Unmasqued

The vibration of her beneath his hands, between his palms. Her scent… roses and lavender and whatever it was that made her Christine. Slickness everywhere, the musky smell curling into his nostrils as he played her. Played her.

His throat was dry and crackling and his erection surging, straining with need. Buquet's words haunted him.

She will never spread her legs for your cock.

You will never have her.

Nothing but a sick devil, scurrying about in the dark.

Buquet's taunts mingled with memories of his youth, of those dark, horrid days with his brother, where the girls would scream at the sight of Erik's face. And his brother would shove them at him, make him touch them. So he could watch them scream, and fight.

Erik stepped onto the wooden floor of the backstage and turned. Someone was there.

Madame Giry stepped forward, holding a lantern that sent stark shadows over her aging face. "Erik… did you kill Buquet?"

"He killed himself," he replied. "Though it was fortunate for me that he managed it on his own, for I sorely wanted to help him along."

Maude, known as Madame Giry to everyone else in the Opera House, moved closer to him. She smelled like lilies, an erotic scent for a woman nearing fifty. She was the same age his mother would have been, had she lived a full life and not died when he was merely twelve.

The two women had been the best of friends, close as twins from their childhood in the south. They moved together to Paris to pursue dancing careers. His only portrait of his mother was one that Maude had given him of the two women together, and they could hardly have been more different. The young Maude was fair-skinned and fresh-faced, with generous curves, while Erik's mother had the lithe, exotic beauty of her Persian mother and French father.

Ten years ago, when Erik was in trouble and had nowhere else to turn, he came to the only friend he knew. Maude had been his protector ever since.

"Buquet was a filthy man who did not know to keep his mouth shut. I have caught him spying on my girls more than once. He is no great loss."

"I will be blamed."

She nodded. "Yet another tragedy attributed to your legend. This will only serve to protect you further, Erik, and you know how important it is that you remain a mysterious, shadowy figure. As long as you remain a half-believed legend, you are safe. With a little prompting, the new managers will be inclined to keep you happy in exchange for a peaceful house."

"And you will continue to ensure that they do."

"I will ensure that they have every reason to comply with your requirements. I consider it my duty to keep them satisfied… on all levels." In the low light, her face transformed with a meaningful smile.

Maude loved sex, and she did not confine her lustful appetites to one partner, or even many. She had slept with legions over the years, and prided herself for hiding her great appetites behind a rigid, proper persona. "I'll make myself acquainted with them first before I introduce them to some of the girls." She looked at him thoughtfully. "Something I would be most happy to do for you, Erik. There are one or two who could be counted on to remain discreet. Or I'll see them thrown out on the street."

"No," he managed to say calmly, though his cock shifted beneath his trousers. "I'll wait."

With a sideways glance, Maude raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "You are becoming as chaste as Christine is."

"Your girls might be discreet, but they will still gossip. And La Carlotta, though out of your chaperonage, has the loudest lips of them all. It is best if I remain the shadowy ghost I've been for the last nine years so that none can identify me."

Yes, nearly ten years of his life-one-third of it! — had been spent hovering in the shadows of this Opera House. Hiding and lurking and pretending to be nothing but a specter. Would he ever be free to live in the light?

"As you wish, Erik," Maude told him, with a gentle bow of acquiescence.

After she left, and Erik felt the rage of his cock refuse to subside, he wondered at his instant refusal. He could have taken her up on her offer. It would be easy and quick.

But he'd resolved years ago he would force no one to see his monstrous self. He wanted no more of the fear, of the revulsion, he'd seen in the girls he'd been forced to touch.

He wanted none of them.

None but Christine.

Chapter Three

Christine sat next to Raoul at the restaurant where they supped. In a quiet corner, at a table surrounded by a large, curving sofa, the five of them ate a late meal and discussed that evening's successful performance.

Raoul sat so that his thigh lined hers and the pointed tail of his coat flipped up over the back of her gown. He was solicitous and charming, ensuring that her wineglass was always filled with the deep golden Bordeaux and her plate had the choicest pieces of roast fowl.