Microsoft Word - The Mammoth Book of Vampire Romance.doc (66 page)

“Indeed.”

He held her chair for her. “Please,” he said, “help yourself.”

“Aren’t you going to join me?

A faint smile played over his lips. “I’ve eaten. Please, enjoy

your meal.”

And so saying,  he went back to the organ.

It was the strangest meal she had ever eaten  –  her sitting at the table, him sitting at the organ, the air filled with music that soothed her soul and excited her at the same time.

She studied him surreptitiously, noting the way he swayed ever so slightly to the music, the graceful play of his long, tapered fingers over the keys, the intense yet faraway look in his

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eyes. His white shirt emphasized his broad shoulders. The  ruffled front should have looked feminine but there was  nothing  feminine about this man.  His black trousers hugged wellmuscled thighs. And the mask . . . It drew her gaze again and  again as she imagined what lay behind it.

Glancing at her watch, she took a last sip of coffee and

pushed away from the table.

As though pulled by a string, he turned towards her, his

fingers stilling on the keys.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said, looking around for her

handbag. “And for putting me up for the night.”

“My pleasure.” In a fluid movement, he rose and moved

towards her.

“You don’t really live down here, do you?” she asked. “I

mean . . . do you?”

“It has been my home for many years.”

“Do you work for the opera?”

He laughed softly, the sound moving over her like silk

warmed by a fire. “No.”

A sliver of fear trembled in the pit of her stomach. No one knew she was here. If she disappeared, no one would know where to look.

“Would you like a tour?”

“Some other time,” she said, backing away from him. “I

really have to go.”

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He moved to close the distance between them. “Christine  ”–

His nearness played havoc with her senses. “It’s Christiana,

actually.”

“I’ll see you up,” he said.

She nodded, suddenly finding it hard to speak.

He plucked his cloak from the bed and settled it on his shoulders in an elegant flourish  that would have made any  Phantom worth his salt proud.

“My purse . . . ?”

He found it on the floor and offered it to her with a slight

bow. “Shall we?”

He handed her into the boat, poled effortlessly across the lake, escorted her up a long, winding stone staircase and out a narrow wooden door into a dark alley.

Christie gasped, surprised to find that it was night when she

had thought it was morning.

“Will I see you again?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m leaving for home in a few weeks.”

“You don’t  live here?”

“No, I live in the States.”

“Ah.”

“You don’t really think you’re the Phantom of the Opera, do

you?”

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“No, my fair lady. I don’t think it. I am indeed he.”

“But that’s impossible. You’d have to be . . .” She lifted one

hand and let it fall.  “I don’t know, over a hundred years old.”

He nodded, as if such a thing was perfectly natural.

“Very funny.” No doubt about it, she thought, he was quite

mad.

A hint of anger sparked in the depths of his eyes. “You

don’t believe me?”

She shrugged. “I’ m not sure the Phantom was real.”

“I’m quite real, I assure you.”

“And you’re over a hundred years old? How do you explain

that?”

“Quite easily.” He smiled, revealing very sharp, very white

fangs. “I’m a vampire.”

She stared at him and then, for the second time in as many

days, she fainted.

Christie woke in the Phantom’s lair again. It was becoming quite a habit, she mused. Only this time the organ was silent and she was alone. She glanced at her watch. The hands read six o’clock, but she had no way  of knowing if it was morning or evening.

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Rising, her heart pounding, she found her handbag and hurried towards the lake, only to find that the boat was gone.  Chewing on the inside of her lower lip, she glanced at the water.  How deep was it? Did she dare  try to swim across? The water looked dark, forbidding. It was said that there were alligators in the New York sewers and, while she had never heard of any alligators in Paris, who knew what other dangers might lurk beneath the dark surface of the lake?

Retracing her steps, she sat at the table, only then noticing that the dirty dishes had been taken away. A clean cloth now covered the tray. Lifting it, she found a thick ham and cheese sandwich on white bread, a bowl of onion soup, still warm, and a pot of  tea.

Never one to let anything go to waste, she picked up the sandwich, wondering where her host was. No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she sprang to her feet. Good  Lord, he was a vampire! How had that slipped her mind? She had to get out of there before he returned! Vampire. Had he bitten her while she slept? She lifted a hand to her neck, relieved when she felt only smooth skin. No bites, thank God. And she wouldn’t wait around to give him another chance.

Grabbing her handbag, she ran to  the water’s edge, her fear of the man who called himself the Phantom of the Opera stronger than her fear of the water. She removed her shoes with a sharp stab of regret at the thought of leaving them behind.  Manolos were hard to come by, especially on a teacher’s salary, but her life was worth more than a pair of shoes. Stuffing her handbag inside her blouse, she waded into the water. It was dark and cold and she had gone only a few feet when she realized she had made a horrible, perhaps fatal mistake. Not  only was the lake deeper than she thought, but a swift current ran under the water’s calm surface. She shrieked as it caught her, carrying her away from the Phantom’s lair, sweeping her along like a cork caught in a rip tide. Helpless, she flailed about as  the waterway

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grew narrower, darker and as the light from the Phantom’s lair

grew faint and then disappeared.

Weighed down by her clothing, her arms and legs quickly tiring, she screamed for help one last time before she sank beneath the dark current.

Erik cursed as the sound of Christie’s cries reached his ears.  Foolish woman. Why hadn’t she waited for his return? Foolish man. Why had he refused to let her go? And yet, how could he?  Her face, her voice  –  so like Christine’s of old, and yet uniquely her own. He had lived in solitude for so long. Surely he deserved a few years of companionship? If she would but stay with him, he would grant her every desire, fulfil her every wish.  If she would love him. He laughed bitterly. There was little chance of that. A woman like Christie, so young and so beautiful, could surely have her pick of handsome men. Men who walked in the sun’s light without fear.

He raced towards the lake with preternatural speed. He had no need of illuminations to find her. He followed her scent and when he found her, floating face down, he plunged into the lake and drew her into his arms. Relief surged through him when she coughed up a mouthful of water. A thought took him to his lair.  A wave of his hand lit a fire in the hearth.

Cursing his selfishness, he placed her on the bed and quickly removed her sodden clothing. If she died  –  no! He would not let that happen. Wrapping her in a thick quilt, he gathered her into his arms and carried her to the rocking chair located in front of the fire. Sitting down, he held her close, his hands massaging her back, her arms and her legs. The scent of her hair and skin filled his senses, the throbbing of the pulse in the hollow of her throat called to his hunger, tempting him

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almost beyond his power to resist. But he would not take  advantage of her, not now, when she was helpless. Nor, he  realized, could he let her go  –  not when fate had been kind  enough to send her to him; not when she knew what he was  (though if she told the tale, he doubted anyone would believe  her).

Awareness returned to Christie a layer at a time. She was warm. It was quiet. Soft music filled the air. A gentle hand was stroking her brow  –

With a start, Christie came fully awake to find herself

cradled in the Phantom’s arms, staring upinto his dark eyes.

Vampire
.

“Please,” she murmured tremulously. “Please, let me go.”

His knuckles caressed her cheek. “Please stay,” he urged

softly. “Be my Christine, if only for a little while.”

Fear made her mouth go dry. What would he do  if she refused to stay? She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how she had always hated Christine for leaving the Phantom and going away with Raoul. Christie frowned. Hadn’t she always said that if she had a choice, she would have stayed with the  Phantom? But this wasn’t a play, and this Phantom was a vampire.

His voice rumbled in her ear. “A month, my Christine.  Won’t you stay with me that long? The world you know will still be there when you return.”

“And if I refuse?”

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He had meant to keep her against her will, if necessary, but looking at her now, seeing the fear in her eyes, he knew he would not. “No harm will come to you,” he said. “I will take you back to the theatre where I found you.”

Relief washed over her, but only for a moment. How couldshe refuse him? Never before had she seen such pain, such utter loneliness, reflected in anyone’s eyes. And yet, how could she stay? How did she know she could trust him to keep his word?  What if he only wanted to drink her blood, or worse, make her what he was? The mere idea filled her with revulsion.

“I will take nothing you do not wish to freely give,” he said

quietly. “I want only your company for a time.”

Christie glanced at her surroundings. She had come to Paris looking for excitement. Was she going to turn her back on it now? She was in a place no one else had ever been, with a man no one believed existed. Think of the stories you’ll have to tell, she thought, ignoring the little voice in the back of her mind that warned her she was being a fool to  accept the word of a vampire.

“Will you stay?”

“Yes.” The word seemed to form of its own volition. “Yes

I’ll stay.”

He smiled at her then, and she thought she would promise

him anything if he would only smile at her like that again.

They were sitting side by side on the bench in front of the organ. At Christie’s request, Erik had played The Phantom’s

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score for her; played it with such fervour that she had seen it all

clearly on the stage of her mind.

Such a beautiful, bittersweet story. With a sigh, she glanced at Erik. “How did you come to be here?” She lifted her had to his smooth cheek. “What happened to you?”

“Three hundred years ago, when I was a young man. I ran  into a burning building to save a child. A wall fell on me. It  burned the right  side of my face and most of that side of my  body. They took me to the hospital where the physician said  there was nothing they could do. I was dying. Late that night, a  woman came into my room. She said she could save me, if I was  willing, and when I agreed, she carried me out of the hospital  and made me what she was. Years later, I came to this place  while it was in the last stages of construction. It has been my  home ever since.

“But the Phantom. He’s not real.”

“Men were more willing to believe in ghosts a hundred or  so years ago. It was easy to convince the owners of the theatre  that the Opera Ghost lived, easy to convince them to do my  bidding.”

“But the play  ”–

“

–  is based in part on my life.”

“And Christine? Was she real?”

“Yes.”

“What happened  to her?”

“She married Raoul, lived to a good old age and passed

away.”

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“You loved her.”

“Yes.” He lifted a hand to his mask. “But after this, I never

saw her again.”

“So she never had to choose between you and Raoul?”

“No. I made the choice for her.”

“And you’ve lived alone ever since?”

He nodded.

“But  –” A rush of heat warmed her cheeks. She wanted to  ask if there had been other women, but couldn’t quite summon  the nerve, any more than she could ask how and when he fed,  and what became of those he  preyed upon.

“I am not a monk,” he said, surmising the cause of her  flushed cheeks. “The managers pay me quite well. On occasion I  have entertained courtesans. As for those I prey upon, I pay  them handsomely.”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”