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Rossignol	By : Savaial Category: M through R > The Phantom of the Opera > Het Views: 5231 -:- 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
- 1-Rossignol
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Ch 4
- 5-Ch 5
- 6-Ch 6
- 7-7
- 8-Ch 8
- 9-Ch 9
- 10-Ch 10
- 11-Ch 11
- 12-Ch 12
- 13-Ch 13
- 14-Ch 14
- 15-Ch 15
- 16-Ch 16
- 17-Ch 17
- 18-Ch 18
- 19-Ch 19
- 20-Ch 20
- 21-Ch 21
- 22-Ch 22
- 23-Ch 23
- 24-Ch 24
- 25-Ch 25
- 26-Ch 26
- 27-Ch 27
- 28-Ch 28
- 29-Ch 29
- 30-30- Epilogue
- 20
- 21
- 22
We both laughed a little. Erik shook his head.

"You see? Married two years and she knows how to deal with him. In twenty he won't know if he's coming or going." He sounded proud, like a doting father. It made my heart warm to know he could feel that way about her. I dared to hope he could heal himself the same way he’d healed me, rid himself of the scars he carried from a name.

"She's good for him though,” I said. “I always thought he'd marry some useless girl who knew about nothing but tea cakes and charades." I sighed, leaning against my door. "You know; the kind of girl he'd like me to be. How unfortunate for him I have no plans to placate him."

"Would you really have given him a black eye?" Erik's voice sounded pleased underneath a veneer of curiosity. The twinkle in his eyes made me think he barely held in a bit of deviltry.

"I was mad enough to," I said quickly, "If he hadn't let go of me I believe I would have."

Erik laughed in quiet delight, moving a little closer to me. He picked up my hand, turning it over to examine my fingers. "Make a fist for me Celeste," he asked. "Let's see how big the bruise would have been."

Shivering at his delicate touch, I did as he asked. He chuckled again, running his thumb over my knuckles.

"Oh yes, you would have covered his entire eye. I had my doubts, you have a small hand." I could feel the grin underneath his mask. "Your brother lacks a fundamental lesson," he continued. "I don't think he knows the danger in smaller creatures. They have to be twice as vicious as the larger ones to survive." He let go of my hand, but offered me his arm. "Drink a glass of champagne with me before you go to bed. I’d like to make a toast to Raoul's uninjured face."

I laid my hand on his elbow with a grin.

**************************************************************************************

I knew the meaning of need now. Every movement she made from the smallest gesture stirred longing in my heart. My attention wandered to her no matter where I was or what I did. I could not put my mind to any problem other than how to make her mine without hurting her. I wondered if she could even dare to love a man after so many of them had betrayed and abused her. Her nocturnal wandering I dismissed as manifestations of her need to escape, but her nocturnal seductions…

I did not know what to think.

I wondered what she had been about to say when the de Chagny’s return from the opera interrupted her. She had led me to believe she wanted my permission for touching. Certainly she wasn't afraid to approach me, even after seeing my face. How could I have made so little of an impact there? I was hideous. Did she truly not care? I couldn't stand to look at myself, how could she? Maybe she didn't remember...But if she remembered coming into my room and approaching me, she had to remember my face…

Celeste sat quietly with her champagne, looking into the fire while she played with the little angel that dangled at the throat. The silver strands wound around and around her hand... She let go of it to drink, allowing it to fall between her breasts. I wanted my eyes to linger in that curvy hollow as my silver counterpart did, but I didn't allow myself the privilege. It was dangerous.

I played the harp for her now, since she had slumbered during my last exercise with it. The melody allowed for deeper thoughts without stirring sadness. I felt she'd had sadness enough. I wondered if she would enjoy the night like I did once she stopped walking about in her sleep. She seemed very much the night owl.

I knew Celeste had something savage living deep inside her, and I was helping bring it out. Sometimes I brought it out purposefully, to grant the strength she needed, and other times I felt my mere presence prompted her. She seemed so natural when she spent time with me, so easy. I had no choice but to believe she meant what she enjoyed my company and my house. She liked me the way I was.

If she had been completely healed of her past and I had encountered her outside of Raoul, I would have kidnapped her by now. I would have played Hades and dragged her down to my underworld. I wanted her. But she had not come to me healed, and she had not come to me free of the irritating Vicomte de Chagny. She was still finding out who she was. I wouldn't arrest her progress for anything, especially for my own selfishness. Celeste deserved to act of her own free will, by simple right of superiority. She was not Persephone, to be hauled this way and that at my whimsy, or for that matter, anyone else's. She was more like almighty Hecate...

I could spend the rest of my life learning Celeste's goddess aspects. I had a chance, albeit a small one, to gain such an honor. She did not want to leave, she'd said as much. Perhaps I could find a reason for her to stay with me, one that would allow me time to win her. Raoul would be in my way, as seemed to be his duty in life, but ultimately he had no power to take her away from me. The choice to go or stay was Celeste's alone.

Celeste set her glass down on the table, smiling. I watched as she dipped her index finger into the champagne and ran the wetted digit around the rim of the flute. A clear D-note reverberated in the room. She frowned, drank a few sips more, and tried again. This time she produced an A-note, a near perfect one. I smiled at her impromptu music and stopped playing the harp. She looked up in surprise, apparently thinking I didn't want the competition. In actuality, I just hated for her not to hear her little experiment properly. I slid my glass to her with a chuckle. Flushing, she tried it out. A low C. She glanced at me.

"Want to try with the set?" I asked. "We have a whole cabinet full of them you know."

"Oh I better not,” Celeste sighed. "It's almost too pure a sound to handle. I can hear the note long after it really dies."

"It eventually damages the inner ear, you are right." I plucked a few harp strings. "Come over here and I'll teach you a song on this."

Celeste got up immediately, an eager look passing over her beautiful face. I kicked the stool out of the way; Celeste would have to stand to learn. I was quite adept and didn't have to maintain proper form, but it was vital she begin the right way. "For the moment my dear, just stand, listen and look."

"The harp is one of the oldest instruments in the world, dating previous to 2600 B.C. This is a pedal orchestral harp, evolving from a series of formats, which addressed the problem of chromaticism. It has forty-seven strings and this pedal here," I hit it with my foot, "allows you to change the strings from natural to sharp or flat. You'll notice that there are red and black strings. Red is a C and black is an F, this is so you can find yourself more easily. You do not pluck the strings with the smallest finger, only the first four."

I grasped the knot of her arm sling and pulled it loose. "This shouldn't strain your broken bone,” I said, drawing the cloth out of her way. "In fact, a little exercise on this arm muscle will be good. Keep your movements slow and stop altogether if you feel pain. Go ahead and get the feel of the strings."

Celeste did as I asked. I couldn't see anything of her face but her profile, but I knew she was smiling. I let her toy with the harp a few moments, a silent observer to her joy. I understood her feeling well. Nothing makes the soul as glad as music, except perhaps making that music yourself. When she tired of making random sounds, I moved a little closer. Only a few inches separated us now.

"Keep your wrists fairly straight, it keeps the strain down,” I reached both arms around her, moving her wrists and hands into a proper position before the strings. I heard the breath hitch in her throat at my nearness. She half turned her head toward me, her forehead brushing my neck ever so slightly. A wave of heat struck me, but I could not tell which of us had generated it, I felt as hot as she. "This is a good time to mention not to wear bracelets and heavy rings," I murmured, my fingers closing around the little bangle on her right wrist. I had to lean a little farther in to remove it one handed. My chest came to rest on her shoulders. "You might scratch the wood or tangle in the strings," I whispered, easing the jewelry onto my own wrist. Celeste nodded, relaxing against me.

"Now my dear, let us try that little melody you sang for me the night you regained your voice," I murmured, laying my hands over hers. "Just follow me. You don't have to pluck very hard, this is a large harp and it is made to have a significant voice in an orchestra pit." Gently, I moved her fingers into the grasping position. I felt her body burned me now. I would have to stop this little indulgence soon. "The most important thing is to remain true to the harp's nature. So much more can be coaxed from it than demanded."

She moved with me easily, almost as if she knew where to take her hands. I guided her through the melody three times, each rendition bringing her more fully against me. By the end, her eyes were closed and I was her main support. Our breathing shattered the air as the last note decayed. Wordlessly, I began again with another melody.

I could not resist the feel of her enough to stop. Heaven had a new meaning each time she swayed against my legs and groin. I played on and on with her, marveling that she would not stop, would not falter though her breath came ragged and her head lolled against my chest. Her surrender to my will, my music, was complete. Charming Celeste, who would pander to no one, gave herself to me with breathtaking ease. I felt humbled yet emboldened, tender yet aflame with need. I had to stop, I had to! She would not make me stop.

I halted the movements of our fingers, listening to our combined panting. With a Herculean effort I began to pull away, but her fingers clenched to hold me tight. "Erik," she whispered, bringing our laced hands down to her waist. My shiver rocked us both. Slowly, languidly, she pressed her hands firmly against herself. I felt the barest touch of the satin gown, but she held my own hands so cunningly I felt nothing else.

As I had used her to play the harp, she used me to play her. Arching, she stroked herself upward, gliding over her ribs with a soft sigh. I closed my eyes as she traced under her breasts, allowing me to feel their weight. Her journey upward gave me the knowledge of her dimensions, soft and pliant and feminine. The angel necklace slid over our hands as she pushed us up to her throat. A few soft caresses under her jaw and she brought me back down over the glorious hills and valley of her bosom. And down, down, down, back to her curved hips.

Suddenly, and with frightful clarity, I knew I wanted her.

Clever, beautiful girl, I thought anxiously. She didn't need my permission to touch herself, but she brought me along. A thousand reasons to stop this before I lost control screamed like a banshee to my conscience. I wanted her more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. I wanted her writhing underneath me, tangled in sheets and crying my name over and over. I wanted to touch the deepest, darkest places she held secret, to watch her pleasure as I took her.

Powerless to resist her invitation, I lowered my head to her bare shoulder and breathed the scent of her skin. I rested my chin on her frantic pulse, feeling it beat against me. Celeste moaned softly as I touched her, releasing my hands to clutch at the material of her gown. Free, I encircled her waist and pressed her soft curves into me, reveling in her quiet little gasp of pleasure. Again I heard my conscience. Against my will I listened to the voice that told me I was mistreating her. She doesn't know what she wants, it said, she's innocent to you. I held still, warring with myself.

The Rue Scribe bell shattered the air.

The threat of danger threw ice water into my burning blood. I let go of Celeste. She said nothing, understanding in an instant what the bell meant. As I donned my cloak and hat Raoul came into the room. He too knew what the bell meant. A small pistol clutched in his hand, he approached me.

"Who can it be? It is too soon for Lescot to have come."

"I will find out," I answered shortly. "It will be best for you to guard Celeste from here, in case I do not stop whomever it is. Most people cannot find the door latch, but I daresay an industrious person can find a way to force it." My eyes fell on Celeste. Her face held no fear; any words of comfort would be useless. Nevertheless, I felt obligated to say something. "I don't intend to let anyone reach the house," I said. She smiled faintly, tucking her arm back into its sling. Her eyes burned the deepest, clearest blue I’d ever seen.

"I have faith in my guardian angel," she murmured, her voice calm with conviction.

I took a last look at her before I left. No man would fail to hurry home with Celeste waiting on him.
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Rossignol