Page 18 of Bewitched By the Phantom
Erik’s golden electric guitar sits in the corner and it gives me pause. Doesn’t he need that for rehearsal? Unless they’re doing a song where he doesn’t need it. It’s a beautiful guitar, clearly well-made and very vintage. It fits Erik’s style, and matches his mask.
On top of the dresser, a small, old record player sits, a golden record on the mat ready to play. Frowning, I move over to it, my eyes tracing the label before they widen.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, leaning closer in case I’m somehow imagining it. “Chris Feral. Demo. 2019,” I read out loud. I never made a demo back then.
I lift the cover and set the needle on the record before I hit the play button. The old record player takes a second to wind up, but when it does and the music starts to play, my confusion only grows.
My own voice starts singing to me from the machine. It’s my lyrics, but not my arrangement, and beneath my voice, someone else is harmonizing with me. Low and haunting, so I know exactly who it is. But I don’t remember recording this. I don’t understand.
I hover here, frozen, as I listen to a song that shouldn’t be recorded, my voice meshing perfectly with Erik’s. It’s fucking beautiful, and it shouldn’t be.
I press a hand to my forehead. I’m losing control of this situation. Fast. I came in here to prove that Erik is Phantom and instead, all I have are more questions. I’m frustrated, unnerved by his flirtation, but also relishing it at the same time. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Get ahold of yourself, Chris,” I hiss under my breath, my eyes on the record player as it begins to wind down, the song about to end.
The final line whispers from the record player, but despite the sound coming from it, it feels like the line is whispered in my ear.
“Play me eternal,” Erik’s voice whispers. “My velvet guillotine.”
I whirl, confused, only to find the man in question standing right behind me. I shriek and stumble back, panicked that I’vebeen caught and also that he’s standing so close to me. His arm snaps out, stopping me from falling with his large hand wrapped around my wrist.
“What the fuck?” I snarl, jerking out of his hold the moment I have my footing. “Why the fuck are you sneaking up on me like that?”
Erik smirks. “You’re in my room, angel.”
This can go one of two ways. Either I can pretend I walked into the wrong apartment —highly unbelievable—or I can just own it. Well . . .here goes nothing.
“Yeah, and?” I say, crossing my arms.
The only part of his upper face I can see are his eyes, and they glitter at my answer. He doesn’t seem mad. He seems . . . pleased.
“And did you find what you were looking for?” he purrs, taking a step closer and forcing me further into the room again.
“Not exactly,” I say, my voice hitching at the way he towers over me. “Shouldn’t you be at rehearsal?”
His lips quirk up. “I needed my guitar.”
He moves closer again and I back up, the backs of my knees hitting the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?” I ask, staring up at him.
He hums under his breath. “There’s a beautiful woman in my bedroom,” he purrs. “I’m admiring the way she looks in it.”
My heart rate kicks up. “You’ve gotta stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” he asks.
“Flirting with me,” I breathe. I should be angry. My attitude should cut like a knife. Instead, as he closes the distance between us and I find myself craning my neck to look up at him, I can’t help but admire how he moves. Erik doesn’t feel human. Being around him is like watching an old school vampire movie and wondering why no one sees the danger of him. I’m standing here, feeling the danger just like those inexperiencedprotagonists, and I still don’t move away. Suddenly, I understand how those women were bitten.
He reaches up and runs a strand of my green hair over his fingers, his body vibrating with energy. “Where would the fun in that be?” he asks.
“So, it’s a game to you?” My eyes are on his, and the urge to rip his mask off is so strong, my fingers twitch with the temptation.
“A game?” he smiles. “On the contrary, angel, this is the most important thing I’ll ever do.” He leans down and my breath catches. “I’ve thought about the way you’d taste, about how your music stains your lips with the melody. Will I be able to taste your lyrics if I kiss you?”
Oh. Oh, fuck. “Uh . . .” is my very elaborate answer. God, I’m a goner.
My inability to form a coherent sentence seems to please him. His smile broadens and he reaches up to touch my chin, his rough fingers stroking my skin there before cupping it. He gives me plenty of time to pull away, to tell him to stop. My idiot self doesn’t do any of that. Instead, I find myself leaning into his touch, my hands coming up to rest at his sides and clench in his t-shirt. That’s all the permission he needs.
Erik closes the distance between our lips. It’s a soft meeting at first, just his lips touching to mine, but the moment they touch, I lose all sanity. My arms wind up around his neck of their own accord, my fingers digging into his soft hair. His arms wrap around me and jerk me closer just before he deepens the kiss. His lips move over mine in a way that makes me feel consumed. I make a soft sound of desperation in the back of my throat and his chest vibrates with a growl that sounds less human than anything I’ve ever heard.
