Tales of Western Romance

by Baker, Madeline

  Erik proved to be an intelligent and interesting companion. He spoke several languages, and entertained her for hours with tales of his travels around the world. He had seen it all: the wonders of the Old World and the new. He had an impressive library, there, in the bowels of the theater, and he often read to her from the classics, his beautiful voice bringing the stories to life. They spent hours discussing the works of Bronte and Shakespeare, as well as the horror novels of Stephen King and Dean Koontz.

  The days and weeks ran swiftly by, and with each passing hour, her affection for Erik grew stronger, deeper, as she came to know him better. How sad, that he was forced to live in this wretched place, shunned by humanity because of his dreadful scars—scars attained while saving the life of a child.

  One day, while she was wandering around his lair, she discovered a small door at the far end of the room. Driven by boredom and curiosity, she plucked a candle from one of the sconces. When she opened the door, she found herself in a large cavernous room filled with a veritable treasure trove of paintings and works of art. Scattered here and there were weapons—a rusty sword, an old pistol, several knives and daggers. A jewelry box held a number of exquisite pieces—a diamond necklace, a ruby pendant, a bracelet set with emeralds.

  Moving deeper into the room, she found another, smaller door. This one opened onto a stairway descending into a pit of blackness.

  Heart pounding, she tiptoed down the stairs. The candle cast dancing shadows on the damp, stone walls as she descended the uneven stairway. At first, she saw nothing but an empty room. And then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw it, a shiny black coffin resting on a raised platform in a far corner. The thought of Erik lying inside, his hands folded on his chest, his long black hair spread across the white satin, sent a chill down her spine.

  She stared at the casket for a long moment then she turned on her heels and ran swiftly up the stairs, any lingering doubts she might have had about what he was vanquished by the sight of that solitary coffin.

  Chapter 4

  She could tell, by the look in Erik’s eyes when she saw him that night, he knew she had seen where he took his rest. Though he didn’t speak of it, the knowledge hung heavily between them.

  Does it matter? He didn’t speak the words aloud, but she heard them clearly in her mind.

  Did it matter? To Cristie’s surprise, she realized it changed nothing between them. At any rate, it was of no consequence now. Her time in this dark, almost magical world was almost at an end.

  As the last few days flew by, Cristie found herself increasingly reluctant to leave. How could she leave him there, alone, in his dark underground lair? But, of course, she couldn’t stay. Her old life, her friends and family, awaited her at home. She and Erik did not speak of the fact that their time together was almost over, but she saw the awareness in his eyes.

  Their last night together came all too soon. After dinner, Cristie asked Erik to play for her, and as he did so, she sat down on the bench beside him and kissed his cheek.

  Startled, his hands fell away from the keys. “What are you doing?”

  “I…nothing. It was only a kiss.”

  “Only a kiss.” He repeated her words slowly, distinctly. “No woman has willingly touched me in over three hundred years.”

  She blinked at him. It was inconceivable that he should have lived so long, spent so many centuries alone. “I should like to do it again, if you don’t mind.”

  He stared at her in profound disbelief. “I…You don’t mean it?”

  “But I do.” She kissed his cheek again, and then, very lightly, she kissed him on the lips. They were warm and soft, untouched by the fire. Her gaze searched his. “Let me see your face.”

  “No!” He drew back as if she had slapped him. “Why would you ask such a thing? No one, no one, should have to see it.”

  “You said you would grant me anything I wished. I wish to see your face before I go.”

  He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his breathing suddenly erratic. “Very well.” He ripped the mask from his face and tossed it aside. “Is this what you wanted to see?” he asked, his voice almost a snarl.

  It looked horrible, worse than anything she had imagined. The skin on the right side of his face, and down his neck, was hideously puckered where the fire ravaged it. Did the rest of his body look the same? She couldn’t imagine the terrible agony he must have endured, the anguish of watching people turn away from him in horror and revulsion. No wonder he hid in this place!

  “Are you satisfied?” he asked brusquely.

  “Did you think I’d run screaming from your presence?” she asked.

  “You would not be the first to do so,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness.

  Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him again. “I expected you to be a monster, but you’ve treated me with the utmost kindness and respect. You could have taken me at your pleasure, yet you did not.” Rising, she took his hand in hers. “This is our last night together. Let us have something to remember.” Pulling him to his feet, she led him toward the bed.

  He followed her as if in a trance, unable to believe that any woman would willingly give herself to him. He was no stranger to women. He had bedded many in his lifetime, before and after the fire, but never had a woman come to him willingly, or made love to him so tenderly. Never had he allowed any of them to see him without the mask. Nor did he let them caress him. His lovemaking had been one-sided and accomplished in total darkness, assuring that the women could not see his ruined flesh.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, they undressed each other. Erik held his breath, certain she would be repulsed when she saw his scars and puckered flesh, but if she found him repugnant, she hid it well. She kissed each ugly scar, and as she did so, they no longer seemed important. She explored his body as he explored hers. When she was breathless with need, hungry for his touch, he asked for that which he craved.

  “A taste,” he whispered, his voice husky with longing. “Let me taste you.”

  She stared up at him, her eyes wide with uncertainty. “Will it hurt?”

  “No. It will only heighten each touch, each sensation.” She wanted to refuse, he could see it in her eyes. “Please, my sweet,” he begged softly. “One taste, freely given.”

  With a sigh, she closed her eyes and canted her head to the side.

  Erik gazed at the smooth skin of her throat, humbled by her willingness to trust him, to grant him a taste of her sweetness. Whispering endearments, he trailed kisses along the length of her neck before his fangs gently pierced her tender flesh. Ah, the joy, the ecstasy, the wonder of that first exquisite taste! Warm and sweet, her blood flowed over his tongue like the finest nectar, filling him with the very essence of life.

  Cristie sighed as pleasure flowed through her. Why had she been afraid of this? She knew a moment of regret when he drew away, but only a moment as he took her in his arms again. In spite of his scars, his body was beautiful. Long and lean and well-muscled, his skin felt warm and taut beneath her questing fingertips. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, his chest, his belly, loving the way he quivered at her touch. She moaned as his body merged with hers. She had never known such pleasure, such wonder. He was a gentle lover, his touch almost reverent, his words of love, soft, poetic, filled with an aching tenderness that tugged at her heart. She prayed he would not ask her to stay longer, knew she could not bear to tell him no.

  Sated and content, she fell asleep in his arms.

  Erik watched her all through the night. Their last night together. Watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, hearing the slow, steady beat of her heart, he knew he could not bear to tell her good-bye, could not abide the pain of parting, of watching her walk out of his life. And so, in the dark of the night, while she slept, he dressed her then carried her out of the theater, the ache in his heart growing with every step.

  Chapter 5

  Cristie woke to the warmth of the sun shining on her face. Ope
ning her eyes, she squinted against the brightness she had not seen in weeks.

  Sitting up, she glanced around, surprised to find herself lying on her bed in her hotel room with no recollection of how she had gotten there. Had it been nothing more than a dream, after all?

  She lifted a hand to her neck, felt the sting of tears when her fingertips encountered two tiny puncture wounds. It hadn’t been a dream.

  “Oh, Erik,” she murmured. “Couldn’t you at least have let me say good-bye?” And had her answer with the asking. He had left her before she could leave him.

  It grieved her to go, but how could she stay? Her life was in the States. She taught kindergarten in an upscale school in Boston. She had family in the city, life-long friends, and a home of her own. Erik had no life outside the bowels of the Opera House. He had no friends or family, no home other than his underground lair. How could they have a life together? She could not live in his world, and he could not live in hers.

  With a sigh, she dragged herself into the bathroom to shower and dress. Thank goodness she paid for her room in advance. Cristie frowned. How had Erik known where she was staying?

  Leaving her room, she went downstairs for breakfast. There were still three weeks left of her vacation. Determined to see as much of Paris as possible, she decided to go sight-seeing. She visited The Arc de Triomphe, which had been built to honor the men and women who died while fighting in the French Revolution. She visited the Eiffel Tower. She toured Notre Dame—which had taken one hundred and seventy years to build—walked around The Pantheon, which had been built as a church by Louis XV, but was now the final resting place of such notable French thinkers as Rousseau, Voltaire, Hugo, Zola, as well as scientists Pierre and Marie Curie.

  Amazing places, all of them, but no matter where she traveled, Cristie’s thoughts were on Erik. With every moment apart, she realized that she had fallen in love with him—with his kindness, his tenderness, the sound of his voice, his rare smiles and laughter.

  Though they had never spoken the words, she felt certain Erik loved her in return. But was love enough? Could she go on without him? Did she want to?

  She returned to the theater that night, and every night for the next week, hoping he would seek her out. She scanned the balconies, the dark corners, the shadows, but didn’t see any sign of him.

  On her last night in Paris, she hid in one of the bathrooms in the theater again then spent two hours wandering the corridors, trying to find the secret door leading to his lair. She called his name, but to no avail.

  She spent a miserable night sleeping in one of the seats. In the morning, she asked a startled member of the cleaning crew to let her out.

  Defeated, she returned to the hotel, packed her bags, and took the next flight home. She moped for days, her heart heavy with despair.

  Cristie was glad when school started. She spent the week before getting her classroom ready, eager for the new year, eager for anything to take her mind off her Phantom. But even the excitement of a new year failed to lift her spirits.

  Her steps were heavy when she returned home after the first day of the new semester. She had once found joy in teaching. Where had it gone?

  As she unlocked the front door, she felt a rush of wind. To her astonishment, Erik appeared beside her.

  “Cristie.” Just her name, but it held a wealth of emotion.

  “Erik! How did you find me?”

  “Your blood,” he murmured, his dark gaze searching her face. “It led me to you.”

  “I didn’t think you ever left the Opera House.”

  “I would risk anything to see you again.”

  “I missed you, too,” she said. Taking him by the hand, she drew him into the house then shut the door. “I tried to find you.”

  “I know.”

  “Why did you hide from me?”

  He shrugged, an elegant shifting of one shoulder. “I thought it best to let you go, but I realized my life has no meaning without you. And so, I came here, to ask you to be my Christine for always. Will you share my love, Cristie, be part of my life?”

  She knew what he meant, knew he was asking for more than the companionship of a mortal life span. It took only a moment to decide.

  With a nod, she went into his arms. No words were necessary.

  Being a vampire had once seemed repulsive, now it would open the door to an eternity with the man she loved. Gazing up into his beautiful, dark eyes, she canted her head to the side, granting him access to her throat.

  Still, he hesitated. “Are you sure?” His gaze searched hers. It was not a decision to be made lightly. “Once done, there is no going back.”

  She smiled up at him. Didn’t he understand? There would be no happiness in her life without him, no joy in her world. With a sigh, she removed his mask, and tossed it aside. “So very sure, my sweet angel of music.”

  Murmuring her name in a voice thick with unshed tears, The Phantom of the Opera folded his Christine into his embrace, and with one sweet kiss, he joined their lives together, forever.

  * * finis * *

  Each story included in this collection is available

  individually in ebook format.

  Western Trail Blazer

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  Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery

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