Page 35 of Angel's Kiss
“Not as much as before, thanks to you.”
“No, not that.” She raised a hand towards his mask. “Your face...”
Erik winced away immediately. “No,” he growled, fear and panic in his eyes.
“Just let me check and clean it! It could get infected or—”
“Oh yes, we wouldn’t want a scar!” Erik’s breath was coming fast now, but Christine refused to let him escape this time. She caught his jaw with her hand, as gentle as she could possibly be while holding his gaze. It reminded her of calming a wild animal caught in a trap.
“Erik, please, trust me. I’ll be quick and then you can put it back on,” she said softly. “I’ve already seen.”
“I don’t want to see you look at me,” he protested again, barely a whisper.
“Then close your damn eyes,” Christine commanded.
Erik stared at her as seconds ticked by. She hoped he could see in her eyes that she had no intention of hurting him or letting him say no. Erik grabbed the bottle of brandy again and took a long swig, then nodded. Slowly, he closed his eyes.
6. Scars
It was madness, Erikknew, to be more afraid of Christine’s relentless gaze than an armed man ready to kill him in the street. Even so, he found himself awash in terror. His heart pounded and cold tingling engulfed his body as Christine’s fingers carefully fixed around the edge of his mask.
“You can trust me, I promise,” Christine said, gentle and calm. The pain of his wound could not distract him from the panic that overtook him the instant the familiar pressure of the mask was gone, replaced by cold air on his bare face.
At least she did not scream, he told himself, refusing to imagine the gruesome sight she saw. He winced at the first touch of a rag against the gash on his cheekbone, but he didn’t move away. If he stayed still and did not fight, it would be over quickly...
“Do you shave?”
Erik’s eyes flew open in utter bewilderment to meet Christine’s curious gaze. “What?” he asked breathlessly.
“You’re a man. Men have beards. Do you have to shave?” Christine repeated, as if it was the most normal thing. Erik could only blink at her. “I imagine it would be awkward, without a mirror or with a mask on.”
“Only rarely,” Erik found himself replying, staring up at Christine and trying to find the horror and repulsion in her face. But her expression was completely neutral. “Hair doesn’t like to grow on scars,” he muttered as she dabbed his face with the cloth that came away red.
“Hm,” was Christine’s only reply.
Erik could not understand. Perhaps unwisely, he took another swig of brandy to steady his nerves. The drink burned down his throat and dulled his senses enough that he could breathe. He could not close his eyes again now; he was too fascinated and terrified by the woman brave enough to touch him and look on his face without fear. Or at least without showing it.
