Chapter 12: The Morning After

 

            Meg stirred, half asleep and half awake, aware only of the firm, male body she lay on top of.  Erik's breathing was deep and even, evidence of his slumber, and Meg took advantage of that, running her hands over his chest and arms.  Even in her semi-sleeping state, she relished the feel of him; so strong and solid.  Nothing in the world could possibly harm her while she lay safe in Erik's dear embrace.  Slowly coaxed into true wakefulness, she sighed and pressed herself closer to Erik, trying not to wake him up as well.    Last night had been everything she'd ever dreamed of and more.  Barely controlled passion she'd almost expected, but the aching tenderness before and after had added a new dimension to her senses.  Erik had been the perfect lover, all inexperience on both sides aside.  In fact, his uncertainty had soothed her own fears of pain and loss of virtue. 

            She fluttered her eyelids for a split second before opening them fully.  Erik lay, sleeping peacefully for maybe the first time in his life, his scarred face astonishingly normal to her.  It was as if her feelings for this elegant soul provided her with a visual veil that downplayed his deformities to almost non-existence.  She knew, perhaps more then anyone else, that Erik was far more than just some side-show act or even a cunning ghost... he was, above all else, a man who loved with everything he could give and never expected retribution.  It was truly astonishing, she thought to herself as she propped her head up on one elbow and looked down on her lover's sleeping face.  How could such an exquisite man be so reviled, just because of his face? 

            With purpose, she lowered her face closer to Erik's, her lips brushing his skin lightly.  With gentleness designed not to wake him, she continued to place kisses across his ruined cheek, reacquainting her lips with the texture and feel of his neglected flesh.

            Erik stirred sleepily, the sweet sensation of soft flesh pressing against his coaxing him into true alertness.  Without opening his eyes, he responded to that precious touch, meeting his love's lips with his own and returning her kisses with ones of growing passion.  Before long, he was holding her tightly to his chest and plunging his velvet tongue between her lips, relishing the sound of her soft moans.

            "Hmm…" he sighed, releasing her with marked reluctance.  "That's a very pleasant way of waking up in the morning… we must do this more often."

            Meg giggled breathlessly, still reeling from his kisses.  "I didn't mean to wake you."

            "Meg, cherie, I'd have to be made of stone, not to respond to you.  And I'm not complaining at any rate." he smiled, running one hand up and down her back in a lazy caress.

            "Good… because I love you and I intend to wake you up like that as often as possible." Meg sighed happily, cuddling closer to her dark lover.

            "I think I can handle that." he smiled gently, absently smoothing back her bright hair, his expression one of mild uneasiness.  "I love you, Meg."

            She glanced up at him, her green eyes filled with compassion for the tender man who so tentatively offered his heart to her despite his familiarity with heart-break.

            "I love you, too, Erik." she whispered, brushing her lips over his scarred cheek and feeling him shiver in response.

             

            However, their happiness was soon to be short-changed.  Not far from the Opera House, the new inspector of the Paris Surtete, Georges Vertier was busy going over every bit of information he had on the so-called Opera Ghost. 

            A witness had come to the elite police only days earlier, claiming that he knew who murdered the premiere dancer, Delacroix… he'd seen it with his own eyes.  And this cold-blooded killer was no phantom, despite his reputation.  Although the witness was distraught and just a little on the questionable side regarding his dependability, Vertier was certain that the infamous Phantom of the Opera was behind the murder of the dancer.

He also suspected that the witness knew more than he was telling and intended to beat it out of him if necessary.

            "Monsieur le Vicomte… come in here, please." he called into the next room to his witness.

            "You're wasting time!" the young nobleman exclaimed the instant he was within Vertier's sight.  "I want to make sure that… that thing never tries to take my Christine away from me again.  You have your godammed proof that he's a murderer and a witness to his crimes!  For God's sake, we should go arrest the creature right now!"

             "We, monsieur?  We are not going to arrest anyone.  I need more information from you if you honestly want to capture this man.  If I see fit, then I will go arrest him… he has to come out of those catacombs sometime.  If not we'll find another weakness, since your wife has already been used as that once."

            "How dare you?!" Raoul jumped from his chair.

            "Oh, do sit down!" Vertier ordered, not at all impressed by the Vicomte's arrogance.  "You've been in the Navy, monsieur, so you should be used to these procedures… so it'll be much easier on you if you just cooperate, yes?"

            "Yes…" Raoul nodded sullenly.  "What do you want to know?"

 

 

On to Chapter Thirteen

 

Back to Chapter Eleven

 

Back to the Chapter Index

 

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