Blood Ties (15 page)

"Did you expect we could escape it?" she asked
him one day. Her eyes were swollen. She had been crying.

"What now?"

"We have to kill it."

He had protested, knowing that it was a display of bravado,
since he too was desperately frightened.

"I won't allow it," he would shout, during a week
of indecision. "We'll go away. Go to America. Start new again."

"Give up the great von Kassel legacy?" she would
counter, the words heavy with sarcasm and pain. "All that history. All
that wealth. For me. The little peasant. Dilute the blood of the great von
Kassels?"

"I want you." He would engulf her, gorge himself
with her, again and again. Her tears, and his, were an anachronism. Still,
knowing that, they could not escape it.

Siegfried wondered now if she wasn't simply an apparition.
He sensed no other knowledge of her, other than her flesh, her hatred of von
Kassels, her origins and ancestry. If she had dreams and aspirations, he could
not remember. But he did remember the terror of his anguish. She had
disappeared, was nowhere to be found, nor had she left any word with the school
authorities. He had even called her parents in London on some pretext and they
had told him that she was at Cambridge, to try her there.

It was the bottom of his life. Whatever he had, his future,
all the bits and pieces that could motivate a life, disintegrated in that week.
He would have taken his life. Again he lacked the courage for even that. Alysha
returned a week later, pale, daunted, defeated.

"It's dead." Those were her first words as she
crumbled in his arms, like watered clay. But she had only come to collect her
things. Soon after, he went down to a London clinic and had himself sterilized.
At least with him, the von Kassels would end once and for all. He had never had
any regrets about that. Not once. Nor had he ever seen Alysha again. Years
later, a mutual friend said she had gone to Australia and it had moved him, but
only briefly.

Naturally, he had not told his father of his sterilization.
It was, in a way, Heather's only weapon against him, but even Heather was
practical. Without their share, she couldn't have her horses, and no progeny
from her loins could match the beauty and joy of a foaling mare. As a breeder,
she supervised all the artificial impregnations. Yet something about the
process set her own juices running and for days after, she was all squiggly and
insatiable, a roaring fuck. Secretly, he bet, she wanted to be fucked by a
horse, a long-cocked stud. He wondered if she ever fantasized over it.

She had been into horses even before their marriage when
she was simply a doe-eyed virgin, distantly related to the royal family, which
was a plus to the Baron. Your mother was a Hohenzollern, you know, he had
reminded them more than once, the single reference he had ever made to their
mysteriously dead mother.

Siegfried's concentration was deflected by a swift movement
beside him, the flash of silver, a jingle. Adolph had held his key out and the
boy had taken it, putting it quickly in his pocket. His cheeks suddenly
appeared puffed, like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Lovely hips," Adolph cooed. He sat back,
relieved, and sipped his drink.

"So the claim is staked?"

"Jealous."

He had felt his bent for malice rise again, when Dawn moved
into the room, squinting into the semidarkness. As if on cue, the lone
violinist accelerated his tune, and Dawn unconsciously picked up the beat as
she spotted him and swept into the room. Her presence startled him and he stood
up to greet her, taking her hand and placing it on his lips.

"Such gallantry," she said with faint sarcasm.
Adolph, also stood in greeting, obviously annoyed that a new customer would
extend his conquest's stay. She sat down next to Siegfried and he ordered her a
drink.

"Couldn't sleep?" Siegfried asked. He could
surmise her agitation and state of mind. It was quite obvious that she was in
the process of being rejected. He put an arm around her bare shoulders. As he
did so, he caught a glimpse of another woman in the archway, a brief shadow,
disappearing quickly. It was Olga. He restrained a chuckle. So Albert, too, is
active tonight, he thought, with odd pleasure.

"He's being infuriating," she said, downing her
drink too quickly.

"He can get that way."

"You saw him with the Russian woman."

"My aunt."

"My aunt, my ass."

"But she is. It says so in the fine print. Crafty old
horny Wolfgang. But then, I suppose the condition runs in the family." She
turned toward him with mock seriousness, then laughed. The alcohol had moved
quickly.

"I'd leave right now, if I could."

"So would I."

"I think this whole thing is absurdly decadent.
Obsessions with the past. The whole dirty business. Freaks, the lot of
them." She lifted her chin toward Adolph. "A prime example."

"He's an aberration really. The Baron refuses to
acknowledge it. Besides, Adolph is quite efficient. He runs a perfectly
marvelous profit center in Hong Kong." He raised his voice. "Don't
you Adolph?" But Adolph was absorbed with stroking his new conquest's
chest. Caution had disappeared with rising lust and too much alcohol. Siegfried
shrugged. "Otherwise engaged."

She ordered another drink. Her eyes looked into the
semidarkness as she drifted into her own thoughts.

"Odd that these things don't end simultaneously. I
could actually see it fading, like water running swiftly out of the bathtub. A
blissful few months, then the plug was pulled. Who pulled that plug, do you
suppose?" It seemed an oddly obscene reference and he let it pass. He was
thinking now only of seducing her.

"He's brilliant actually," Siegfried soothed.
"But he hasn't exactly been one for permanent relationships. And he's
tremendously put-upon. The business requires enormous energies. Everything
depends on him. He's preoccupied. Simply chalk it up to experience and move
on."

"To where?" she said, filling with self-pity.

"You're quite beautiful. You have a career. You're
intelligent." He rubbed her shoulder, then bent down to kiss a blade.
"And desirable."

"To everyone but Albert," she said, almost like a
child. Her logic was growing fuzzy.

"Well, I'm not exactly everyone."

Again she lapsed into silence. Then a sob escaped her.

"Please, no waterworks," he said firmly. His
words must have had the desired effect, because the sob stopped almost as
swiftly as it started.

"No waterworks." She drained her drink. He lifted
a hand and snapped the waiter away from his innamorato.

"I thought perhaps we might recapture it. You know,
it's like the tide. Sometimes high. Sometimes low. We had been through it
before. A brief indifference. Even irritation with each other. Then pow, back
in high gear. High tide again. You could feel the pull of the moon inside of
you." The waiter brought her another drink.

"I'm getting smashed," Dawn said.

"Do you good."

He felt his erection rise tightly against his pants. It has
no conscience, he observed. Say anything. Do anything. He felt no guilt in
encouraging her drunkenness. All's fair when it comes to this. And he let her
ramble on.

"Perhaps it won't last. If only I had the discipline
to exercise patience. To stop being a caricature of the jealous mistress. He's
my man, after all. Not that we've talked seriously of marriage." She
swallowed a few gulps of her drink. "I think we could have married long
ago." She looked at Siegfried and bit her lip, an obvious gesture of
withholding. "Can I tell you something privately?" Her voice became
low and, as if to mask her words, the violinist's music seemed louder.

"I would never betray the confidence of a beautiful
woman," he said with mock seriousness. She did not catch the humor.

"I'm Jewish," she whispered. He felt the warmth
of her breath on his cheek. He had expected something of the sort, a shocking
intelligence. But the irony of this revelation had a special beauty.
Considering that his uncle, the Count von Berghoff, had been convicted of
crimes against the Jews for his mischief in Poland, which had hastened his
death in prison, the revelation had a rather special aroma.

"How fortunate," he said. "To belong to such
an accomplished ancient race."

"I was supposed to stay mum on that score," she
said. "It's a sort of betrayal, don't you think?"

"So in a way, your presence is a kind of rebellion.
That does show a bit of character for Albert, wouldn't you say?" He felt a
mandatory tug to defend his brother. Von Kassels stick together. But she was
deep in drunken thought now and had lost his sense.

"I wouldn't have told you if I wasn't smashed,"
she said finally. "I mean I am mad, angry. But I don't want to be
vindictive. You understand. If I go, I'd like to walk like a lady. With a touch
of class."

He moved his lips to her ear and whispered, "How could
you do otherwise?"

"Dammit," she said suddenly, startling him.
"Why is this happening?" The effect of the alcohol was telling. He
kissed her neck, hoping to calm her.

"If you belonged to me, I'd never let you go," he
said, moving her hand to his erection outside of his pants. Her fingers clamped
around it indifferently. She was going along, not participating. With her free
hand, she finished her drink, but he did not call for more. Looking up, he
noted that Adolph glared at him, obviously annoyed that their presence was
keeping the young waiter from the pederast cousin's gratification. Suddenly her
face loomed in front of his, the eyes heavy and bloodshot, the lips puffy. She
was beyond the limits of her capacity now, having trouble with her tongue and
the position of her head. But her mind concentrated on her central fixation.

"Do you think I'm a fool?" Dawn demanded, her
voice rising.

"Of course not," he soothed.

"You're not telling me the truth." Her
disposition seemed to be taking an ugly turn.

"But I am; you're agitated." He wanted to say,
"You're drunk," but then he was still harboring thoughts of conquest.
And her hand still held his hard organ.

"I hate him for doing this to me," she said,
whimpering. "He is everything to me." She paused. "I should go
home. I am of no use here. I should go as far away from him as I can, from all
of you." She removed her hand. "I detest being used. You von Kassels
use everybody. You victimize people." He let her ramble. She was working
herself up into a frenzy.

"No one has the guts to stand up to you." It was
now the central core of her theme.

"Put her to bed," Adolph hissed. She didn't hear
him, rambling on. Siegfried ignored the request, but then she raised her voice
louder.

"I won't let him victimize me," she cried. He
stood up and raised her to her feet. She staggered against him.

"Come on," he said. "The air will clear your
head."

She moved with him, docile, still talking, her body leaning
heavily against his. And yet, he admitted that he felt some exaltation in his
own sense of mischief. It was one of his most potent fantasies. Himself, in the
role of the ultimate iconoclast. He wanted to molest both her body and her
mind. It excited him to think that. He maneuvered her out into the air, drawing
her away from the castle, to a clump of trees a short distance from the
castle's outer wall. During the day he had remembered it as a place of repose,
a wooden bench surrounded by a bower of well-kept flowers and a patch of
manicured grass. The night air was delicious, clearing his head instantly. He
replaced the air in his lungs with the soft cool perfumed night air.

"Breathe deep," he urged her. He had wrapped his
jacket around her bare shoulders but his arm was around her. The infusion of
air seemed to calm her. In the distance the violin music stopped abruptly. Her
head fell back on his shoulder and he held her quietly, looking upward at the
canopy of stars, and the sudden rush of obscuring clouds. In the distance,
caught in the odd telepathy of the night air, he heard faint voices.

He was curious, but only for a moment, since he was
watching her face, listening to her steady breathing. After a long pause, he
whispered into her ear. He wondered if she had passed out.

"Are you all right?" There was no answer.
Siegfried repeated the question. Then he felt her head nod and kissed her
forehead, feeling the renewed surge of sexuality. When he reached her lips, he
first felt rejection in the hardened lips, then a softening, a yielding. When
he removed his lips, he heard her voice, a faint protest.

"Mustn't."

"Let me comfort you," he said, his fingers
caressing her nipples. He felt them rise and harden under his touch, but he did
not act swiftly, unsure of his ground. She put a hand over his and tried feebly
to remove it.

"I understand what you're going through, Dawn. Let me
help you." Both his mind and body were alert, summoning his powers of
persuasion. She was vulnerable now, a condition he sought in women, working for
the moment of ultimate consent, when whatever contrived defenses finally fell.

"I hate him," she whispered, the tongue still
heavy.

"You have every right."

He had removed a strap and bent over her breast, sucking a
nipple, feeling its response. Despite the numbing alcohol, she was responding
with strength now, as her breath came swiftly. But he was still reluctant to
move too fast. The idea of the mischief excited him. He reached upward under
her dress, his hand caressing her inner thighs, reaching for the Y of her body,
seeking entrance into her moist parts, sure now of his method, caressing her
clitoris, which was hard and large. Despite the sensuality of his own
reactions, his mind grasped the bizarre wonder of it. His brother's mistress,
on a bench under the stars. The full moon lightened the night and the bare skin
of her breasts and thighs would be visible to the eye giving the episode a
further air of danger. He was manipulating her easily now, pressing the
advantage as her instincts gave in fully to the pleasures he was arousing. She
was strongly sexual, he found, her breath staccato, as he touched her
rhythmically, waiting for the moment. Then, with the skill of an experienced
practitioner in the seductive art, he removed his jacket and laid it on the
patch of grass, then lifted her onto it, first raising her skirt to mid-torso,
seeing the full outline of the white body reflected in the light, with the dark
patch, hungry now and waiting.