April 17, 1942

It was difficult to fall asleep the night prior, but somehow she managed. Waltz had been a dear, curling beside her on her pillow and being still for once in his energetic life. She'd fallen asleep, void of all makeup, knowing she would only smear it all and stain her pillows once the tears began to flow.

Missing. Belle was missing.

Only hours had passed before she was roused. At first, she was annoyed. Waltz had been so good for so long that when she heard him growling and barking she had assumed he was just out to pester her. "Will you stop that!" She swatted him with a pillow. He yelped and scampered off the bed, his nails clacking all the way out the bedroom door and down the stairs.

Out the door. She distinctly remembered shutting her door as she did every night before bed. Her heart began to beat faster, forcing her to sit up and investigate the oddity. It was dark, night cloaking her room, but the wind was pushing the branches away from her window so the moon could illuminate the area with slivers of silver light. Nothing seemed out of place as far as she could see. She slipped out of bed and padded over to the door, peeking around the corner to see if anyone was there. Nothing.

She crept down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. Waltz was gone, undoubtedly to the pool house to snuggle up to Noemi. She could hear the wind howling louder the closer she got to the bottom. The front door was wide open. A few leaves and sprinkles of dirt had blown in and decorated the floor, swirling around her bare feet. Not a sound could be heard throughout the large home, save for the rustling of leaves from outside. She scanned the entryway for a sign of anything out of the ordinary. Her tables were still immaculately clean and in order, the drawers were shut, and the flowers in the vases hadn't been disturbed. No footprints marred her freshly waxed floors. Not a single fiber of her furniture had been disarranged.

"Putain de vent!" she huffed as she shut the door and locked it behind her. She checked the backdoor and made a single round to each room just to be safe. Nothing. Sighing, and beyond exhausted, she crept back up the stairs with less stealth, ready to get some rest without Waltz yapping at the wind.

It seemed like her bedroom was miles away for how long it took her to get back up the stairs. Her eyes half hooded, she strolled through her doorway intent on flopping down face first on her bed. The sound of the door slamming behind her made every hair on her body raise as she whipped around. "Nicolas!" She gasped upon seeing him propped against her door with his hand still on the eggshell painted wood. His face gave nothing away, his usual sinister smile plastered on with his dimples on full display. "What are you doing here at this hour?" She kept her voice remarkably unwavering under the circumstances. He seemed like another person when he spoke German. The musical language of the French made him appear somewhat tame, but seeing his shadowy figure closing in on her reminded her just what type of devil he was.

He pushed away from the door and clasped his hands behind his back. He was dressed in his usual black uniform, his skull and bones cap upon his blonde head. She felt severely under dressed in her silk robe and hair pinned up in curlers. "I was patrolling nearby, and thought I'd pop in to surprise you." He walked terrifyingly slow to her, touching one of the purple curlers in her hair with an amused smirk. "Did I surprise you, Bärchen?"

Genevieve swallowed, hoping he didn't notice her nerves. "I'd say so. I'm not accustomed to officers hiding behind doors, as you can imagine," she replied in his native tongue and attempted a smile for him, but it felt awkward.

He chuckled lowly and dropped his hand from her hair. "Perhaps it is just German officers you are not accustomed to seeing."

"I beg your pardon?" Her brows furrowed.

"Tell me, do you know Hilda Bruhn well?" She feared he could hear her heart beating for how loud it thrummed in her own ears.

"We grew up together." She kept it simple.

He scoffed and turned away from her, shaking his head. Feigning innocence she went to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "What are you doing?" he grunted. She wasn't sure, but she refused to let him get the better of her.

"You seem troubled." She kissed his neck. "Why don't you let me relieve your stress?" She nibbled his earlobe and felt him calm for a moment. Taking advantage of his temporary relaxed state, she slid her hands down the front of his coat and paused over the buckle on his belt.

He ripped away from her and she stumbled forward, catching herself on her dresser and braving a glare in his direction. "I suppose you forgot your manners in the midst of your break in." She sniffed indignantly.

"Shut your mouth." He didn't shout it, he spoke it so low and dark that it gave her chills. Her mouth fell open, his presence in her home beginning to set in. Clearly he wasn't there for leisure. "How well do you know Hilda?"

"I don't understand. What is all this about?" It came out smaller than she intended, so she tried to mask her anxiety with a hand on her hip. She feared he could sniff out her fear like a trained hound dog like the ones that tore Jews to shreds. He would too. She could feel the tension, the complete flip of emotions that he had portrayed the last time he'd left her. This wasn't Nicolas to her. This was Colonel Roemheld, the equally feared and respected SS officer that served a tyrant with great pride and valor. This was the man who ordered the executions of men, women, and children. The man who attended dinner parties with Hitler himself. A monster in human skin.

He rushed at her, catching her by the shoulders and shoving her into her dresser. "Your little friend was arrested just the other day. Can you imagine why?"

"N-no!" she stammered.

He shook her roughly, a few trinkets clattered off the dresser and shattered on the floor. "Don't lie to me!"

"I'm not! Get your hands off me!" Genevieve twisted away from him and staggered back a few steps, clutching her robe around her to keep it in place.

He stood quietly for a moment. His eyes glazing over with his inner thoughts that she desperately wished to read, to manipulate. "Hilda was arrested for helping a family of Jews cross the border to freedom." Genevieve gulped, not bothering to make up an answer when she was expressly forbidden to have one. As far as the Germans were concerned, she and Belle were merely childhood friends and nothing more. They had tea occasionally, but not often enough to make her a suspect. It was all a very delicate ruse. "I suppose you know nothing about that?"

She had the wits about her to feign surprise. "Of course not!" She put a hand to her chest in offense.

Nicolas laughed without humor, toying with the bottles of perfume atop her vanity. "You see," he kept his gaze fixed on the frosted glass bottle, "I think you're lying. Whether or not you are remains to be seen." He chortled to himself and carried the perfume over to her. She didn't dare move a muscle, allowing him to open the bottle and pull out the thin glass stick within. "I have a very unique set of talents. Sit, won't you?" He pulled the stool in front of her vanity out and took her by the hand to it. She kept her lips pressed together in a thin line, sitting down hesitantly at first until he pushed her down with one commanding hand. He traced her collarbone with the glass and dipped his head low to smell the floral scent he had painted her with. "Beautiful." His verdict tickled her ear and sent a shiver down her spine.

"I don't know anything, I swear it." She made eye contact with him through the large mirror in front of her. His cold gray eyes had lost all their luster and liveliness. The pigments of blue seemed nonexistent in the moonlight. A void of black and gray, like a midnight storm, regarded her with an unsettling lack of compassion. He shrugged, not saying a word, as he gently pulled her hair behind her shoulders and rested his palms on the silk fabric of her robe.

"Of course you don't. How silly of me to assume. There is but one flaw with your denial." She swallowed subtly and sucked in a breath. His lips grazed the side of her neck and his hot breath left goosebumps up and down her arms. "Hilda's husband seems to think otherwise. He claims she is at your home at all hours, colluding and sheltering enemies of the state. Now why would he say that?"

Genevieve felt his hands slip under her fabric and slide down so slowly she thought she'd faint before her robe was fully brought down. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The colonel was perched behind her with a self-satisfied look on his handsome face. Her breasts were bared for him to see and she fought to keep the urge to fight back at bay. Not yet. She had to endure his games for only a few more days, and then it would be over. A bittersweet ending to her political affair.

He rubbed her shoulders tenderly, creating a false sense of safety. "I'm aware of how unorthodox this is. My being here at such a late hour, but you see when I found out just who the newest traitor was I just had to come myself." He kneaded her back with nimble fingers. It was difficult to not visibly make him aware of her enjoyment at his hands. He preferred fear, and she knew that well. It wasn't hard to fake, she was already breathing hard and working herself up for what was sure to be an eventful night. "You should be thanking me. I could have ordered your arrest and had you brought to the Gestapo base where you would be interrogated and tortured by handfuls of officers until they pulled a desired confession from those pretty lips of yours." He accentuated the words with his thumb stroking across her lower lip. The urge to bite him was almost too much, but she allowed him to continue.

"So you volunteered to torture me instead?" She narrowed her eyes at him, spitting out the question with disgust. His hands paused on her upper arms and she could feel him tense.

"Did you know that I've never spent more than three days on a single person before they crack? I could practically write their life story by the time I've finished." Of course she knew his reputation. It was written in red ink. She decided to stay silent. "Imagine how easily it would be for me to get a woman to confess to...say...crimes against the leader of our great nation? It would be almost comical." A low laughter built up within his throat until he could no longer contain it.

Genevieve sneered at him. "If it was so easy to crack a woman then why are you here?" She braved pulling up her robe and glaring at him in the mirror. His laughter ceased, eyeing her with a profound new sense of irritation. "Surely Hilda confessed by now."

She knew she would gain some form of reaction from him, but she hadn't expected him to move so quickly. Darting like a snake, he grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her head down on the vanity top. A jar of perfume shattered on the floor as brushes and containers rolled off. She winced, her head throbbing, but he kept her in place. "You must think yourself very clever." His hot breath fanned the back of her neck.

"No. I think myself very innocent," she spat back without fear. He growled, gripping her by the hair and hauling her to her feet. She hissed in pain, but he only fisted her locks harder. Her curlers loosened from her hair and let her pale blonde waves cascade down her back. A harsh shove from behind sent her sprawling on the floor, her robe hitching around her upper thighs. "Bon sang! Qu'est-ce que tu fais!"

"Shut your mouth." She turned around, hands behind her on the floor and glowered up at the colonel. Her eyes closed for a second, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves when she saw him hastily unfastening his belt. This wouldn't be like before. She could already tell she was going to be sore after he was finished, maybe even a little bruised.

"Nicolas, you're making a mistake," she tried to reason. It was her only weapon available. The robe slipped down on her arm, pulling the fabric dangerously low over her chest in the process. She crawled back a few paces. "You have no proof. I'm innocent!" Her voice cracked as he whipped his belt from the loops and tossed it onto the floor. He practically tore his black leather coat off and discarded it on the bed. He stopped, stilling his movements, and stared at her on the floor. There was a flicker of something behind his graying eyes. A bit of color, trace amounts of remorse. No. He was incapable of such feelings. It compelled her to try to get him to see logic again. It was clear that he wasn't too far gone, though she found it curious that he hesitated at all. According to his records, he wasn't the kind of man to not take what he wanted at all times. "Nicolas, please, you know me. You've already searched my home twice! You found nothing!"

"You're good at keeping secrets," he accused, loosening the buttons on his shirt and displaying the curly golden hairs on his chest.

"No!" She scrambled back to the dresser and pulled herself to a stand. "There was just nothing to find! I haven't done anything!" Her eyes darted over to the bedroom door. He hadn't locked it. If she could get around him, she was sure that she could get out. A newfound confidence that he wouldn't come after her began to develop. If she got far enough away she could skip over the entire assault and give him time to come to his senses. She knew what he was capable of, she'd seen the photographs of his victims.

When she looked back at him he was grinning wolfishly. "What are you thinking in that pretty little head of yours?" He let his fingers drop away from the buttons, stopping halfway down his shirt, and stepped to her. Before he could fully reach her she brought her foot up and kicked him back, sprinting for the door as he stumbled. Her heart pounded, drowning out all other sounds around her. Her fingers wrapped around the doorknob and twisted, ripping it open a crack before it was slammed shut once more. She had been so close. A single defeated sob escaped her throat.

"A good effort," he cackled in her ear. She shut her eyes, refusing to look at him, and instead kept her body facing the door that she had been so close to escaping through. He pressed his body against hers and she was disgusted by the very apparent excitement he was getting from his sick little game. His warm hands encased her own, holding her there while he kissed up and down her neck. "I admire that. There's no shame in trying." His words were empty to her.

All she could think to do was brace herself. Relax her body so that it may go by faster and easier on her. "If you're going to hurt me then get it over with!" She had meant for it to come out as intimidating, but her voice was so small and breathless that it only succeeded in eliciting a deep laugh from him.

"Hurt you?" He turned her around harshly, her head banging on the door in the process. His hands roved over her robe, squeezing her breasts beneath. "I just wanted to feel that tight little cunt around my cock one more time before the Gestapo takes you away." Her eyes flew open wide. The Gestapo. If Belle had confessed, was he only paying her a visit to sleep with her one more time before she was taken away? A new set of nerves settled deep in her bones. Without warning, he reached up and tore the sash from her. Her robe fell away into a puddle on the floor at her feet.

She shivered when his hands felt every inch of her body. His touch was so deceptively enticing that her knees grew weak despite her voice ringing out through her head that he was a monster...a killer. She was so well conditioned to faking enjoyment with the enemy that for a moment she forgot herself and leaned into his touch when he reached her core. "What's this?" He smirked and brought his fingers to his lips, flicked his tongue out and suckling them while his eyes remained on hers. She felt herself gulp and knew he saw it. "Are you enjoying this, Bärchen?" He took the slick fingers from his mouth and slipped them inside of her. She bit her lip, holding in a moan at the sensation, and earning a devilish chuckle from her tormentor.

Genevieve shoved his chest hard enough to make him sway, but not enough to stumble back. His mocking laughter rang out. "No use fighting it now." He leaned down and breathed in her scent at the base of her throat where he had painted the perfume. "I've already felt how willing you are for me." There was something erotic in the midst of her impended assault that even she couldn't deny. It was true, he was an amazing lover that left her wanting more when he had shared a bed with her that night. It was different now, she should have been terrified, but her mind kept playing images from their last encounter in her bedroom. Her body betrayed her instincts and left her vulnerable.

"Va te faire foutre," she said through clenched teeth. He rolled his jaw and grabbed her by the throat. She barely had time to suck in a breath before he cut of her air supply. His grip was so tight and purposeful, reddening her face in a matter of seconds. "S'il vous plaît," she managed to wheeze.

He threw her down to the side and let her cough and gasp for air. Her throat felt raw and she could only imagine the bruises she would have the next day. Crawling on her forearms, trying to regain her strength, she made it to the bedpost to pull herself to a shaky stand. One knee was all she was able to raise when she felt the colonel rush behind her and grab her up himself, slamming her roughly onto the bed.

"Are you going to tell me what you know of Hilda!" he barked at her, pinning her hands above her head.

She curled her lips back and spit. There wasn't much, but a spray of saliva landed on his cheek. Blind rage seemed to consume him for a moment as he let the spit drip down his face. His hand clasping hers tightened, bruising her wrists, but she dare not react. She kept a scowl on her beautiful face. "Go fuck yourself." She pronounced each word in German very slowly.

He used his free hand to wipe away her spittle before scoffing in utter disbelief and what appeared to be admiration. "You want to know something?" He kept her down as he pulled his trousers down, letting his erection spring forth. She kept her eyes up, straining not to see how well endowed he was. The memory of how he stretched her previously was much harder to keep at bay. "I'm going to win this one." He hooked her leg over his shoulder and positioned himself at her entrance.

Genevieve's eyes widened, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she prepared for his attack. "Nicolas." She pleaded. A single tear escaped her eye without her permission, and she wasn't sure it was entirely from his actions. His gaze followed the droplet until it plunked silently onto the pillow. He snapped his eyes back up to hers and she could have sworn he looked pained. He looked away from her and, in one swift motion, plunged inside of her.

He groaned out as she gasped. Her breath hitching at the abrupt sensation. "Confess," he growled down at her, slowly pulling out and slamming back in. She squeaked when he thrusted roughly, giving her no time to warm up for his brutality. She bit her bottom lip, desperate not to make a sound. He picked up his pace. "Confess!" She turned her head away from him, defiant. He groaned in frustration and put a warning hand around her neck. He didn't squeeze, only the threat of it loomed.

Genevieve felt her body erupt in goosebumps and she couldn't decipher if it was from fear or pleasure. He put pressure on her throat, enough to snap her out of her internal debate. "Look at me," he ordered, but she didn't move. He squeezed harder and she struggled to free her hands from his grip to alleviate some of his pressure. It was useless, he had a strong hold on her. "Look at me!" he shouted and wrenched her neck to the side to force her to face him.

She stared up into the cold gray pools that penetrated her very soul and felt absolutely broken. He slammed into her harder still, forcing her to watch him as he took her. It took her by surprise when he released his hold on her hands and instead hooked both legs over his bare shoulders. His chest hair tickled her calves as he drove into her with brute force over and over.

She barely registered what her free hands could accomplish if she truly set her mind to it. He was an expert. His thrusts were hitting the most delicious spots with sniper like accuracy. It was the most intense inner battle she had ever faced. On the one hand, it felt so good that she wanted to melt into the sheets and let him do whatever he wanted to her. On the other, her dignity begged her to do something, anything, to put up some sort of a fight. She made a decision and, with catlike speed, unhooked one leg from his shoulder and made to push him off. He caught her ankle before she could even attempt to use any force on him.

"Don't pretend that you aren't enjoying this. I can feel all of you." He snatched up one of her hands and forced it down as he pulled out of her. Her palm made contact with his shaft and felt how slick it was with her fluids. "That's all you, Bärchen," he mocked her. She gasped when he threw her ankle away from him and caused her to flip onto her side. He wasted no time in laying her on her stomach, one arm wrapping beneath her and pulling her up onto all fours. She felt ridiculously exposed propped up in front of him like that.

One lone moan escaped her parted lips when he reentered her. The new position had him hitting all sorts of undiscovered places deep in her that made her eyes flutter involuntarily. She felt him lean over her back, his chest hair tickling her smooth skin just as his breath on the back of her neck did. He nipped and sucked over her shoulder all the way up to her ear. She could hear his soft moans that he was straining through.

Nicolas used one hand to balance over the top of her, the other roaming her body and pinching at her. She hissed and shuddered at the contact while he continued to show no mercy. His pace staggered some as he neared his end. He sat up, grabbing her hips and pulling her into him while he slammed into her with such raw power that she had to muster all her strength to keep her cries at bay. Her hands fisted into the sheets. She could hear Nicolas moan, his thrusts growing sloppy as he found his release.

They stayed there, connected and gasping for breath, for what seemed like an eternity. He collapsed over her back in a sweaty breathless heap. She rolled over onto her side. It wasn't a sight she was used to seeing; a man scrambling to get dressed while she lay naked before him. Usually she had to kick them out because they didn't want to leave her. Nicolas, however, was making haste in pulling his black cap over his disheveled golden hair. "She would have been a fool to include me in her plotting," she muttered once she was sure her voice wouldn't waver with any emotion other than rage.

He didn't look at her, focusing on his task of buttoning his shirt. "Why is that?" he scoffed.

Once his coat was on he crossed the room to the door and opened it, not waiting for a response. "Because she's aware of how I feel about you." That got him to pause. She stifled a giggle at how predictable men were. "Felt about you," she corrected, aiming to get under his skin. He huffed, slamming the door behind him.

A swell of satisfaction warmed her naked flesh. It was worth the limp she would have when she awoke, just to see him offended by something she said. To see the briefest ripple of hurt in his features. The entire interaction had her worn out, sleep looming near in her future. The last thought before the exhaustion overtook her was of Belle. For the first time in a long time she found herself praying, really praying, for her friends strength and safe return.