Chapter 19 Raoul #2
I lean back through the mental veil, and my body reverts to human shape.
It’s not as if the pieces of me are rearranging.
Instead, it feels like half of me is always waiting in another phase of reality, and I can simply switch back and forth depending on which body I want to inhabit in the physical world.
The moment I’m back in human form, the Phantom sets my phone on the arm of a leather chair.
Rather than picking it up, I wander to the upright piano and let my fingers run over the keys, picking out a sorrowful tune.
“Once upon a time, I thought I might be able to unlock my other side with music,” I murmur.
“I wanted to try a gentler stimulus than the agony and terror my family used. Music was something I loved, and while it didn’t bring out my second form, it became my refuge, my solace.
I began to write songs, and through that, I realized that I wasn’t bad at lyrics. ”
“Own your skill, poet,” says the Phantom. “It is foolish for mastery to feign humility.”
“I have never been the master of anything, least of all my own life.”
He steps in beside me, takes my shoulders, and turns me toward him. His golden eyes blaze into mine.
“I’ve been trapped in the darkness, too.
I know what it is to be reviled by a family—in my case, the deities who should have been my partners, who decided to reject and punish me.
I had every choice wrenched away from me, every pleasure stolen.
I thought I would go mad, there in the motionless dark. ”
He glances aside and hauls in a ragged, determined breath.
I can’t help being moved…and a little scared, because he seems to be on the verge of prying my soul open, perceiving me far more clearly than I thought anyone ever could.
In revealing himself, he reveals me, because like it or not, we are linked, bound together not only by our shared affection and admiration for Christine but by our pasts, which are somehow both dramatically different and yet intrinsically similar.
“I broke out,” he continues hoarsely, “through the efforts of a man who summoned me for his own ends, at great cost to those around him. I took possession of a body that wasn’t mine.
I intended harm, and I caused pain, all because I refused to descend into that confining prison again.
I thought I wanted to reclaim my former status as god of the dead, but now I realize that role is superfluous, unnecessary.
It isn’t what I crave.” He renews his grip on my shoulders, looks me in the eyes again.
“You do not have to step into the role they have given you. You owe nothing to the family who made you suffer. Choose to be free, in this moment, and they can never control you again.”
“My sister can,” I whisper. “She controls everything—the family money, our home, my fucking life. She has connections throughout the city, so defying her would close a hundred doors for me. She uses guilt, manipulation, and threats to keep me in line. She’s a wolf-aspect púca like me, descended from the purest bloodline still in existence in the southeastern United States.
Her control isn’t something I can escape. ”
I almost tell him about the way she can command me.
As the leader of the Shifter Collective and the ascendant shifter in our home, she has the voice of the alpha.
She can’t use it on anyone who isn’t in our immediate family, but if I had siblings, she would be able to control them, too.
Like my father controlled both of us. He rarely used the alpha voice on Philippa, though—always on me.
She wanted to obey. I was the one who had to be broken.
The Phantom is watching me. The confession is on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it in, because I don’t want him to know how weak and helpless I truly am. He’s right—I am proud, despite everything.
“All you want is freedom,” he says, low. “You crave a world with no more darkness, no more cages. You need someone at your side to guide and guard you. I’ve done that for Christine—I can do it for you.”
I shiver, partly from his touch and partly from the breeze wafting through the canal tunnel. After all, I’m still very naked.
“Think about it.” He curls his hand beneath my jaw and strokes his thumb over my lips. “This doesn’t have to be a single occurrence. The three of us could join together in so many ways…not all of them sexual.”
I vent a short, anxious laugh. “And what about Christine?”
“She will return to us.”
“Will she?” I frown slightly, inspecting the visible half of his handsome face. “How can she trust either of us after all this? You won’t even reveal your whole self to her, or to me.”
He turns aside and bites his lip. “That’s for your own safety. I will not endanger the people I love.”
My breath catches. “The people you love?”
“I think this is love.” He touches his chest. “Before, all I heard were the screams and moans of the dead, but now I have music inside me always, and it is louder when you or Christine are near. I suffer this violent need to be with you, against you, inside you—to protect you and seek the best for you. I will defy and destroy anyone who might threaten your well-being or your dreams. Is that love?”
I draw in a slow, purposeful breath, trying to calm my racing heart. “I’m fairly fucking sure that it is.”
“I was afraid so.” He says it despairingly and walks a few steps away, his shoulders sagging again.
The glance he throws over his shoulder at me is flooded with so much pain that I feel it stab my own heart like a shard of mirrored glass.
“It is the ultimate selfishness,” he murmurs, “that I cannot remove myself from Christine’s life and yours.
But I cannot live without her, nor can I exist without you, poet, because she is my soul and you are my heart.
I would give you both up if I could, but I am not strong enough to face that darkness again. Not alone.”
His voice breaks on the last word, and that quiver of emotion finishes me. I stride forward and wrap both arms around him from behind, resting my cheek against his back. It’s the tightest hug I’ve given anyone in a long time—maybe ever.
He stiffens. “What are you doing? Do you want to fuck again?”
“Not right now. I’m just giving you a hug.”
“A hug,” he repeats.
“Apparently you need one.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
Chuckling, I step back. “Turn around so we can do this properly. That’s right, facing me. Lift your arms and wrap them around me as I hold you. There. And if it’s a friend-type hug, you can grip the other person and then clap them on the back, like this.”
“Hm.” His arms tighten around me, and he whispers into my hair, “What if it’s not a friend-type hug?”
My pulse kicks up again as I become suddenly hyperaware of his right hand, which is sliding down my back.
His long, warm fingers cup my bare ass cheek, and he squeezes lightly, sending delicious tingles across my skin.
I’m instantly hard, my dick throbbing against his through the blanket tied around his waist.
I clear my dry throat. “Well…if enough comfort has been provided, it can shift into a different kind of hug. Maybe something called a sword fight.”
He rears back a little, frowning. But when I point out the swords in question, realization dawns on his face, along with a grin that belongs on the face of the Devil himself.
The blanket hits the floor, and it’s my body against his, muscle and bone and skin and raw, pulsing desire.
He speaks to me while we grind and stroke by turns.
He calls me “poet” and “my brilliant darling” and “good fucking boy.” He comes immediately after I do, sprinkling the muscles of my stomach while they’re still tense from my own orgasm.
Afterward he brings me a robe and wraps himself in one as well.
We explore the potential of his digital piano, plus a few apps and programs I wanted to show him.
His capacity for learning seems limitless, and he grasps information much faster than a human could.
We’re deep in a conversation about music theory when a ghost pops out of his laptop screen, eliciting a sharp yell from me.
“Master,” the ghost says to the Phantom, without apologizing for startling me. “You instructed Agnes to take the lady Christine back to her room, yes?”
“Of course.” He frowns.
“Well, far be it from me to gossip,” says the ghost with a smug expression on her round face, “but Christine never arrived at her room, and one of the other ghosts said they saw her stumbling through the northeast hallway, looking quite ill and faint.”
“What?” The Phantom leaps up from his chair and bellows, “Agnes!” in a voice that shakes the concrete floor and the brick walls around us. Goose bumps erupt over every inch of my skin at the dreadful power of that voice.
A ghost appears instantly, conjured by his roar, apparently against her will. She coughs nervously and adjusts her flowered hat. “My lord?”
“Agnes,” says the Phantom in a smooth, beautiful, menacing tone. “Did you lead Christine safely to her room?”
The ghost squirms, pinning her lips together as if struggling not to speak.
“Answer me,” the Phantom commands. “Tell me what you have done.”
With a painful writhe, the ghost bursts out, “I had to teach her a lesson. She doesn’t appreciate you, sir. She doesn’t respect you as she should. She occupies all your thoughts when she doesn’t deserve—”
The Phantom lifts his hand and makes a sharp, dismissive gesture. The ghost explodes into scintillating fragments, each one like a glinting mote of dust. All that’s left is the echo of a shriek.
“I wasn’t sure I could still do that.” He inspects his palm.
“Where did she go?”
“She has been dispelled. Annihilated. A little privilege of mine if a spirit is causing harm and havoc in the Afterworld—or here, apparently.” He bends and kisses my forehead hastily. “My darling poet, as much as I have enjoyed our time together, I must find Christine.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“I’m not sure she’ll be ready to see you yet,” he cautions. “Perhaps we should give her more time to acclimate to your secret.”
Deflated, I nod. He’s right. It has only been a few hours… Christine hasn’t had time to come to terms with my heritage. She may never be able to accept it.
“Do you think she’s all right?” I ask.
“We know she’s alive. I’ll make sure she remains that way,” he assures me. “You may remain here or follow me to the main floor where I can point you to an exit.”
“I’ll follow you,” I say morosely.
Much as I hate the thought of leaving this dreamlike place and returning to real life, I have no choice.
My phone is blowing up with messages and email notifications.
The cast and crew will accept that I was hungover or sick, but my sister will demand the truth.
I’ll have to give her the only piece of truth I can safely offer—that after hearing my musical performed before an audience for the first time, I was finally able to transform into a wolf.
Once I share that news, she won’t care about anything else.
“Text me and let me know how Christine is,” I tell the Phantom. “Please.”
“I swear it.”
I smile a little at his dramatic vow, but part of me adores that about him—his overt, expressive manner, the old-fashioned turns of phrase. It’s charming.
Once he gives me my clothes, I get dressed and follow him through the labyrinthine building to the upper floors. He points me down a hallway toward the exit, but I hesitate, my nostrils flaring when I catch a faint, familiar scent.
“That way.” I point in the opposite direction, toward an area of the New Orpheum that’s currently being renovated. “She’s that way, and she’s afraid or injured. I should go with you.”
“Raoul!” He stops me, his palm against my chest. “Not now. I will care for her. I will text you once she is safe. And I will ruin anyone who has harmed her.”
Teeth gritted, I consider defying him. But he looks nearly feral himself at the idea of Christine in pain. I can trust him to handle this.
“One more thing.” I close my fingers over the hand he laid on my chest. “You called me by my name, and I want to know yours.”
His features tighten, dark emotion flitting across them. “My old name is of no consequence. In this life, I wish to be called Erik.”
“Erik.” I press his hand to my heart for a second before releasing it. “Go. Find her. Help her.”
With a vehement nod, he strides away.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, staying away from Christine, letting him go to her alone. But I know he’ll make sure she’s well and happy. And I will do anything to prove to her that she can trust me.