A/N: Ah, we have arrived…and now I must say the words many of you have been waiting and hoping and begging to read: this chapter strongly deserves the rating. (Honestly, I'm a bit nervous about this - but have gone over it countless times to make it fit these characters for who/what they are and how I have written them...I hope I have succeeded.)

And now…


XXIII

.

Despite her ready surrender to his terms, Erik held back, having one more thing he must say. One more thing she must know, what he, himself, must hear…

"Know this, Christine. After what transpires between us this night, I will not hold you to the vows we have made together..."

Unable to refrain from touching her, even while he delivered so contrary a statement, he brought the back of his knuckles to trace the slender line of her jaw, the tips of his fingers to brush down her neck to the shallow dip in her throat and the pulse that beat so rapidly there.

"I have said I will never again leave you and will honor those words. But at the appointed time agreed upon, should you wish to end this marriage and return to Paris alone, I'll not prevent it. I vowed never to ask anything of you that would give a moment's regret, and I fear, dear one, that you will come to regret this."

"No, Erik. I won't."

Her words came soft with conviction, but her eyes reminded him of a doe's eyes, big and vulnerable and shining bright with nervous uncertainty.

When first he entertained the idea of finding pleasure with her in the darkness, he had not known then her level of fear with regard to it, not until tonight at the opera. After witnessing her terrified response to the hidden corridor when absent of all light, he had resigned himself then that such a plan would never work. That to coexist in wedlock they must remain physically distant, to prevent the continual threat of discovery…

But she had agreed.

To realize that all he had coveted since he encountered this remarkable woman on the night of Samhain could actually be his to possess sent a vehement rush of energy coursing through his veins. Over half a century ago he had renounced the primitive act, no longer finding pleasure in coitus when linked with the necessary shield of compulsion. But this night would be different. This night he would have a woman in his arms who chose of her own freewill to give herself over to him ... this woman. His living bride.

Within the cover of darkness, upon which he insisted, he could explore every provocative curve and hollow she possessed. She would never see him to know what held her. Within the darkness – that which he needed – she would never discover the truth that she lay with a monster, one of the undead.

He had tried to tell her without exposing the odious revelation, to give her every opportunity to withdraw. She would not hear and refused to heed his repeated warning. She had crossed the dark boundaries into his tortured life and hollow heart –

And now she was his.

Christine's heart skipped a nervous beat as Erik's hand lowered to her fist that clutched the bodice self-consciously to her breasts.

"If I may?" His low words inquired while his eyes issued a demand.

She barely nodded as his fingertips stroked the back of her hand to tight knuckles until his touch spread to cover them and slowly but firmly loosed her numb grip. The gown fell with a rustle of velvet around her ankles and she gave a little indrawn hiss of breath at the shock of it.

Eyes of gold mesmerized and held her rapt in his gaze which then lowered to take her in. His exposed brow lifted slightly in bemused interest to see the trappings that society dictated essential. Christine also considered various modes of high fashion preposterous. Yet any embarrassment to be seen in such a state melted away in the blaze of the look he gave.

With intent, his hands went to the satin ribbons at her waist that held the lobster bustle against her and deftly undid the tight knot. The tiers of ruffled padding that covered her derriere to ankles fell to join with the gown on the floor. As he watched his progress, his lips twisted in a satisfied half smile that could only be deemed as wicked. She struggled to breathe as slowly he walked around to stand behind her and untied both petticoats in two swift tugs. They too fell around her ankles...

With each item cast aside, Christine shivered to be so scantily clad. The one lamp he'd lit was distant, but to her mind, unbearably bright to reveal her womanly secrets to his unwavering gaze.

He came back around and as if sensing her discomfiture, held out his hand to her. She hesitated only slightly and placed her palm in his, stepping over the pool of discarded garments as he led, walking backwards, and she followed to the shadowed area near his bedchamber. Her eyes flicked to the closed door.

"Do you fear me, Christine," he asked quietly.

"No."

How many times had he asked her that since she'd known him? So many…

He pressed a hand beneath her collarbone, and she trembled at its chill.

"Your heart races in fear."

"Not because of you. Not in fear. Not really."

At her muddled response, she briefly closed her eyes and took in a breath to seek composure. In truth, she was both relieved and nervous that he'd taken the initiative to continue with what she'd asked of him earlier. She didn't think she had the temerity to cast off so many layers with those hypnotic eyes so intensely fixed upon her.

They lowered from her face to burn a path to the front of her satin corset, his hands again moving, to the first hook. As it released, her pulse beat a little more swiftly, at war with the ease that each give of the stiff boning produced.

As he had done with the buttons of her gown, his progress was seductively slow, each hook as it popped free pushing a breath from her lungs while the need that drove her to be with him pulsed heavier with each snap. The corset fell away and he tossed it aside, his eyes never leaving her.

Now clad only in her knee-length drawers, white stockings and chemise, the straps of the thinnest lace which fell down her shoulders, she struggled not to cross her arms over her breasts and hips, all too aware the dim shadow of her true form could be seen through the lightweight material.

He stared, motionless, without expression. If not for the fire in his eyes and the marked elevation to his breathing, apparent by the swift rise and fall of his chest, she might think him turned to porcelain, like his mask.

Feeling awkward to stand before him in dishabille and so vulnerable while he yet stood fully clothed, Christine lifted trembling hands to the lapels of his tail coat and pulled it from his broad shoulders. He stiffened, his hands flying up to firmly grasp her by the elbows, and she lifted her eyes to glimpse wariness in his. When he made no further move to stop her, she slowly brought the coat down his upper arms, unwilling to be denied. He released her, and she gave one last tug, letting it fall to the floor.

Her hands lifted to his cravat, loosening it, when suddenly his hands wrapped around her wrists. He pulled them slightly away, bending his head to brush his lips into the curve of her palm, then in a rapid move that seized what little breath she had left, he released his hold and swept her up into his strong arms.

With her mind in a chaotic whirl, she was vaguely aware that he strode with her into his bedchamber and the large four-poster that stood there – when the door slammed shut as suddenly as it had blown open and the blackness fell all around.

x

Every muscle in her body tensed and froze as for the second time that night absolute darkness threatened. Only this darkness was not soon to be relieved by a candle's reassuring flame. This darkness would continue on and on...

Christine struggled to fight the encroaching fear that had been a part of her for so very long, lurking deep within crevices of childhood memories she'd been too young to later recall. But the unseen terror overshadowed any attempt made, and she could think of nothing else.

Though she tried, desperately she tried...

Erik stood at the edge of the bed, feeling how she'd begun to tremble in his arms. He could hear the beats of her heart escalate as the blood rushed through her veins and sensed her horror. He might think his show of impatience to blame for her sudden lapse into fear and for magically controlling the door - had he not earlier that night heard from her lips the truth of the matter.

"Christine," he said softly, "the darkness cannot hurt you."

"No," she whimpered barely above a whisper, shaking her head against his shoulder. "There is danger there. And death."

Death...

Sensing that this phobia stemmed from more than a common fear visited in childhood - (though he did not believe her able to sense what he was and still cling to him with such trust) - Erik held her close a moment, touching his lips to the curls at her crown, then laid her carefully on the bed.

"There is no danger in this darkness," he reassured. "There is only you and I."

Her hands reached for him as he drew back, a desperate clutch of his shirt to keep him with her. She was immune to his control, he could not manipulate her mind into obedience to his command as with all other mortals, and thereby convince her to let go of this senseless terror, but in recalling her girlhood reaction to the angel's song, he used its familiar method to soothe her.

"Christine, Christine…"

His hands cupped her face as he brought his lips near hers.

"Chriiiiiistine…"

The stirring sound of his tenor voice singing her true name and not the false one she had once given her Angel, caused her to go limp beneath him, the beats of her heart easing into a more temperate rhythm. At the gentle press of his cool lips against hers, she relaxed her hold on his shirt, sliding her hands up to clasp the top of his shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"There is no need..." His fingertips traced her jaw. "Let this darkness we inhabit be to you a haven. I am with you and will let no harm come to you. Let me show you the beauty to be found here, the beauty in the night..."

It was disconcerting to stare wide-eyed and not be able to see him, only the pervasive blackness all around. She opened her mouth to protest that darkness could be anything but a terror but no sound came forth, save for the whimpered little gasp that escaped her lips as his hands fell away, one of them covering her breast. All thought fled as she knew only the touch of that hand…

Through thin material, his skin was a shock, like ice. His fingers gently kneaded, his thumb brushing over her nipple, pinching softly, and she gave a sharp intake of breath as what felt like the tiniest of bubbles fizzed warmly inside her.

Instantly, he pulled away.

"My touch, does it displease you?"

"No," she said in swift reply, bemoaning the loss. "Please... don't stop."

In such a thick sea of darkness never before allowed, Christine felt lost. His desired touch and silken voice became the grounding point to keep her fixed and the anchor to prevent her from going adrift into waters unknown and terrifying.

His hand resumed its light exploration against her clothing, fingers smoothing over rib cage and belly, down to the top of her thigh, his chill touch creating a steady fire that began to build inside her. When suddenly his mouth covered the chemise over her breast and gave a faint suckle, sending a jolt through her that made her softly cry out and clutch the back of his skull. Her hand tangled in the ribbon holding the queue at his nape and pulled it away, wishing to feel the silken strands of his hair between her fingers.

She felt the top of her chemise dragged downward and cried out a second time when the heat of his mouth made direct contact with her breast, the change startling to her senses. Fire flamed low to her belly, a pleasant warmth seeping between her legs, as his lips teased with slow measure and his tongue laved her. His hand stroked a tantalizing path from inside her knee up to her thigh. Her eyes suddenly shot wide open as his fingers edged into the slit of her drawers, and a wayward burst of shocked modesty made her grasp his wrist to stop him.

"Does this displease you?" His voice rasped low, softer than before.

"No," she breathed.

Given permission, his fingers rubbed the slickness there. This time, it was he who drew a sharp intake of breath, to find her so warm and so wet…

Erik had never lain in actual repose with a woman, his exploits of past centuries taking place standing or seated, often brief encounters in shadowed back alleys, and never with a strumpet who wasn't under his spell, silent and malleable, a puppet to his whim. Thus, he felt at a loss when he pulled away to stand and Christine's supple body immediately stiffened and followed before he could do more than sit up, her arms reaching out for him in anxious demand.

"Erik!"

"I am not going anywhere, dear one." He had thought to put on his gloves and make the experience more tolerable for her, but she found and grasped his icy hand with both of hers, bringing it back to hold between her breasts, trapping him there.

Few women of his past had been unclothed, and of those few, none appealed as much as the white-clad beauty before him. He desired to see the entire span of her creamy skin and ached to tear the remainder of undergarments away, but he understood by her desperate reach for him that her pronounced dread of the darkness had not yet been fully subdued.

"Christine, listen to the voice…" he began, wrapping her in its silken cocoon, "…of the angel who dwelled in the darkness to be to you a companion. It has long been a domain I have inhabited, and I swear I'll not let it harm you."

Her fierce grip on his hand loosened, and as he pulled away he began to hum.

Christine lay down again, her soul finding ease as she listened to the beauty of his voice...

It was foolish to act so infantile. She did not want to be like this! If she could only curb her involuntary reactions to such utter darkness, she wouldn't hesitate to do so. She despised the control it had assumed over her life and did not want him to think less of her for it...did not want him to think her a child and lose interest...did not want this moment to end.

Simply put, she wanted. Deeply. And she would not let the fear rob her of this night.

His hands returned, reaching beneath the wide leg of her silky drawers and up her clothed thigh to untie the ribbon that fastened her stocking. She trembled anew as he drew it down over her ankle and did the same with its twin, her reaction not so much due to his cold flesh brushing hers with the motion, but arising out of the fire he kindled with every breath.

She felt the give of the mattress as he sat near her hip. All the while he hummed, his hands going beneath her shoulders and gently lifting her to rise. She sat up again, heart racing for what he would do next, then felt him take hold of her chemise and pull it slowly up over her head, and lifting her arms, she aided him.

The room was dark as a moonless night, darker, but by his precise movements and certain touch, Christine sensed he could see what she could not and modestly lifted her hands to cover bare breasts. He continued to hum an aria she remembered from childhood, and by that sweet sound, she could tell where he was at all times as he moved around the foot of the bed and she heard the whispered rustle of covers pulled down on the opposite side. She did not trust herself to crawl toward the sound, for surely that is what he intended, but she feared misjudging distance and falling to the hard floor. His voice floated to her left as he returned to where she sat on the made-up part of the coverlet and again lifted her in his arms.

In shy relief, she tucked her head beneath his chin as he carried her to the other side of the wide mattress and laid her down again, then heard the thunks of his shoes hitting the rug. His hand went to her hip and she felt him draw near. She pressed her palm to his chest to stop him. The humming abruptly ceased.

x

"Are you not going to remove your clothes also?"

There was a pause of tense silence.

"You cannot want that," he refused.

"And if I do?"

His skin was a shock to her senses, especially when he caressed sensitive areas never having known a touch, and at first contact the experience, with no layers of material between to alleviate the chill, did make her shiver in slight discomfort. In the next instant her body adapted to the feel of his uniqueness and wanted to know more. She had no intention to lie here half naked while he remained fully clothed.

She smoothed the hand held pressed to him up to his shoulder. "Please, Erik…"

"No, Christine. I have seen how my affliction causes you distress."

His affliction. His clipped response answered her unspoken question of why, but did nothing to change her resolve to fully know him as a wife would know her husband.

His lips brushed hers, and as they kissed, her hand trailed to tug the tie she had earlier loosened from around his neck. He tensed, but did not stop her as she found and unbuttoned the top two buttons and slipped her fingers inside his shirt against bare skin.

Cold, yes, he was cold, deathly so, but she preferred this to the press of impersonal rough linens against her flesh. The shield of his trousers and shirt did nothing to prevent the chill felt, so she did not see that their presence even mattered.

"Give me the chance," she whispered, tugging at his shirt.

"You could not bear it," he argued, drawing back.

In the darkness, with Erik, she found her confidence again, the wretchedness of earlier having dissolved with his beautiful voice and intimate presence to chase the ghosts away.

"These are my terms," she stated in quiet determination. "I want you to lie with me, as I am."

Erik moved to sit up slowly, one foot planted on the floor. He stared down at his determined little bride, bewildered by her sudden burst of daring, though she had always proven to possess abundant courage in the midst of her fear. But never, never had he bared more of himself than was necessary to a woman, any woman, living or undead, and he struggled with so foreign a concept.

"Erik...?"

The temptation to press his icy flesh to every inch of her silken warmth beckoned to him, the need so great, it overwhelmed. And when she sat up, tentatively scooting toward him, her hands reaching and finding his waistcoat buttons, he did nothing to stop her.

Once unfastened, he wrenched the article of clothing away as she immediately set to work on the buttons of his shirtsleeves and pulled the hem from his trousers. He never took his eyes off her face, noting the flush that had come over it, and heard the beats of her heart heighten along with her breathing. The urgent need to hold her bare against him, the desire to know if she could truly stand to be held, had him suddenly grasp her around the waist and bring her close, his arms wrapping fiercely around her.

She let out a startled little cry but did not push away, her unsteady hands instead reaching around to press against the ridges of his back, inside his parted shirt.

"Christine… sweet, sweet Christine…"

Four hundred years in the absence of all warmth, experiencing only trace amounts that failed to satisfy, had been the scope of his existence. Nothing could have prepared him for this! She was so incredibly warm, her soft curves crushed to his bared chest, and he reveled in the exquisite feel of her. He felt sudden pressure as she leaned away and moved her leg between them. His hands instinctively tightened against her back to keep her close. A second time she astonished as she struggled, only to bring her calf to rest against his hip near the mattress edge and slide over so that she sat straddled in his lap, with more of her skin pressed to his, her knees bent on either side.

"Can you truly bear it?" he asked in soft disbelief. "As I am."

"Yes," she whispered without hesitation.

His palms smoothed up her shoulder blades, and he ducked his head to press his lips to the side of her throat and the artery that wildly pulsed there. He allowed himself only the slightest pull with his mortal teeth, not trusting himself to explore with his mouth further, feeling the swell of his fangs as they began to extend. He fought their unwanted arrival and fiercely willed them back into concealment. His passions darkly aroused, sight grew even sharper, and he knew that his eyes had strengthened in their glow. Not wishing her to see their preternatural flame in the darkness, he closed them as his mouth sought hers.

Christine held fast to him, his hard and lean muscled body like a block of ice, with lines of scars felt along his back. And though she trembled to feel him flush against her, unlike ice, his body did not painfully scald when held long to her skin. She absorbed his chill, hoping in turn to soak him with her warmth, the inner heat flowing through her and building with each intimacy shared, and when unexpectedly he released her and gently pushed back, holding her by the arms, she let out a small sound of dismay to lose the connection.

"Christine," he crooned softly, "My brave girl. I have no wish to prolong your discomfort."

"And I will have you no other way," she insisted, her hands clutching the edges of his shirt and pulling it from his shoulders and down his arms. He posed no further argument and whisked it from him then brought her to lie back against the mattress.

Her hands lifted and sought, going to his face, one on each side, and he flinched in instinctive alarm when her palm pressed to his mask. But she honored her word and went no further, and Erik relaxed, for the first time experiencing the non-threatening pressure of a hand not his own against that part of his face…and he marveled at this beauty who lay beneath him…

With chill fingers he caressed, pinching and gently rolling the sensitive tips of her breasts, his mouth soon following to cover her in damp heat. She gave a little cry of want, the two extremes of ice and fire so incredibly exhilarating to the senses, first awakening her flesh with the shock of the sweet invasion, then melting her inside and further stimulating her desire to be his. This time, she arched her hips against his hand when his fingers again slipped to the slit of her drawers, eager and wanting...

The darkness was no longer a consideration, the pleasurable sensations he aroused in Christine all on which she could focus. Her heightened senses were alert to his every chill stroke and kiss, his every heated suckle, but at the same time she felt dazed, as if she lay within a pulsating mist, not of cold but of warmth almost impossible to bear. And she welcomed the chill he gave.

He untied the ribbon to her drawers, pulling them swiftly down her hips. She became certain upon hearing his soft intake of breath that he could see her, whereas she was still blind in the darkness that was so absolute her vision had never adjusted to find gradients of gray in its shapes. And again she closed her eyes...

Erik took a stunned moment to admire the flawless porcelain of each graceful curve of breast, the narrow slope of waist and gentle flare of hip between which peeked a thatch of soft, dark curls. He knew from the abundant dampness he'd found there that she was ready to receive him and made quick work with the remainder of his clothing. At last, he moved to cover her with his body that craved to know every soft, warm inch of her. With his outstretched hand, he clutched the coverlet and brought it up with him to give her some small method to help alleviate the damnable chill if it were even possible.

He settled between her thighs, nudging them further aside. She shuddered violently and exhaled a fragmented breath at the first contact of his icy flesh pressed entirely to hers. Somberly he feared it was too much.

"Christine…?"

She responded to his unspoken query of concern by slipping her hands around his back and shoulders to wrap him firmly in her embrace. Drawing up her knees slightly, she opened her legs wider, opening herself up to him at the same time she endeavored to enclose him in her warmth. He could refrain no longer and pushed deep inside, at once feeling the barrier of her innocence give way.

Never had he taken a virgin and had overlooked and forgotten what he'd long ago overheard of this moment.

x

Christine's entire body tensed with the shock of the invasion as she muffled a cry of pain into his shoulder. His heightened vampyric senses immediately honed onto the scent of fresh blood with the tearing away of her maidenhead. His fangs abruptly distended, contrary to his iron will, the desire overwhelming him to bring his mouth down to the source.

He fought the despicable urge to benefit from her misery (though she would never know in this well of darkness, the beast within challenged), and balled his hands into fists, fighting the monstrous voice in his head that begged for the taste of warm blood. For her blood…

Clutching the sheets on either side, he held himself rigid and motionless inside her.

"Erik…?" she whispered in confusion, oblivious to his dark struggle.

His vision flamed red and he shut his eyes, lest she see and understand what she could never know.

He struggled against it, but almost of its own volition one hand snaked between them. With slow and fierce resolve he moved back enough to bury two fingers within the folds of her wetness, near the juncture where their bodies met, stroking there. She gasped and gave a little moan of pleasure.

The beast strained hard at the leash.

Her life essence, so untainted, filled his senses. Once, in the fog, he had seized the most minute of tastes when his fang had lightly scraped her neck, breaking delicate skin, and he recalled her delectable flavor in that one beaded drop he had lapped. At the memory, he brought his fingers coated with the blend of her warm desire and virgin blood to press against his parted lips, pushing the flat of his tongue slightly forward to taste.

A feral growl rumbled low in his throat at the richness of her combined fluids, the sweet tang of her cream, the coppery wine of her blood, so pure and unlike anything he had ever known. Hungry to taste more of her, he slipped his fingers into his mouth, drawing her juices from them and savoring her flavor.

"Erik…?"

Above the heavy pulse of her heartbeats in his ears, he heard the thread of renewed fear, her voice coming distant, calling to him…

Christine...

His bride...

His wife...

His own...

Calling to him...

He forced his hand away from his mouth, fisting it again in the sheets. Warring with his bestial nature that ordered him to sink his fangs into the pulsing vein of her neck and take more of her sweet, warm blood, he focused on calming the monster inside and sought to rein in his vicious instincts.

It was only this one night when a virgin's blood spilled over that he must fight his way through these wretched urges. Passion brought his fangs out, but blood enticed him to use them. Centuries of living with the curse of the beast had taught him restraint, to distance the ravening voice and seek calm, though he had never encountered as rare and appealing a creature as his Christine…his living, breathing bride...her slayer blood so sweet, so pure, like a rich, red claret on his tongue…

No, damn it! - NO.

Relentless to break free from the profane hold that worked again to ensnare him, he forced concentration away from the blood and focused on the heat of her – God, such heat! Her flesh was warm, but inside her core she radiated with heat. Heat and wet …and he held her down by the wrists that lay either side of her head, lest she reach up to touch his face and this time discover the fiendish truth of the root of his affliction.

He moved then, pulling away to thrust deep, burrowing himself within her hot velvet walls for long moments before retreating to descend again. Giving the beast a different kind of fulfillment ...And though passion never receded, at last he was able to retract his fangs to hide back within his gums…and at last he could give his all into the pleasure and comfort of his young bride…

Christine trembled violently, her reaction having little to do with cold.

The ghost of his touch had rendered her breathless. To feel so much of him all at once, within and without, was an agony and an ecstasy never once conceived…

She was unsurprised by the burn, having known it would exist. The breathless cold she had willingly resigned herself to endure so that she could know him as fully as he would allow. And though for a moment in this blind darkness he had seemed wretchedly lost to her, the whisper of his kisses against her face and neck reassured her that he had returned…

The ache had dulled with the cold that soothed, the harsh sting receding into a strange, heavy pressure. A pressure that was him, her dazed mind told her, his hardness that fashioned him into a man filling her utterly. His hips moved in a steady rhythm, burying himself to the hilt for breathless moments – and she gasped to feel him so deeply seated. He pulled back, but brief, to glide swift and deep again, holding there, as if he did not wish to leave her even for the scantest amount of time to plunge again, and hoped to meld her flesh entirely with his. And in the depths of the haze that enveloped her, Christine recognized a startling truth -

The endless chill dissolved as he began to take on her heat, tracing new fire and heaviness deep to her bones…

She arched her hips to match his movements, twining legs around him and pulling him to her with each staggered thrust...and shuddered in delight to hear his deep, guttural moan, eclipsed by a low growl, which made her even wetter where they were joined. He plunged, this time without retreating and rocked intensely within, each forward motion pushing her into the mattress and nudging a hidden part of her that shot sparks...

Her body reached urgently for something unobtainable. Wound tightly inside where they were joined, the need coiled so fierce that she felt she would scream from the intensity and it might break her. It swelled and spread - at last to burst in a shower of warm radiance that washed over her and through her, bringing faint lights flashing behind closed eyelids.

Feeling her seize and throb around him as she cried out in climax, her heart racing, so alive, Erik was thunderstruck to realize that no part of his body felt the eternal chill any longer, his flesh impossibly warm again. In the moment before he, too, was spent, he wondered how long such blissful reprieve would last, having never had that happen before. Pinpricks danced along his spine, and he groaned as his seed poured into her ... a remnant of the mortality seized from him yet absent of all life for which it was designed.

He forced harsh thought away from what could not be changed, wanting no more than to remain saturated within her intimate embrace for as long as his nature permitted or she would allow. She had given him warmth, true warmth, and for a time he felt almost alive again, though hope had seized far too much from him through the centuries to trust that it would last.

He did not withdraw but pressed his hand between her and the mattress, clutching her bottom and keeping her tightly to him, rolling with her until she lay draped over him. At the abrupt motion, she let out a gasp followed by a wordless, soft mumble, then adjusted her limbs to drowsily nestle against his body. He dragged the coverlet up from her hips to her neck and held her in his strong embrace.

His mortal angel…

His.

She lay with her head turned against his shoulder, tucked beneath his chin. Within moments, he heard her soft and steady breathing as she slept. Neither winded nor weakened, he had no need for slumber and exulted in her novel warmth until the black hour arrived when he must depart. He had no wish to leave her, never again, but it was imperative…

To safeguard Christine, tonight Nicolae must die.

xXx


A/N: And so, the vampire and the slayer have come together at last. … In case any of you are concerned/wary with what might transpire in later chapters, this is far as it gets with his taste for blood in that region – (vampires like it fresh, and I am not Anne Rice ;-) lol) All that said, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. :)