by Colette Gale
Raoul moved closer. He’d opened his trousers and his cock roared free, red and purple, and glistening at the tip, at her eye level. He took her by the back of her neck and brought his cock to her mouth. “Open up, my dear. It's not as if it's the first time.”
Christine opened her mouth. He slid in, all the way, and she could barely hold her jaws open wide enough. He touched the back of her throat and she gagged, coughing around him…and then he began to move slowly in and out, never fully withdrawing, but enough that it was a long slide back in…and out…in…and out until he came with a low moan.
“Now, Raoul,” she heard Philippe say.
And before Christine knew what was happening, she heard a scuffle, and looked up to see Erik, standing in front of her, where Raoul had been moments before.
His hips were eye level with her, and his trousers open, displaying his lovely, throbbing cock. She tipped her head back, horrified, and saw that he was looking down at her with wild eyes, the good side of his face tense and drawn, the rope biting into his neck, and Raoul standing behind him, pushing him forward.
“Do it, Christine,” Philippe ordered, his voice strained. “Do it, now!”
She closed her eyesand opened her mouth, and Erik slid in.
Mon Dieu…it was Erik. Warm, thick, full…she tasted him, focused on him instead of what was happening around her.
He slid frantically in and out, her saliva easing the way, as Raoul grabbed her breasts, pushing them up against her, knocking her off-balance so that she grabbed at Erik’s thighs to hold herself steady.
Erik gave a long, choking cry and shot his seed into the back of her throat.
She dropped to the floor, exhausted, sore, drained.
Raoul stuffed his sagging cock back into his trousers. Philippe looked down at her from his position against the wall. His eyes glittered with lust and she feared for a moment he would demand she come to him.
Christine looked up, hardly daring to see what condition Erik was in.
He half hung against the wall, his marked face more stark than ever before. His cock hung, sated, to one side. His expression was bleak, defeated. He did not look at her.
Christine struggled to her feet, her knees and legs trembling. She clutched at a chair to gain her balance, and looked for something to draw over her body.
A blanket…she saw one, and reached for it, pulling it over her shoulders. Then she staggered to Erik’s side, wrapping her arms around him, trying to pry the rope loose from his neck.
“Please…let us go now,” she said to Philippe.
He cocked his head, listening…and a smile curled his lips. “Do you hear that?”
She listened, and heard, in the distance, the sounds of shouting. Horrible sounds, angry ones…and her blood chilled. “What is it?”
“They are coming for him.” His smile broadened. “I did not expect them so soon, but at least we had finished our business first. Now, Christine, you have a choice.”
“A choice?”
“I’m afraid after that performance, my brother and I aren’t quite willing to let you be torn to pieces by the mob. Nor are we quite willing to allow this murderer to be set free. After all, he is a very dangerous man.”
“But you agreed—”
“I said that we would come to some arrangement that would be agreeable to both of us. And I think we still can. Listen…they are coming closer. Raoul, why do you not go and find them…bring them here? Then things will be over very quickly.”
“No!” Christine shouted, tears swimming in her eyes as she clutched at Erik, frantically trying to pull the rope loose. “No! Please!”
Philippe looked at her, raised his gun again in a threat, pointing it straight at Erik’s head. He was close enough that he would not miss. Christine stopped pulling on the rope. “Much as I love to hear you beg, I don’t think you wish to have those angry men hear you at this time. Or they might find their way here even sooner. Raoul, wait one moment…Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
“Let her go,” Erik croaked, his chest rumbling next to her. He was so weary, so empty. She felt his absolute stillness…as though he had given up. “She’s done what you wanted.”
“I’m happy to let her go…in exchange for turning you over to the mob. Christine can leave here and do as she wishes.” Philippe looked down at her. “Or…she can come with us. And be safe.”
“What do you mean?” But she was sure she already knew.
“This is your choice, Christine. Yours to make. Not his. You come with Raoul and me, back to Château de Chagny…and we will allow him to leave now, before the mob comes. I’m certain he will find a way to rid himself of those ropes…just as I am certain that he has a secret way out of this underground lair. He might escape from them…but if he doesn’t, at least he will have had a fighting chance.
“If not…then you may go free, and we will lead that angry group of citizens here, and ensure that they do as they wish with your lover. It is long past time for him to have his due.”
“You…you intended this all along,” Christine choked.
He inclined his head. “Perhaps. I will say that your performance sealed the bargain. I am not willing to walk away from such passion and energy so easily. Now! Your time is running short…They will be upon us in a moment. What is your decision?”
Erik was struggling again, heedless of the gun. “Christine, no, you cannot! You cannot. Leave me…Go free while you can. Get far away from these men!” His voice was rough and scratched, with emotion and from the cut of the rope.
She looked up at him, tears blinding her. “Erik, I can’t leave you to your death. I can’t! At least if I do this, there is the chance we will be together…the chance. I love you. You have had so much pain…Erik, I love you. I’m sorry.”
She brought his face down for a hard, passionate kiss, crying between gasps and tastes of him. He kissed her back helplessly, hungrily…as though trying to argue her out of her folly by using his lips…but she backed away before she could change her mind.
“I love you,” she said.
“I will come for you, Christine. I will come for you.” He turned his face and looked at Philippe, who’d been watching their tearful parting with that same mocking smile. “I will hunt you down, and I will kill you, Philippe. I promise you that…I will not die until I do.” His words broke at the end.
Philippe laughed. “Of course. Now that I have your complete humiliation, and the woman you love, instead of letting you die and putting you out of your misery…I set you free. Go. Go, Erik, and remember these images of what occurred here tonight. Let them torture you, day after miserable day…Remember her cries of pleasure, her ecstatic expression…Remember the feel of her mouth on your cock…because every day, every night, every morning, every noontime…that is what I will have. Wonder if she will learn to love me. Wonder if she will forget you. Live it and remember it and wish for it…but you will never have it again. And I will. After all these years, I have won.”
He grabbed Christine’s arm, holding the gun at her temple— “Just to ensure you do not try anything foolish”—and untied the rope from the lamp. Erik was free to move now, the rope loose around his neck, but his hands were still bound behind his back. “Go, now, go…before I change my mind and put a bullet in her head.”
The voices of the mob were closer, reverberating angrily in the underground cavern, sending shivers of fear into Christine's belly. They would tear him to pieces. “Go, Erik, go! Save yourself!”
He backed away, back toward the rooms where he’d composed music, where they’d made love…where she’d removed his mask for the first time…“Christine, I will come for you. I will come. Never give up on me.”
And he was gone.
Part II
The Prisoner at
Chateau de Chagny
* * *
SEVENTEEN
* * *
"You shall find it quite comfortable here,” Raoul told her. “You shall have ever
ything you need or want.” Everything except for Erik.
Christine walked numbly into her room at Château de Chagny. She was still dressed in her Scheherazade costume from earlier that night. Or perhaps it was from the night before; she had no concept of time anymore.
Only that she had let Erik go.
It had been to save his life. But she had let him go.
I shall come for you.
Those words, the stricken expression in his eyes that had given way to determination, had burned into her memory during the last…hours…half a day…however long it had been since she’d been hustled from the depths of the Opera House to this opulent estate. It hadn’t been a long ride from Paris, well less than half a day.
She had cried silently in a corner of their carriage and spent most of the journey in a half-sleeping, half-waking stupor, while Philippe and Raoul conversed quietly.
She’d been sleeping when they turned in to the drive of the estate, and woke only when the carriage jerked to a halt and the shouts of servants greeted her ears. She had the impression of a large building made of gray brick, flush with windows across its square, imposing facade, and a large expanse of lawn, but little else. She was too numb.
The interior of the château was nearly as opulent and ornate as the Opera House. She noticed gilt furnishings, high, mirrored hallways, and thick rugs as Raoul ushered her up to her chamber.
Through it all, she could comfort herself with the fact that at least the comte had kept his word and allowed Erik to go free. While Raoul had kept Christine hidden as she dressed, Philippe had met the raging mob that had come for Erik.
“He has gone. Escaped,” the comte told them. Even from where she watched through a crack in the wall, Christine could see the murderous rage on their faces. The flickering of the torches they carried, and the glint and gleam of pistols and swords. She shivered, glad that she had made the decision to save Erik from them.
It had been the right decision.
She watched through the crack when the comte really did send them off in a different direction from the one Erik had gone. And only then had she allowed her shoulders to slump from their drawn-up tension, and her eyes to close in relief.
Erik would be safe.
“And you,” the comte had said, thrusting his face into hers after the mob had left, “shall be very grateful to me for saving the life of your horrific lover. I shall make quite certain of your gratitude, Miss Daaé. Or perhaps I may be permitted to call you Christine?”
The glitter in his eyes made her stomach roil, and Christine found herself pressing back into Raoul’s arms, where he’d held her still and quiet. She could stomach the younger brother’s touch, but never the comte's. Never.
Now, as she looked vaguely at the sumptuous room at Château de Chagny into which she’d been led, Christine heard the door close behind her. She turned and found that she and Raoul were alone.
“Christine…you must understand. It is for your own good.” He stepped toward her, his handsome face earnest yet determined.
“My own good?” She managed to form the words even as bitterness swelled inside her.
“You had no future with…Erik. He would keep you prisoner; he would keep you hidden away. You could never see the light of day, interact with people, or drive in a carriage. You would be destined to darkness and subterfuge. Here…here you will be cared for, in comfort.”
“For the pleasure of your brother? You heard his threats!”
“No, he said those things only to drive Erik away. No, Christine, no…you are here because I love you. Philippe has nothing to do with this. In time you will forget that—that beast, and come to realize that you belong with me.”
Christine stared at him, his image going blurry as tears filled her eyes. “I love Erik. He is my life! I cannot be happy here, without him.”
Raoul's hands seized her shoulders, dragging her up against his body. “Don’t say that,” he said fiercely, his face close to hers. His words fanned hot over her lips. “You are so beautiful, so perfect and pure…you cannot love a man such as he.” Shaking, he pulled her closer, covering her mouth, wet with salty tears, kissing her deeply.
Christine sagged in his arms, twisting to pull her mouth away. “Raoul, no.”
“Christine,” he said at last, when she’d freed her lips. “Trust me. You will come to thank me in time. You will realize that I was right to help you escape from him. You belong with me. I love you. I will take care of you.”
She shook her head, the word never billowing up behind her lips. But she could not say it, for Raoul brought his mouth to hers again, covering her lips and her breath with his, absorbing her being into his so strongly that at last she acquiesced.
Yet the word never echoed in her mind.
~*~
Erik felt hollow and worn, his soul more pitted and scarred than he’d thought possible.
But the morning after he left Christine, after a long night of dodging through the streets of Paris, he began to fill that hollowness with anger and determination, and self-recrimination.
He’d lived the last ten years in darkness. He’d cowered behind the threats of his brother, a brother who’d carelessly wrought evil on those he came in contact with. He’d let Philippe control his life.
And now he’d let Philippe take the most important thing in the world from him.
His thighs bunched around Cesar, and Erik prodded him faster with his knees. They fairly flew through mud-and-snow-mixed streets, through a graveyard on the outskirts of Paris where he’d found a place to hide while the mob was looking for him.
He was desperate to be on his way to the estate at Chagny, where he knew Philippe had to have taken Christine. But first he had to find Maude, find out what happened at the Opera House, and whatever else she could tell him.
Philippe, damn him, had been right—Erik had carefully planned an escape for him and Christine, and last night, he’d used it. For himself. Only for himself.
Although every nerve and muscle in his body rebelled, his brain won out: Sick to his very bones, he had left Christine with his two half brothers, knowing that it was the only chance for both her and himself to survive.
And he wanted to survive. For her. With her.
He couldn’t live in the dark any longer. It had made him more weak and vulnerable than his face ever had.
Erik felt the chill February wind rush over the bare half of his face as Cesar galloped. He greedily gulped in the daytime breeze. His fingers were holding the reins so tightly that they were cramped, bloodless. His body was so tense and stiff with anger and devastation that it felt frozen.
He hated himself for the weak fool he was. His mouth burned with bile that she’d had to save him, when he should have been saving her. He’d left her, when he should have found a way to take her too.
Allowed her to make the choice…
His throat still ached from the rope Philippe had flung around his neck. Erik had spoken to no one, but he knew his voice would be rough and scratchy…perhaps permanently damaged.
Just as he was. Permanently damaged.
Erik closed his eyes. It had begun to snow, and the icy flakes bit into the lids of his eyes, as Cesar kept on. He would hear the news from Maude—what they were saying about the Opera Ghost, and the fire; whether they were still looking for him; and whether there was any word about Christine. Only then could he make his plans.
~*~
“Ahh, Christine, you look lovely tonight,” said the comte as she entered the drawing room her first evening at Château de Chagny.
“None the worse for wear after your…adventure last night, I see. May I pour you some sherry? My brother has been detained in town. I am sure he will join us shortly with news of the fate of the Opera House.”
How very civilized Philippe sounded. How perfectly normal this must be for the upper class—to meet in the drawing room for drinks before dinner, to provide excuses for the tardiness of one of its members.
Exce
pt for the fact that Christine had no desire to be in the drawing room, in the comte's presence, or even in the house at all. And most definitely not alone with him.
Philippe spoke again as he offered her a small pink-tinted glass that held a golden liquid. “We do not stand on ceremony at Château de Chagny,” he added with a mocking glance. “I shall call you Christine, and you shall call me Philippe.” He stepped closer, so that his shoes bumped against her slippers and the wing of his jacket brushed against her bosom. “I look forward to hearing you say my name…in many ways.”
Christine stepped away, her heart pounding. She had not wanted to come down for dinner; she would have preferred locking herself away in the elegantly furnished ivory lace bedchamber Raoul had given her. But the threat had been made: Dress and prepare for and attend dinner, or welcome a personal visit from her host. And with Raoul being absent from the château, she dared not antagonize his older brother.
Despite Raoul’s protestations that Philippe was merely offering her sanctuary, Christine was fully aware that the comte had much more than that in mind.
“I was rather hoping that you would have preferred a…private…dinner tonight,” Philippe told her, confirming her fears.
Where was Raoul? Why could he not be here?
After Raoul had brought her to her chamber, she had spent the day alternately crying, sleeping, and worrying about her predicament.
She had done what she had to do to save Erik; she had no regrets in that. She had hurt him once before by removing his mask, and baring his deepest secret, his greatest pain, to her. Choosing this…captivity in order to assure his freedom was a small price to pay. And she believed him when he said he would come for her.
He would.
