Page 11 of Angel's Flight
“Oh God,” he moaned as she encased him in warmth.He was so desperate for her, so hard he could feel every inch as she engulfed him.He looked up with unfocused eyes to watch her as she began to ride him, chasing more pleasure.He rushed to meet her, thrusting as hard as he could, even as his soul and his mind were transported to a place of pure feeling.
The bed creaked and strained as they moved.His wrists and arms screamed as he tensed with something like pain, but also beyond it.He felt delirious, and there was nothing but Christine above him, thrashing against him as she used him and tightened around him.She was so beautiful, even when she doubled over and grabbed him, her nails digging into his chest as she found her climax.The pain and the pulsing were all too much, sending Erik over the edge with her.He climaxed into her in hot spurts, spasming and straining against his bindings.
He was safe and free, and it was good.He could be good if she ruled him.
His mind swam with color and contentment, time starting and stopping in an irregular rhythm.He was barely aware of her untying him, then kissing his moist brow.
“Rest now, my love,” Christine commanded, and he draped her in his arms.Sated and safe, he slept at last.
Paris
Shaya would not havechosen this bistro if it were up to him.The Marais was painfully bohemian, and a substantial walk from theRue deRivoli, but Armand had been insistent about the quality of the beef stew at the place, and Shaya had learned that the opera manager couldn’t be dissuaded on matters of cuisine.At least he had committed to pay, as usual.
“There you are,” Moncharmin called from a table outside on the street, in the typical Parisian style.Good, they were to dine outdoors, which Shaya much preferred on summer evenings.
“I hope I’m not too late,” Shaya said, looking about as he took a seat.“I assume this is some highly sought-after establishment with the urgency of your invitation.”
“Oh, not exactly,” Armand replied sheepishly.The man had looked harried and exhausted every time Shaya had seen him in the recent months, but he was particularly sweaty and rumpled today.“I needed to talk to you about an important matter.Or I think I do.If it’s nothing, we can still have a good meal.”
“What’s going on?”Shaya asked, anxiety prickling the back of his neck.
“Have you heard from...him?”Armand’s voice was unsteady, and Shaya knew why.To even speak the name Erik was a dangerous thing, after all they had gone through to save and send off the infamous Phantom.
“Not for a few weeks.He wrote to me through a solicitor in Geneva, via, I think, Milan?He didn’t say so, of course, but the postmark and the paper were easy to track, if you know what to do.”Shaya tried not to sound too proud of his detective work.In truth, it had been a diversion – a little puzzle to solve.Life had become considerably more boring since the Phantom had fled his opera and city.
“And no indication he wished to return?”
“None at all.I don’t think he intends to come back to France for a long while.Though it doesn’t sound like they’ve settled anywhere,” Shaya added with a smile.It was quite a thing to think fondly of the man he had pursued for so long, then stood next to at his wedding to the most remarkable of women.
“Oh.Good.That’s good to know,” Armand exhaled.“Should we get some wine?Though – a month, you said?That could be enough time to travel.”
“What do you mean?”Shaya asked, concern growing.
“It’s nothing.I mean– I think it’s nothing.”
“I was a spy and a detective for a long time, Armand.I know when someone is lying.”
Armand scowled.“It isn’t anything, I promise.It’s just that in the last – well, it must be the last month – there have been a few incidents at the opera.”
“Incidents?”Shaya didn’t like the sound of that.He didn’t like how green about the gills Armand looked either. “What sort of incidents?”
“Nothing of great note.The usual stories and superstitions of the artists.They still blame everything that goes wrong on the ghost.”Armand sounded like he was reassuring himself as much as he was Shaya.It was not comforting.
“Erik told me that most of the ills and accidents attributed to him were just that – normal mishaps that people called the work of a ghost because it was amusing.”
“Exactly!That’s what I thought.Think.Whatever people have seen in the cellars—”
“Seen?”Shaya echoed incredulously.“What do you mean?”
“A few ballet rats and a fireman glimpsed a figure in the shadows in the lower cellars.They swear it was the ghost,” Armand confessed, trying and failing to sound untroubled.“I know, as you do, that he is gone.So they can’t have seen him.It’s concerning, nonetheless.And some of the– the mischief has felt different.”
“There’s been mischief?”
“Tickets mixed up.Keys missing.It’s most likely the staff getting their sea legs after all the disruption.”Armand looked to Shaya for reassurance, but Shaya had little to give.
“You should be wary.It could be something else – someoneelse – who decided to fill the open position of opera ghost.”Shaya shook his head as he said it.“Though no one but us and a few others are aware that the ghost was a man.I could see no reason for anyone to take up his mantle.”
“We’re probably just being paranoid,” Armand said with a forced ease.“I’ve heard about men coming back from wars and going into a panic when a broom falls because they hear the sound of a gunshot.”
