Chapter Sixteen
Mindy and I meandered through the lobby of the Majestic Theatre, following Miss Donna and Mr. Bridges toward the staircase to our box. Mr. Bridges had indeed pulled out all the stops and obtained some of the coveted box seats, the best in the house.
Mindy looked terrific in her silky silver mini-dress. I’d decided on a one-shouldered floor-length in deep crimson with a high slit, both of which we’d found on today’s shopping spree. Once more I caught a glimpse of Dorian lurking in a corner, dapper in a black suit. He nodded and smiled his approval as we wound up a flight of stairs. At the end of a corridor, we entered the last of the isolated box seats, the one closest to the stage.
“Gorgeous,” marveled Mindy, taking a seat. Mr. Bridges and Miss Donna settled in behind us.
With red-cushioned chairs and gold trim on the banisters under warm chandelier lighting, the atmosphere was the perfect setting for our Broadway performance,
The Phantom of the Opera
. Excitement whirred in the gentle hum of voices as people bustled to their seats. Strains of the orchestra warming up floated to the balcony—bows across strings, horns sounding up the scales, a flute’s high trill. No sign of Flamma anywhere. Not even Dorian or Kat. They must be keeping their distance, watching from below. I pulled out the Playbill and flipped through it.
“Oh, he’s hot,” said Mindy, pointing to the actor playing the hero, Raoul.
I laughed. Mindy thought everyone was hot. “What about him?” I pointed to the masked phantom, his disfigurement not completely concealed.
“Ewww. He’s the villain. Of course he’s not hot.”
I sighed, gazing out across the sea of people, wishing it were that easy to pick out friend from foe. The lights dimmed. Mindy clapped her hands in excitement. A hush fell over the theatre as the play began.
A monochromatic scene of an auction unfolded where an elderly Raoul in a wheelchair reminisced about the opera house of long ago. When the grand two-ton chandelier was illuminated with a flash of lights and lifted above the audience, the stage transformed into a past where color, sound and song erupted into a cacophony of vibrant beauty. Enraptured by the play, my heart reached out to the Phantom. Cast out by society, darkened by circumstance and inhumanity, a genius turned monster due to a world’s rejection and isolation. The only way he could be loved was to steal it under the guise of the Angel of Music and capture Christine’s heart with a lie. By the time the chandelier crashed into the stage with a bang of pyrotechnics at intermission, my spirit felt heavy under an onslaught of emotions.
We meandered to the second floor lobby where Mr. Bridges brought us each a glass of house wine.
“Are you ladies enjoying the show?”
Mindy and I gushed our appreciation. He smiled and wrapped an arm around Miss Donna, whispering in her ear. They were a sweet couple, content with each other. For the hundredth time, I thought of Jude, fingering my opal pendant, wondering what he was doing. In between, my thoughts skated to Thomas, a compulsion I couldn’t seem to wipe away.
I sensed Kat. She hovered in the lobby behind a haughty group of women who were flashing their diamond-laden fingers as they prattled about the first act.
“I’m going to run to the restroom,” said Mindy. “You need to go?”
“No, I’m good.”
I needed time to check my phone without her asking me questions about Jude. Pulling my cell from my clutch, I checked texts. None from Jude. My heart sank again. When he left me in the hotel lobby yesterday, he said he’d be in touch but hadn’t responded to my text this morning or after my visit to MoMA this afternoon. Was he punishing me? I texted Kat.
Me:
No sign of Gorham’s bunch?
Kat:
None. All quiet.
Me:
Hmm. No word from Jude?
Pause.
Kat:
He said he had an appointment tonight he couldn’t reschedule…sorry.
I could only imagine who his appointment was with. He was hunting confirmation that Thomas was in fact my guardian angel. I had no reason to doubt that he was. He’d never come close to harming me. Quite the opposite. He’d protected and saved me on several occasions, just as a guardian should.
The lights blinked, signaling time for the second act. I downed the rest of my wine and dropped the cup in the trash before making my way back with Miss Donna and Mr. Bridges. The curtain rose right as Mindy settled in from the restroom.
“Omigod. It was a madhouse in there. I almost missed it,” she yell-whispered in my ear.
Once again, I blissfully lost myself in Raoul’s desperation, Christine’s anguish and the Phantom’s despair. When Christine sang “Twisted Every Way” about her heart torn between hating the monster and loving the man, a tear slipped down my cheek. The trap was set to finally capture and punish the Phantom for all his sins—for murder and mayhem, and for loving one beyond his reach.
The first strands of “Point of No Return” filled the theatre with trembling anticipation. I leaned forward, my hands clasped in my lap. Christine entered, innocent and naive, then the Phantom stepped out, masked as Don Juan. Perfect irony—the misguided monster cloaked as the handsome, beguiling lover. My pulse raced faster as he circled, stalked, singing words demanding her complete surrender, tempting her with the fiery passion they’d share if she would reject the world above for one of dark beauty down below. My VS hummed to life, pulsing a zing of electricity through my veins. Winter and woods caressed me.
I looked over my shoulder, pulse pounding. Thomas stood in the back of the box behind us, capturing my gaze. He nodded to the hallway and slipped out.
Without a thought, I leaned close to Mindy’s ear. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Now?” she hissed. “You’ll miss the end.”
I squeezed her hand. “I’ll be fast.”
I stepped into the darkened corridor, feeling his presence before I saw him. In full tuxedo, otherworldly eyes glinting in the dark, Thomas stepped closer, his gaze raking me from top to bottom, lingering where the opal rested on the swell of my breasts.
Christine and the Phantom harmonized, their duet reverberating with words of fire flooding the soul and sweet seduction.
I couldn’t breathe, my emotions swelling with the escalating music. I backed against the wall. He didn’t stop at a polite distance. No. I knew he wouldn’t. Pressing his chest to mine, a hand slid to the small of my back. His fingers traced along my jaw till his palm rested warmly against my skin.
“Tell me you want the power to sift.” Not a request. A simple command he knew I’d obey.
I shook my head, unable to speak, knowing I was definitely in the kind of danger I feared the most. Not the one I’d become accustomed to where demons hunted me down for blood. The kind where a green-eyed angel lured me beyond the divide, beyond my ability to reject him.
His voice pulled the strings of my will, knocking down my resistance. “Just say yes.”
The temptation of power, of him, was too great for me to push away. Christine’s words resonated, syncing with my soul, as she screamed her surrender from the stage below. My hand on his chest—his hard, resolute frame flexing beneath my touch—I closed my eyes, unwilling to see my own surrender in his knowing gaze. For there was more at stake here than an exchange of power. And I knew it. I wanted it.
“Yes,” I whispered.
One gentle sweep of lips, then an urgent demand for me to open. I did. His tongue stroked over mine. A caress of winter at night, beckoning me to fall farther into the cool dark where secrets and sensuality entwined. His kiss deepened. A jolt of energy surged through my body, blazing a trail. My VS burned, electrifying me with tiny sparks, searing through my blood. His hand combed into my hair, keeping me still as he plundered, kissing me senseless as Flamma power lit up my insides like wildfire. I gasped. He pulled me tighter against him, his thighs pressed to mine, torsos aligned, hemming me in, his arousal hard against my abdomen. No denying his intentions toward me anymore.
George’s essence had washed over me like a tidal wave when he had shared his power. Not so with Thomas. His power blazed and burned, crashing through me till my knees buckled, consuming my VS rather than meeting it on equal planes. Angel power wreaked havoc on my body and soul. He held me up, his mouth firming, demanding I give more. I moaned, unable to resist, allowing him full rein. He took and relished in my yielding mouth and pliant body.
After searing me inside and out, the raging power finally ebbed, but only a fraction. Thomas kept me firm against him, nipping, devouring, kissing me boneless. He released my mouth, trailing up my jaw to the hollow beneath my ear. Overwhelmed and dazed, I tipped my head back against the wall, one hand tangled in the curls at his nape, while Christine and the Phantom harmonized to a crescendo in the distance. But it was Thomas’s voice whispering the lyrics in my ear: “We’re past the point of no return.”
Drunk on Flamma fire pouring through my body like a raging river, I held still as Thomas’s lips found mine again. This time, there was no mask. This kiss had nothing to do with an exchange of power. The sensation transformed; his signature of snow and deep silence raised gooseflesh on my skin, seducing with a cool caress. His chest brushed over the thin fabric of my dress, tingling the tender flesh beneath.
His hand slid from my neck down across my collarbone, moving lower. His mouth and tongue induced a well of need. He cupped my breast, mounding, his thumb and forefinger teasing my tight peak through the thin, silky fabric.
“Thomas,” I protested, knowing this was wrong, still unable to pull myself from the dizzying haze, wanting to resist but unable to swim out of this pool of desire overwhelming my senses.
He swallowed his name on my lips, stopping my mouth with a mind-numbing kiss, intoxicating me into a fog. His fingers slid under the sheer fabric of my top, pushing it aside, his hand molding my naked breast, skin on skin, thumb circling the nub. I sucked in a breath. He groaned. A warm slide of deft fingers rose on my bare thigh, up the open slit, finding the apex between my legs. He stroked my heat over damp satin, priming me for more. The music below had gone quiet, a change in tempo. He released my lips, moving to my neck again with panting breaths, his fingers sending my body into orbit.
“Genevieve,” he whispered on a groan, a desperate, dark plea.
His fingers skimmed under my satin panties, sliding along my slick cleft, stroking my passion higher. Somewhere deep inside, my VS pulsed out a warning. Buried by his Flamma power, my VS fluttered beneath the unrelenting, almost violent need driving me on. I grabbed his shoulders, trying to regain control of myself as he kissed a line down my chest, angling for my bare breast that he continued to tease with palm and thumb, heightening my desire even as I fought against it. My VS awakened brighter, pushing against the onslaught of heady sensation, trying to break through the fog.
“No,” I mumbled.
“You want this,” he breathed. His fingers between my legs became more persistent, stroking faster, sliding closer to my entrance. “You have from the first.” He skimmed his open mouth over the swell of my breast; his tongue licking a trail lower. Just as he opened his hot mouth over my swollen peak and moaned deep in his throat, a scream erupted from the stage. The Phantom had been unmasked.
I started. My VS blasted me out of the sensual snare he’d trapped me in. I pushed back against his shoulders, shame rising to the forefront.
Jude.
He’d never let himself go this far, knowing what it could cost me. Thomas had taken at will and would’ve taken more. Even now, the flame of unbridled passion simmered in his glowing gaze. I wanted to run away, now, from what I’d done, from what I’d let him do, emotions swirling in my gut, pushing me toward a precipice of despair. Before I knew what was happening, I fell through the Void, still clutching onto Thomas’s shoulders. He gripped my waist, pulling me into his embrace. I resisted, jerking and struggling.
“This is your sift, Genevieve,” he called, voice echoing in the dark as ghostly shapes blurred past us. “You must decide where we’ll go.”
I punched out with the heel of my hand, aiming for his jaw. My thumb caught on my necklace, breaking the chain.
“No!” I screamed.
Thomas reached out with a desperate hand to snatch it before it fell into the abyss. Too late. A sparkle of white, then it was gone. Lost.
“No,” I whimpered.
The vacuum of the Void sucked at my hair and dress, tumbling us end over end.
“Genevieve! You started the sift! Take us somewhere.”
What? Finally registering that when I’d wished to get away, I’d pulled us into the Void, I imagined somewhere close to bring us out quickly.
We snapped out of the sift next to the pond in Central Park, the place he’d taken me the first time we’d met. I stumbled and pushed out of his hold, and, like the first time we’d landed here, he let me go. The bright moon and stars sparkled like gems on the glassy pond. The stillness of the night mocked my shaken spirit.
I panted, breath coming out in white puffs as I righted the top of my dress. My hands grappled for the necklace that was now gone. Forever. Jude’s gift to me. With Thomas’s touch no longer on my skin, a veil had lifted. Reality doused my heady arousal, my VS thrumming like a turbulent storm, slapping me with the cold reality of what I’d just done.
“Genevieve.” He was close behind me.
I spun, fuming. “Don’t touch me.”
He raised his hands in defense. “I won’t. Just listen.”
“What? So you can tell me how I wanted you from the start? I didn’t,” I said, words laced with venom.
“Deny it all you like, but the truth is we were meant for each other.”
“What are you talking about?” Acid burned in my stomach over what I’d let happen and the insane words coming out of his mouth. “No, Thomas. I was meant for Jude.”
He scoffed and shook his head to the sky. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
“How would you know? He’s laid his life down for me more than once.”
“Of course he has. Because he wants you for himself. He’s also taken lives, more than I can count.”