Page 71 of Angel's Fall

“Of course he’s right. We have the fiend in chains – what could go wrong?” Antoine cut in, smirking as he sauntered down the aisle.

“Many things,” Shaya warned with a sigh. “Don’t invite a curse with overconfidence.”

“Were you successful?” Raoul asked.

Antoine snickered. “You’ll owe the carriage driver about a thousand francs when we get to the city, but we have our transport. Well, you two do. Or three, I guess.”

“I thought I was to be the one to guard him?” Shaya demanded, suspicious.

“We thought it best that I be the one to stay behind as a guard,” Antoine answered with a smirk. “All offense intended, I don’t trust you with him.”

“We’d like him alive, and you might not keep him that way,” Raoul added.

“I’ve allowed him to live for three years,” Shaya replied darkly.

“You’ve failed at apprehending him, you mean,” Antoine drawled. “Now that we’ve captured him for you, who’s to say you won’t take your revenge before we can have ours?”

“He killed yourfather,” Shaya snarled in reply. “You might feel the same.”

“I never liked the man much.” Antoine shrugged and Shaya turned to see if Raoul had any reaction. The young man was still intent on Christine’s unconscious form.

“It’s decided. Let’s get her to the carriage,” Raoul ordered, and Antoine moved to help. “No. I’ll do it myself. You go tell the driver to have a smoke or a piss before we get going so he doesn’t ask questions.”

“Yes,Monsieur le Vicomte,” Antoine sneered and strode from the deserted church.

“You trust him with Erik, but you don’t want him touching her?” Shaya asked as he watched Raoul muddle through the unwieldy task of lifting a full-grown woman into his arms to spirit away.

“She’s been defiled enough.” Raoul touched Christine’s pale face as they carried her. She made a soft sound as he did, brows furrowing, and Raoul caught his breath.

“Erik...” The name sighed from Christine’s lips, and Raoul’s face hardened.

“He haunts her even in her nightmares,” Raoul declared.

Shaya’s gut writhed. Christine had been ready to dive in front of a bullet for Erik, from what Shaya had seen. She had screamed for him, and it reminded Shaya so powerfully of the terrible moment years before. He remembered the bullet that had pierced Ramin’s chest and the way he had fallen to the ground. Maybe Antoine was right, and he shouldn’t be near Erik.

Raoul placed Christine with an exhausted huff. Shaya noted how the young man took care to make her comfortable even as she tried to stir, whimpering as she did. The young man took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her face, with curious care paid to her mouth and nose, and it seemed to calm her. It did the exact opposite to Shaya as he watched Raoul pocket the cloth.

“Wait here and watch her,” Raoul ordered as he left the carriage. “I want to see him before we leave.”

“Don’t do anything rash,” Shaya warned. “If he’s awake, try not to let him rile you up or get into your head. His words are poison.”

“Nothing he can say matters now that she’s with us. Tell Antoine where to find me.”

Shaya watched as the young man walked into the night. He comforted himself with the thought that, soon, they would be headed back to Paris to enlist the help of the managers and the police. Soon, it would all be over at last. Erik would never walk free again.

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It was difficult forErik to tell the difference between the pain throbbing at the back of his head, the searing pain on his right arm, and the general ache from his bruised ribs. It all hurt, but so did his position, with his arms pulled back and upwards. The pain that had awoken him, Erik realized, was that of his arms being hoisted up with cold shackles closed around his wrists. Because he had been taken. And Christine was theirs.

He forced his eyes open, his vision blurred at first as he took in his surroundings, watching two dim shadows move away from him. There were skulls in piles in one corner of the dark room, and a stack of what had to be coffins along the opposite wall. The damp, derelict smell was familiar, as was the uncomfortable sense of being where the living were not welcome. They were in a crypt, somewhere below the church in Perros.

Erik winced as he tried to move, the cruel angle of his arms aggravating where the bullet had grazed him. The wince in turn made the wound on his head smart. He could feel where it was tender and his hair was matted with blood. Perfect.

“It’s even uglier when it moves,” a voice Erik was beginning to know drawled. He forced himself to turn to his captors and open his bleary eyes. His erstwhile half-brother looked extremely smug, which was understandable, but the boy appeared utterly sickened to have Erik in his sights. Good.

“Where is Christine?” Erik asked as the two came closer to the pool of light cast by some candle or lantern above him that he couldn’t see.

“She’s safe. Recovering,” the boy snapped, and Erik ground his teeth. Christine had offered herself in panic to save him, once again forced to be the sacrificial lamb. She had to hate all of them at this point. “Far away from you.”

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