Page 39 of Angel's Kiss
“I was afraid that you’d died,” Christine replied shyly. Had it been too far, kissing him, even so chastely? She stroked a hand down his chest to the knife wound he had endured for her.
“I thought I might,” Erik said, and there was utter devotion in his face as he did. “I could have died from happiness and wonder right there.” Christine caught her breath, scolding herself for the idiocy of thinking this man did not love her.
“That would have been very inconvenient,” Christine muttered, touching his bandages to examine them. “How do you feel?” Christine asked, noting that the dressing would need to be changed soon and wondering if Erik would fight her on that.
“Like a hungover fool who took a knife to the gut,” Erik grumbled, raising his hand to massage his brow then starting in alarm when he found his mask still gone. “Where is it?!” he demanded, eyes wide and horrified.
“Over there. It’s alright!” Christine reassured him as he scrambled to where she had discarded his mask beside the bed the night before. “I’m not scared. You don’t need to—”
“I do,” Erik said as he replaced the mask, securing it with the wires that went behind his ears she had never noticed before. It was remarkable how it changed him from a vulnerable creature into a powerful man. A man who made her stomach flutter when he looked at her.
“You should be alright to clean yourself up a bit before I change those,” she muttered as she stood. Suddenly it felt unseemly to be so close to a man in such a state, who looked at her in such a way. She turned to go, hoping to hide her rising blush. To her utter shock, Erik gently caught her wrist.
“Christine.” He said her name in that magical, unquestionable way, and she had no choice but to turn back to him, feeling herself shrinking as he rose from the bed to tower over her, her wrist still trapped in the circle of his fingers. “Do not mistake me. I know that, by some miracle, you won’t run from this.” He gestured to his face. “But to be seen as I am...is another lesson it will take time to learn.”
She was going to be the one to faint now. He was close enough to touch again and part of her wanted to do just that, to continue to teach him not to fear her caress, to feel the textures of his skin and scars again and prove to him he could touch her in turn, as he had before when he was but a shadow.
“Good. That’s...good,” she said before her memory took her too far into the details of what his touch had felt like against the most intimate parts of her person. “I’ll leave you to dress.”
Christine had never moved so fast in Erik’s home as she retreated into the parlor. So much had happened since the last time she’d woken in Erik’s house, thinking about it made it feel like her head was about to split open.
In the span of a day, she had lost a job, gained (or regained) a suitor in the person of her first love, been assaulted and nearly faced worse, seen herothersuitor who pretended to be a ghost take a knife to save her, stitched him up, finally learned a fraction of his story and kissed him. Then slept next to him! In his bed!
It was a wonder she was still standing. In fact, she wasn’t. Somewhere in her crisis, she’d collapsed onto her favorite chair by the fire with her head in her hands. At least Erik was distracted; it gave her time to truly appreciate her panic.
What would Raoul think of you if he knew where you spend your nights?A voice in her head asked.Would he be so eager to overshadow your other suitor if he knew the vile things you’ve done? How would he look at you if he knew of the way your angel commanded you to spread your wanton legs and how you still wish—
Christine shook her head and shivered. The fire had faded to embers in the night, and she busied herself with restoking it, wishing her doubt and shame and desires were more kindling she could shove into the flames. Why was she in such a state all of a sudden? She’d been so calm while Erik was asleep. Why was she so brave before and such a bumbling, blushing fool now? Why was it so different when he had the mask on?
“Am I allowed to get myself some tea?” Christine jumped at the music of Erik’s voice cutting through the tumult in her mind. She stood and turned to see where he leaned on the door frame, thankfully wearing an unbuttoned dark shirt.
“I’ll do it, you sit,” Christine ordered and busied herself gathering food and rummaging through Erik’s copious stores of tea. All too soon she was handing him a cup and once again caught in his adoring stare.
“Thank you,” he said with disarming sincerity.
“It’s your own tea,” she muttered back, screaming at herself inside her head to just act normally. Not that anything with Erik was ever normal.
“No, thank you for helping me and...for taking care of me. I’m not used to it. I should be more grateful for such kindness.” Had his voice become more beautiful in the night? Had his eyes grown brighter?
“You need fresh bandages,” she muttered and rushed away to his room for supplies. It only occurred to her when she took a seat next to him on the couch that this would mean touching him again.
“I can—”
“Let me,” she commanded softly and unquestionably. Erik relaxed and caught her eye.
“Thank you again,” he whispered, and she could feel it on every inch of her skin.
“You’re welcome,” Christine murmured back as she slowly began to unravel the bandages, allowing herself to savor the ridiculous thrill of letting her knuckles graze his skin. “I still can’t believe youletyourself get stabbed to get the upper hand.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Erik replied with a familiar shrug.
“Hand me the calendula,” Christine ordered. Erik complied with a wry smile that made her want to touch him until he fainted again.
“I didn’t have the presence of mind last night to ask where you learned how to do stitches and dress wounds,” Erik said as he handed her a vial of golden oil. “Or which herbs prevent infection.”
“When my father became truly ill, when I was about seventeen, he needed medicine and care we couldn’t afford,” Christine explained as she unwrapped the last old bandage and discarded it into the fire. “A doctor in Perros took pity on us and let us stay as servants, in exchange for caring for Papa. He was a very kind man. He loved music and enjoyed hearing us play or sing. After a while, I started earning our board and Papa’s care by helping him in his practice as a sort of nurse or assistant. Mostly cleaning scrapes and dressing wounds.” Christine dabbed at Erik’s wound. It thankfully did not look infected at all. Carefully, she began wrapping fresh strips of linen around Erik’s midsection. “And most of the injuries I saw were idiot boys who thought something wasa good idea at the time.”
“They were probably all throwing themselves off cliffs so the town doctor’s pretty nurse would patch them up,” Erik commented. Christine’s gaze shot up to him, cheeks ablaze. “Should I not say such things?”
