Page 26 of Angel's Flight

“I met Jack’s English friend,” Christine said instead of all of that.“You’d like him, I think.He speaks French as well as Italian, and I think he mentioned Greek.And Cornish!Have you ever heard Cornish?Of course you have.”

Erik had her wrapped in his arms before the tears could escape her eyes.He knew, perhaps not the cause of the wound, but that the pain was there.He was the consolation.

“I’m sorry, I should have—”

“I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened in Paris the night...”She couldn’t even say it.The night we all nearly died.The night I saved us, but not everyone.The night I chose you and the new world we would find.

“Me too,” Erik confessed against her hair, then kissed her forehead.“That and everything else.”

“I chose you,” Christine whispered, gripping the fabric of his shirt tight as something roiled inside her.“I marriedyou.I need you with me.”

“I know.”Erik didn’t protest as Christine removed his mask.It felt so good to kiss him.It felt right.It always had.He was the one who made everything feel distant, and for a few moments, the little world they shared felt safe.

“I love you,” Christine whispered against his cheek.“I think sometimes you still forget that.”

“I love you too,” Erik replied, the disbelief in his voice all the confirmation of his doubt she needed.

“Undress me,” Christine ordered, and Erik obeyed with no hesitation.He kissed her and touched her as he did so, taking care with her buttons and laces.She wasn’t as patient with him, tearing off his shirt and trousers when it was time, then sighing as he lifted her to the bed.“Make love to me,” came another command, and she wrapped her legs around him.

“My love,” Erik breathed in her ear, nuzzling against her neck and kissing her racing pulse as he slid home inside her.Whatever was left of the world melted away as they began to move together, finding a slow, delicious rhythm as their desire took hold.Christine’s eyes fluttered open and shut, the cracked plaster above them filling her vision and then disappearing as her mind burst with golden stars that reminded her of his eyes.

“Look at me,” Christine pled, threading her fingers into her husband’s dark hair.He made a sound of protest, and she knew this was one of those nights he wanted to hide from her – hide his ugliness and shame even as his body merged with hers.“Look at me,” she commanded again and yanked his head up so that he had no choice.

“Christine,” he moaned, eyes wide and awed.She knew him and his body, the things he liked, but didn’t ask for.She knew what this hint of pain did to him.She tightened one hand in his hair, pulling hard, and he responded with his hips, increasing their speed.“More,” he barely whispered.

Christine gripped his shoulder with her free hand and dug in her nails, forcing him all the while to look at her and be seen.His face was inches from hers, his sunken eyes and the collapsed nose that made him look like a corpse above her.Christine forced him closer to her and licked along the jagged scar on his cheek, then bit his earlobe.“Harder,” she gasped as the ferocity of his thrusts increased.

“I’m so...”Erik protested as he drove into her.“So close.”

“Not yet,” Christine heard herself hiss and drove her nails deeper into his flesh.She pulled his hair again, forcing him to meet her eyes.“Not yet.Make me—”

“Yes, my love,” Erik whined and grabbed her by the thighs, pushing her legs up so that he could fuck her so deeply she felt it in her bones.Christine could barely breathe with the force of it.Her body was all coiled heat and need.She felt her pleasure rising, chasing his as he served her.As he waited and obeyed.

She froze in a silent cry as the climax hit her, her eyes wide as they locked with his in a final silent command to follow.He did, careening over the cliff of their pleasure as all vision and strife and noise left her.There was no difference between them in that moment, as he poured himself into her, hot and sweet.He was hers, and she was his, and that was all that mattered.

They held each other after, cradled in one another’s arms.Erik sang to her, knowing what she needed without a word now, the old Irish song he’d serenaded her with long ago.For a while, she was at peace.For a while, she was safe with him.

Until the dreams came.They were familiar now.Dreams of the Opéra, opening her mouth to sing, and no one hearing her.She tried to scream too, and no one heard her warnings as the chandelier crashed down.Bodies hung around her, and the gunshot was so loud, she felt it in her bones.She turned and saw Erik falling to the ground, a gaping wound in his chest, his heart torn into pieces because of her...

Christine gasped awake, drenched in sweat.Erik stirred beside her, gold eyes cracking open.“Are you alright?”

“No,” she whispered.“And I don’t know why.Why can’t I forget it all?”

To his credit, Erik didn’t ask what she meant.He only rose to hold her.“Living with our pain does not mean we forget it.We cannot erase our scars, only accept them.”

Christine wished she knew how to do that.Erik didn’t seem to know the secret either, only that it was possible, somehow.

She looked out the window and saw the first traces of dawn on the horizon, much to her relief.She didn’t want to go back to sleep.She wanted to do something to move them forward at last.With a start, she remembered her last interaction with Jack.

“Jack had the message – the telegram from Tissot,” Christine exclaimed, jumping from bed and wrapping herself in a blanket as she searched for the paper.She found it on the floor next to her skirt and handed it to Erik.She didn’t like the frown that appeared on his mangled face.Not one bit.

“This says Tissot has been ill.He can’t handle any correspondence at all.”Erik looked up at her, realization dawning.

“Maybe someone went to Tissot and found out where we were from him?”Christine murmured.

“I need to go to Geneva immediately.”

“We,” Christine countered, her heart falling again.“We need to go to Geneva and find out what happened to Tissot.”

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