Chapter 21
Smith came to in his bed. The wound throbbed and he warily probed the area where it hurt. He had been undressed, washed, bandaged and placed in his bed to sleep. He wondered who had nursed him. Even though he now knew the truth about Lilith, he half-hoped it had been Maria who had attended to him.
The door opened and Iullia walked in holding a bowl of steaming soup.
"You’re awake,” she smiled. Smith could only nod. He couldn’t take his eyes off what she was wearing. Sheer to the point of transparency, she wore a long silk nightdress that left nothing to the imagination. Smith automatically thought of Maria.
Her hair was down so as to frame her young and pleasing face, and emphasise her slim neck and shoulders. Even in his weakened state, he could feel the warmth of arousal swelling in his loins.
Iullia seemed unperturbed by his amazed expression and busied herself with the soup. "It’s a bit hot so you’ll have to blow on it before you eat. Can you manage or should I help?" She had a slight accent that he hadn’t noticed before. It sounded almost French and added to her charm.
"I think I can manage” he answered.
She smiled and helped him to sit up, chatting all the while about how they had found him wandering the hall downstairs.
"You were quite dazed, and kept on rambling about a big dog or a wolf. I didn’t quite understand what you were saying. You were quite out of sorts so I brought you to your room and helped you get ready for bed. I washed the wound. Does it still hurt?”
He smiled at her chatty manner and marvelled at the difference in her since their last meeting. Slightly embarrassed, he turned his head up to look away from her gossamer threads and into her face.
Then he caught her eyes. They were on fire.
Her face held the purity of a cherub but her eyes danced with the glee of the devil. Michael’s words flooded back to him and his libido shrivelled like a salted slug.
"You look so alarmed, James,” she purred, moving to touch his face. He flinched as if burnt, gasping as a wave of pain radiated from his wound. He tried to push himself back, away from her, but she caught hold of his arm in a grip of steel and held him.
"Now now,” she cooed, "Nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen." She was on the bed, stroking his face with her other hand. She slid her hand down his neck to his shoulders and then across to his chest.
Smith was terrified. He instinctively knew that it was all wrong but he found his traitorous body reacting to her touch. He began to mentally chant, "Don’t, don’t, don’t,” over and over.
He strained back, away from her caress and her face turned to a look of rejected hurt. He was confused and torn by her iron grip, her blameless face and the ardent heat between his legs.
"Don’t you want me?" she asked, feigning tears. "Am I not good enough?”
She looked away in an apparent show of coyness. He opened his mouth to answer and for one mad moment he nearly said yes. But as his hand reached out to touch her, he saw from the corner of his eye the shadow of a sly smile. She turned her head back to him. Triumph lit up her face as she recognised his weakness and fell on him like a ravenous beast.
He tried to resist, grappling her off him, but her strength was born of the supernatural and she pushed him back down. She ripped the bedclothes off and straddled him. With one move, she removed her nightdress and manoeuvred her sex over his. She held him fast with one hand and with the other stroked his groin area.
To his horror Smith realised he was erect. She grasped him violently and moved to guide him into her. He made an almighty effort to push her off but screamed in agony as his wound burst under the strain. Despite his best efforts, Lilith’s power was stronger and Iullia plunged herself onto his engorged member. She rode him hard and fast. He tried to move from under her but it felt like a massive weight on top of him that pinned him to the bed, leaving him powerless and frozen.
Gnashing and grimacing, her face a diabolical mask of rage and evil, she milked him with her body, clawed at him, and left deep gouge marks down his shoulders and chest. The pain of the wounds was too much and Smith shut his eyes to scream his horror. Bending forward, she snarled and bit into his neck and shoulders, drawing blood. Against everything he wished for his body began to betray him, tensing for the impending climax. He tried to refuse her but could feel the gathering sensation in his lower abdomen as Iullia bucked ever faster on his helpless and prone form. He shook his head and wailed his denial repeatedly but nature took its course and, grunting, he involuntarily gushed inside her. She screamed in victory and release.
The climax seemed to go on forever and it felt to him like a large worm moving through his gut; thick and slimy. Iullia violently shuddered as it passed out of him and into her.
He opened his eyes and saw to his utter terror that Iullia's face had now changed. The unlined, youthful girl had been replaced by the ancient and evil reflection of the true Lilith. Thin wispy hair clung to an undersized head. Her eyes were red, hysterical and staring, her skin was like age-browned parchment and under a hooked nose there was a slavering mouth of enamel razors. Smith felt her presence envelope and smother him before he passed out into the untroubled haven of oblivion.
She drooled onto his chest and threw her head back to laugh. Maria and the Count watched from the door.
"Have you finished?" he asked Iullia. She stopped laughing and sat bolt upright. She turned her head to the Count and nodded.
"Yes,” Maria replied, looking at Iullia, "I have his seed and it now grows inside of me.”
She put her hands to her stomach and triumphantly turned to the Count, "It’s growing, I can feel it already.”
"Has the Werewolf Germ passed over to you too?”
"Yes, I have that too,” she confirmed.
"You are sure; I don’t want him harmed in any way until the time is right.”
Maria answered and Iullia mouthed the words, "I have it. The germ will die when we kill the girl.”
The Count nodded.
Iullia was now next to the bed, still naked and facing them, her body smeared with Smith’s blood and her hair matted and tangled. She came around to stand before them both.
"When is the birth?” the Count asked. “We must get everything ready. There is so much to prepare.”
Once again, Maria answered but Iullia mouthed the words, "I’m not sure when the birth is but I do know that we don’t need your brother anymore. We should kill him now. I thought we would need the ceremony for him to change but I was wrong, it’s growing inside me now so that’s proof that he doesn’t have to be a vampire to father your son. I say he dies now.”
"No, what if something goes wrong? We don’t know for sure. You said yourself that you sometimes make mistakes. We wait until the birth and then he dies, the same time as the girl.”
"As it is written in the Book. As your mother died, so will your son’s mother," Maria acquiesced.
The Count suddenly had a flash of inspiration, "No, even better, I’ll give him to the Germans to look after. I’ll explain that he’s my brother so he shouldn’t be mishandled but that he’s also a danger to the Reich and he should be locked away somewhere.” Pleased with himself, he turned to Maria and smiled as he elaborated on his idea. " After all, they are our allies now. We can’t be seen to be harbouring the enemies of our allies, can we? And if all goes wrong, we can bring him back." He laughed aloud his pleasure and Smith stirred at the sound.
"Have Michael clean him up and treat his wounds. I’ll keep him here for a while to … " He stopped talking.
"Where is Michael anyway? I haven’t seen him.”
"Michael.” Maria breathed. She had closed her eyes and now seemed to be concentrating very hard on something.
"He’s gone. He has the Book," she exclaimed, "the Cronica Insangerata!”
With a roar the Count turned and stormed out of the bedroom. His only thought was to retrieve the Book, to give chase and exact vengeance for the theft of the Cron
ica.
However, it was too late. Once again the sun’s long fingers tapped at the window and he knew he must take to the crypt.
Michael was away with the Book but Vlad Dracyl consoled himself he now had an heir and a possible end to the curse of the sun. Soon the power of the Dracyl would be inflicted on humankind in such ways that hadn’t been seen for four thousand years.
He walked back to the room where Maria and Iullia waited, his mood blighted by the stain on his triumph. "Get her out of sight and show that Doctor where my brother is. There is still a lot to do. We have an heir but I still have no army.”
Part 2
Man’s enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself.
Lao Tzu
Men exist for the sake of one another.
Marcus Aurelius
Chapter 22
Rasch felt a new sense of confidence surge through him as he surveyed the men before him. The Ukrainian guards had set up the barbed wire fencing the day before and now, with good German timing, the Reichsbahn had delivered the first rations for the Count’s troops. They were well-fed and looked fit.
It had been his idea to use the Sonderkommando, the men who cleared the gas chambers and cremated the bodies after an 'Aktion', and he was feeling very pleased with himself as he walked back to the Castle.
The Sonderkommando had always been better fed than the normal prisoners and consequently they were better livestock, as the Count so cynically put it. Plus this helped solve the replacement problem. The Sonderkommando was rotated every three months, the old crew was liquidated and the new crew cremated their remains. This way left no questions as to what had happened to the old crew. It was perfect all round as far as Rasch could see.
The Count was waiting for him in the library. He turned as Rasch walked in and smiled warmly, "From the satisfied look on your face, Herr Doctor, I take it all is well and going to plan.”
Yes, your Excellency." He was excited. "All is set but I would wait until tomorrow night, your Excellency. They will be rested and easier to control.”
"Have your men pick out the first forty ready for tomorrow then, Doctor Rasch. Tomorrow we will feed." He almost smacked his lips in anticipation. "Send Standartenführer Von Struck in please. I need to talk to him.”
Rasch felt his newfound confidence slip away like a guilty fox and he started to anxiously wring his hands. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint the Count. He feared disappointing the Count. "I’m afraid Von Struck is still not back from taking the prisoner, I mean your brother, to Dachau. He will be back tomorrow morning, your Excellency.”
Rasch almost fainted when the Count nodded his head. He still hadn’t emotionally digested the raw horror he’d experienced at his hands and he tiptoed around him with the air of a flogged slave. Death had touched him on that frosty January morning and shown him the true colour of his soul. The experience had found him wanting.
"Doctor, you know of my plan to send Von Struck and his men into the field soon with my men? Well, what I need to know is, is your Standartenführer up to the job?”
"He has a lot of experience, if that’s what you mean, your Excellency.”
"No, Herr Doctor, that is not what I mean." His voice rose in volume as he spoke and Rasch physically shrank back. The Count smiled down at the trembling Rasch and savoured his terror. He enjoyed frightening the man; he was so unrestrained in showing his fear. He banged the table to make him jump. "Well, Rasch, is he?" Calm again.
Rasch was close to tears. He couldn’t control the quiver in his answer and he was so scared, so very very scared. It was all too much for his delicate soul and once again he subconsciously blamed Von Struck for his not being there.
"Standartenführer Von Struck is up to the job, your Excellency." Noticing the Count’s mocking smile, he tried to straighten his back and put more force into his voice. "He is a good soldier, no, he is a great soldier, as are all in the SS. He will do his duty to the best of his ability and will not falter or fail through any fault of his own.” As Rasch spoke, he felt himself emboldened by the statement. He almost felt that Von Struck’s very name was a means of protection against the Count’s menacing aura. Suddenly he experienced a spark of defiance as he spoke. It was as if Von Struck’s ability and soldiering skills were his own. The tremor of angst left his voice. "He will look after your soldiers during the daylight hours, your Excellency, better than any man alive. His troops will see to it that…”
"Enough!" The Count knew where this was going and he saw that Rasch had somehow regained his composure. Rasch bored him now. “You may leave me now, Herr Doctor. Have me notified when Von Struck gets back.” He made a small shooing motion with his hands and turned his back on him.
"Very well, your Excellency." Rasch nearly bowed, but at the last moment he didn’t, and turned and left. Closing the door behind him, he walked straight into Maria.
"In a hurry, Doctor?”
Rasch started like a shot rabbit. Maria smiled at his shock and, without saying a word, she stepped forward, reached up and stroked his face. Appalled, Rasch tried to back away into the door. Maria pressed herself up to him and continued to stroke his face. "Hush”, she cooed. "Don’t be scared. I mean you no harm.”
She caressed him and slowly he began to thaw. The silence was intense. Only the closeness of their bodies communicated the moment. She worked her mystical charm and he began to respond. Her sexual authority swept over him and the emotionally blank Rasch was suddenly spilling over with desire. She rubbed herself against his leg and, closing his eyes, Rasch began to pant. He made to bring his arms up to hold her and pull her to him but, in the blink of an eye, she was gone.
Standing like a mannequin with his arms held out, Rasch blinked and woke up. Had he dreamed what had just happened? He heard Maria’s laugh coming from the library. Was she laughing at him? He felt foolish and odd. He hadn’t felt so belittled since his school days when his abnormal height and faint heart had singled him out to the bullies as a regular target.
He struggled to shake off the host of terrible memories that prowled the edge of his psyche and took a step forward. This broke the spell and allowed him to start shambling back towards his room.
Iullia was waiting for him at the head of the stairs. She had watched him like a panther ghosting a crippled prey and she knew that now was the time to pounce. The Lilith in her had planned the meeting outside the library and Rasch was at last ripe for what she planned. She knew he found the body of Iullia attractive. All through the last month he had watched and cherished her from afar, not knowing that Iullia's essence was prisoner to Lilith's command. The Iullia he saw was a vacant shell, occupied only by a captured soul and a demon’s will.
"Doctor Rasch…” she enquired, concerned.
Rasch looked up from his faraway place and blanched when he saw it was Iullia. Iullia was talking to him.
"Are you all right, Herr Doctor? You don’t seem too well." She moved along the banister and down the stairs towards him. Rasch hadn’t moved from where he was standing when she first called to him. He gazed at her as she took his hand. "You look terrible, Herr Doctor. Let me help you.”
Rasch had never heard Iullia speak and was surprised to hear she was speaking German to him, fluently and without a Romanian accent.
"You speak German?”
"Of course. I am German, from Ost-Preussen." She smiled at him. "Where do you come from, Herr Doctor?”
Rasch felt completely enchanted by her sweet, caring character. The inner defence mechanism that had protected his badly mauled psyche as a child now sprang back into action. It eradicated the memory of Maria and concentrated on the girl in front of him. Lilith read all this and played the helpful, honest country girl role, knowing that it would most please him.
"From the Saarland. What are you doing here, I mean here in Romania?” Rasch asked as she helped him up the stairs. He towered over her slight form. He took in her fine boned fragility and immaculate aura. Her very innocence
recharged his deflated libido.
"I’m here to help the Fatherland, Herr Doctor; to keep an eye on the Count for the Führer.”
Rasch stopped in his tracks, confused by the situation she had just described.
"You mean you’re a spy?”
"Yes, I’m here to make sure all goes to plan, that Von Struck doesn’t mess this up." She looked up at him, resolute and straight-faced. Rasch didn’t really believe her, but why else would she be here? She continued, "Berlin knows that Von Struck doesn’t have the necessary zeal required for the task, so I was sent to prepare the Count for your arrival.”
She knew she'd hit home by allying herself against Von Struck. Rasch felt an instinctive connection with Iullia as she explained that the Heinrich Himmler knew that he could rely on him but Von Struck was a problem that needed watching. "I knew that the Reichsführer Himmler would never leave me on my own with that pack of SS degenerates.”
His earlier confidence in Von Struck shrivelled and died in the shadow of his new ally. "Who sent you here? When did you get here? What is your cover?”
Iullia had no answers. She needed him on her side but she didn’t possess enough information to make a detailed enough lie to be convincing. She settled on obfuscation to keep him interested but still in the dark. "I can’t tell you everything, Herr Doctor, but it’s enough to know that we are allies and that if you need me, and if I can help, I will. Can I count on you, Doctor Rasch, if I’m in trouble?”
Her expression was one of relentless purpose but her eyes were brimming with the hero worship and the need for his protection that he craved. Her whole body language screamed at Rasch what he needed to hear from the weaker sex: I am frail, I need your help.
The Division of the Damned Page 12