Beneath the Porcelain Mask

39. Is It To Be War Between Us?

To this day, I can't recall just how long I was in that torture chamber for. Erik never told me. I only have shaky memories of his anguished screams as he kicked the chamber door down and the way his arms hoisted me from the floor, before rushing me out into the blissful coolness of the Louis-Philippe room.

It was bliss, but it hit me like a brick wall, knocking me out flat in his arms.

I didn't wake up for what felt like an eternity. Erik never told me how long I'd been unconscious for either. He'd put me on the divan and was mopping my brow with a warm, damp cloth when I awoke.

"What the..." I muttered, finding my arm strapped at an angle to my body. Erik didn't meet my eyes as he hurried off the divan and turned his back on me, presumably to resoak the cloth.

"I was so scared..." he whispered, his voice creaking like an unoiled door. He put his hands against the dressing table and leaned against it, head bowed. I frowned, trying to prise the linen splint thing on my arm away. "I thought you were going to die... I thought I was going to kill you, Kitty...."

Only then did I realise what he meant. The heat, the mirrors, the confusion, the flashbacks. Falling unconscious on the floor and then again in Erik's arms as he rushed me out of the torture chamber.

The torture chamber.

I sat bolt upright and stared like I'd never seen a Phantom before. He glanced over his shoulder at me, winced, and looked away again.

"I need to go back," I said, my mouth dry, and swung my legs over the edge of the divan. Erik froze. "I have work to do, I'm sure. And Jeremy will need to know where—"

"You can't."

I wobbled to my feet, frowning at him. "Why ever not?"

"I've cut off the passageways."

"I can open them, it's no bother."

But he moved before me and blocked the door. "I cut them for a reason."

I worked my jaw back and forth, studying the way he stared at me.

"Erik, I need to go—"

He caught me gently as I tried to edge past him.

"Well, I apologise, but that will not be possible with that arm."

"Erik, what's going—" I glanced at his hand, where he hadn't taken it from his pocket for a number of minutes now, and seized his wrist. His palm opened involuntarily, revealing my engagement ring. "That's not yours!"

I moved to retrieve it. He held me back. I struggled again. A quick push sent me stumbling. I tripped over my feet and fell back onto the divan, gaping at him. He took one look at my face and frowned.

"You've gone soft!"

"I have not gone soft!"

"It's because of that Jeremy."

"It is not because of that Jeremy!"

His lips curled up in a fierce glower.

"Take it," he muttered and I cursed myself for putting him back in a mood. I'd need to relearn to tread carefully. He tossed the ring across the room towards me. It bounced along the floor behind the divan and I shot after it, trying to ignore the pain in my arm as I scrabbled on the carpet for it. "After all, are you not just one more thing I allow that boy to take from me? It seems I've allowed myself to be walked all over by aristocrats!"

"He is not an aristocrat!" I found it and pulled it back onto my finger, barely noticing the rush of relief that shot down my spine.

"I should have killed him when I had the chance. The Vicomte too!"