to look in the mirror after what he had done?

And then it hit her.

Erik.

After she had run off in hysterics, he must have manipulated Raoul's mind to forget their presence in the maze as a safeguard – it did make a wicked kind of sense. He would have needed to wipe from Raoul's memory the terrible events that transpired, so as to continue with his own vital masquerade.

Christine blew out a disgruntled breath at the position in which this trapped her. She had no desire to talk to her cousin after he had so mercilessly killed Lucy - but could hardly use that as an excuse when he had no recollection of the foul deed ever happening! To give no reason at all for her icy behavior would no doubt arouse his ever-present suspicions. Yet she could not abide his carefree boyish charm at this time. Not when looking at him only brought to mind the horrid image of Lucy's frightened eyes and startled expression as he dealt her the killing blow.

Christine averted her gaze, wishing she could eradicate from her own memory Lucy's desiccated face, and tersely she shook her head in frustration, wishing to break free in more ways than one.

"I'm sorry, Raoul. I haven't time to spare for a visit. The performance begins in five days' time and I have much to accomplish should Carlotta not return."

"Oh," he said in disappointment. "Well, no matter." His easygoing manner resurfaced. "I have business with the managers over this Phantom fiend who's been wreaking havoc in the theatre but shall return to take you to supper."

"No, Raoul, I couldn't possibly go with you."

"Nonsense. Everyone must eat." He bounced to his feet. "I shall return for you promptly at seven o'clock. Be ready."

"No, Raoul, really –"

He paid her no heed, continuing out the door and through it, closing it behind him.

"Damn," she huffed softly in exasperation. Why did he never listen?!

Her eyes scanned the room, alighting on the single rose, and once more she plucked it from the table top.

Upon realizing Raoul had come to the theatre, she had thought the flower might be from him but now discounted that notion. He would have brought attention to its presence and made sure she had known he was the sender.

If not her cousin, then who?

"Maman received another note from the Opera Ghost, detailing how his theatre should be run…he said to look to new arrivals to find what they needed…"

Meg's earlier words revisited her mind.

A centuries' old ghost, with a passion for music, detailing how his theatre should be run… A phantasmal spectre whose face caused those who glimpsed it to fear... this same ghost who bore a mischievous bent, instigating pranks against the reigning diva to force her to abandon her post - which she had, leaving the role open …followed by a mysterious note, instructing the new managers to look to recent arrivals to acquire a new lead…

As if the events these past two weeks had been preordained, and certainly no accident or opportunity designed by chance.

Her eyes lifted from the blood red rose to her image and widened as a bewildering thought entered her mind. Impossible, surely. And yet, based on all she had encountered and endured these past months – quite probable. The longer she thought on it, the more she felt convinced.

Once again the sudden sensation that she was not alone – a feeling oft experienced while in this room – made her look around at the rose-print walls then toward the carved ivory ceiling. And though perhaps it was foolish, she addressed the empty chamber.

"Erik, are you there...? No, I know you're there." Silence met her query, but she only shook her head a little in determination and rose slowly to her feet. "Or perhaps I should address you as Phantom, since I now believe that you must be the notorious Ghost of this Opera House."

An unnerving span of silence ensued before Christine heard a click.

She turned toward the sound, facing the elaborate full length mirror that took up much of one wall. In stunned amazement she watched her image waver as the wide pane rolled to the right, the mirror also serving as a door to the other side!

Framed by the gold leaf border of the looking glass, he stood resplendent in black evening wear, his cloak billowing about his tall form. A white mask covered the right side of his face from cheek to brow.

The silence lay thick, tense and unnerving, as they stood no more than a few feet apart and stared at one another. Christine was the first to speak.

"Why did you not make yourself known to me before this?"

"You asked for time."

The coveted sound of his smooth, dark velvet voice caused her heart to trip a few beats faster, and she balled her hands at her hips for composure.

"Yet you have been hidden away, inside the theatre, watching me all along – watching since the day I arrived?"

Erik scoffed. "Did you truly think I would cease to watch over you, Christine? To cease to protect and be near you?" He stepped through the entryway. "I gave you what you needed, that for which you asked. Complete solitude from my company. But no, my dear. I have never been far."

He came to stand before her but did not touch her, and she tilted her head to look up into his mesmerizing eyes. Twin flames of golden light that both invited and compelled.

She should be infuriated that he would so slyly manipulate the situation to his preference, thus overshadowing her demands. But endless days and nights of missing him took the sting out of any betrayal, real or imagined, and Christine could only shake her head in resigned surrender.

As if recognizing he had won without a fight, his lips twisted into a half smile and he stretched out his gloved hand.

"Will you come with me? There is something I wish to show you."

She wondered why he would bother to ask; his queries often came as thinly disguised commands and this one was no exception. Nonetheless, her freewill no longer felt in her possession, though it wasn't any form of hypnotic magic that captured it so effortlessly, but rather a strong desire to be in her husband's company once again.

How many nights had she secretly hoped, prayed, yearned that he might suddenly appear...?

And she had received her most fervent wish.

While they stood a short distance apart and stared, each taking the other in as if they were one another's oasis within a desert of loneliness, a knock came at the door.

Christine furrowed her brow in frustration, glancing quickly over her shoulder toward it and then back to Erik.

"Christine?" Raoul queried from the other side. "There is something more I must tell you…Christine?"

Erik's jaw hardened, though the look in his eyes did not condemn, only questioned.

"I did not ask him to come," Christine said. "He wishes to take me to dinner. I told him no," she hurried to assure, noting the angry spark that lit her husband's eyes.

"The fool will not surrender."

"Christine? Whose is that voice? Open the door!"

Raoul tried the handle, and Christine realized the door was locked, though she had never locked it.

"Why will you not answer?"

Erik swore beneath his breath, and Christine made her decision.

She wore no more than a filmy lace dressing gown over her short costume chemise and corset and silk slippers over her white stockings but did not hesitate to slip her hand into her husband's ice-cold one.

"Take me where you will."

Thankfully, no further disturbance came from outside the door, and she presumed Raoul had at last given up.

Erik's lips lifted into a satisfied smile as he led her through the opening and into the corridor beyond...

With his free hand he tripped a lever that brought the pane of glass back into place. Her eyes widened when she saw what had been his view – the dressing room in clear, perfect detail, the mirror acting as a pane of glass from this side, and she shot him a look of disbelief.

His grin widened into what could only be construed as wicked.

Her cheeks heated when she thought of the many times she had disrobed without the aid of the dressing screen, sometimes walking through the room in next to nothing, thinking herself alone in a locked chamber…

By the sudden gleam in his eye she had been mistaken.

"Tell me," she found her voice as he began to lead her away, "did you construct that door in the mirror?"

"It has been one of my many projects since I first came to this establishment."

"And how long ago was that?"

He turned his head briefly to cast a look in her direction. His mask did not cover his eyes, of course, but the golden orbs contained their own enigmatic concealment, glowing in the semi-darkness.

"Erik…?" she prodded when it did not seem as if he would speak.

"I financed the construction of the theatre," he admitted at last.

She stopped in shock and gaped at him, causing him also to halt and turn to her.

"You?"

"Yes." He tugged on her hand to continue onward, his pace increasing as if to speak of such things made him restless, and she realized he had probably never divulged these facts to anyone. "In truth, I am the owner of the Opera House and the plot of land on which it sits. While builders constructed the obvious, I crafted in secret. Hidden doors, secret entrances and more."

Once again he astounded her with his words.

"But the new managers," she said in confusion. "I thought they were the owners."

"In this era, it is believed that they are. I can hardly come forward and stake my claim. I possess the original deed thought to have been lost in a fire over a century ago."

As he led her through corridors of rock and down to the next cellar, she struggled to absorb all he told her. "But if you came forward as an ancestor, with the deed, could you not dispute it?"

"It matters not," he said unconcerned. "I have no wish to drag the case through the courts, not when the majority of my life must be kept secret. What is of import is that my kind recognizes ownership. My enemies cannot step foot across the threshold without invitation, which will never be given. While in my theatre or beneath it, you will be safe."

"Beneath it?"

"Yes, it is what I wish to show you."

His reply inscrutable as it so often was, he evaded her question, and she contented herself that soon she would understand the full mystery.

x

They soon approached the third cellar, which appeared even darker than the one before it. Dim white light came from some unknown source above, evading the shadows that masked a stack of distant barrels in darker silhouette, and Meg's chilling words came as a reminder.

"I have heard that a human skeleton was found here…" She hesitated when he made no remark. "Did you know of it?"

"I heard the reports."

Christine had never come this far below and filled the silence with words to stem her unease.

"They say the bones must be over a century old and believe them to belong to the Opera Ghost."

Erik huffed a scornful laugh and shook his head.

"Though we both know that to be untrue, since you are the Opera Ghost. Where are we going?"

He must have heard the sudden hitch of nervousness in her voice for he spun swiftly toward her, his hand tightening almost painfully on hers.

"Do you no longer trust me, Christine? Has that boy filled your head with his absurd notions and finally turned you against me?"

She lifted her chin. "Do you see me running?"

"In body, no, but in your mind…"

"I have never liked the darkness, as you well know, and it is so very dark down here," she stated simply. "Nor have I ever come this far." As children, she and Meg had only investigated their way down to the torch-lit second cellar where the storage of old props was kept then hurried back before they were missed.

He gave a curt nod. "Pardon the oversight. I require no light to see." He continued to walk with her but at the next unlit wall torch they came across, he stopped and waved his free hand over it. A sudden spark burst into flame, not to her surprise, and he took the torch as a guiding beacon.

She trusted him or she wouldn't be here, but the presence of the warm golden glow now lighting the dank path strung with cobwebs helped to calm her fear of the unknown. She refused to think of where their vicious little inhabitants might be...

They descended yet again. She counted four, long, stone staircases they had traversed in their mysterious journey – ending in a fifth cellar. She had not known that many existed. Nor had she been aware an underground lake took up much of the area. Those brave fools who had searched through the dark, twisting corridors with their hidden traps had never made it this far to tell the story. Strange, they had not come across a snare yet, though Erik must know the location of their existence to avoid them, and she realized too that he must have been their designer. But why bother, if his foes could not cross the threshold due to the laws of their kind? And why did it matter if a mortal were to come down here? Could Erik not simply disappear or manipulate their mind if they should see him?

Countless questions begged for answers but the walk had exhausted her and she resolved that enlightenment would have to wait. Unfortunately that did not keep the unspoken queries from drumming in her mind.

He led her to a sleek black gondola with intricate gold décor, including a skull of gold mounted at its prow, and lit a lantern that hung near it then doused the torch. She accepted his help into the boat and gratefully sank to its plank seat, stunned by the luxury of the vessel – or even that one existed here. Clearly his personal mode of transport. But for what purpose? Why should he need a boat to traverse an underground lake? Why be here at all?

He stepped in behind her and grabbed the long pole that leaned against the cavern wall.

The shock of learning that Erik was the Phantom of the Opera was eclipsed a short time later when they approached a huge portcullis. Christine watched in utter bafflement as a layer of concealing stone magically lifted, a set of massive curtains parted, and an iron gate made its ascent.

Surely she must be dreaming, the idea magnified when they entered a large rock grotto and all around the sleek boat a myriad of black candelabrum began to rise above the water. Once the slim tapers hit the air, they magically came alight with flames.

Impossible…

And yet, since meeting Erik the improbable had become what was real.

Bedazzled, she looked all around the huge chamber, noting a short stairway that led to a dais upon which an elaborate pipe organ sat – an organ of all things! And so far beneath the earth…

Furnishings stood everywhere, tapestries hung suspended from high rock walls, while golden statues and chests and tables with all manner of utensils, books, and bric-a-brac were scattered near and far. A violin case rested on a table nearby. Up another short stairwell leading from the dais stood a second, smaller chamber, this one holding an enormous bed enshrouded with black veils, the bed itself made of gold and carved into the shape of what looked like some sort of majestic fowl. Everywhere ivory candles stood or had been mounted to the walls, lighting the enormous lake room with a mystical, golden incandescence.

Great pains had been taken to make this a home in which to abide, sparing no comfort or luxury. Clearly, the cavern had become yet another of Erik's dwelling places.

He had stepped out of the boat and stood on the stone bank, giving her a moment to take in her surroundings. When she again regarded him, he held out his hand to help her to rise and step from the boat, which she did, coming to stand before him while keeping her hand in his gloved one.

"I don't understand," she said. "Have you given up your room at the hotel?"

"No. However, these environs are safer."

Secreted away through trap-laden, hidden passages, five levels beneath the earth, she could recognize the verity of such words.

"I have many questions."

"Might we table any further discussion until later?"

"If you wish."

"Oh, I do."

To her shock and delight, his hands lifted to cradle her face, his mouth swiftly descending to hers. Only when his lips made contact did the rush of need flood Christine's soul, to acknowledge just how much she had missed him, how intensely she ached for him…

Her arms swiftly wound around his neck as she pressed herself close to his chill form.

With a low growl, he gathered her to himself. A soft whimper of eagerness caught in the back of her throat, and, with his lips never leaving hers, he swung her up into his arms and began to walk with her to the stone staircase.

He pulled away from her lips only to give attention to ascend the steep narrow steps, but she did not cease with kissing his jaw, his neck, his ear – wherever she could reach. He brought her to the wide, round bed and laid her upon its cold coverlet. However, instead of ravishing her as she wished, he only stood and looked down at her.

Suddenly apprehensive to understand the quicksilver change to his somber manner, she struggled to raise herself to rest on her elbows. No tapers lit this chamber, but with the strong candlelight outside its entrance, there was no need and she could see clearly.

"Erik?"

"I have known ten kinds of hell apart from you, always watching from afar, never able to draw near."

She sat up fully, alert to the undertone of despair in his velvet voice. "I am here now."

"Yes, but for how long?"

She shook her head. "I don't understand what you're asking."

He sank to sit on the bed beside her, planting one hand on the coverlet near her hip as he leaned closer.

"Will you remain here? With me?"

"Tonight?"

"For the entirety of our stay at the Opera House."

She shook her head in confusion. "What of the opera itself? I thought you arranged my position as understudy…you did, didn't you?"

He gave her a slight smile. "You are very wise, my dear. You would still sing for me, for them, as I have long wished. I would come to collect you at the end of each day."

She thought a moment. "I should like nothing more than to spend my nights with you, but, Erik…" She hesitated.

"Yes?" His urging came impatient.

"It is a great distance here, and I have become negligent these past months. So long without my daily practice I fear I shall fall into a swoon by the time I arrive to the stage and be unfit for rehearsal. Could we not stay at the hotel instead?"

"Not at this time." He lifted his hand to caress one side of her face. "I will make arrangements for the journey to be less enervating for you."

"Or perhaps you could just wave us there and here in a matter of seconds?"

He chuckled. "I could, though do keep in mind when I use such powers I need blood to recover my own strength."

"Oh."

Noting her slight withdrawal, he cursed his own tongue. In truth, he had not felt the animalistic craving to feed as a requirement to exist since Christine had saved him with her blood – an oddity, certainly, and no doubt associated with her being marked as a slayer. But he did not count it wise to tell her that.

"Let us not speak of such things...," he ordered, bringing his hand to the satin ribbons that held her dressing gown in place and tugging them free. "...Not now, when I wish only to bed my beautiful wife."

Noticing the links of the chain around her neck, he plucked the amulet from its concealment between her breasts, heat singeing through the glove that protected his hands from the silver's damaging interaction. Carefully, he lifted the despised pendant over her head and away, setting it on a bedside table. He then drew the ivory lace of her dressing gown past her shoulders, while pressing his mouth to her delicate clavicle. His lips trailed up to her throat and he felt the deep shudder that suddenly coursed through her body as his tongue tasted her flesh.

In dismay, he pulled back, bitterly resigned to the rejection that had become so commonplace since she discovered the entirety of the monster he was -

Surprised when her small hands clamped firmly on his shoulders to prevent his further retreat.

"It's not you," she stated firmly, discerning his thoughts. "Well, it is," she changed her mind, "but from pleasure, not disgust – and also, it is so very cold in this place."

Another hindrance that did not affect him adversely, and Erik realized he would need to learn his fragile wife's needs, always to discern how she would see things and feel them since they were diverse from his own vampyric senses. It had been a very long time since he, too, was mortal.

"I assure you, mon amour, I shall soon warm every part of you," he vowed silkily, and she gasped when his lips made a downward path to the round of her breast. A few more impatient tweaks of satin ribbons and hooks and the corset that bound her was blessedly removed. Through the thin chemise he gently tweaked her pert nipple with his lips, exulting in the little cry she gave and the feel of her fingers threading through his hair.

He longed to bare her body to his hungry gaze but her earlier complaint of the freezing cold stopped him, and from previous experience with her he knew that his icy touch brought its own discomfort, even with the gloves. He could not help but notice the gooseflesh that now dimpled her arms. Nor would the bedding prove comfortable, needing first to be warmed of its icy chill.

Making a decision, he stood and swept her up into his arms, immediately turning on his heel and swiftly exiting the bedchamber.

"Erik?" she said in some consternation, wrapping her arms around his neck for balance as he shot down the stairs.

"Our exclusive moments with one another will no longer be a test of endurance for you. You shall have all the pleasure you can stand and nothing more."

Intent on his destination, he paid little heed to her reaction until he reached the thick pile rug of ivory by the unlit hearth. A glimpse in her direction showed her eyes had gone round and luminous with astonishment.

He frowned. "Is it so astounding that I would wish to seek your comfort?"

"No, of course not." Her words came a trifle husky. "You always do, in every area of my life. It is only that you never cease to leave me breathless with the wonder of you."

He smiled in satisfaction with her answer. Gently he set her down and turned to the hearth, pleased to see he would not need to obtain wood. In a matter of seconds, a fire blazed a few feet from them, and once more he turned to her, loath to gratify his lust that had been held at bay a moment longer.

A fortnight absent of her presence had been to him a small eternity. Centuries lived seemed shorter in comparison. She had become as essential to him as the blood on which he thrived. Indeed, life without her presented its own form of death.

He pulled the drawstring ribbon at her neck, widening the neckline of her chemise and slipping it over her shoulders. It sank to her hips, another swift tug causing it to fall and pool at her feet. She still wore her slippers and white stockings, but other than that she was gloriously bare, and his eyes blazed with the fires of hunger as he took in her glistening porcelain skin from throat to thigh. God she was beautiful…

She gave another little shiver, but this time he did not presume it to be from the cold, and she stepped closer to him, putting her hands to his ascot and quickly untying it then moving her fingers to unbutton his waistcoat.

The nearby flames produced a necessary heat previously missing. This time he did not warn her of the chill she would embrace; she knew what it was to be with him, and he anticipated the warmth she would give.

Erik doffed his cloak while Christine pulled away his frock coat and waistcoat. He then helped her with the remainder, at last bringing her down to lie beneath him on the expansive fur rug. Their mouths eagerly sought one another, tongue entwining with tongue. She gave no complaint to feel his icy flesh pressed to her warmer skin but could not restrain a shiver once his ungloved hand met the satin of her inner thigh. Yet rather than shy away she moved her leg closer, resting her calf against his side.

He slid her slippers off with ease and hooked his fingers into the top of one stocking, rolling it all the way down and off her foot, then did the same with the other. His mouth and tongue trailed a sensual path up the inside of her leg, past her knee, to her most glorious secret of secrets. She moaned to feel his lips there, spreading her legs wider to accommodate him …

He was more than happy to comply.

She writhed in ecstasy under his hungry lips and tongue, softly calling out his name. Sooner than expected, the beast roared forth from within, his fangs jutting out from their concealment, and he drew back momentarily.

The recollection of the sweet taste of her blood tempted his appetite for more, and monster that he was, he was helpless to resist…

One gentle slide against her wet flesh, the prick of one fang, and a crimson bead appeared, instantly pooling into a thick droplet – the result ambrosia to him. The heady taste of her desire mixed with her fresh, pure blood proved a delicacy to his tongue, reminiscent of their first time together when she was but a maiden and he had dared to taste of her lost virginity.

At first when he lightly dragged his fang against her fold, she gasped and went completely still though did not push him away. But now, as he deeply laved her, careful not to let his fangs cause further damage, her moans came more frequent and she grabbed hold of his head to keep him in place.

He had no desire to go.

Lost within the ecstasy of his making, Christine was barely aware though she did feel the flat of his fangs and earlier a little thrill of shock at the deliberate sting one of them inflicted. He took her ever higher on the plateau of desire until her body intensely trembled with the culmination of release.

His tongue licked where the sting had been, one slow, gentle swipe, then he moved his hand to adjust his mask back into place. Still holding his head, she stopped him by putting her own hand there, deliberately touching the ridged flesh that was exposed.

"No, Erik," she said, her voice husky. "I think I have proved …many times over… that isn't necessary. And when we are close, like this…a hindrance I can do without."

He hesitated and she thought he might argue the point, but he only nodded, allowing her to slip the mask free. Immediately she tugged on his shoulders to come closer.

Once he crawled up to meet her, she stared at his ravaged face, at his eyes gleaming both red and gold, noticed also the tips of his fangs his upper lip concealed. Her eyes remained there a moment as she recalled the incredible sensations that had coursed through her every fiber when he drank from her wrist.

"You bit me," she said, her voice soft and absent of accusation.

His expression grew wary. "I…" Whatever he was going to say, he changed his mind. "Yes."

"It's alright." Her hand stroked his cheek. "I don't mind."

Her soft assurance brought the flames to dance in his eyes, and he stretched himself out over her, grabbing her wrists, bringing them near her head and pinning her to the rug.

"Be careful with what you say, my dear," his voice came as a silken manacle she sought to chain her. "You may have cause to regret it."

Never would he bring her to harm or allow harm to come to her; this she knew. The slayer within was silenced, all she could think about the unexpected bliss when his fangs had sunk into her flesh and she had given him her lifeblood, a dark part of her nature she had not heretofore realized craving to relive the experience.

"I am being sincere, Erik. I no longer fear your bite."

Christine gasped as he suddenly slid inside her wet warmth, filling her utterly. His strokes came long and slow and deep, causing her to tilt her head back in breathless delight, fully exposing her neck, as the fire again stirred low within her belly where his manhood reached. His hand covered her breast and squeezed, his fingers rolling her nipple between them and tweaking little shocks that coursed throughout her body with the motion.

He brought his lips to trace her throat, his tongue laving its hollow before he moved his mouth to just below her ear.

"Are you giving your consent, sweet Christine?" His voice was dark, liquid gold – thick and molten and dangerous –and she heard the undercurrent of excitement at its core.

She should refuse but could not.

"Yes."

She heard him give a low, guttural growl and closed her eyes, not from fear but with a heady expectation.

He pulled his hips back and once again thrust deep, burying himself far within her core, immediately sinking his fangs deep into her neck. She cried out at the pain and the pleasure and as he began to drink – the profound euphoria that encapsulated her, body, mind and soul.

With each long, penetrating stroke coupled with each slow and deep suckle, he brought her to a feverish sort of bliss until she felt weightless and so in tune with him she was certain they were moving and floating as one being. She would not be surprised to open her eyes and see clouds all around, that entwined they had been lifted to the dark, starry heavens...

As her own desire grew to a fever pitch, the tumult of sensations rollicked around and inside her, above and beneath – she felt almost frantic with the extremity and range of high emotion, as well as the urgent need for physical release, the delight a wildfire spreading fierce and fast, surging through her veins, almost too much to endure and so much more intense than she had known before.

He secured his mouth more firmly around her neck and began to pound his desire into her body. Her legs trembled but wrapped around his, readily taking all he gave and giving all he took. At some point he had freed her hands, and she raked her nails across his back and shoulders, lifting them to his head and losing her fingers in the thick black strands… holding him to her, never wishing to let go while concurrently hoping for the crashing tide to wane before she was pulled under and lost forever…

Explosion after explosion rocked Christine as she shattered, the pieces of her soul and heart like so many fragments floating and slowly dissolving back into her tingling body, at the same time her lover found his own fiery completion.

Only once they were both spent did Erik remove his fangs from her neck, immediately laving the deep puncture wounds there and closing them with his tongue pricked to release his own healing blood. He watched in satisfaction as the twin holes faded and disappeared from sight.

Alert and leery of her continued silence, he pulled back to look at her. She stared up at him, her eyes unfocused and glazed over, her skin highly flushed.

"Are you alright?" he asked, fearing he had taken too much though he had not feasted on her blood to slake his beastly appetite, which had become almost nonexistent, but rather to savor its sweet purity, drinking from her at his leisure. He had not taken enough that she should be listless or completely weakened as she had been the first time he fed off of her.

"Yes, I'm fine..."

Her voice did not reassure, sounding vacant and hardly there.

"Truly," she insisted, her words slurring slightly. "That was …incredible. I never knew…"

"Perhaps I should acquire some sustenance for you."

"I would much rather you hold me ...and we share in each other's warmth while it lasts."

Her sweet words came sluggish but were a lure too great to resist, and he grabbed his cloak that lay near them, covering them both within its satin folds. She snuggled into his body resting her head against his chest and embracing him, instantly falling into deep slumber.

Concern led Erik to watch her for long moments, until reassured by the slow but steady beats of her heart, he too closed his eyes to sleep, a rarity for him to indulge in such a mortal requirement. Yet in his beloved's arms, with her nakedness against his own, want became as essential as need and within their brief, combined warmth, a coveted pleasure in which to partake.

When the dawn came and they would again talk, he only hoped she would not feel betrayed by what he must share.

xXx


A/N: Uh oh...wonder what that's about? ;-) ...

Thank you again for the reviews! : ) Hope the chapter satisfied.