Chapter Six

Raoul tapped his crop against his opposite hand as he stared at his library doors. Legard was late. Raoul knew he’d have to convince Legard to head to Lyon to interrogate the Persian. After all, he’d been giving Raoul a hard time over it ever since Raoul mentioned it. Something was up; Legard was overly bull-headed, and now he was late? If Raoul had to haul Legard out for a day on the trails, and pull rank to get him to spill what was on his mind regarding Lyon, then so be it.

“You’re late, Jules.” Raoul tried not to sound overly irritable when the library door opened. People had jumped when Philippe issued a command. It would be nice to get Legard to do the same right about now. He slapped his crop against the top of his leather boot and scowled at his friend’s appearance. “You’re are not dressed to ride.”

“There’s no time for riding.”

What on earth? That wasn’t Legard’s voice. The door slammed behind Legard seconds before a man stepped from behind him.

“Stop right there.” Raoul was already irked by the change in plans; he didn’t need some stranger barging in his library. Why didn’t Legard do his job and stop him? “Who are you?”

“Perhaps, if you were paying attention to who was lurking around your estate instead of shagging your pregnant wife, you’d have known I was here,” the man said. “You really should keep those balcony doors closed, you know. You moan like a dying duck.”

Raoul led with this temper, but Legard intercepted him before he could reach their uninvited guest.

“Wait,” he urged, lifting his arms and blocking any attempt to get around him.

Wait? Some piece of rubbish just insulted his wife and Legard wanted him to wait? He’d been waiting long enough. Raoul pointed the crop over Legard’s shoulder and toward the intruder. “No one disgraces my wife. Who is he? It’s your job to keep people off my estate!”

Legard’s expression was rough, proof that something wasn’t right. The man walked the perimeter of the library, knocking books off the shelves with quick flicks of his finger. Each one that fell to the floor lifted Raoul’s temper.

“I don’t know who he is,” Legard muttered, under his breath. He lowered his arms, but by the look in his eyes, not his guard. “I found him prowling in your private gardens earlier. He claims he had business with you and refused to leave the grounds. I tried forcing him off, but he’s wearing a signet ring.”

Signet? Raoul glared at the man with heightened interest.

“I can hear you, gentlemen.” The man stopped at the desk and tossed a paper on the blotter. “Tell me about this man.” He knocked on the decree and lowered himself into the chair.

“It seems you’re well aware of who I am.” Raoul’s temper was doing a slow burn. It was hard enough for him to sit behind Philippe’s desk and this man did it with far too much arrogance. It was all Raoul could do not to yank him out of that seat. “Your full title?” He indicated the elaborate ring decorating the man’s left hand.

“This?” Lifting his hand, he wagged his fingers in the air. “It’s a just a bauble. I get what I want, how I want. Tell me of this Phantom, Monsieur le Comte.”

Raoul’s eyes shot to Legard whose tight expression only added to the confusion. Raoul turned back to the man behind the desk, his anger getting a hefty dose of curiosity. “Everything you need to know is in that decree. He’s wanted for multiple crimes committed against France and the Chagny bloodline.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Not presently.”

The man stood. He had an odd air that didn’t match his appearance. He dressed as if money was no object, but the wild glaze to his dark eyes and unkempt hair wasn’t to be trusted. He had a wobble as he walked from behind the desk to the sideboard. Not a swagger, yet not the stumble of a drunk either. Raoul raised his a brow as the man lifted a small porcelain sculpture of a naked muse and watched as he lewdly fondled it. He held it close to his eyes, too close, as if scrutinizing it for any tiny flaw.

“What of the girl it mentions?” he asked of the sculpture. “Where is she?”

“Mademoiselle Barret?”

“Mademoiselle Barret, yes.” A loud crack followed that ‘yes’ as he snapped the neck of the maiden and let the pieces fall from either hand on the sideboard.

Raoul seethed. “Her whereabouts are unknown.”

“How long have you been tracking her?”

“Going on a year,” Raoul threw his crop to a nearby chair, every nerve suddenly alert. “I’ll answer no more of your questions until you tell me who you are.”

The man’s lips opened to expose pearly teeth. Crisp and white, they contrasted his dark beady eyes and overly long nose. “They call me Loup, The Wolf. My employer is His Grace, the Duke de Molyneux of Belgium.” He leaned against the sideboard and folded his arms across his chest. “Anna belongs to me.”

The air in the room turned thick. “I beg your pardon,” Raoul said.

“She was sixteen when Molyneux gave her to his son as a birthday whore. Instead, she killed him.”

Legard cursed. When their gazes met, Raoul already knew everything was about to change.

“I was hired to track her and have been doing so for eight years.” Loup shrugged. “Some men hunt foxes. I hunt Anna. Cunning little wench, mon Alouette; very elusive. Hunting her has kept me a rich man, but nothing will compare to mounting her, and in more ways than one. Anna has been a thorn in my side for far too long. This Phantom, she is connected to him somehow?”

Disbelief started to scratch its way out Raoul’s voice before he caught himself and tied his wits in a tight knot. Whoever this “wolf’” was, Raoul was not about to let him sense any apprehension. He walked toward the stranger and stopped a pace in front of him. As if he sensed the challenge, Loup leaned off the sideboard and stood toe-to-toe with Raoul.

“At one point she seemed to be under his control.” Raoul took note of the similarities in their heights and the cock to Loup’s jaw. “She still could be.”

“Control? You paint an intriguing picture. Is he really this dangerous?”

“More than you’ll ever know.”

“And you truly desire to find him?”

“I do.”

“Excellent.” Loup laughed. It sounded like a bark.

“Now, I suggest you get your finger out of my face and tell me what is going on.”

Loup shifted his point from the aim it had between Raoul’s eyes and turned it toward the far wall. Raoul strode away, following his gesture to toward the window. He was not prepared for what revealed when he shoved aside the drapes. It seemed Chagny had additional guests. A small company of men on horseback trotted up the road. Fine rifles were strapped to the saddles, and dozens of lean hounds wove in and out of the horses.

“They’re the finest around, Monsieur le Comte, experts in their field,” Loup bragged. “They know nothing other than hunting men. When I saw this decree of yours, I took to the chase. The hounds are trained to Anna’s scent. When we hit this region some of my men branched east while I came here to visit your quaint house.” He laughed again, only louder this time. Raoul found nothing funny in anything he’d said. “The dogs wouldn’t have started tracking if Anna wasn’t near. My men might have already found her. Now, if she and your Phantom are connected we’ve a bit of a problem.” Loup turned his attention back to the sideboard. He rummaged through bottles and shoved snifters aside.

“I’m a hunter and paid handsomely for my services. Molyneux has kept me a happy man primarily because he knows I’m not one to cross. He wants Anna brought in alive. Your Phantom fellow might get in the way of that so, if I kill him, I’ll provide you with a relic for proof. Either way, I don’t touch him without a substantial sum of money from you.” He lifted a decanter of cognac to inspect it before he slammed it back down. “Not the right color.”

“Shit.” Legard leaned in toward Raoul’s ear. “Piece it together; His eyes, the intonation of his speech, his weird twitches. He’s a blasted absinthe addict!”

“I can hear you,” Loup said in a singsong voice. “There are terms to discuss. When she is found, Mademoiselle Barret belongs to me.”

Raoul’s jaw began to hurt from keeping himself in check. “I’m not fond of Mademoiselle Barret either, but she is still a woman, and I’ll not have her spoken of as if property.”

Loup snorted. “The hunted is always a hunter’s property, Monsieur. You’ve spent far too much time between the legs of one woman. Very virtuous of you. When I find Anna, I’ll let you have her for a night. She’s a delightful, if not combative, shag.”

That did it. “Enough! Get him off my grounds, now, Legard.”

Legard leaped this time as soon as Raoul commanded. “The accusations you brought to light regarding Mademoiselle Barret will be considered. If true, once she and the Phantom are found I’ll see her investigated for the murder of this nobleman in addition to any other crimes she may have committed at the Opera Garnier. You’re through here.”

“I’m through when I say I’m through.” As soon as Legard got close enough to grab Loup’s arm, the hunter lunged. He rammed the decanter hard into Legard’s stomach enough to knock some wind out of him.

Raoul strode forward as Loup pivoted on him. Those deep-set eyes held an unfocused warning like that of a hungry dog. Raoul refused to flinch.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear,” Loup annunciated spittle coating Raoul’s cheek. “I want Anna Reneé Barret, and I’ll deal with any bastard who gets in my way. If this estate is involved with her, then you are involved with me. Do you or do you not want this Phantom as well, Monsieur le Comte? My methods can be a bit unorthodox, but effective.”

“Your methods can go to hell.”

Raoul barely got the words out when the library door slammed inward. Exactly how unorthodox Loup’s methods were quickly becoming apparent. A marksman entered chased by the flummoxed footman who stopped in his tracks in the doorway. The pressure in Raoul’s chest hit a critical level as he shot his footman one disapproving look that warned him not to set a single toe in his library. Raoul’s chest nearly exploded as the marksman laid the body of a dog on the floor. As soon as he settled the hound, he scurried away from Loup as if a boy in fear of a whip. Raoul’s mouth opened in disgust but before he could let his anger out, Loup jerked a finger to the heap.

“My dog is dead?”

Loup’s red face and tight mouth was proof that his anger was far faster than Raoul’s. Legard ducked sideways as the decanter soared through the air and shattered against the fireplace, spraying glass and cognac across the library. Loup rounded on the marksman who stammered on about the masked man who had killed the hound. His hand shook as he extended a stack of papers. Loup snatched them and growled a string of expletives.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Raoul shouted, completely ignored.

“You had her?” Loup’s backhand cracked the nose of the marksman, sending blood splattering across his face. Loup’s neck and ears had turned scarlet as he faced Raoul and slammed the papers on the desk. The pages slid across the polished mahogany, littering the blotter and floor. “There’s the proof that your beloved Phantom is in my way. I’m not exactly even-tempered when people mess with my dogs, Monsieur le Comte,” he shouted. “If the rumors I’ve heard are true and this Phantom is a musical genius, there can be no doubt that music is his. The question remains if Anna is with him. If the dogs picked up her scent, I would only assume she is.”

Raoul lifted the papers and read the title and notes scratched in the margins. “The Madrigals?” He’d seen that child-like scrawl before, and it roused hatred in him so powerful he fought hard not to erupt. He crumpled the page in his hand and paced it out. “Get that damn hound out of my library.”

The marksman didn’t move to gather the dog’s body until Loup jerked his head toward the door. “The longer I stand here watching you twirl like a top, Monsieur le Comte, the farther she runs. The hunted tend to linger near those they know, and since you’re connected to the Phantom, and the Phantom to Anna, I’ll hound you and your pathetic little investigator night and day until I find her. I’ll make your life a living nightmare to get what is mine. Unless, of course, you work with me and the price is right.”

Raoul’s nostrils flared as Loup moved to the sideboard and lifted up the broken muse, his thumb rubbing across the marbled breasts. Storming forward Raoul attempted to snatch it from Loup’s grip, but the wolf refused to relinquish his prize. Jerking forward, their arms locked, bringing them chest-to-chest and eye-to-eye. The black and violent cloud of warning that flashed across Loup’s face wouldn’t deter Raoul.

“Get your men and those hounds out of my courtyard. Leave me to my morning affairs, do not insult my investigator, and then perhaps we will discuss things civilly.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.” Loup wrenched the muse free and snapped his teeth in Raoul’s face, nipping the air inches from his nose before stepping off.

Raoul balled his fist tighter around the music in his hand.

“He’s blackmailing you.” Legard came up along Raoul’s side. As if Raoul didn’t know that point already? “He has no proof that music Erik’s. Anyone can take a sheet of music and scribble Madrigal atop it—”

“Madrigal?”

Raoul closed his eyes took a clearing breath. Damn it, Christine, not now.

All present swung toward the door. She stood in the entryway, her delicate hand touching the sapphires around her neck. Her lips pursed and her face blanched as a bloodied man passed her carrying a limp hound. “What’s going on?” she asked, inching her way toward her husband. “Who are these gentlemen?”

“Ah. The alluring Comtesse de Chagny,” Loup bowed, any sign of instability vanishing. The man was a well-trained circus animal. “I can see why your husband enjoys filling you with his seed and why the Phantom is so compelled to claim you as his own. I’ve heard stories of you, you know.” He circled her like a lion smelling the heat of his lioness.

“The Phantom?” Christine squirmed, twirling as Loup surrounded her. “What’s going on?”

“Enough,” Raoul snapped. He jerked his head to the door. “Leave. Wait for me in my carrel. We’ll discuss conditions further and so help me if you ever disrespect my wife again, I swear it will be your last moment on earth. Do I make myself clear?”

A slow smile spread across Loup’s face. His tongue bounced across teeth as if he savored his words. “I only disrespect Anna.”

Laughing, he tossed the broken muse back to the sideboard. His perfect aim shattered a bottle of Raoul’s finest cognac.

The tension in the room dropped a notch as soon as he was gone. The only sound was the waterfall of amber liquid pooling onto the floor. Raoul looked at the paper in his fist before setting it aside and turning to Christine. “Are you well?”

Not believing her nod for a second, he eyed Legard. Embarrassed at being overcome, Legard waved him off with an annoyed flick of his wrist.

“Christine,” Raoul said, “that man is an associate of mine. You needn’t know anything more about him than that.”

“But the Phantom-—”

“Erik could be in the area and possibly Mademoiselle Barret.”

“This close?”

“He’ll not come near you or André. He’ll be behind bars soon. I have means to make that happen quickly now.”

“Monsieur le Comte, may I speak as your friend?” Legard indicated Christine with a concerned flick of his eyes. “Privately.”

“There’s nothing you can say to me that you can’t say before the lady of this house, Legard.”

Christine straightened as if expecting unwelcome news. Raoul gestured for her to sit. If this pursuit harmed her or his unborn child he’d never forgive himself. As she sat, Christine retrieved a stray leaf of music at her feet. Raoul watched as Christine’s delicate fingers stroked the notes and stanzas on the page. They moved across the music like hands across a long lost lover.

“I’ll not stand for this,” Legard snapped. “I know what you’re thinking and hiring some bounty hunter isn’t going to solve anything. It’s not Chagny’s position to be involved with the affairs of a Belgian duke.”

“Bounty hunter?” Christine quavered.

Raoul resisted the urge to rip the music out of her hands and tear it to shreds. “I appreciate your concern, Legard, but I’m handling Philippe’s murder–”

“Murder? Goddamn it, Raoul, for the last time, it was an accident! You’re a nobleman, not an investigator. I’ll not have an absinthe addict on the grounds of the estate I promised to protect because you think Erik had something to do with Philippe’s death.”

Raoul scowled around the throb in his temple. He slowly forced himself toward the window and studied the Chagny burial ground far in the distance. He could feel the gazes of the two people he was closest to firmly on his back.

“I’ve been up to Philippe’s vault every day since his passing. I stand before the doors separating me from my brother and beg to mourn him. I can’t even respect my own brother’s death with grief.”

Christine hastened to his side, the music, he noted, still tightly against her bosom. “Raoul, you’re under tremendous stress with his passing. Give yourself time.”

Stress had nothing to do with it. Every time Raoul looked at that crypt he saw red.

Legard had come up behind him and attempted to lay a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t need comfort; he needed action. Raoul turned from both of them and headed back to his desk.

“Revenge is a wild justice,” Legard warned as if he read Raoul’s thoughts.

“I’ll not rest until the man responsible is out of our life forever. If it means associating with a man such as this hunter to find Anna Barret—and with her the Phantom—then so be it. We’ll leave in a fortnight to track down the Persian in Lyon and find out what he knows.”

“Raoul, you’re ridiculous,” Christine pushed. “Erik had nothing to do with Philippe’s death.”

His signet cracked loudly against the desk as Raoul slammed his fist down, knuckles first. “Why must you constantly defend that man? In the year since Erik mysteriously rose from the dead you’ve gone from fearing him to being his advocate!”

The music in her hand had wrinkled against her breast as she walked to the desk. “How dare you say I’m advocating that madman!”

“How dare I? In these last months, I’ve poured my soul into finding Erik to keep you and my son safe. One moment you support it, the next I find you crying into your pillow over it.”

“I weep for the man I knew as the Angel of Music, not the monster who—”

“The Angel of Music never existed! He was a fable invented by your father and a story manipulated by Erik to build your trust!” It wasn’t like Raoul to shout at her, but he’d about had it. Not even Christine’s frown swayed him. “I’m tired of your indecisiveness, Christine. I’m trying to change the direction of our lives so that man doesn’t haunt us anymore. He tried to kill me once, he’s killed my brother, and yet you still despise a Phantom but love an Angel. Half the time I wonder if you know whose bed you share!”

“Raoul, check yourself.”

Raoul had no idea Legard could whisper that loudly under his breath.

Regret knifed Raoul in the stomach the instant Christine’s expression hardened, and her eyes pinched.

“Change yourself, Raoul,” she bit back. “Then you can worry about changing the course of destiny.”

He knew he’d stepped over a line when his wife quit the room, score still cradled tight in her hand, but there was something deep in his soul that knew the truth when it was spoken.

Two things can’t be taken back: time and words. Hours had passed since Christine left the library and everything still whirled in her head, that awful Loup fellow; the dead dog; Erik; and most of all the fight with Raoul.

Massive trees lined the back lanes between the estate and the village proper. More than once Christine wished she could hide in their shadows. The icy stones along the path glinted against a blanket of fine snow, in the fading light. As the day lengthened, the colossal stone chateau stood proud and omniscient against the world of white innocence.

Using the back of a gloved hand, Christine dapped at the tears making her cheeks cold before wiping a bench free of crusty leaves. She sat beneath an ancient oak and pulled her other hand free from her muffler, and with it a small velvet box. Opening the lid, Christine caressed the recently blessed St. Nicholas medallion. She hoped that this gift to Raoul would help him heal from his brother’s death and whisk away any silly notions of a murder in his head.

Stroking her fingers between arched brows, she looked toward Chagny. Raoul’s expression whenever he spoke of this pursuit was one she never wished to see again. Every day the stressors of this manhunt deepened her confusion and made her wonder if she’d ever find peace.

Taking trips to the church to bless a frivolous peace offering and sit quietly in prayer wouldn’t convince her that she still didn’t feel for Erik. Nothing eased her frustration. Christine snapped the lid shut. She was a horrible person. The guilt should just be done with it and knock her off the bench. How could she feel anything for Erik? He was the man her husband swore had killed Philippe.

The shadows lengthened the longer she sat there, and the breeze picked up, tapping naked branches against each other. She searched the treetops and shivered at the sound; like hundreds of bony fingers pointing shame directly at her. Sadness burned at the back of her eyes making her glad for this rare moment alone to sort out her thoughts. Doing so would have been much easier if not for the small pack of snorting hounds racing in her direction. Their snouts were pressed into the snow, their tales wagging wildly in the thrill of a hunt. Struggling around her belly to her feet, Christine stiffened. The breeze shifted and sent the dogs rushing toward her.

Her shriek echoed around Loup’s laugh as snarling dogs tried to nip at her ankles. “Call them off!” Christine cried. “What do they want?”

“They’re merely running through their drill, Madame la Comtesse. You’re far more elegant than Anna, but a woman is a woman.”

Christine kicked at a snapping dog but succeeded in only injuring air. “How dare you. How dare your train these dogs to my scent!”

“Not your scent, the Phantom’s. They’re training for Lyon. You’re looking forward to Lyon, no?”

He whistled and commanded his dogs to rest. Instantly the hounds flattened themselves against the ground, but Christine’s wasn’t comforted. Their eyes never left their target. Loup meandered over and circled her.

“What are you talking about? I’m not going to Lyon.” She flinched at the disgusting, watery sound as Loup loudly sniffed the air around her.

He pulled a letter out of his pocket and extended it to her. Her name flashed in front of her eyes seconds before he snatched it away.

Christine gasped indignantly. “That’s addressed to me. You opened my correspondence? When my husband finds out about this-—”

“Your husband is the one who gave it to me.”

Loup’s voice was overly sweet, the kind of sweetness that made being mocked impossible to miss.

He finally handed her the note. “The envelope was addressed to him.”

Christine’s heart turned over upon reading that the note was in response to a letter her husband wrote. The Opera Nationale in Lyon apparently “would be honored to have the famous diva perform for them.” Disbelief blasted away her earlier guilt. Christine had longed to sing one last time before having André and before her role as a noblewoman took over her life. She’d begged Raoul for one last chance to sing while pregnant with their son but was defeated every time. He argued about roles and responsibilities and reminded her that her place was no longer on the stage. More than that, he had expressed his fear of sending her into the jaws of a lion. What if Erik were to find out, he had pleaded? How could he live if anything had happened to her? How would he explain to their son?

Christine unfolded a smaller piece of paper tucked within the letter. Her sigh left on a smoky puff of white as soon as she recognized Raoul’s handwriting.

I know you don’t agree with my reasons for leaving for Lyon. I promised you the world when I gave you my heart and my title. My earlier words were harsh, Little Lotte, forgive me? If singing one last time pardons me for what I do to your “Angel of Music,” then you have my blessings to retake the stage in Lyon. Forgive me, Lotte. Be by my side through this. My brother is already gone. I can’t lose the woman who stole my heart as well.

Gingerly stepping around Loup and the dogs, Christine folded the note and tucked it into her muffler along with any previous thoughts. It wouldn’t be right to have anything register on her face once she entered Chagny.

Loup grabbed her sleeve, keeping her from hastening off. “Not so fast, my dear comtesse. We must get to know each other.”

Christine yanked out of his reach. The sleeve tore; leaving a gaping hole in what was an elegant cuff. Gasping, Christine widened her eyes as Loup shoved the bit of lace in his waistcoat pocket.

He shrugged. “I like to keep tokens of my toys. Your husband insists I accompany you on your jaunt to the Opera Nationale. He mentioned something about fearing for you and his darling little daughter to be.” Christine backed away when he reached for her belly. He sniffed the air around her again. “You must have seen the Phantom many times for his scent to linger so strongly around you.”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve not seen him since this manhunt started.”

“Come now, even a stranger barely on your estate for long can see you shying away from the comte.” He nodded down the path where the spire of the church jutted toward the clouds. “You head to church to do what? Pray the desire away? Do you spread your legs to keep your husband content, or to convince yourself that you love him? You try to act all demure and innocent, but I know.”

“You know what?”

Loup clicked his tongue in disapproval. It showed his teeth in such a way Christine shrunk backward. “I won’t get in your way. I promise,” Loup assured. “The stories I’ve heard of you and the Phantom are fascinating. Is it an alluring fantasy? His bony body pressed against your soft flesh? Perhaps I’ll participate. Do you think he’ll like three?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I speak of the Phantom, Madame la Comtesse.” Stopping behind her, he reached around with his arm, sweeping a broad gesture across the air. “Perhaps you wonder in which elegantly appointed room you’ll have your next rendezvous? Perhaps Monsieur le Comte will watch? I like to watch.”

“You disgusting man! Finding him is why my husband hired you. I want the Phantom locked away.”

Loup cooed into her ear. “Rumors linger around France of your obsession with him—of your secret love for another man. And they must be true, why else would you be covered in his scent?”

Horrified Christine pulled her cloak tightly around her. “This was never near him. What do you want of me?”

Loup’s hands snaked around her waist. Her breath hitched seconds before fear tightened her throat.

“I want mon Alouette,” he said, sharply pulling her back against his chest. “Tell me what you know of Mademoiselle Barret. Do you think for one minute I want to protect you from this Phantom? I only do so because the price was right, and it’s more money spent on finding Anna’s blasted head. Being your bodyguard is a waste of my time if it won’t lead me to her.”

“Unhand me! I don’t know if she will be with him!”

“Then it’s your job to find out,” he spat. Christine cringed as spittle hit her cheek. “I suggest you cooperate for if you don’t, I’ll make you. Perhaps you can find out where she is when you lay with him? That is your deepest desire, no?”

She tried not to squirm in Loup’s grip. “I love my husband now let me go! I know nothing of Mademoiselle Barrett and Erik.” Christine froze as a piercing whistle nearly shattered her eardrum. Before her, the hounds immediately began their tracking stance.

“Now, now, dogs and wolves don’t lie. I know what you crave. The dogs know you still desire him. The question is if the other wolf knows.”

Sweat beaded her brow. The breeze sent shivers down her spine. “What other wolf?”

“Answer my question, then you can retreat to your little hovel, and I’ll leave you alone. Now, think this time. Would the Phantom know of mon Alouette?” Fear clogged her throat as Loup dragged his hand across her bodice. “Do you think they’re together? Perhaps instead of moaning out your name as he thrusts, he moans out hers?”

“He’ll be with her,” she blurted. “They left the opera house together. I saw them in Paris. I begged him not to go with her. He dare not be in love with her! He is supposed to love me. The Angel of Music chose me!”

Her stomach clenched, forcing acid into her throat. A trembling hand fluttered at the base of her neck before she inched it over the confession that had slipped out her lips.

Loup shoved her toward Chagny. “Thank you. It’s much easier to hunt knowing I’ll kill two birds with one stone now.” He bowed politely. “Fear not, your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell of your earthly desires for another man. I’m not the wolf you need to fear.”

The cold air dried her eyes as she pulled them wide. “What other wolf?”

“What is in a name, Madame? Your husband and I are one in the same, same hunters different prey. Loup and Raoul both mean ‘the wolf.’”

Christine stiffened when he passed her. He slipped his hand into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a worn piece of wool. She watched in dumbstruck horror as he lifted the faded scrap and allowed the breeze to take it. The dogs chased after it, snouts tight to the ground.

“As I said, a woman is a woman. The dogs don’t care who they track. So long as it smells like Anna. I wouldn’t tell your husband of this Madame la Comtesse if you know what’s good for you. After all, what would he do if I told him of your confession?” Loup clicked his tongue as his dogs disappeared. “I wish I had trained the dogs to the Phantom’s scent after all. Either way, what I uncovered is enlightening, no?”