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Black Angels	By : Provocateur Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 12725 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Ch 10: The Fallen Angel’s Return

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I appreciate it so much. On a side note, I have made a continuity error, a pretty big one at that. I said that Christine received the note to meet Erik outside the night after their first encounter, and then I inserted the Erik/Sofia encounter and said that it happened in between. There is obviously a time disagreement here, I apologize
for it. Let’s just say that there were a couple days between Erik and Christine’s first encounter and this chapter. I’ll be more careful next time, I promise!

The study was much further then Christine remembered. The cool marble floor seemed to narrow and stretch as her bare feet slid across its smooth surface. She was careful not to make noise, yet she was sure that her breathing was echoing throughout the house, ticking the ears of her sleeping husband. Oh, sweet, innocent, unsuspecting Raoul. Her friend. Her confidante. Her Husband, the man to whom she promised herself to for all eternity. His eyes never darkened with suspicion, his face never contorted into an angry sneer at her minor transgressions. Why did he not heat her blood like he warmed her heart?

There was nothing but silence. It was heavy, reaching out to her in the darkness and condemning her. This was wrong, all of this was wrong. Her feetpadding towards the study, the tremendous pounding of her heart, her shaking hands. All of it was immoral.

She had worked so hard to let him go, to push him from her mind. He was her captor. She wore invisible shackles connected to chains that only he held. She held his chains as well, and without knowing it, she pulled him towards her once more. Unlike her, he did not resist the wrenching hold on his body. He embraced it.

The house was dark, so dark. The air was frigid; it chilled her skin and made her fingers lose their dexterity as she opened the door to the study. It smelled of Raoul, that sweet scent of soap and clean linens. It was a subtle odor, inoffensive and comforting. It was unobtrusive, yet enveloping. Comforting, perhaps. Only know did it sting her nostrils with its familiarity, and she wished desperately for it to dissipate. It reminded her of who she had become, and who she really was.

The moon had disappeared behind the clouds, leaving the room in blackness. The white light that shone beneath the gauzy drapes disappeared. It drifted away from the brown Persian carpet, away from the mahogany floors, and into the night where it could never be seen again. There were sounds outside, soft whispers of predatory prowess. Perhaps there were wolves; she had never seen one before. Not the actual beast at least.

The second drawer loomed before her, begging her to open it. She felt something well up in her chest. It was excitement. The kind of excitement that shook her entire body. It trailed across her spine, leaving heat in its wake. Not the warm, comforting heat that came from the lingering scent of Raoul, a burning heat that was rough and urgent.

No. She pulled her hand away. No, she could not go to him. He would take her, he would. She knew him, and she did not trust him. He was dangerous, intoxicatingly so.

"Do you want him to take you?" A voice inside of her spoke, mocking her futile resistance against her chains as they tightened around her, causing excitement rather then pain. No, there was pain, but it was not of a harmful nature. Not yet at least.

She turned away, her back to the desk, her hands behind her on the rough surface. Her chest heaved with exertion; her short walk to the study caused her body to tremor as it would had she run a mile. Her hand crept towards the drawer, gently feeling the icy cold brass handle against her sweating palm. It opened easily, the small silver key gleaming despite the lack of light illuminating it. Even in blackness it glittered. Temptation was always more beautiful then rationality.

Her hand held the key. If used, her life would change. Every door that she had closed, every wall she erected, every defense in her heart, would be opened and broken down once more.

“Am I to risk my life to live once more?” She whispered to herself, the broken sound of her voice sounding unfamiliar even to her. Her throat pained as she let free the words from her mouth, into the air, where they could never be withdrawn again. She had to know; she had to feel once more what it was like to want, to lust, to be caught in an intricate web of desire.

“I desire you.” She nearly sobbed with silent revelation. She desired him, but she also hated him. How could one desire the one they loathed? How could one want the one person who twisted their innocent love into fear and hatred? Was it even possible to admire the person you pitied most?

She walked back towards the doorway. His silhouette appeared before her. It was cold and unfeeling to behold, stiff with anticipation. Yet a fire burned at its core, the feel of the flames heated her cool flesh and cast a deep red glow upon her pale features. Two souls of a different colour could join together as one.

***

He watched her come to the doorway after what seemed like an eternity of waiting. In those brief moments where she had forsaken him he had never felt so bereft. He had once again given her the choice to go to him willingly or turn her back on him forever. His heart died the first time, but his body remained strong. This time he felt weakness seep through him and threaten to bring him
to his knees should she not return to him.

The key turned in the brass lock. He heard it, that click of metal against metal. No one ever paid attention to such meaningless noises, but to him it was awe-inspiring and more uplifting than any aria he had heard echoing throughout his home.

She looked so beautiful this night. She was no longer an innocent women, and the dusky rose coloured night shift clinging to her skin was seductive and alluring. This new angel stepped out of the shadows; she was familiar, yet so different. No longer the child he had seduced with music and memories, but a woman. He was now a man. A man with the prowess and virility to enrapture an
angel.

Long ago she let him make her voice his instrument, his one way to touch the world of those who scorned him. Now her body would be his to play as well, and he would stroke it with skill and patience. Once she gave him her body, he would possess her soul completely. Instruments yielded to the desires of the fingers that touched them, a body was no different. If touched and stroked as it wished to be, it made beautiful music, never becoming disloyal to its master.

“Your preposition?” Her deep brown eyes met his stormy blue ones. She was afraid to be close to him. She was afraid that he would touch her.

“Why have chosen to come outside?” His voice remained formal.

“It would be rude not to.” He laughed then, a clipped, unfamiliar sound bursting from his lungs.

“Propriety is it then? Politeness? I would have thought it improper for a married woman – a married noblewoman – to come out to greet a strange man in the dead of night in nothing but transparent garments.” His eyes roamed her body hungrily. He was trying to frighten her.

“I will not respond to your intimidation and your petulance.” He was taken back, she had never questioned him or reprimanded him before. She had told him she hated him, but never had she spoken to him with such condescension and confidence in her tone.

“You used to be far more co-operative.”

“I used to be ignorant and submissive.” Her tone hardened. She was a strong angel now. He had to fight the urge to relinquish his hardened façade, fall at her feet, and simply say,"I love you, please return to me.” No, he would never show her such weakness. Not ever, ever again.

“I have not come here to argue with you or dwell upon the past. I have come to ask your forgiveness for my…ardor during our last meeting. I also have something to ask of you.”

“Are you truly sorry for what you have done?”

“I said in the letter that I would not plead or beg.” Annoyance crept into his tone. If she wanted him to beg, he might just do it.

“What you did was inappropriate and ungentlemanly.” She knew her wording made the transgression sound much smaller then it was. It was as though she was scolding him for patting her behind or stealing a kiss during a waltz. Not as though he exposed half her naked body, threw her to the ground, and pinned her beneath his body. Kissing and touching her in ways no woman should allow a man not her husband to touch her.

“Yes, it was. I am sorry for frightening you.”

“Are you sorry for touching me?”

“No.” He would not lie, he was not sorry for touching her. He wanted nothing more then to touch her, and for her to touch him.

His response caused a delightful chill to envelop her body. Her body’s reaction disgusted her.

“You’re an animal.”

“All humans are animals, yourself included.” He had seen animalism at its worst. He had been whipped, caged, exploited, and beaten by emotionless, passionless, uncivilized beasts. Men, women, children. All of them were creatures.

“Your pain does not excuse your actions.” Her statement shocked them both. There was such honesty in her words; she would no longer allow him to be her master. No longer would she excuse him without a second thought because she was indebted to him.

“You know nothing of my pain!” She flinched at his guttural snarl.

“Yes I do. You’ve poured all of it into me.” The white and black souls that had entwined long ago continued to suck each other dry. There were no more pretenses anymore. She had said it, she had admitted to herself and to him that she had never forgotten, could not forget, her fallen angel.

He reached out to grasp her hand, but she pulled it backwards as though his skin would burn her. Her mind dissipated into nothingness whenever he touched her. He said more with a fleeting caress then Raoul could say when he was buried deep inside of her.

“What is it that you wish to propose?” Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

“You husband is leaving you for a fortnight, is he not?” Dear god! She only found out yesterday, how had he known? She did not want to know.

“Yes.”

“Spend the two weeks with me and I shall never again attempt to see you.” Her mouth fell open in shock. She had expected him to ask for her body. She would not have given it to him, but that request would have been quite mild next to his preposterous suggestion!

"Two weeks! No, I could never…have you any idea the scandal that would ensue if I let a man remain here in the absence of my husband?” What a ridiculous preposition, how dare he even think such a thing!

“I will not be staying here, you shall be staying with me. I have found a new home, for the time being.”

“Why would you ever even think that I would agree to something so improper?”

“Because you want to.”

Silence. Deafening, imprisoning silence. Did she?

“You know nothing about what I want.” Her silent reply stunned him and stopped his heart. Had he misjudged her? Had he thought she had an affinity for him that did not really exist simply because he wanted it to?

“What do you want?”

“Peace. I told you that before, have you forgotten?”

“I will give you peace if you give me peace. I will feel peace if you remain with me for two weeks, and you will feel peace once those weeks are over. Forever.”

“You will take me.” Her ragged breath came out in started gasps. Her innocent fantasies and sinful dreams were becoming too real; she was not ready to accept them. She was not prepared for this, she would never be prepared.

“Do you mean that I shall take you away from your husband, or do you mean that I shall take your body?”

“You will attempt both.” He would.

“You will resist me.” She would.

“Will you stop if I ask?” He would.

“Will you tell me to stop?” She would.

“Please, promise you will not touch me.” Her broken response tore at his heart. She did not trust herself. She did not trust him.

“I will not touch you until you ask me to.” When she did, she would be his. He would be hers.

“How will we ever get away with something like this?” Her words burned her throat; her mind screamed at her for being so weak and pliant.

“You will say that you are staying with Madame Giry, she will keep our secret safe.”

Secrets are never safe.

“If I do this, will you leave me be?”

“You have my word.” Did words mean anything when there was no one there to hear them?

“Do you promise to remain a gentleman?”

“Yes.” No.

“Do you promise to stay with me, Christine?”

“Yes.” Yes. For peace, she would be his.

“Thank you.” For two weeks she would his instrument. He would cherish her, coach her, and make her limber and weak beneath his hands. She would remember her angel, her teacher, and her dark lover.
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Black Angels