Page 38 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

“Fuck me, right now,” Christine panted, and it was all her desperate lover needed to hear. In a heartbeat, he had her on her back, lifting her by the hips as he knelt on the bed and driving into her so hard and deep she had to scream into a pillow so she wouldn’t alarm the neighbors.

That might have been the last civilized thought she had before he began to drive into her, fast and frantic for release.

It was rough and relentless, his cock filling her so completely and touching her so deeply she could hardly comprehend it.

In mere moments, she was rushing to her peak, her body quaking as they gave into pleasure.

“Yes. That’s so good. You’re so good, my love.

You’re—” The climax stole the words from her throat and the breath from her lungs.

Erik gave a perfect cry above her, joining her and filling her with hot seed.

He pumped and shuddered even as Christine went limp, her body no longer subject to her commands.

But he was. He always would be.

They collapsed onto the bed, together and his lips finally found hers. He tasted of salt – of tears or sweat or both – and he kissed her long and deep, pure love in the embrace. Finally, after what felt like forever, she opened her eyes to meet her husband’s. They were glowing with adoration.

“I believe you now,” Erik whispered, forehead against hers. “Dear God, I believe you.”

“For now,” Christine sighed back. “I fear I may have to remind you again at some point.”

“It’s highly possible,” Erik replied with laughter in his voice.

He looked so unburdened in that moment, so free and full of joy.

Christine had given him that, somehow, with a crop and commands; she had driven back the dark from his heart and mind.

And hers too. There would be no nightmares tonight for either of them.

“I think another such lesson would be a true delight,” she whispered back and kissed him again.

Paris

S haya wondered as he glared out of his window across the Rue de Rivoli and to the Tuileries if he should have offered to meet young Margaret Giry at the Opéra instead of his home.

It wasn’t that he minded having guests – it was that Meg wasn’t adept at taking hints when it was time to leave.

The night before he had assigned her reconnaissance at the de Chagny manor, she had stayed long past supper, chatting with Darius about all manner of things from vegetables to their travels.

They seemed to enjoy it, but it made Shaya sympathetic to Erik’s choice of life in a secluded cellar.

Shaya frowned at the thought of Erik. He had been a recluse in his way in Persia when Shaya had first known him.

It had only been thanks to Ramin that Erik had socialized at all, and grudgingly so.

Shaya tried to imagine him now, out there in the wide world, with Christine beside him.

What were they doing? Had they settled anywhere?

Had he truly changed? Shaya knew the last answer in his heart but doubt still nagged at him.

The man Meg had overheard had been injured. Had it been Erik? Had he meant to kill?

Shaya recognized Meg’s knock and scowled as he went to open the door.

“Did you see me on the street?” Meg asked without ceremony, barging right inside. “I was trying not to be seen, like you suggested. It’s not hard if you walk along the galleries. Where is Darius?”

“Making the tea,” Darius said as he emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cups and a pot.

“Do you have those biscuits again? With the nuts?” Meg asked with wide eyes.

“You ate the last of them, but I’ll make more soon.” Darius smiled and gave Shaya a look. “I’m glad someone appreciates them.”

“I appreciate them,” Shaya crowed. “Pistachios are just bloody expensive and impossible to find.”

“Of course,” Darius smiled. “Now, Mademoiselle Giry, don’t keep us waiting. What did you discover?”

“It’s as you suspected,” Meg began, and Shaya felt a rush of pride mixed with dread. “Sabine de Chagny is with child. It’s probably why she hasn’t been seen.”

“She wants to avoid a scandal,” Shaya muttered. “She cares about her family name, even though she will claim she wed de Martiniac before he... disappeared.”

The lie in the word was bile on Shaya’s tongue.

He remembered the certainty in what he had done, the justice in it.

But he had still taken a life and left this unborn child without a father.

Then again, knowing everything about Antoine de Martiniac, Shaya had perhaps spared the mother a marriage to a monster and the child being raised by one. Not an easy thing, either way.

“But she still wants his fortune, I think,” Meg went on, and Shaya could see her mind working. “That’s what the man Pomeroy was talking to said they were after: a fortune.”

“That doesn’t make sense, de Martiniac was broke,” Darius mused aloud.

“He was, but when he had plans,” Shaya bit his lip. There were things that Meg couldn’t know about Antoine’s plots. “He was close to claiming one.”

“He and his wife – I guess we can call the Vicomtesse that – have that in common. Her family is struggling.”

“The de Chagny family?” Shaya asked. This was new and vital information. “They always lived so richly.”

“Philippe, I think, was good at spending money and not at keeping it flowing,” Meg answered knowingly. “The house has been stripped of valuables and the Comte made remarks about his brother’s bad hand for business.”

“So you spoke to Raoul?” Shaya asked, and Meg nodded.

Shaya wanted to ask how the man was – for he certainly was a man now, not the na?ve boy who had been twisted by all this calamity into a creature of hate that bordered on madness. But what would be the point, when he knew the answer would be that any light that had been in him was snuffed out now.

“Was he well?” Shaya asked at last, and Meg cocked her head.

“Do you know him? Through the affair with Christine Daaé and the Phantom?” Meg asked back. Shaya didn’t need to say anything for the answer to show on his face. “He wasn’t in good spirits, to say the least. And he kept the watch.”

“What?” Shaya huffed.

“Probably wants to sell it,” Darius muttered. Shaya understood the impulse, but he had wanted to sell it back and get a refund of his money. “If he’s selling things from the house and watches that don’t belong to him—”

“And working to repair whatever financial mess his brother left,” Meg added.

“That means he doesn’t anticipate some great fortune being found,” Shaya finished. “That makes sense. If Raoul knew—” He stopped himself and met Darius’ eyes. If Raoul knew Erik lived, he would have gone mad with it and made far more violent and vociferous contact with Shaya than sending a spy.

“Sabine is doing this on her own,” Meg said, then furrowed her brow. “Trying to find her husband and his fortune?”

Shaya and Darius exchanged another look. “Who else could it be? He’s disappeared.” For a moment, Meg seemed to take the story as Shaya hoped until the line between her brows deepened, reminding Shaya that she was smarter than that.

“But then why watch you?” Meg asked aloud as Shaya swore silently in his head. “What would that avail her? What does any of this have to do with the haunting of the Opéra? Though our new ghost wants money too...”

“Firmin Richard,” Darius answered. “He’s involved. Visiting Pomeroy. Helping Sabine. We can’t forget him.”

“He had dealings with Antoine, he wants that debt repaid,” Shaya mused aloud.

“Could he be our ghost?” Meg asked, eyes brightening.

“I had not considered that, to be honest,” Shaya replied, looking between the other two. He had not considered any suspect too deeply when it came to ‘their’ ghost. The ghost and Erik were so deeply entwined in his mind it was hard to think of some other man behind that mask.

“He knows the Opéra and he – did he know of the truth about the ghost?” Meg demanded, her energy rising as she stood and paced in front of the fire.

“He did,” Shaya confirmed. “And he knows of me.”

“He has a reason to hate patrons too, if he feels they forced him out!” Meg went on. “We should pursue it!”

“How will we do that?” Shaya asked, unable to stop himself chuckling. “I could speak to Armand.”

“I could keep looking around the Opéra,” Meg mused.

Shaya frowned. “I hope it doesn’t involve blindly looking through the cellars.”

“Well, you could come with me.”

“There’s nothing to be found there,” Shaya replied, and that was entirely honest. Darius gave him a look that was also a question, and Meg seemed skeptical. “All the doors I knew of down there are sealed and locked. I’ve checked.”

“Even the one in the third cellar?” Darius asked.

“Where we met?” Meg added.

Shaya nodded, though the thought brought him little comfort.

Erik had assured him that the torture chamber was sealed and dismantled as well as it could be and that there was no getting into his secret home now.

Shaya was loath to check. It was too close to the secret place where Antoine de Martiniac’s body lay, wearing a match to Erik’s gold ring.

“Well then, I’ll keep asking around and listening like a little mouse.

Or rat, I guess,” Meg said with a guileless shrug, before frowning.

“There’s a patron who has been asking me to dinner.

I could talk to him and see if he knows if the other victims had a grudge against Richard. Though he’s a bit odious.”

“Be careful, young Meg,” Darius said before Shaya could. “People have been hurt gravely in this drama, and the patrons are their own sort of danger.”

A dark expression overtook Meg’s young face. “People are hurt every day. Most of us don’t get any justice. Anyway, there may be one other complication that might nudge things along.”

“What have you done?” Shaya asked. The look Meg gave him reminded him profoundly of the sheepish expression he would find on Ramin’s face when he caught him sneaking back home some nights: guilt mixed with hope that the one who had been caught was too innocent and liked by Shaya to be put into trouble.

“I needed help with the Comte, someone that knew him, like I told you. Well, she knows now. About Sabine de whatever-she’s-calling-herself-now.” Meg confessed.

“And your friend is a gossip,” Shaya sighed.

“Rumors might spread. If we’re lucky, the de Chagnys are so isolated now they won’t hear,” Darius offered.

Shaya shook his head and sighed. “We can only pray,” he lamented. He didn’t want this blowing up. He didn’t want the Comte or his sister to know they were being investigated and spied upon right back. He wanted no reason for them to come anywhere near the Opéra.

If this new ghost was Firmin Richard, that was one thing.

It would be a relief, in a way, for the source of this confusion to come from within that house.

Because if it was some other phantom who could make Raoul de Chagny think his work was not done, Shaya shuddered to think of what chaos would fall.