A/N: I don't usually do this, but I'm going to start this story out with an authors note and some warnings. This story is not like The Scorpion, and if you come from there I thank you for your support, but know that this is not anything like it.

This story will be very dark. It will deal with themes like abuse, emotional manipulation and control. E/C, as always.

I took the title from a song called There's No Solution by Sum 41. I think it sums up the idea quite well. If you have read this and still want to take this journey with me, well, I admire you. Thank your for your support and hold on for the ride. By ch 4 we will be sliding on up into the M category.

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The moon was full when Christine wandered out through the grounds of the estate. She liked to take midnight treks, and the de Changy home often made her claustrophobic.

Don't be mistaken - it was a grand home, by no means small or inadequate. The rooms were massive, the decor glorious and tasteful. Sitting in her new home she swore she could smell the riches. And she was grateful. She just missed the night, that was all. So much of her life was spent in darkness that it was hard to leave it behind.

That was what she had asked of Raoul, though, right? To take her away from the darkness, to protect her. Sometimes she couldn't remember why she had been so afraid, sometimes her memory grew hazy and she forgot why she longed so badly to lay beside the man she did now, the one who rested in the bed snoring and reeking of booze. Sometimes she couldn't remember what monster to run from.

She had wandered out further than she had intended to. The estate was growing smaller and smaller behind her until she was nearly to the line of trees that surrounded the west end of the property. Her eyes scanned the line of trees, breathless and frightened though not quite sure why.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she shivered, suddenly feeling watched. She called out the only thing she could think to, the only name she still called in every fearful moment. "Angel?"

She swore she heard her name whispered in the wind, lightly and then louder. She saw a rustle in the tree limbs and jumped, opening her mouth. Before she could let a sound escape, a black gloved hand clamped over her mouth, an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her against a sturdy but thin frame.

"Please don't scream," the angel's voice whispered.

She stiffened, suddenly terrified and elated all at once, and nodded her obedience against the hand that silenced her.

Slowly he removed his hand from her mouth and unwrapped his arm from her waist.

She turned and when the dark mask came into view she sighed. "Oh Angel. Why do you come to me now?"

His hand raised as though he was going to touch her face, but it stopped before it reached its goal and fell limply to his side again. "I always watch over you. I am your angel, am I not?" He reminded her quietly.

She looked unsure but nodded.

"You make me nervous," he began, "running out through the night alone. Why are you not in bed with your husband? Why do you insist on putting yourself in danger night after night Christine?"

She shrugged her shoulders and grabbed her left arm with her right hand. She looked down at her feet and he was surprised how small and childlike she truly looked with the gesture. "I miss the dark," she whispered. "And Raoul does not mind - he has long since been out of his mind."

He lifted his hand once more, only to stop short once again. "Out of his mind? How do you mean? Christine, you are not in danger are you?"

She shook her head, still not lifting her eyes. "He is drunk and asleep."

His hand reached out again and this time he made contact, barely brushing her jaw to make her look up into his eyes. "You are well?"

A soft, sad smile graced her lips. Her eyes looked tired, he noted. "You are my angel, no? You tell me."

"I do not... I do not look inside," he confessed. "I don't step much into the property. Only, not until I saw you wandering the other night that is."

Her smile was gone and she tore away from him, turning her back. "Why do you come now?" The question was strained and she sounded hurt.

"I missed you. I needed to know that I had done the right thing, that you were cared for and safe."

She turned back and the hope in her voice made her angel want to weep. "Truly?"

"Yes, truly my Christine," he took a bold step closer.

"But you turned me away, you sent me away and I thought th-"

Her words ended when he suddenly grabbed her jaw again, tilting her face up and claiming her lips with his.

She felt a spark go through her body, an instant warmth and excitement spread from dead, cold, bloated lips. The contradiction between her body's reaction and the truth of the lips was not lost on her.

When he released her lips she gasped for air. "Why would you do that?"

He smirked at her, barely visible in the darkness and through the cut of his mask. "You wanted me to."

She bit her bottom lip and squeezed her arm a little harder, avoiding his gaze. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps I did once. I've wanted so much, and it is never to be. Once I had dreams of you. I truly did. I thought of the life I could have with my angel. But you pushed and pushed, you pushed me away. That night all of my dreams were shattered. Every moment wasted."

He grabbed her shoulders roughly and gave her a shake. She looked up into his eyes. "Do you mean this, Christine?"

She nodded numbly, just realizing what confession she had made. In the back of her mind she thought that perhaps she shouldn't have admitted it, but she was tired of the strict bonds her role placed on her. She was no longer Christine. She was a Viscomtess. Her words and thoughts no longer mattered, only her looks. By day she was the Viscomtess, but at night, at night she was Christine. And Christine no longer cared what frail boundary she may be crossing.

His hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, so close that she could feel every fold of his clothing. If she concentrated she could almost feel the strong beat of his heart. His hand tilted her jaw up again. "Run away with me," his breath ghosted on her ear and she shivered, overtaken by the sensation of his body so close to hers.

"I - I can't," she said feebly, trying to remember herself.

"We can start over," he began, his hand running down lower and lower from her jaw until it laid over her bosom, gently running across the top of her cleavage. She shivered again, feeling very warm and compliant. Suddenly he spun her around, pulling her back tight against him and allowing his hand more room to explore what he knew was rightfully his. All the while, he whispered his plan into her ear. "We could be anyone. We could be no one. I can teach you to disappear, just as I once taught you to soar. We can go anywhere, Rome perhaps. I always loved Rome. Or maybe Italy, perhaps you would like to go back home to Sweden. It can be ours," his hand slid down and began to gather her skirt. "All you must do is say yes."

She clenched her eyes shut and tried to ignore the excited warmth between her legs, the shiver that ran through to her very core. Her nerves were on fire, each tingle radiating from the touch of his hands, those talented and bloodstained hands. The ones she should be terrified of but instead longed for. Dare she? Dare she just disappear into the night? She was married. She had already brought Raoul and his family such shame. Dare she once more hurt him? Perhaps it would be for the best. He could claim her dead and ask for annulment, marry someone who deserved him. But dare she?

His hand suddenly released her skirt and slid up to her throat where he squeezed lightly. She gasped at the obstruction to her breathing and suddenly remembered what those hands were capable of, she imagined the life being squeezed out of her by those hands. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. A shameful shiver of lust spread through her as he lightened his grasp and splayed his hand open on her collarbone.

"Tell me yes," he said, directly into her ear. "I will take you tonight. You will never have to face any of them again."

"But my things, Raoul," she said weakly.

"He is drunk, remember? I can get you all new. You would want for nothing, my queen."

She was silent and he released her. She felt the cold rush of air and suddenly missed his contact very much. Too much, she thought.

"I will not force you, Christine. I am far beyond that. You will make your own decisions and I will respect them this time."

Only one word was able to escape her mouth as she turned to look at him. "Sweden?"

"If you wish," he said. "Though, really, we could go anywhere. Anywhere but Persia. It is a terrible place and I am afraid that I've burned one bridge too many to return there."

"Yes," she whispered under her breath.

"I can't hear you dear," he said quietly, tilting her face up to him again.

A smile spread across her face as she looked into his eyes. "Yes!" She repeated firmly. "I will run away with you Angel."

"Erik," he said to her. "I am Erik. I am no Angel and we both know it. You will call me Erik and you will understand that with this decision you will be binding yourself to me irrevocably. Think it through, Christine de Changy. If you say yes you are mine forever."

"Forever," she repeated. "I have always been yours, Erik." She looked pensive for a moment as she contemplated her words. "I have always been yours," she repeated more firmly. "I am not afraid any longer. Yes."

He grasped her face between his hands and looked into her eyes. "Mine," he repeated, an animalistic growl behind the words. "You have made your decision then. You have given me your soul, you have agreed and you are mine forevermore. This is a binding deeper than marriage. You will never be without me and if you run, I will find you. You are mine, Christine de Changy."

She swallowed hard at his words and nodded, wondering what new world awaited her. He released her and stepped back, offering his hand.

"Come," he said. "We have much to do."

She stared at his offered hand and contemplated her choices, then slowly took his hand, allowing him to lead her away.

Away from her husband, away from her home, away into the darkness in nothing more than her night shift.