Tales of Western Romance (38 page)

Sated and content, she fell asleep in his
arms.

Erik watched her all through the night. Their
last night together. Watching the gentle rise and fall of her
chest, hearing the slow, steady beat of her heart, he knew he could
not bear to tell her good-bye, could not abide the pain of parting,
of watching her walk out of his life. And so, in the dark of the
night, while she slept, he dressed her then carried her out of the
theater, the ache in his heart growing with every step.

Chapter 5

Cristie woke to the warmth of the sun shining
on her face. Opening her eyes, she squinted against the brightness
she had not seen in weeks.

Sitting up, she glanced around, surprised to
find herself lying on her bed in her hotel room with no
recollection of how she had gotten there. Had it been nothing more
than a dream, after all?

She lifted a hand to her neck, felt the sting
of tears when her fingertips encountered two tiny puncture wounds.
It hadn’t been a dream.

“
Oh, Erik,” she murmured. “Couldn’t you
at least have let me say good-bye?” And had her answer with the
asking. He had left her before she could leave him.

It grieved her to go, but how could she stay?
Her life was in the States. She taught kindergarten in an upscale
school in Boston. She had family in the city, life-long friends,
and a home of her own. Erik had no life outside the bowels of the
Opera House. He had no friends or family, no home other than his
underground lair. How could they have a life together? She could
not live in his world, and he could not live in hers.

With a sigh, she dragged herself into the
bathroom to shower and dress. Thank goodness she paid for her room
in advance. Cristie frowned. How had Erik known where she was
staying?

Leaving her room, she went downstairs for
breakfast. There were still three weeks left of her vacation.
Determined to see as much of Paris as possible, she decided to go
sight-seeing. She visited
The Arc de Triomphe
, which had
been built to honor the men and women who died while fighting in
the French Revolution. She visited the
Eiffel Tower
. She
toured
Notre Dame
—which had taken one hundred and seventy
years to build—walked around
The Pantheon
, which had been
built as a church by Louis XV, but was now the final resting place
of such notable French thinkers as Rousseau, Voltaire, Hugo, Zola,
as well as scientists Pierre and Marie Curie.

Amazing places, all of them, but no matter
where she traveled, Cristie’s thoughts were on Erik. With every
moment apart, she realized that she had fallen in love with
him—with his kindness, his tenderness, the sound of his voice, his
rare smiles and laughter.

Though they had never spoken the words, she
felt certain Erik loved her in return. But was love enough? Could
she go on without him? Did she want to?

She returned to the theater that night, and
every night for the next week, hoping he would seek her out. She
scanned the balconies, the dark corners, the shadows, but didn’t
see any sign of him.

On her last night in Paris, she hid in one of
the bathrooms in the theater again then spent two hours wandering
the corridors, trying to find the secret door leading to his lair.
She called his name, but to no avail.

She spent a miserable night sleeping in one
of the seats. In the morning, she asked a startled member of the
cleaning crew to let her out.

Defeated, she returned to the hotel, packed
her bags, and took the next flight home. She moped for days, her
heart heavy with despair.

Cristie was glad when school started. She
spent the week before getting her classroom ready, eager for the
new year, eager for anything to take her mind off her Phantom. But
even the excitement of a new year failed to lift her spirits.

Her steps were heavy when she returned home
after the first day of the new semester. She had once found joy in
teaching. Where had it gone?

As she unlocked the front door, she felt a
rush of wind. To her astonishment, Erik appeared beside her.

“
Cristie.” Just her name, but it held a
wealth of emotion.

“
Erik! How did you find me?”

“
Your blood,” he murmured, his dark
gaze searching her face. “It led me to you.”

“
I didn’t think you ever left the Opera
House.”

“
I would risk anything to see you
again.”

“
I missed you, too,” she said. Taking
him by the hand, she drew him into the house then shut the door. “I
tried to find you.”

“
I know.”

“
Why did you hide from me?”

He shrugged, an elegant shifting of one
shoulder. “I thought it best to let you go, but I realized my life
has no meaning without you. And so, I came here, to ask you to be
my Christine for always. Will you share my love, Cristie, be part
of my life?”

She knew what he meant, knew he was asking
for more than the companionship of a mortal life span. It took only
a moment to decide.

With a nod, she went into his arms. No words
were necessary.

Being a vampire had once seemed repulsive,
now it would open the door to an eternity with the man she loved.
Gazing up into his beautiful, dark eyes, she canted her head to the
side, granting him access to her throat.

Still, he hesitated. “Are you sure?” His gaze
searched hers. It was not a decision to be made lightly. “Once
done, there is no going back.”

She smiled up at him. Didn’t he understand?
There would be no happiness in her life without him, no joy in her
world. With a sigh, she removed his mask, and tossed it aside. “So
very sure, my sweet angel of music.”

Murmuring her name in a voice thick with
unshed tears,
The Phantom of the Opera
folded his Christine
into his embrace, and with one sweet kiss, he joined their lives
together, forever.

* *
finis
* *

Each story included in this collection is
available

individually in ebook format.

Western Trail Blazer

http://westerntrailblazer.com

&

Publishing by Rebecca J. Vickery

http://rebeccajvickery.com