The Palais Garnier, known more infamously as the Paris Opera, loomed ahead, rising above the crowded streets and traffic like a beacon. To most people visiting the City of Lights, the Eiffel Tower was the center of the whole metropolis. To vampires, it was the Opera. Tonight, however, none of it mattered because I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman at my side.
Thea remained quiet throughout the ride. Her hand, clad in a velvet elbow-length glove, rested under mine as we waited in the line of cars. I suspected she was occupied with the same thought haunting me.
If only I were a vampire, she’d said.
For the past few days, I’d been obsessed with the possibility she was my mate. Or rather, the impossibility. Now, I wondered if the reason I fought the idea so hard had less to do with her being a human and more to do with what being a human meant: a mortal lifespan. I clasped her hand more tightly, as if she might slip away any moment.
Thea glanced over and smiled, but her eyes betrayed that thoughts were somewhere else. Whatever was on her mind haunted her, too.
“What are you thinking, pet?” I asked her before she could ask me.
She turned nervous eyes on me and lowered her voice, so Philippe couldn’t hear, “That everyone is going to be staring at the virgin.”
More than ever, I wished I could relieve her from that burden. “You said that they planned to compel the familiars not to speak of it.”
“That doesn’t mean they won’t remember,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but only half the people will be staring.”
Her lips pursed, unimpressed with my logic. It was a tad slim. “Another crappy vampire pep talk.”
“Another?” I lifted an eyebrow.
“I called Jacqueline while I was getting ready.”
“What did she say?” I asked curiously.
“That they would be staring at me because I was hot,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“She’s not wrong.” I swept my eyes down her, allowing my blood-lust to darken my eyes just enough for her to know I meant it. “Every male in there will want to fuck you, and every woman will want to be you.”
“Because I’m with you?” A smile tugged at her lips to show I’d succeeded in my attempts to distract her.
“Because they know you’re mine.”
She laughed. “You’re pretty cocky for an old man.”
“They won’t stare because of whom you belong to,” I whispered into her ear. “But because of how you belong to me.”
“How is that?” she asked softly.
“Completely.” I kissed the spot below her ear, earning a shiver. “Absolutely. Unequivocally.”
Her tongue swiped over her lower lip as she leaned closer. “Then why am I–”
“We’ve arrived,” Philippe interrupted.
I used the interruption as a diversion and got out of the car. I knew what she was going to ask. Now wasn’t the time to discuss our shifting relationship or remind her of the necessity of limiting our physical intimacy. I wasn’t sure how much longer we could avoid the reality of our situation.
Circling the car, I helped Thea from her seat and offered her my arm. She took it, adding, “We’re not through discussing this.”
But as we stepped inside the Palais Garnier, she fell silent. Thea looked around with wide eyes as she tried to take it all in at once. For a moment, I saw this place I’d been a thousand times through her eyes. I marveled at the sweeping stone staircase, at the murals painted overhead, at the mirrors that seemed to make the guests milling about the grand foyer part of its extravagant scene. Unfortunately, the moment ended abruptly as we were swarmed. The vampires who refused to return to the states all wanted to say hello or have a word.
But mostly, they wanted to get a look at Thea.
Maybe Sabine hadn’t compelled everyone at the first Rite, after all. Thea shot me a panicked look as more and more people accosted us. She had to be thinking the same thing.
An imperious voice sliced through the crowd. “You’ve arrived with your little girlfriend.”
The guests surrounding us parted ways to allow Sabine to walk through. She’d gone for black–an unusual choice for her. Dark lace rose high on her throat and down to her wrists. All around her, vampires whispered their admiration, but I got the distinct impression the dress was a message. She was in mourning.
“Mother,” I said coldly. The vampires who greeted us before slowly vanished, as if they sensed a storm brewing. But I noticed more than a few curious onlookers eavesdropping.
Boucher appeared at my mother’s side. “Julian,” he said, “and the lovely Thea.”
“Don’t tell me you’re encouraging this,” Sabine hissed, glaring at him.
“I was simply saying hello.” Boucher sighed. “And I came to speak to you. There’s been a last-minute change. One of the sopranos has vanished.”
“Of course,” she said heavily. “Have we checked all the boxes to make sure someone didn’t take the liberty of stealing her as a snack?”
“We’re in the process of that,” he assured her, “but Berlioz must be talked down. He’s convinced that the debut will be ruined.”
“Berlioz is debuting a new opera?” Thea asked excitedly.
Sabine turned cold, glittering sapphire eyes on her, and glared. “You’ve heard of him.”
“Thea is a cellist,” I reminded her, trying to salvage this situation.
Thea gave her a pretty smile and added, “We met him this afternoon, and he didn’t mention it.”
“You…met…Berlioz?” Sabine sounded pained. She glared at me. “What was she doing on Île Cachée?”
“I took her on a date,” I said, intervening before one of them throttled the other.
“I see.” A muscle ticced in her jaw. She swiveled her face slowly to Thea. “Berlioz is premiering a new opera he’s written for the evening. The Symphony for the Dead. I hope you both enjoy it.”
Something about the way she said it made me suspect we wouldn’t.
“Excuse me,” Sabine added.
“Go where you’re needed,” I said meaningfully. Sabine swept away in a huff, leaving an apologetic Boucher with us.
“I didn’t think she could hate me more,” Thea said.
“Sabine doesn’t like anyone,” Boucher assured her.
“She likes you.”
“My dear,” he said, his beady eyes glinting, “she tolerates me. There is a difference. I do sincerely hope you enjoy yourself this evening, in any case. I should go mediate between those two.”
“We will,” I muttered. Boucher took his leave, and I immediately spotted Benedict in the corner. Thea noticed him at the same time.
“Your brother is here,” Thea said. “Or one of them. Should we say hello?”
I shot her a questioning look. Wasn’t one family confrontation enough for the evening?
“I’m trying to be polite,” she explained as I steered her toward the sweeping staircase. Peonies, roses, and lilies encircled its stone railings, making the already lavish interior more decadent.
“Polite and vampires don’t mix well, pet.”
“Will we be sitting with your family this evening?” she asked carefully as we reached the first floor.
“We have a private box,” I said through gritted teeth. It was a small mercy, and I owed Boucher for allowing me to keep my usual seat in the house.
“So, is this a favor or…”
“I’ve kept a box for years, but tonight we’re using the box next to it.” That was all she needed to know.
“Is there something wrong with yours?” she asked.
“Box three is more private than mine. I didn’t want to share.” I tossed her a suggestive grin. That much was true. My box had a curved half wall between it and the seventh box. After sharing Thea for half an hour with vampire society, I wanted her to myself.
I guided Thea through the crowd, ignoring the curious eyes that followed us. When we reached box three, I was relieved to find it open and waiting.
“Are you usually in box one?” she asked.
“No, five,” I said absently as I peered in to find the box had been arranged per my requests. Instead of the typical eight chairs, only two waited inside the box. The chairs were positioned farther than normal for the best view but back far enough to ward off most, if not quite all, of the prying eyes.
I began toward it, but Thea didn’t move. She was mesmerized by a plaque on the box next to ours.
“Loge du Fantôme de l’Opera,” she sounded out the French and her eyes widened. “Wait, which box did you say you keep?”
“Box five,” I admitted, already knowing why she’d asked.
She grabbed my arm, her velvet fingers clutching me tightly. Even through the layers of cloth, I felt a prickle of something inexplicable, but Thea didn’t seem to notice. “Are you telling me that you’re the–”
I groaned, knowing that she was going to enjoy teasing me about it for the rest of the night. “I owed Leroux money–or so he believed.”
“And you didn’t pay him back?”
“There was some debate as to the validity of his claim. He believed he’d won a round of piquet. I believed he was a cheater.”
A soft laugh fell like music on my ears. I’d earned another smile. Even after the disastrous confrontation in the lobby. “Was he a cheater?”
“Most certainly. All writers are.” I extended my arm toward the box. “So he wrote the bloody book and told everyone he based it on me.”
“You don’t seem to mind using the phantom’s box,” she pointed out as she swept past me into the private box. I followed, shutting the door softly to outsiders.
“Perhaps I will sweep you into the bowels of this place, to my secret lake, and give you a private lesson. Would you like that, pet?”
“Do I need another lesson?” she murmured. She stood, half in shadows with her evening wrap draped off her shoulders. Even in the dimly lit box, I saw the pulse at her neck. The space darkened as blood-lust thundered inside me. Thea glanced at me and stumbled back a step, her body making contact with the red satin lining the wall. The reflection off the fabric cast a red hue over her pallid skin. I was wary of bringing her here, especially after the idea she’d planted in my head. These were close quarters for a human and a vampire. I did my best to keep distance between us as we took our seats. Still, despite my instinct to protect her, an invisible hand seemed to hook around my heart, pulling me gently but insistently back to her.
“Come,” I said with a thick voice, “and I’ll tell you where Leroux got his ideas.”
“From you?” she guessed as she took my hand.
I nodded, and she laughed.
“A cheat and a thief?”
“Don’t forget a liar when it suited him,” I said with a wry smile.
“And he was your friend?” she asked.
I moved next to a chair and waited for her to take a seat. “Acquaintance would be a better term. He couldn’t win at any game he played.”
“But you played him anyway?” Her eyes narrowed with disapproval, but she was still smiling.
“Someone had to take his money,” I said as I sat next to her. “Why not me?”
“Because you have more money than God,” she said with a snort.
“Yes, and I use it more wisely,” I told her. On the evening that Leroux had lost a considerable share of his newspaper earnings for the week, I’d purchased a woman’s freedom on the walk home. A virgin being sold on the streets. Leroux would have drunk the money away. I’d done something useful. I’d given the virgin to a convent. Apparently, my ethics had slipped in the last century because I was finding it hard to think about anything else but Thea and her problematic virginity. “Everything was for sale in Paris those days, and a man like Leroux wanted everything.”
“And how did you become the Phantom?” She tugged her wrap higher, covering some of the exposed flesh I couldn’t stop staring at.
“He had a talent for taking the truth and making it sensational,” I told her. “The reservoir below us became a hidden lake, and the passages were made for a ghost to walk about the theatre. But the reality is the reservoir is there because this used to be swampland.”
“And the passages?”
“Vampires love the opera. It can inflame us, though,” I said with a shrug. “In its early years, it was necessary to occasionally remove our human guests when a vampire lost control.”
“Remove because…” Thea swallowed, shaking her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Do you think there will be problems tonight?”
“There are very few humans here this evening,” I reassured her. “And there are rules about these things now. It’s frowned on to take a date to the opera and drain them now.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” she said dryly. “So Leroux knew you were a vampire?”
“No.” I laughed at the thought of telling a man like that about my world. “But I did admit the passageways were there to remove incapacitated guests. He just thought I meant drunk people.”
She giggled, but before the conversation continued, the lights in the auditorium dimmed slowly and then brightened several times. Thea turned from me toward the stage, her entire face lighting up. “I can’t believe I’m sitting at the Paris Opera with the Phantom himself.”
“I never should have told you that story,” I muttered.
“Don’t worry.” She patted my hand. “I’ve figured out what we’re going to be for next Halloween.”
I rolled my eyes as the lights went down the last time. Thea’s attention was now entirely devoted to the stage as the orchestra began to play. Her eyes closed as the music swelled through the air. She was next to me, but she’d been transported somewhere else. When a soprano took the stage and began the first aria, she opened them and craned her head to watch the action.
“I wish I understood French,” she admitted.
“She’s singing about her love that has been taken from her,” I whispered. “He has gone off to war and died.”
The soprano was talented, as Boucher had said. Pain rose in stabbing notes as she told her story. It was a misconception that vampires were without feelings. Simply, we learned to divorce ourselves from the mortal world long ago–so we wouldn’t suffer grief or loss. Until we went to the opera, where we couldn’t ignore emotion any longer.
The story continued, and a tenor entered. The young man had returned from the war, but he was no longer a human. He’d been turned into a vampire, and he didn’t recognize his love. Thea gasped when he attacked the woman, and her hand tightened on mine. Of course Sabine had approved of this new production.
Thea watched with unwavering interest, and I watched her. Each gasp and sigh she made lodged itself inside me, amplifying the emotional intensity I felt during each scene. Tears filled her eyes as the woman hid from her lost lover. She stole a glance in my direction, palpable fear on her face. Her biochemical reactions to the opera sent her blood singing in her veins until I couldn’t resist her any longer.
I gazed out across the audience and found all eyes were trained on the stage. The debut seemed to be a hit, which made it easier for me to lower onto my knees.
“What…?” Thea said softly when I released her hand. I answered her by moving to kneel before her.
“I’m right here,” I whispered as I drew off my gloves. I slid my bare palms up her calves and urged her to scoot toward the edge of her seat. “That’s a good pet. Keep your eyes on the stage and try not to let anyone know what I’m doing down here.”
“Wouldn’t want a Rousseaux to be caught on his knees?” she teased in a whisper.
“I wouldn’t want to make every male here jealous. You smell delicious. May I put my mouth on you?”
Thea sucked in a sharp breath, hesitating a moment before finally nodding. I lifted her skirt, allowing it to drape over her thighs, and discovered she’d done as I asked. Her naked sex greeted me, and I inhaled her scent as I pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. A duet began on stage, its longing mirroring the hunger I felt now. I tugged her ass to the edge of the seat, hooking my arms around her thighs to balance her, and lowered my lips to her delicate flesh. A moan slipped free from her as my tongue parted her folds. I lifted my eyes and found her straining to remain composed. Her fingers gripped the armrests as I slowly circled the tip of my tongue over her swollen clit. Another gasp, drowned by the duet to all but my ears. Her tiny sounds of pleasure blended with the opera, and I found myself devouring her, desperate to taste her climax. Thea’s legs began to tremble, and she cried out as the duet peeked, flooding my tongue with her essence.
I couldn’t stop. The song shifted into a fierce clash between the soprano and tenor, and I sucked and licked. Thea grabbed hold of my hair, her whole body trembling as I stole more pleasure. Finally, her thighs clamped around my head, a signal that she couldn’t take anymore. But I couldn’t stop. Her scent drove me, fueled by the music, and I shifted my lips to the soft inner thigh clenched around me. Thea relaxed with a sigh, her thighs blossoming open to present a new temptation.
The duet shifted to an aria parlante, and the tenor, now singing alone, grew increasingly agitated. I felt his frustration burning through me, and without thinking, I lowered my mouth to the crease of her inner thigh and did the unforgivable.
