Page 18 of Bewitched by the Phantom (The Bewitching Hour #6)

Chapter

Seventeen

I wake up tangled in Erik’s velvet bedsheets, the feeling of the material against my skin luxurious and strange.

I don’t think I’ve ever slept on velvet, let alone a bed as opulent as this one.

And to think, he set this all up just so it could feel like this for the competition?

The man definitely holds true to his persona.

His mystery is part of his draw, and even now, he still wears the mask on his face.

When I wake up, I don’t move for a few minutes, trying to remind myself where I am and what I’d done.

I probably shouldn’t have had sex with Erik.

The more I lie here and think about it, the more it feels like a mistake.

We’re in a competition. In the end, one of us is going to walk away with a contract and potential fame.

The other will be left behind, and I’m pretty sure relationships like that won’t last. Not when we both have dreams to follow.

Which means, everything is up in the air, and this is a bad idea.

I peek open my eyes a little further and take in the sleeping form of Erik beside me. He’s naked, the sheets pulled up over his waist to hide his bottom half. A shame really. I haven’t gotten a great look at him. We’ve been a little busy. Now could be an opportune time if?—

“How long are you going to stare at me?” he asks, his voice clear as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all.

“You stare at me all the time,” I point out.

His eyes peek open behind his mask. “That’s because art deserves to be devoured.”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his particular brand of compliment. It always feels flattering and yet vaguely unnerving.

“Well . . . you don’t look half bad yourself,” I mumble, my eyes trailing away from him to look around the small room.

The shadows in the room feel strange, alive even.

If I listen hard enough, I swear I can hear a soft melody coming through.

Ultimately, I’ve convinced myself that it’s another band practicing off in the distance, but I’m not certain.

The melody changes a lot, first a lively sound and then something haunting and slow. I had to tune it out to keep my sanity.

“I’m glad my visage pleases you,” he replies, both of his eyes focused on me now.

His eyes are the prettiest blue color, like someone crushed sapphires and rubbed them in there.

They’re unnaturally bright, and sometimes, they get even brighter.

Hell, sometimes they darken. I’ve never seen someone with such expressive eyes.

Maybe it’s the mask that makes them more heightened.

“I should probably go,” I muse. “Claudia will be worried.”

He chuckles. “I have no doubt the rumors will have already reached her ears. I’m certain she’ll show up soon banging on the door.”

“That does sound like something Claudia would do,” I nod, moving to slide off the bed. His hand snaps out and stops me. “What are you?—”

He presses a kiss to the back of my shoulder, his hands smoothing down my arms. “Don’t go,” he murmurs. “I haven’t finished composing you yet.”

I look at him over my shoulder, at his bright-eyed reverence as he runs his hands along my naked skin.

Erik has this golden retriever in a cemetery vibe about him, bright but also a little dour.

It’s a strange combination, but it’s not an unwelcome one.

He’s all darkness and yet somehow, still so bright, like a full moon on a cloudless night.

“That’s a strange thing to say,” I tell him.

“Let me worship you some more,” he rasps, tracing his lips across my shoulder, his teeth scrapping against my tattoos. “Let me claim you more deeply.”

“It was just sex,” I counter. “Not a séance.”

His teeth nip me and I jump. “A Ouija board on your skin would be divine. We could call all the monsters forth.”

I snort. “I don’t mess with Ouija boards.”

“Wise,” he nods. “Your energy would be dangerous to mix with the realm of spirits.”

I twist in the bed and look at him more fully. “Are you going to remove your mask?”

He pauses, his eyes on me. “Why would I do that?”

I gesture between him and me. “Well, I slept the night in your bed. It would be nice to know exactly what you look like.”

Erik leans back, but he doesn’t look away from me. “My mask is a part of me.”

I purse my lips. “Good to know this was just a fling.”

“A fling?” he repeats. “No, angel. This is a reckoning. This is two souls crashing together after a century of searching.”

“I don’t even know what you look like, and by your admission, I won’t,” I point out. “Seems pretty unserious to me.”

He narrows his eyes. “Are you goading me, angel?”

I shrug. “I’m just saying the truth.”

He sits up in the bed, his wide shoulders forcing me back as he crawls over me, imposing with his annoyance.

“How serious will it feel when I fuck you until you can’t form a coherent thought?

How serious will it feel when I mark your skin with my melody?

” He presses me back into the mattress. “How serious will it feel when I consume yours?”

“If I saw your face while you did it, it would feel pretty serious,” I murmur, looking up at him.

He watches me carefully, but doesn’t speak, so I slowly reach for his mask. My fingers touch the edge of it before his hand stops me.

“Perhaps . . . soon, but not yet, angel,” he murmurs. “I’m not ready for you to . . . I’m not ready.”

I drop my hand back down and nod, dropping it for now. But the mask starts to ache in my mind. Something’s off. Maybe he has a massive birthmark or something he’s hiding. I wouldn’t care. Whatever he’s hiding, it won’t matter.

My phone rings and I groan. “That’s probably Claudia.” I dig around in the sheets until I find it, but it’s only spam. I hit the reject button and realize I have another message from yesterday. I click it open. It’s from the Phantom and I must have missed it when I got distracted by Erik.

I look forward to seeing your next performance.

That’s all it says. I debate on whether I should answer or not.

The Phantom has been kind of off lately, too.

Part of me suspects that Erik and the Phantom are the same.

The moment that reminder trickles in my mind, my eyes shoot over to where his phone sits on the bedside table.

He’s watching me with a lazy smile as I look at my phone.

I could reply to this message and see if Erik’s phone lights up. That would be all the confirmation I need, right? And if it doesn’t light up, then I was wrong and it doesn’t matter.

My fingers fly over the letters. I know who you are . I hit send.

Holding my breath, I count to three, watching Erik’s phone closely.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

His phone lights up and my eyes widen. I drop my phone in surprise. “You’re him.”

Erik’s smile fades. “Who?”

“This whole time, it’s been you,” I rasp, pulling away from him. “You’re the Phantom.”

His eyes darken. “Angel?—”

“Don’t do that,” I snarl. “You . . .that’s how you know so much about me!”

“No,” he shakes his head. “That’s not how I know.”

“Then how?” I climb from the bed and start pulling on my clothing. I’d suspected it was him but to have it confirmed? I feel . . . used. I don’t know. I feel as if this whole thing has been planned all along. “You’ve been stalking me.”

“No,” he argues. “I’ve been loving you.”

“That makes it weirder!” I snarl. I finish getting dressed and glare at him. “Why? Why go through all this trouble?”

He holds out his hand but I stare at it like it’s a snake. Sighing, he grabs a pair of pants and jerks them on before standing before me. He tips up my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

“You needed me, angel. Your soul called to me and I came.” His thumb rubs my skin and sends a jolt of pleasure through my body. “I will always come.”

His eyes flash unnaturally and the shadows seem to curl around his shoulders.

“What are you?” I ask, confused. My heart tells me to trust him, to embrace him fully, but my mind is wary of him. There are too many strange coincidences for things to be left the way they are.

“Yours,” he answers. “Only yours.”

The temptation to tell him he doesn’t know me is strong, but that would be a lie.

He does know me. The Phantom does. And clearly, Erik is interested in going further than an online mentorship.

This man is the reason I didn’t quit. He’s the reason I’ve kept my sanity.

Hell, in part, he’s the reason I’m even here.

And he’s my competition. And yet, here he is, professing his love for me.

I don’t understand why he wouldn’t just tell me the moment I arrived.

He knows everything about me. Everything. But . . . I don’t even know what his face looks like. Suddenly, not knowing what his face looks like makes my chest hurt.

“Take off the mask,” I say, staring at him.

His hand drops from my chin. “No.”

“Take it off,” I growl, my anger getting the better of me. I need to see. I have to.

“We’ve already discussed this?—”

“That was before I knew who you really were,” I spit. “You know every detail about my life. I confided in you about every little thing. How can you stand there and refuse to show me your face?”

“I told you I’m not ready. And neither are you,” he answers, his voice low and dangerous sounding.

It’s not my best decision, and I’m not proud of it, but I leap forward.

I’m not sure what I planned to do. Maybe rip it from his face, force him to show me.

It’s shitty, but a desperate need to know who he is fills me and takes over.

Unfortunately for me, he’s faster than I assume he’ll be.

One moment, he standing before me, the next the shadows seem to flicker in the room and he’s a few feet away. I’d blinked and missed it.

“Fine,” I snarl. “Have it your way.”

I turn toward the door with the intension of leaving.

“Don’t leave like this, angel,” he says, reaching out for me.

“Don’t touch me,” I snarl, meeting his eyes. “I don’t know you.”

I grab the doorknob and go to jerk it open but it slams shut before I can open it further. He’s surrounding me, his arms on either side of my head holding the door closed. His chest presses against my back as he leans down, his hot breath fanning across my ear.

“Your melody is woven into my blood, angel,” he growls. “You hold every piece of me in your hands, forever. You’ve got me by the fucking balls if you want. So don’t you say you don’t know me.” His breath stutters. “The mask matters little when you’re so intertwined in my soul, it hurts.”

His lips press against the nape of my neck and I shiver.

“I need to go,” I croak, desperate to get out. I need time to think. I need air. I need . . . I need . . .

He pulls back and opens the door for me. “I’ll be waiting when you’re ready to face the music, angel.”

I rush out of the room, not bothering to turn around and look at him.

I can’t stomach to see his eyes right now.

I can’t bear to see how much it’s hurting him for me to rush out.

He’s right. I do know him. Knowing what he looks like won’t change that.

But also, because I know him, it’s even more terrifying that he’s here, that I can look him in the eyes, that I’ve sang with him and didn’t even connect the dots.

What a fucking mess I’m making of it all.