Page 93 of Angel's Fall

“It was not your crime, it was theirs,” Erik replied with unnerving calm. “All you did was remind me what the world thinks of me and what a monstrous place it is. I should thank you! Yes, you wanted me to be there, you asked for it and you knew I could never refuse you, but you are not at fault. They are.” There it was, that chill edge to his voice and tension in his body that made Christine so afraid.

“And you punished them. Now you have me back,” Christine tried as she stroked his arm.

Erik laughed, bitter and cold. “Their punishment has only begun. The chandelier, that was only act one. Don Juan has yet to reach his final triumph.”

Christine’s stomach fell at the mention of his horrible masterwork and she turned to the organ. There it was: the huge score written in blood-red ink, open above the keys, with scrawled notes and designs.

Erik strode to the instrument and flipped to another page, revealing not music, but a diagram of the chandelier, its five counterweights... and the means to destroy them.

“You said it all went according to plan. You were able to bring the chandelier down because you built the devices years ago,” she muttered sickly.

“I’ve modified them through the years, when I’ve had new ideas.” Erik sounded so cheerful and proud it terrified her. “I told you, didn’t I? I have worked on myDon Juanfor a very long time, my great triumph. Just like Wagner and hisRing! Wagner ended his ring cycle with the death of the gods and the burning of the entire world. I have not yet penned my finale, but there is one scene I always thought to include. Much in that Wagnerian fashion...”

“We don’t need that. It’s over.” Christine forced herself between Erik and the terrible score, trying to bring her angel back to her as she always had before. His eyes came back into focus, fixed on her. “Erik, please—”

“Did any of them hurt you?” Erik asked abruptly, as he caught her hand and examined her. “It matters. I was extremely specific with that boy about what I would do if he hurt you.”

“No. Raoul...” Christine swallowed, afraid to lie and worried what the truth would inspire. “I think he drugged me in Perros. I thought I fainted but I don’t know how I was asleep for so long.”

“Of course he did,” Erik said, deadly and dark. “I’m sure I know who supplied your aristocratic hero with the means to make a woman insensible and easy to use.”

“I woke up in the carriage, Shaya was there. We were back in Paris and they told me they had you. Erik, I was so scared!”

“I knew he was lying, that little rat,” Erik growled, tightening his hold on her hand. “He said you were relieved. He said you were happy.”

“It wasn’t true!” Christine cried, gripping her lover’s hand. He wasn’t looking at her eyes though, but at her bare fingers.

“I heard the happy news of your engagement this morning.” Erik’s voice was as dire as she had ever heard it.

“Please, you have to know, it wasn’t true, whatever you read or heard,” Christine whimpered, tears filling her eyes again. “I thought I was saving you. I agreed to it because I love you! He took my ring before I woke! Erik, I swear—”

“How far did you intend to go to save me?” Erik demanded, finally meeting her eyes, as fire sparked in his gold ones. “How far did he push his rights as your future husband?”

“He only kissed me,” Christine pled, grabbing Erik by the arms. She wanted to shake the suspicions out of his foolish head and absolve herself of the shame. “But he wanted to take me tonight.”

Erik seized her at the words, lips curling, his hands raking into her hair and he looked deep in her eyes, his own golden orbs incandescent with rage. “Would you have done it?” he demanded, hands shaking against her skull. “To save my miserable life, would you have gone to his bed? Like all the times you went to mine to save his?”

Tears streamed down Christine’s cheeks as she shook her head. “No. I love you... but I couldn’t do that. You saw – you saw me tell him I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry, but I could never—”

Erik kissed her before she could say more. Kissed her hard, with more hunger and desperation than ever before, claiming her once again. It was a breath after drowning, Christine knew it, a gasp for life that had been so close to slipping away. She returned the embrace frantically, kneading her lips against Erik’s and tasting their tears. He pulled away long enough to caress her cheek and show her that the fury was gone from his eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered. “My beautiful, strong, perfect Christine. I should never have doubted you.”

“I’ve always been yours.” Christine kissed him again to prove it, starving and deep, wanting nothing more than to keep this contact forever. If she just kept kissing him, kept touching him, he couldn’t be taken away again. He couldn’t succumb to the madness she’d left him to. “I was so afraid. They said they were giving you to the police,” Christine sobbed between kisses.

“It doesn’t matter. I have you back now.” Erik pulled her tight against him, kissing her cheek and jaw and neck. “They won’t ever take you again.”

Christine gasped as his teeth grazed her pulse, just as his hands swept up to her breasts. She thought of the way Raoul had kissed her in her dressing room – the way he had been so confident that he was entitled to take her tonight because of a promise he had stolen with lies and threats. It lit a fire in her as Erik pressed his thumbs over her nipples, which grew tight under her plain costume. “They won’t. I swear.”

Erik made a noise low in his throat, something like a groan or a growl as he seized her thighs and began to yank her skirt up toward her hips. In turn Christine gave a small, sweet gasp as she felt the hardening of his desire between them. She deepened her kiss and wrapped her arms around him, suddenly frantic to show her dark angel that it was him she chose. She heard the rip of fabric as he divested her of her thin pantalettes and shivered at the feel of cold air on her legs, then cried out in slavish need when he touched her.

“Still mine,” Erik purred as his fingers explored her cunt, drawing forth a slick welcome and dizzying pleasure as he did. “My Christine.”

“Always,” Christine mewled in reply as he filled her with three long fingers, sending lighting through her bones and banishing all logic from her mind. She was sure she would have collapsed had he not been holding her by the waist, not only from pleasure and need, but the sheer relief that she could still reach him. But she needed more. They needed more. “Erik, I—I need—fuck—”

“I need you too,” he answered. He withdrew his hand so that she whined in protest at the emptiness, then gasped anew as he lifted her by her thighs and right onto the keys of the organ. A discordant, thunderous noise filled the house as Christine’s weight settled on the keys. Her cry of pleasure joined the chorus as her fallen angel of music kissed her again and dipped his hand between them to free his cock. “Promise it again, my love.”

“I promise,” Christine cooed, desperate to be filled and to show him her love and trust as she locked her legs around him. She nearly sobbed at the pleasure as he drove his cock into her and at last filled her to the brim. The organ gave another wail, then began to echo the rhythm of his thrusts.

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