A/N: At last...
Some long-awaited moments on this chapter horizon... Thank you for the reviews! Oh, and this chapter deserves the rating…
Chapter XXXIV
.
"Forever, Erik?"
Her voice came as a wisp, denoting her hesitation and the fear to which she would not admit. It resounded like a gong inside her mind; nor did the pregnant pause that followed put unspoken concerns to rest.
He stood beside her bed, once again hale and fit. His eyes shimmered in gold behind the sockets of the mask as they regarded her. Solemn. Assured. At the same time perhaps a bit remorseful.
"Forever, Christine, until death us do part. Even then, even after you slip from this mortal coil and enter the realm of angels, I am convinced my love for you will remain throughout the ages that I continue to walk upon this earth."
He answered the question she feared to pose without referring to what they both knew she truly asked: Had she become like him by allowing him to sink his fangs into her flesh? He once told her it was much more involved than that. Yet upon hearing his tender endearment as he thought she slept, she worried that she had indeed crossed over from his consuming her blood to the point that she'd lost all consciousness, that perhaps such was the method by which one became vampyre.
Even still, had that indeed been the case when she discovered him lying at the point of death, even had she known what would occur…
"Why, Christine?"
His quiet question came as more of a command and abruptly jolted her from conflicted thoughts. She looked at him in confusion, having not spoken but two words to him, a nervous query he only just answered.
"Why what?"
"Why did you do it?" This time, he was the one to look mystified. He sat down on the edge of her bed and stroked gentle fingers along the pale skin of her slender wrist and the blue veins there, now without any sign of the two puncture wounds that earlier marked it. "Why did you put yourself at risk to save me? Why did you not simply let me go?"
"Why?" she repeated with incredulity and shook her head against the pillow. "Erik, how can you ask me such a question?"
He chuckled dryly. "How can I not? You have borne witness to the monster I am, yet intervened, regardless, and with clear uncertainty of how your sacrifice might have affected you."
"I told you," she replied emphatically, pushing herself up to sit. "What you have become does not change how I feel…"
Her last words left her in a forced whisper as a rapid wave of exhaustion rushed over her, instantly draining what little energy she regained. Her arms no longer would support her as with a groan she fell back into the pillows like a limp doll.
Concern tightened his lips. "You should not be overtaxing yourself, my dear."
"Overtaxing?" she complained, again finding her voice. "I only tried to sit up!" She could not recall ever feeling so weak in her entire life. Was this what Lucy felt?
"Any amount of needless physical energy should be curtailed. You must not tire yourself by engaging in talk that can be put off to a later date. I was remiss to introduce the topic." He stood to his feet. "Once the staff returns, I shall instruct Mihaela to bring you meals that will aid in your recovery. You must eat the entirety of what she brings you."
"What kind of meals?" she asked suspiciously.
"Calf's liver, for a start. I will instruct one of the servants to visit the butcher in the village."
Christine scrunched her nose and squinted her eyes, weakly crossing her arms over her chest in a show of rebellion. "I detest liver."
He almost chuckled at her childish display, reminded of the tiny slip of a girl who had the same reaction at having to dance an extra rehearsal as Madame's punishment for being tardy, despite that her feet hurt as she had then claimed. Yet again he asked himself how he could not see from the start that Christine was his Lotte.
"Nonetheless, you will eat what is provided because it is the best remedy for you," he proclaimed softly in a voice of authority, demanding her compliance.
As if her thoughts also took her back to a simpler time when he acted toward her as both teacher and guardian, she responded with a sigh, "Yes, Ange."
He did smile then, experiencing a slight twinge in his cold, black heart that she could still call him by such an exalted and undeserved name.
"I will instruct Mihaela to make a sauce to complement the meal," he amended.
"Liver is liver," she grumbled.
Whether or not he heard, he gave no sign.
"But what I was trying to say earlier -"
"You must rest, my dear," he cut her off, moving toward the door. "There is healing to be found in slumber."
And then he was gone.
Christine turned her head on the pillow and looked in frustrated disappointment at the empty doorway. She sensed that he forbade further talk and left, more to escape their previous conversation than anything else, perhaps fearing to hear an explanation though he'd asked for it. As much as she wished he had not made such a hasty departure, her physically drained condition brought her into dreamless slumber before she could form another lucid thought.
xXx
For the next three days Christine did nothing but remain in bed. With the staff returned and given their new tasks, she grudgingly ate the reprehensible meat Mihaela brought her morning and night, (only slightly more tolerable with the white wine sauce made to go with it), along with some horrid, thick green potion that reminded her of a witch's brew and tasted just as vile, and slept heavily for long periods of time.
Surprisingly, not once did Erik visit after that first occasion – or if he did, Christine did not know it.
The thought troubled her.
As soon as she stirred to wakefulness and was able to rise to her feet and walk without feeling her legs were fragile crusts that might easily crumble, Christine donned her wrapper and slippers and went in search of her husband. A glance outside her bedchamber window signaled that nighttime again descended over the land, but the late hour did not deter her.
In fact, it propelled her determination.
Despite that she finally had regained all equilibrium, she moved slowly, clutching the carved handrail, not wishing to misjudge her competence and pitch headfirst down the stairs. No servants were on the lower level for her to question. She peered into the music chamber, not locating Erik there. Concern hastened her steps as she next tried the library, and she released an audible breath to find him behind his desk, busy at work.
Hearing her approach, he looked up and closed the folder of whatever contents he was reading.
"You're here," she said in relief before he could speak.
He leaned into his wing-backed leather chair and spread his hands wide with nonchalance.
"Where else would I be?"
"I feared that you had gone back out there to fight them again."
There was no need to clarify of whom she spoke.
"That is the plan."
"Erik, no…"
Christine covered the distance between them but instead of stopping before his desk, she went around it, to his chair. Sinking to her knees beside him and folding her legs beneath her, she covered his cold hand that rested on his thigh with her hand and felt it slightly quiver beneath her touch. His eyes behind the ebony mask regarded her with curious surprise.
"I beg of you, forget this vendetta."
He considered her, his gaze somber. "I end them to safeguard you."
"And what of you, Erik," she insisted. "What of the risk to you?"
He shrugged, and fiercely she shook her head.
"No, don't do that! Don't behave as if your life is of no account."
"I would gladly surrender my life to save your own."
"And I am grateful for your protection, but I have no wish for you to put yourself at unnecessary risk night after night. As I now know that you have been doing. Please, just let this go, Mon Ange. I cannot bear to come upon another nightmarish scene as I did when I went searching for you that day. You could have died. I thought you were dead…." Tears glazed her eyes.
He shook his head softly. "I am still astounded you took that risk, not knowing what might occur," he admitted. "And you, a slayer."
She thought about that, had thought of little else, and spoke of what she had come to realize, grateful that he was again allowing what needed to be said and not putting a swift end to their conversation.
"I think I told you, but if not, I have made the choice not to follow that calling. Apparently we are all given a choice. And while it is true that I do not wish to become a Dark One either…"
By the movement of the mask, his brows lifted at the name.
"It is what my mother called your kind in her journal," she gave the hasty explanation. It seemed far kinder than other terms Raoul and her unknown ancestor had used.
"Please know, Erik, that even had I believed my actions to save you would have changed me into that, I would have responded no differently."
His eyes regarded her with awed curiosity. "Again I ask – why, Christine? Given that you have been predisposed to initiate as little contact with me as you could withstand this past week, I cannot help but wonder… "
She stared at him in disbelief. Did he again need to be reminded that he had lain at the point of death? Did he have so little regard for his own life that it did not even bear consideration? Had he never had anyone to care? Never had anyone express concern or interest in what happened to him? Never been shown a token of affection or consideration when it came to his well-being?
In recalling his testimony of the multitude of years he had lived, suffered and endured, she knew the answer without having to pose the question.
"I love you," she said, putting her heart into her words while bringing her other hand to clasp his hand in both of hers. "More than I can ever say, more than you will ever know. You are my world, Erik, and always have been."
His eyes of gold regarded her with tenderness, but she saw skepticism written there as well.
She had poured out her heart of all that begged to be spoken, and still he doubted her?
Christine recalled his earlier question, posed twice. Why? Why had she saved him after having shown little more than apprehension and fear of what he had become?
"Why?" she repeated as if he'd spoken the question a third time. "Because when I saw you lying there with a branch protruding from your chest, with your blood pooling all around you in the snow, I felt as if I, too, had died. I wanted to die! To realize you were not dead brought home to me just how much I want to be your wife, how incredibly thankful I am to be given this second chance…"
She lifted one hand to cup his face, while still holding tightly to his hand.
"Please forgive me, Erik. Forgive my foolishness. Forgive my delay in coming to a decision when there was only one to be made, only one my heart wanted. Please don't be upset with me any longer –"
She was given no further voice to plead as his hands moved suddenly to grasp her to him, lifting her from the floor, at the same time his mouth sought hers. So long starved of his intimacy, Christine whimpered and wrapped her arms around his neck, swept away within the fierce tide of his passion.
He pulled her fully up onto his lap, never ceasing to kiss her, his tongue boldly demanding what she was only too happy to give. Soon she was floating and sinking within a whirlpool of buoyancy that made her want to drown inside its vortex and be lost forever.
With tender measure he broke away, pressing his masked forehead to her smooth one.
"Careful," he rasped softly, "Such coveted words from those beautiful lips, and I might be persuaded to believe you."
"I wish you would," she softly implored, clinging to him as though she might fall, though his strong arms held her close and disproved the notion.
His darkened eyes noted her weakened reaction. "You still need to regain your strength. I should give you more time."
"I wish you would not." Even as she said the words, she felt the shy heat of their brazen implication steal over her face. But her eyes remained steady, challenging his.
Despite the mask that covered most of his face, she sensed his surprise.
"Nonetheless -"
"Erik." Once again, she pressed her hand to his cheek. "I promise to go back to bed and obtain further rest, but only if you will lie with me."
No longer a veiled suggestion, she boldly stated what she wanted.
"My dear, I promise that if I surrender to your delightful entreaty, you will get no rest."
Tingles prickled through her at the exciting candor of his seductive words.
"I think you will find that I am much recovered."
He stroked his finger against her blushing cheek. "Christine, you are sure?"
Rather than attempt to persuade him with words, she brought her lips back to his.
The kiss, as before, quickly grew more passionate, more intense, both of them starved for the deep affection they had coveted and missed. Suddenly, he gathered her even closer in his arms and rose to his feet, tightening his hold and lifting her with him but never taking his mouth from hers.
Lost in his kiss, Christine was barely aware of the whirlwind that swept around her, believing it composed only of the frenzied sensations he aroused, brought on by her increasing need. She pulled away to catch her breath, stunned when she realized he no longer stood inside the library but within her bedchamber, her eyes widening further as she caught sight of the window. The curtains had not yet been drawn, and over the treetops, the moon filled the night sky, incredibly large and full. But what bewildered her was its hue.
Erik, too, brought his attention to where she stared and walked with her still in his arms to the window.
"A blood moon," he said pensively.
"A what?" Startled, she looked at him.
He dropped his somber gaze from the window to her eyes. "You have never seen one?"
"No. I would have remembered a moon as red as blood." Indeed, it glowed almost crimson in the dark canopy of sky, emitting a faint hue of similar color upon his black mask.
"A night of magical phenomenon, wherein the remarkable is conceived, but evil is also imbued with greater power…"
She shuddered slightly at his quiet words that held an ominous ring to them. Gently he set her to her feet then moved toward the tie that held the drape bound.
"No, wait," she said before he could free the curtain to close it.
He turned to look at her in question. The room was dark, no candle or lamp lit, the sole light coming from the window faint, but bathing her bed in a dark, rose-toned glow.
"I want to see you." Before he could deny her request, as she was sure he would by the sudden tightening of his jaw, she hurriedly added, "I know what you are, Erik. Is there truly any reason we must remain concealed in absolute darkness? Can we not let the moon be to us a source of light? It is still quite dim."
Dimmer than when it glowed a brilliant white, but it was still more favorable than pitch black, and she could at least discern shapes and shadows...
He hesitated so long she thought he might refuse, but at last abandoned his task and retraced his steps toward her. His eyes held her in hypnotic gold as his hands moved to untie her lace-edged velvet wrapper and slide it from her shoulders to puddle to the ground, leaving her in her loose chemise. Just as in Paris, he began to undress her, pulling the ribbon free at her neckline, and just as in Paris, her hands were not idle.
That night had been the onset of their physical consummation, but tonight, too, felt like a beginning. For they were coming together, bared to one another, with no secrets to hinder…
All but one.
She stripped him of his ascot and waistcoat then unfastened the three top buttons of his shirtsleeves. The entire time he stood silent, watching her. Only when she pulled the hem from his trousers and lifted the billowy linen garment did he move to help her rid himself of it.
For the first time, Christine cast intrigued eyes upon her husband as he stood naked to the waist. Happily she saw no sign of his former travail, not even a scar to announce a wound once existed. She took a moment to appreciate his lean strength. His waist was narrow, making his shoulders and chest look wider, his arms and body toned without an ounce of flesh to spare. His skin shone white as alabaster, even in the dim light, the rose hue of the moon casting one side of him in its faint glow. If not for the patch of fine dark hair that lightly furred his chest, he could be made of marble. Indeed, like a statue he did not move, and that strengthened her confidence to press onward in her discovery…
She lifted her fingers to trace midway down to his ribs, the path they took ice-cold, as was all his flesh. Curiosity led her to begin a slow circle around him, running her touch along his naked skin as she went. She stopped in horror when she saw the rippled flesh of his back. Often in the darkness her hands had mapped out their cruel marks, but to actually see the depravity of men, that they would so viciously malign another, the one she loved with all her heart, brought tears to gloss her eyes.
"I don't understand," she whispered as her fingertips gently followed one of the many lines crisscrossed there. "Why did you not heal?"
"Those hideous scars obtained before the Curse took hold remained on my body."
A few tears spilled over, and she faintly pressed her lips to a patch of lumpy skin between his shoulder blades, feeling as well as hearing his quick indrawn gasp. She saw nothing ugly about him, the sole ugliness lying within the act itself.
With her free hand she whisked away all dampness from her cheeks, knowing he would see it as the pity he deplored, never taking her other hand from his body as she completed her circle to again stand before him.
She noted the question in his eyes, the wary suspicion as she lifted her hand to cup one side of his head.
"And this?"
"What of it, Christine…" He spoke the words with a hint of steel as if he knew her meaning without having to ask.
"Must this remain between us?"
"It conceals the most hideous scar of all, also failing to heal and attain any degree of normalcy. My face…" When she did not remove her hand from his cheek, he moved his own hand to cover hers and continued, "It is not a pretty sight, my dear. I have used my face to frighten many a victim before the kill."
She shuddered at the reminder of what he must do to survive but frowned at his stubbornness. "Erik, I have seen your fangs – you have taken my blood. I have seen your eyes glow red in the darkness. Do you truly believe that your deformity will frighten me away? Besides, you gave me a description that night in Paris."
He had called it the face of a beast, abnormal and twisted… and winced in remorse to have told her that much.
"Can that not be enough?"
"No. I do not want the mask to forever be a barrier between us, like the darkness you enforced. Please, let me see all of you this night …" She did not try to remove her hand from beneath the pressure of his, keeping it helpless and trapped against his mask.
He frowned. Another taut moment passed between them as he studied the determination in her eyes. Suddenly he released his captive hold, giving a curt nod.
"Go on then, if you must. You have been warned."
Surprised by his abrupt permission, reluctant though it was, Christine traced nervous fingers to the band of leather that held the mask in place, tied beneath his hair, most of which now hung loose from the black ribbon he often wore at his nape. The knot was too tight, likely in his fear that it should come undone. To fully remove it, she needed first to slide the ribbon that bound his hair, which she easily did. Now she needed only to pull the mask from his face and away…
His lips tightened at her hesitation.
"At last, do you now understand and agree with my efforts to protect you from this – " he began, raising his hand to motion in disgust toward his face, his words cut off when with one swift but gentle movement, she tucked her thumb beneath the black leather and pulled the mask away.
Erik grimaced and closed his eyes, dropping his hand back to his side like a dead weight, unable to bear what surely must be her expression of horror, disgust, or pity. Even after centuries of growing accustomed to men's hurtful responses, he was unprepared to behold it in the woman he adored. He waited for her little cry of fear or perhaps gasp of revulsion, but the deafening silence remained, becoming almost unbearable…
And then like a butterfly's wings he felt the softness of those blessed fingers light upon the part of him no individual had dared touch, before or after the Curse, could bear even to look at. They curled slowly inward, allowing fingertips to trace down to his clamped jaw, followed by the warm press of her soft lips against his warped cheek. He did not realize he was quietly crying until those gentle lips kissed a trail down to his mouth, and he tasted the salt of tears…
Or perhaps they were hers.
Christine had known what to expect from his bitter accounting in Paris. There was no shock, no surprise. And though the muted glow cast by the blood moon gave little by which to see, the enormity of his disfigurement was easy to discern. Twisted ripples of discolored flesh darkened the right side from forehead to mid-cheek, the left side bone white, his perfect features on that half no counterpart to the portion of his face he detested but an utter match to his personality:
One side monster. One side angel.
And, in whole, her husband and the immortal to whom she entrusted her life…her beloved who had never ceased to fight to prevent her death...
He moved, suddenly and swiftly, grabbing her around the waist and deepening the kiss she'd begun. With a little whimper, she lifted her hand from where she had been cupping his flawed cheek and wrapped both arms around his neck, pressing her body against him. The shock of his chill moved all through her, but the heat surging through her veins quickly dispelled the discomfort.
His hands spread to bunch her chemise in tight fists at her hips, as if in a desperate attempt at control. In a sudden frenzy he pulled away, swiftly lifting the garment over her head. Gladly she aided him, her hands going to his trouser fastenings as he again pulled her to his body. Lips pressed to lips, and tongue sought tongue as if desperate to merge. By touch alone she impatiently undid small buttons, almost ripping them from their threads, then grabbed his trousers by the waist, insistently pulling downward.
Once more he stepped back, hurriedly shedding the remainder of his clothing, then grabbed her to him again, the warmth of her nakedness meeting the icy-coldness of his own. A shiver went through her at the contact, but she anticipated that their imminent union would melt the chill, as it had in all times past, and his skin would soon retain the warmth of her love.
His hands spread over her buttocks, lifting her to him, and she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, feeling the throb of his desire, hard and demanding, between them. Without ceasing to kiss her, he walked with her to the bed she'd left unmade, falling with her to the cool, rumpled sheeting.
His ravenous attentions moved lower, striking an answering chord of hunger in her blood as his lips and tongue sought the most sensitive areas of her tingling skin and played havoc with her senses. He drove her to the edge of madness as she clung desperately to his head, his shoulders, urging him to areas his mouth eagerly traversed that sent little shocks throughout her body, bringing every nerve ending blazing to life.
Erik swiftly moved over her and lifted her beneath the thighs, joining her body to his and sinking so deeply inside her core. Christine gave a breathless little cry of thankfulness mingled with ever-increasing need. Realizing in that moment just how much she had missed this, missed him…
He bent his head to suckle her breast – when abruptly he stopped, swiftly releasing her nipple and rising slightly to lower his head further in toward himself while arching his back. The strands of his dark hair hung free, the ends trailing her skin, with no part of his face showing. His hands clutched tight fistfuls of the bedding on each side.
Wrapped within veils of the heated desire he created, she stared at the top of his head through eyes glazed with passion, noting how still he'd become. Still buried inside, but having ceased with his intense strokes. Other than his labored breathing, having ceased with all movement entirely…
And she remembered: on every occasion they made love he had undergone a similar reaction, having suddenly been seized from her grasp, though he'd never left her embrace, somehow lost to her in the darkness and leaving her floundering in uncertainty.
It never lasted long, but never failed to occur.
And finally she understood.
This night, she had ventured through doors that held the most vulnerable of his secrets. Looking upon his scars, looking beyond his mask. Confidence in her achievement led her to speak one last time and venture through another, what she felt must be, the final door ...
"Erik," she whispered in husky tones, her hands reaching for and grasping both sides of his bowed head. "Look at me."
Still he did not move.
"Please," she cajoled, gently trying to tug his head upward and meeting with resistance as he remained fixed. "Please, let me see…"
He appeared to be waging a private war within himself, but she did not remove her hands from cradling his temples. And at last he lifted his head only enough so that she caught sight of his eyes, peering upward…
Blood red and glowing as brightly as the crimson moon. The pupils nearly as small as pinpoints and barely noticeable.
She gave a soft indrawn breath to see him in such a state, though she was unsurprised and did not loosen her hold. Instead, she tugged at his head again, still gentle but more firmly than before, and lifted his face to see all of it - her startled gaze dropping to the fangs that protruded from beyond his upper lip stretched into a grimace.
His scarred and twisted face did now indeed bear a monster's attributes, amplified by his disfigurement and truly a terrible sight to behold even in the near darkness, and his grim words returned to her of how he unmasked his face to his enemies before the kill…
Still, she did not cease to stare. Nor did she recoil or push him away.
You are in union with a vampyre! the innate slayer in her screamed, "Are you mad?!"
But her heart had grown stronger through the peril of their travails and she smothered the cry, quick to defend – he is my prodigal Angel and my newfound husband. I love him….
As if to stress her silent proclamation, she lifted her hand toward his face, which loomed so close that she felt his rapid breaths as they met and mingled with her own.
Oddly enough, he was the one to shrink back in hesitation, though he did not leave her body.
She continued to bring her hand forward in a sort of horrified wonder until her fingertips brushed one long white incisor down to its point. She felt a sting like the prick of a needle. Instantly he licked the beaded drop of blood from the pad of her finger then grabbed her wrist, violently thrusting her hand away and holding it captive on the mattress. His mouth, which had given her such pleasure, had become a weapon, while his blood-red eyes seemed to penetrate through to her soul…
She shook her head against the pillow. Why did this happen, why now, as they made love? Why could he not prevent the emergence? - For clearly he did not instigate or welcome the change, or he would not have tried to hide from her, not now when she knew and had seen the full truth of what he was.
She only uttered, "Why," but he seemed to read the myriad of questions that related to that one word in her eyes.
"Passion arouses the beast," his voice came as a low silken growl, unlike and yet similar to his own timbre.
Her gaze remained fastened to his fangs. "You want to bite me," she whispered the words that had once been spoken with fear and trepidation.
"I swore to you I would never do anything to harm you," he hissed.
"I believe you."
Christine continued to stare, from his mouth, then to his eyes, and back.
He had bitten her, and she recalled the wealth of emotion that had flooded through her, especially the pleasurable sensations that she never once would have imagined as he drank of her blood. What she had not understood, she once feared. But he had opened the door to her awareness, also showing her the enigma of his true character, and in doing so, eliminated any remnant of terror.
Her heart in her eyes, she gave a small nod against the pillow as if answering a silent request, then turned her cheek into it, exposing the long column of her neck to him.
She heard his swift intake of breath and felt the shock ripple through his entire body. It was another moment before he responded.
"Christine, no…" He bent to brush his lips beneath her jaw in a tender kiss. "You are not yet ready. You need more time to recover. I took much from you."
Surprised by his low refusal and, in turning to face him, to see that his fangs had somehow disappeared, she again brought her fingertips to his parted lips.
"How…?"
Once more he understood without her having to finish the thought and gave a twisted smile. "Centuries of the Curse have taught me to control the urge when it is needful. At times, when we are intimate, it takes longer to rein in the beast."
She nodded softly, recalling the first time they made love and how much longer it had taken him to return to her from the darkness that had gripped him. If any doubts remained to trouble her soul, they were obliterated after seeing how determined he was to sacrifice his innate hunger for her well-being. How he always had done so, even when she had not realized…
"I love you," the profession of her heart burst from her lips, startling him by the manner in which his glowing eyes, still more red than golden, briefly widened. She nodded again. "I do, Erik, I love you. Forever and always. That will never change, no matter what face you wear..."
With a swiftness that took her breath, he brought his mouth down to hers, the desire that had been held at bay but ever simmering again roaring to flame. She matched his every motion, every kiss, every touch and stroke, moving with him in their intimate dance of the flesh, losing awareness of all but him as together they reached their exclusive plateau of sensual nirvana –
Even the room itself seemed to have brightened its rosy glow that enfolded them in ethereal rays.
Through hazy eyes she caught a glimpse of the red globe of the moon now filling the window and beaming down upon their entwined bodies. It seemed to shimmer with waves of heat as she reached her summit of ecstasy and he quickly followed her into a state of satisfied bliss.
Later, they relaxed with Christine stretched out beside Erik, cuddling to his now warmed body. Her head lay against his chest and his hand stroked her long, damp curls. She knew from experience that all too soon the ice cold chill would return to his flesh and wished she knew some method to prevent the recurrence.
"Is there, perhaps, a cure?" she broached the possibility.
"A cure?"
"A way to break the Curse."
He thought a moment. "Even had I known the identity of the Romanian gypsy to find her and ask, she is long since deceased. I learned that she passed from this world into the next before I was afflicted. Vlad Drăculea made certain of that in his thirst for vengeance."
A shudder passed through Christine at the knowledge of the certain violent death the woman must have suffered, and she tightened her arm across his waist.
After a moment, a small smile lifted her lips.
"I can hear your heart beating," she whispered; it gave her a sense of stability and safety.
His hand in her hair halted mid-stroke. "That is not possible."
She drew her brows together in puzzlement at the emphasis he placed on the words. Her smile still intact, she craned her head upward to study him.
"Why is it not possible?"
"I would have thought it obvious," he said, without criticism, "I am undead. My heart has no life in it to beat."
Even as he spoke, she felt the barely perceptible thuds against her cheek and heard them in her ear. Faint, but there….
"I assure you, Mon Ange, I am not imagining it."
He shook his head pensively, his eyes skeptical that she was indeed believing what did not exist and only in what she wished to occur.
Yet on this night, this magical night of new beginnings, were not all things possible?
As she lay there, content in his arms, she did not try to convince him of the reality, not wishing to cause any further conflict between them, however small, wishing only that this moment of utter tranquility could go on ad infinitum.
"I would request a favor," she said after a moment, exhaustion beginning to take hold.
"And what does my Countess desire?"
Christine smiled to hear her new title spoken as an endearment.
"It is only that on every occasion I have awakened after we have lain together, you are not there, and I feel your absence strongly. Will you remain, so that when I open my eyes in the morning I may have you with me?"
Something then occurred to her, and she shifted again to look up at him. "Do you sleep?"
Erik chuckled softly. "It is not needful, unless I am weakened, but that does not happen often. Though to sleep would rob me of the sight of you. Perhaps I shall lie awake all night and bask in your angelic beauty as you slumber."
A flush of embarrassment came over her face and she smiled, laying her head back down upon his chest.
"So you will stay?"
"If that is your wish, how can I refuse, when to do so awards me a night in your arms?"
Yet it was not a slow stirring within her husband's tender embrace that gradually brought Christine to consciousness, as she would have wished, but an abrupt awakening caused by the insistent banging outside the castle doors.
xXx
A/N: I hope you enjoyed the loving and the peace and the tranquility while it lasted. : )
Be prepared…things are about to go very, very dark….
