Rated: R or M
Summary: Luciana had her revenge once she turned Erik into a real creature of darkness. Tormented over his loss of music and love, he sets out for a new beginning and finds a second chance, but there is a cost. As the body count rises, Erik will do anything he can to keep Christine forever. Warning: Contains strong language and adult content.
Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom or Bram Stoker's Dracula, but what a bash that would be if I did!
A/N: I'm BACK! And finally too! This story was started about six years ago and I put it aside to focus on some other stories. Then several months ago I picked it up again, only to stop, after I revised the first six chapters. It wasn't until I found the soundtrack for Love Never Dies that I became instantly inspired again. I know a lot of people are not fans of LND, and I haven't had the fortune to see it, but I fell in love with the music and songs. So you can say the third's time a charm.
That being said, I have always wanted to write a story with Erik as a vampire. It's nothing new and I have read other stories where our beloved Phantom was one of the creatures of the night. But… like anything, I like to give it a twist and this isn't going to be like anything you've read before. Well… I hope not.
You know the drill. Go ahead and leave behind a lovely review!
The Blood's Desire
Dismay settled in the pit of his belly.
The lone man, trudging carelessly in the streets of Paris, had one destination in mind: the Seine.
The night had begun like any ordinary night. The usual nocturnal inhabitants emerged; the scent of cheap perfume from half-naked women stood on every corner, the lustful men of all stations and drunks were staggering about in search for pleasure. Sometimes the occasional hired watchman would approach a prostitute to pass the time. Once the sun sets, sin takes over like a plague, widespread and toxic.
The night was also his shield, his cover. Like the others he easily blended in; although, he considered himself not part of their race. He may be a man of flesh and blood, but his lot wasn't among the humans who claimed him to be a monster, a phantom. He was nothing.
Ever since his childhood, he grew up to ignore and overpower any urge that was remotely human so the cruel words would not hurt. In the beginning it had been simple… up until he became a young man. Only then did he begin to yearn for the knowledge of the passion and desire that could overtake two people and experience the "joys of the flesh." The first took place in Rome and the second was his exposure to the sensual world Persia had to offer.
To placate himself, he observed quietly and learned how much the human body could withstand from both pain and pleasure. He did this until he could get away from the Sultan and his mother's sadistic need for blood. His stay lasted a few years before he had to flee for the sake of his own life. His leaving broke the spell, which remained buried only to be uncovered in blinding speed the moment he took his first steps in Paris.
The cause of his agony and distress was the talented Christiana. The young and beautiful Christiana Danvers, a soprano in the Opera Populaire. Stuck in the chorus with superfluous roles, she managed to steal his heart; an organ he never dreamt could be taken in such fashion. Yet, her purity and innocent looks was enough for the fifty-something year old to become enamored.
After laying his eyes on her, he knew he had to have her. Not in a physical sense (if that was possible he would die merrily in peace), but he wanted to cherish her in hopes that she would care for him in someway. He didn't expect love. For who could love him? Surely if not his own mother, then any other wouldn't do. He just wanted to be accepted.
He followed, he studied, and he learned all that he could about the girl. He became obsessed and out came the inspiration he needed to compose. He wrote an opera for her, only for her to sing and sing alone. He would refuse anyone else but her.
He lived where she worked. Whoever dared to mark her by word or action he was there, making sure it would never happen again. Not long after he created a stir among the performers and stagehands, giving him the name Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera. Both suited him well and he was able to strike enough fear to gain some control over the dealings.
With his influence he would be able to have his work performed with his love as the lead. Except… his plan fell through.
The managers agreed to have the opera produced and shown (thanks to numerous threatening notes), but when it came to the lead—Christiana refused to sing this "garbage."
It took many a coaxing and pleas before she at last accepted. Tonight was the opening night and everything went well. Too well, in fact, but his mind wasn't occupied with the strange good fortune that came his way. He decided tonight was the night to reveal himself as her admirer.
Once the gala ended, he hoped to follow her home where he would declare his dying devotion. So he waited in the shadows for the perfect timing. At the sight of her bouncing blonde curls, he executed his plan and kept his distance to avoid any suspicion or scares. He wasn't prepared for what he saw next.
He rounded the corner of her street, his pace quickening as his heart pounded with excitement. He approached her door, the adrenaline rushing through his body, and as he was starting to knock; a sound from within caused him to stiffen.
There was a crash and what sounded like a moan. Terror gripped him. She was in trouble! Just as he was about to break down the door, a flash caught his attention in the window. He moved over and froze.
Christiana… his Christiana was wrapped around a body of a man. Their lips were locked together in a frenzy kiss, fingers clawing at the other's clothes. It was dark inside, but his vision was that of a feline's. He could make out clearly the activity they were doing and once the man suddenly forced her on top of the settee, he recognized who he was.
Her lover was one of the stagehands at the opera. He noticed them conversing before, though it had been friendly banter and never gave him a reason to fear for a rival. Apparently, he was wrong.
A heavy lump of despair choked him, his chest constricting in what he believed was his heart breaking.
He endured a wretched life and after witnessing his one chance of happiness evaporated, he knew he couldn't go on anymore. He had enough suffering to last for several lifetimes.
Now, he mournfully walked towards the Seine, to once and for all end his pain. Not one soul seemed to notice the six-foot figure covered in black from head to toe, his fedora tilted far to cover his face leaving a sliver of white visible. The gentle rippling of water assured him he was close…close…there.
Looking over the edge of the railing, all he could make out was the quiet ripples of the dark water. He reached and threw off his fedora, the moonlight illuminating his reflection. A tentative finger traced the porcelain that concealed his difference to normal beings. He thought whether or not he should remove it and decided against it. He didn't want his abnormality to be the last he sees.
His fingers went to his throat and started to untie his cloak. The black silk fluttered down his back to lie in a puddle at his feet. All was left was his cotton white shirt hidden beneath his ebony jacket and pants. He could have almost passed as a gentleman.
He snorted, shaking his head. A gentleman he was not.
Gripping the iron rail, he lifted his left leg to swing over.
His body went rigid. Dropping his foot down, he glanced from the right then left seeing no one. Muttering a curse, he swung his leg and got ready to move the other when he heard his name again with more force.
His visible brow shifted in a frown, he turned his head.
Ahead was a brilliant figure surrounded by white. He could barely make out the shape or face, but the voice was definitely feminine. His heart flip-flopped. Christiana? Could it be?
He lowered himself back down; an attempt of a grin broke across his façade. As quickly as the sudden joy came, he shook himself as he remembered she didn't know he existed. Let alone his name.
The apparition grew closer and he was able to see it was a woman. Her gown was immaculate and glowing, long raven hair blowing around the pallid heart-shaped countenance with eyes dark as coal. Her ruby lips were thin, yet full, and curled upwards in a sinister smile as she drew ever near.
His chest rose in rapid breaths, his eyes widening as his mind recalled a girl who bored a striking resemblance to…
"L-luciana?" he whispered, disbelief covering his visage.
"Who else?" she replied sweetly. "Poor Erik. You changed quite a lot since the last we saw each other. I've been looking for you."
A dry chuckle echoed his ears as he stared at his first love.
"Oh yes. You were difficult to find. The last thirty-five years I traveled all over, always hearing tales of a masked man with a voice of an angel. Every time I thought was close I was wrong and had to keep moving. When I arrived in Paris I heard about the Phantom of the Opera. I knew it had to be you, but I had to make sure. And my suspicions were correct!"
Her pale hands clasped together as her eyes glittered dangerously. "I'm happy to see you."
"Y-you're dead!" he sputtered, stepping back. "Luciana, you died! How… how is this possible?"
Luciana briefly gazed at her nails then up to the pale-stricken man. "I am. Well, sort of. You're not happy to see me?" She pouted as Erik slowly continued to move away.
"I suppose it's because I'm not that singer, hmmm?"
Erik whirled around, jaw dropping as she stood behind him. "You abandoned me for a whore? Tsk tsk. I'm hurt Erik. I would have given you my heart but…" Her hands swept up in an oh-well gesture. "…you took more than what I was willing to offer."
"No!" He gasped. "I—It was an a-accident!" A burst of anger suddenly flowed through his veins as he stepped forward hissing, "You wanted to see! You forced me!"
"Did I?" she questioned innocently. "Doesn't matter. Either way I shouldn't have died right?"
"Why are you here?" Erik demanded. "What do you want?"
Her lips twitched, a malice glint shining in her eyes. "What any poor soul wants. Justice."
Erik gaped, not understanding what she meant.
Luciana moved forward. "I can't have you kill yourself, my love. There's no punishment in that."
Her lips rolled inwards, baring gleaming teeth as her dark eyes changed to silver. Two sharp fangs protruded from the rest, her hands stretching out in a comforting gesture.
"Do not be afraid. I won't hurt you."
Her voice was hypnotic, gentle, promising. Erik struggled with all his might, using his willpower to block her out. But it was a losing battle. He couldn't control his feet, he couldn't control his voice, and he couldn't control himself at all. This was no ordinary woman he could ignore…and he found himself not wanting to.
He took a step to her, his eyes rolling closed as her hot breath prickled the skin on his throat. Darkness engulfed him as she plunged into the flesh…
Eyes snapping open, Erik touched his neck where the two puncture marks remained. That night he lost everything to pacify a vengeful spirit who now calmly left the world. He was cursed, far worse than the deformity that still was present. He was a monster in every sense, a demon with no chance of mercy.
His gaze dropped to his feet; a pair of bulging frightful eyes staring up and the mouth stuck in a silent scream. Wet dark blood covered the throat and ground.
Erik nudged the body with his toe. Damn. Got too carried away.
He hated a kill like this. He preferred his meals to be quick and clean. Yet, this old man put up a fight. One, he refused to back down until Erik took decisive action and ripped out his throat. Normally with a fighter he would have compelled him to obey, but Erik was so hungry that the beast was roaring inside, craving the warm rich blood immediately.
Sighing, he dropped to his knees and pulled out a handkerchief. He sopped up some of the extra blood and wrapped it around the neck to prevent any more unwanted drips. Secured and knotted, Erik scooped the dead man's arms up and placed one behind his neck with the other around his waist. The face was looking down; perfect for him to pretend he passed out.
Erik tilted his head up and breathed deeply, catching the scent of water nearby. At least he did one good thing—killing his prey close enough to dump the corpse.
It wasn't far and he was nearly home free.
Watching the body ker-plunk into the lake, Erik stood momentarily. In a different lifetime, death was another form of art. Now, it was more of a desire to feed. Of course, it didn't mean he couldn't have a little fun now and then.
Once the body finally settled underneath the water, he turned and began to walk in the direction of his home—beneath the Opera Populaire.
It was hard to believe but it had been a hundred and twenty-five years since Luciana bit him and made him a real creature of the night. Ironic really. He chose to live away from the daylight to shield his face, and now it was no longer a choice, but a necessity to survive. The humor wasn't lost to him after he turned, but it was a lifestyle that he wholly embraced.
He quickened his pace as his senses started to prick at the feel of incoming sunrise. It was an ability that he developed over the years and one that saved him from being too careless when on the hunt. He made it in time and submerged once more into the protective embrace of darkness. Now, he didn't have to hurry to his destination.
As he walked through the tunnels, Erik noticed how time had also aged his beloved opera house. It had been a place of comfort, but for the last century, it was only a reminder of the loves of his former life.
Oh yes… Luciana did have her revenge.
Oh yeah, I wasn't kidding about the little twists. Hee hee.