Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (67 page)

“Ask me what you will. I will hide nothing from you.”

“Do I look very much like her?”

He smiled wistfully. “Yes. And no.”

Later that night as she lay in his bed, she thought of all he had told her. Only then, as sleep crept up on her, did she stop to wonder where he took  his rest.

It was the first thing she asked him the following night.

558

“I have another lair, deeper underground,” he replied. “And

while it is not quite so elegant as this one, it serves its purpose.”

“I’ve put you out of your bed,” she murmured.

“I will  find comfort in your scent when you are gone.”

“Erik  –” Why did his voice have such power over her? Why  did she long to take him in her arms and comfort him? She  scarcely knew him, yet waking or sleeping, he was in her  thoughts. There was much she still wanted to see of Paris but  she was content to stay down here, in this twilight world, to bask  in the love that shone in the depths of his dark eyes, to lose  herself in the music he played for her each night, to listen to his  voice as he sang the hauntingly  beautiful songs of the Phantom.

As the days went by, Christie found herself yearning for his touch and with that yearning came a growing curiosity to see what lay beneath the mask. But each time she started to ask, her courage deserted her.

One night, he  took her up through the tunnels to watch the play. Close to his side, Christie saw it all through his eyes. She felt the Phantom’s hurt, the pain of Christine’s betrayal, the loneliness that lived inside him, the anger that resided deep within him. She cringed when the Phantom killed Piangi and wondered if his death was based on the truth, as were some other parts of the story.

But, fearing the answer, it was a question she did not ask.

She quickly accustomed her waking hours to his. In his underground lair, time lost all meaning since there was no way to tell if it was morning or night. She didn’t know where he obtained her meals and, reluctant to heat the answer, she never asked how or where he found those he preyed upon.

559

He was an intelligent and interesting companion. He spoke several languages and entertained her for hours with tales of his travels around the world. He had seen it all: the wonders of the

Old World and the New. He read to her from the classics, his beautiful voice bringing the stories  to life. They spent hours discussing the works of Bronte and Shakespeare, as well as the horror novels of Stephen King and Dean Koontz.

The days and weeks went by swiftly and with each passing day her affection for Erik grew deeper as she came to know him better. How sad that he was forced to live in this horrible place, shunned by humanity because of his appearance, when he had so much to offer.

One day, while she was wandering around his lair, she discovered a small door at the far end of the room. Driven by boredom and curiosity, she plucked a candle from one of the sconces. When she opened the door, she found herself in a large cavernous room filled with a veritable treasure trove of paintings and works of art. Scattered her and there were weapons  –  a  rusty sword, an old pistol, several knives and daggers. A jewellery box held a number of exquisite pieces  –  a diamond necklace, a ruby pendant, a bracelet set with emeralds.

Moving deeper into the room, she found another, smaller door. This one opened onto a stairway that descended into a pit of blackness.

Heart pounding, she tiptoed down the stairs. The candle cast dancing shadows on the walls as she descended the stairway. At first, she saw nothing but an empty room. And then she saw it: a black coffin  sitting on a raised platform. The thought of Erik lying inside, his hands folded on his chest, his long black hair spread across white satin, sent a shiver down her spine.

She stared at the casket for a long moment, then she turned on her heels and ran up the stairs, any lingering doubts she

560

might have had about what he was vanquished by the sight of

the solitary coffin.

She could tell by the look in Erik’s eyes when she saw him that night that he knew she had seen where he took his rest.  Though he didn’t speak of it, the knowledge hung between them.

Does it matter?
 
He didn’t speak the words aloud, but she

heard them clearly in her mind.

Did it matter? To Christie’s surprise, she realized it changed nothing between them. At any rate, it was of no consequence now. Her time in this dark, almost magical world was almost at an end.

As the last few days went by, Christie found herself increasingly reluctant to go. How could she leave him there, alone, in his dark underground lair? But, of course, she couldn’t stay. Her old life, friends and family, awaited her at home. They did not speak of the fact that their time together was almost over, but she saw the awareness in his eyes.

Their last night together came all too soon. After dinner,  Christie asked him  to play for her, and as he did so she sat down on the bench beside him and kissed his cheek.

Startled, his hands fell away from the keys. “What are you

doing?”

“I . . . nothing. It was only a kiss.”

“Only a kiss.” He repeated her words slowly, distinctly. “No

woman has willingly touched me in over three hundred years.”

561

She blinked at him. Three hundred years? It was inconceivable that he should have lived so long. “I should like to do it again, if you don’t mind.”

He stared at her in profound disbelief. “You don’t mean it?”

“But I do.” She kissed his cheek again, and then, very  lightly, she kissed him on the lips. They were warm and soft,  untouched by the fire. Her gaze searched his. “Let me see your  face.”

“No!” He drew back as if she had slapped him. “Why would

you ask such a thing? No one, No one, should have to see it.”

“You said you would grant me anything I wished. I wish to

see your face before I go.”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his breathing suddenly erratic. “Very well.” He ripped the mask from his face and tossed it aside. “Is this what you wanted to see? His voice was almost a snarl.

It was horrible. The skin on the right side of his face and down his neck was hideously puckered where it had been ravaged by the fire. Did the rest  of his body look the same? She couldn’t imagine the pain he must have suffered, the anguish of seeing people turn away from him in revulsion. No wonder he hid in this place.

“Are you satisfied?” he asked brusquely.

“Do you want me to run screaming from your presence?”

she questioned him.

“You would not be the first to do so,” he said, his voice

tinged with bitterness.

562

Cupping his face in her hands, she kissed him again. “I expected you to be a monster, but you’ve treated me with the utmost kindness and  respect. You could have taken me at your pleasure, yet you did not.” Rising, she took his hand in hers.  “This is our last night together. Let us have something to remember.” Pulling him to his feet, she led him towards the bed.

He followed her as if in a  trance, unable to believe that any woman would willingly give herself to him. He was no stranger to women. He had bedded many in his lifetime, but never had a woman come to him so willingly, or made love to him so tenderly. Never had he allowed any of them  to see him without the mask, nor did he let them caress him. His lovemaking had been one-sided and accomplished in total darkness, assuring that the women couldn’t see his ruined flesh.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, they undressed each other.  Erik held  his breath, certain she would be repulsed when she saw him, but if she found him repugnant, she hid it well. She kissed each scar and, as she did so, they no longer seemed important. She explored his body as he explored hers and, when they were poised on  the edge of fulfilment, he asked for that which he craved.

“A taste,” he whispered, his voice husky with longing. “Let

me taste you.”

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “Will it hurt?”

“No. It will only heighten each touch, each sensation.” She  wanted  to refuse, he could see it in her eyes. “Please my sweet,”  he begged softly. “One taste, freely given.”

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and offered him her throat.

It was the most generous thing anyone had ever done for him. Whispering endearments, he  trailed kisses along the length

563

of her neck before his fangs gently pierced her tender flesh. Ah,  the joy, the ecstasy, the wonder of that first taste! Warm and  sweet, it flowed over his tongue like the finest  nectar, filling him  with the very essence of life.

Christie sighed as pleasure flowed through her. In spite of his scars, his body was beautiful. Long and lean and well muscled. His skin was warm and taut beneath her questing fingertips. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders, his chest, his belly, loving the way he quivered at her touch. She had never known such pleasure, such wonder. She moaned as his body merged with hers. He was a gentle lover, his touch almost reverent, his words soft, poetic, filled with an aching tenderness that tugged at her heart. She prayed he would not ask her to stay longer, knew she could not bear to tell him no.

Sated and content, she fell asleep in his arms.

He watched her all through the night. Their last night. And as he did so, he knew he could not bear to tell  her goodbye, could not abide the pain of parting, of watching her walk out of his life. So, in the dark of the night, while she slept, he dressed her, then carried her out of the theatre, his heart aching with every step.

Christie woke to the warmth of  the sun shining on her face.  Opening her eyes, she squinted against the brightness she had not seen in weeks.

Sitting up, she glanced round, surprised to fins herself lying on her bed in her hotel room with no recollection of how she

had got there. Had it all been a dream?

564

She lifted her hand to her neck and felt the sring of tears when her fingertips encountered two tiny wounds. It hadn’t been a dream.

“Oh, Erik,” she murmured, “couldn’t you at least have let

me say goodbye?”

She had her answer with the asking. He had left her before

she could leave him.

She grieved to leave him, but how could she stay? Her life was in the States. She taught  kinder garden  in an upscale school in Boston, she had a family in the city, lifelong friends, a home of her own.  Erik had no life outside the bowels of the Opera  House. He had no friends or family, no home other than his underground lair.  How could they have a life together? She could not live in his world and he could not live in hers.

With a sigh, she went into the bathroom to shower and dress. Thank goodness she had paid for her room in advance, she thought, and then frowned. How had Erik known where she was staying?

Leaving her room, she went downstairs for breakfast. She had another three weeks of vacation. Determined to see as much of Paris as she could, she went sightseeing. She visited The Arc de Triomphe, which had been built to honour the men and women who had died fighting for France. She visited the Eiffel  Tower. She toured Notre Dame, which had taken 170 years to build, walked around The Pantheon, which had been built as a church by Louis XV, but was now the final resting place of such notable French thinkers as Rousseau, Voltaire, Hugo and Zola, as well as scientists Pierre and Marie Curie. Amazing places, all of them, but no matter where she was, Christie’s thoughts were on Erik. With every moment apart, the realization grew that she had fallen in love with him  –  with his kindness, his tenderness, the sound of his voice, his rare smiles and laughter.

565

Though they had never spoken the words, she was certain that he loved her in return. But was love enough? Could she go on without him? Did she want to?

She went to the theatre that night and every night for the next week, hoping he would seek her out. She scanned the balconies, the dark corners, the shadows, but there was no sign of him.

On her last night in Paris, she hid in one of the bathrooms in the theatre again, then spent two hours wandering the corridors trying to find the door that led to his lair.  She called his name, but to no avail.

She spent a miserable night sleeping in one of the seats. In the morning, she asked a startled member of the cleaning crew to let her out.

Defeated, she returned to the hotel, Packed her bags and took the next flight home. She moped for days, her heart heavy with despair.

Christie was glad when school started. She’d spent the week before getting her classroom ready eager for the new year, eager for anything to take her mind off her Phantom. But even the excitement  of a new year failed to lift her spirits.

Her steps were heavy when she returned home after the first day of school. She had once found joy in teaching. Where had it gone?

She was unlocking the front door when she felt a rush of

wind and then, to her astonishment, Erik appeared beside her.