Chapter 18

The pain was more than she could bare and once again she slipped into unconsciousness, her naked, bleeding form going slack against the restraints that held her.

The whip in Nicolas's hand dropped to the floor, his hands, running though his wet sweat soaked hair.

Eye's closed he still only saw red, his rage not nearly satiated by the young woman hanging before him, no, not even close.

After Ian's little "gift", Nicolas had left London, retreating to a small vineyard in the south of France where he could reevaluate Ian and just how much of a threat he might be.

The 17th century farmhouse in Calenta south of Bordeaux had been a refuge, as well as a prison to Nicolas for centuries.

He returned here when he needed an out of the way place to regain his center.

It was here that Hagen had brought him after leaving the Tsar's coronation; it was here that Hagen introduced Nicolas to the depths of suffering, the heights of pleasure and the foundations of true power.

The trip from Russia had been fairly uneventful.

Hagen had a team of fine horses and a carriage fit for royalty. Hagen and his two Nordic beauties spent their days grilling Nicolas on all manner of things, trying to gauge his level of intelligence and knowledge.

On the intelligence side Nicolas did well, on the educational side he left much to be desired.

"We will have to send you to school for a few years, perhaps tutors," Hagen said one afternoon just after they had passed into France.

"You have the ability to hold vast amounts of knowledge but those backwards peasants in Russia have always been slow to see the benefits of education," Hagen stated.

Nicolas did not like the way he spat out "Russia".

France was a startling revelation for Nicolas.

From the cold gray of his homeland, the warm green countryside, the scents, the feelings this place elicited were totally unexpected.

As the coach amble up a long winding path cut into the low hanging trees, Nicolas was overcome with a sense of impending.

Turning a final corner the homestead was revealed and he released his breath, not being aware that he had been holding it.

The scene before him seemed to be plucked from one of the fairytales the nannies would tell the young royals back at the palace.

Upon seeing the farmhouse he immediately fell in love with the rolling hills, the places' secluded nature, but more than anything else, it was the warmth that enthralled him.

Never had he experienced a place where you could feel so warm, so much of the time.

Walking around outside with his shirt off, simply enjoying the feeling of the sun on his back was a new found experience that he would treasure and continue to indulge in his entire life.

The torturous days in the Tsar's palace had been mostly forgotten, the dark evil time sent to the back of his mind, enclosed in a tiny cell not to be revisited.

By the time he left the farmhouse, the cell would be much larger and the lock on the door that held those memories at bay, impossible to keep engaged.

The first few days Nicolas spent at the farm were quiet, Hagen and his women stayed mostly to themselves, allowing Nicolas time to get acquainted with the place and rest from the journey. On the third day Hagen awakened him from a deep sleep.

"Get dressed and come with me," Hagen said as Nicolas struggled back up the well of consciousness.

Dressing quickly Nicolas followed Hagen out of the house.

They walked through the fields for some time, no words passing between them as they moved quietly through the sleeping scenery, the world still lost in that gray moment between night and day break.

Stopping at the edge of a field, Hagen sat on an ancient stone fence regarding the young man who he could only see in silhouette.

"There are things that you will experience in the next months that will be painful Nicolas," Hagen began, his voice taking on a deep, serious tenor that Nicolas remembered from their first meeting in the Tsar's palace.

"Our kind are not like other people, we are held to a stricter standard, more is expected of us than others. Over the next few months you will be trained as I was, it is the way of the line we represent and at its end you will understand the reasons. Someday, when your path crosses another of our kind you will feel it in every fiber of your being and you will take the place of the trainer. It will be your task to mold the next of our line, teach them our ways and temper them, as I shall temper you." Hagen finished.

Nicolas was unprepared for the strike.

Hagen's foot lashed out, catching Nicolas behind his knee, bringing him down with the single assault.

And then the beating commenced.

Hagen used his walking stick to beat Nicolas, starting with his legs; Hagen systematically beat Nicolas over most of his body leaving him a mass of bleeding cuts and bruises.

Nicolas lay in the dirt at Hagen's feet, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Hagen watched him for a time, sitting back on the wall, the sun beginning to rise in the east, casting a warm pale glow on the landscape, a light fog hung over the ground shrouding the groaning form before him.

Once it seemed he would stay conscious Hagen spoke again.

"This is the first of many lessons Nicolas, it is ... part of the process, you will hate me by the time it is over, as I hated the one who initiated me, but it is the way of it. Be back to the farm within the hour," he said as he strode off through the trees leaving Nicolas on the ground, moaning, not understanding what was going on and fearing that which was to come.

Ines and her mother Marie were walking out of the train station in Pessac. It was a beautiful fall day, the 18 year old and her mother were coming into the city to do some shopping and spend the day just enjoying the cooler fall weather that had finally come to the region.

Nicolas had been sitting in the back of the Mercedes for over an hour.

Watching the comings and goings of the train station, looking for something that would be a fitting receptacle for his rage and fury at Ian's blatant slap at him.

Ian's time would come soon. Until he was afforded the opportunity to take his vengeance on the man who dared to challenge him, a surrogate would have to do.

The pair walked from the station, looking around seemingly for a taxi.

An evil grin passed over Nicolas's lips when he saw them. 'Perfect, ' he thought to himself as he stepped from the car and walked over to the pair.

Marie was just about to flag down a cab when the tall raven haired gentleman stepped up to them.

"May I offer you ladies a ride, I am heading into the city and thought you looked like you may need a lift," Nicolas said smoothly, his tone low and sensual.

Marie was just about to say no thank you when she looked up into his eyes.

In that instant she became lost in them, an overwhelming sense of safety, with a good amount of lust thrown in, washed over her. His question seemed to echo through her mind.

"Ahhh ... yes that would be quite lovely, thank you for the offer. I am Marie and this is my daughter, Ines," Marie said, holding out her hand to the imposing man before her.

"It is my pleasure Marie, and Ines, both so lovely, my name is Nicolas, shall we?" he asked moving between the women, ushering them towards his car.

'Ines was much easier to break, ' Nicolas thought as he turned from the young woman shackled spread eagle in the middle of one of the stalls.

Marie screamed at him in French as he turned towards her, picking up the whip he looked at her with a critical eye.

In her late forties Marie was still a handsome looking woman. Standing a bit over 5'5", long dark hair, a bit of weight around the waist and thighs but a woman who had obviously taken care of herself.

Nicolas thought it quaint that she kept herself natural, her bushy underarms and the unkempt jungle between her legs brought back many memories of his youth.

Marie, in her current state, had seen better days to be sure.

Upon bringing Marie and her daughter back to the farm he told them to follow him out to the stable, as he had something interesting to show them.

They followed along passively, each wondering, in the back of their heads, why they were following him around and acquiescing to his offers so easily.

The small stable only had four stalls, two on each side with an open area to the rear. The high-beamed ceiling rose twenty feet above them, its ancient timbers crisscrossing above their heads.

Marie and Ines stopped in front of Nicolas, that small voice in the back of their minds now screaming, as his countenance changed from that of well meaning host to something akin to how a demon would appear wrapped in human form. The menace that rolled off the man was almost a physical thing, like the tremble and fear elicited from an unseen earthquake.

With a speed neither of them could comprehend Nicolas slapped Marie so hard that it bore her to the ground.

Leaving her at his feet, Nicolas turned his attention to Ines. Seizing her around the waist he picked up her petite form and placed her in one of the stalls. When she struggled Nicolas punched her in the abdomen, driving the breath from her body causing her to slump against him.

Grabbing her wrists he pulled them hard above her head, placing them in ancient iron manacles that had, over the course of time, held the wrists of sinners and saints, kings and commoners, whores and virgins, all with no regard for their rank or station. The blood of hundreds lay upon their rusty surface, Nicolas's included.

With wrists secured, Nicolas placed a three foot long bar between her ankles, fastening them into manacles that were the twins of the ones that held her wrist.

He paused only a moment to remove her sandals, dropping them in the fresh clean hay that lay on the ground.

Ines was moaning softly as she regained her breath.

Through watery eyes she watched as Nicolas moved over to a rope tied to the side of the stall, unwound it and pulled.

She was lifted a foot off the ground, her wrists burned as the ancient metal bit into her flesh and her delicate bones, her entire weight was born on them. Hot tears sprung to her eyes as she started a slow spin, which gave her only glimpses of what was taking place in front of her.

Upon securing Ines Nicolas returned to Marie, who had recovered from his initial strike and was just rising off the floor when she saw his back leather boot come into her field of vision.

She screamed and moved towards him, her fear for herself and her daughter breaking the mental controls Nicolas had placed on her will.

Nicolas smiled as she rose, fingers splayed like talons, screaming that she would kill him.

A backhanded slap across her cheek brought her to her knees. Nicolas was quick to grab her; hefting her in his arms he carried Marie to the stall across from her daughter.

Marie continued to fight, kicking and screaming, spitting in his face as he wrestled with her, finally securing her wrists in the manacles above her head.

An unseen kick striking his temple actually drew blood and made Nicolas lose his balance momentarily.

A flurry of punches to Marie's chest and abdomen ensured that she would be more amenable while he manacled her legs and, just as with her daughter, brought her spread feet off the ground, eliciting a wail from the bound woman that any who heard it would never have forgotten.

There was no one to hear that cry, or any of the multitudes that followed.

The farm comprised over a thousand acres, the house and outbuildings lying at its center.

No one would hear their cries; no one, down through the centuries, had ever heard anyone's cries that came to this cursed bit of land.

Nicolas had to crawl most of the way back to the farmhouse. He finally collapsed just on the threshold, Hagen checking his watch, noting that the trip had taken him just under a half hour.

'I should have given him less time, or been harsher, ' Hagen thought.

"Helga, come out here and attend to Nicolas," Hagen yelled towards the house.

Helga came through the door and regarded Nicolas lying on the ground, his upturned face bruised and swollen from his beating.

Clothes in taters with bloody scratches showing through his pants and shirt from crawling back to the farmhouse, Nicolas was in a state.

Sighing she went to the young man, helping him find his feet, supporting him, she took him into the house. Helga had a feeling that this would likely not be the last time Nicolas would find himself in such shape.

The swelling was down enough that his eyes finally were able to see again three days after the beating.

"I don't understand, I didn't do anything," Nicolas mumbled as Ingrid fed him a warm flavorful soup.

He started, spilling some of the hot liquid from the bowl onto his stomach at the response from the door.

"You didn't do anything, it is part of what you have to go through, that is the only reason," Hagen said as he turned and strode away, his heavy footfalls fading in the distance as Nicolas broke into tears.

"You need to get up and moving," Helga said the following day after checking him over as she had every morning since the beating.

"I don't think so, not yet," Nicolas said in a forlorn voice of one who has given up hope.

"Nonsense, come," she said, taking his hand and pulling him upright on unsteady legs.

The morning was clear and cool, the blue sky dotted with a few slow moving billowy clouds.

They walked in silence for a long time. Helga watching him as his movements became less and less stressed, the inactivity of the past few days slowly slipping from him.

Helga finally broke the silence.

"Have you ever been with a woman," Helga asked a surprised Nicolas.

"A few times, some of the girls in the kitchens at the palace would let you... ," his statement trailed off.

Smiling Helga turned to him, her hand lighting gently on his shoulder as she looked into his eyes.

There were many things Hagen had asked her and Ingrid to do over the years.

Some burned them, leaving scars on their memory that would never fade.

Others, like Hagen's instruction concerning Nicolas were beyond delightful; she turned to her current job with zeal.

Moving in close to Nicolas her lips came close to his, brushing over them.

He could taste a faint flavor of cinnamon from the brief encounter. Nicolas could feel his heartbeat begin to race, being so close to Helga was, he thought, a dangerous place to be.

With a soft sigh Helga brought her lips back to his, the contact was light, sensuous, a thing that was given freely, so unlike the candle lit moments with the kitchen girls, who smelled of grease and sweat, their touches mechanical.

Helga's lips touched his like the soft caress of a fall breeze, holding the possibility of a storm unseen, yet building by the moment.

Smiling, Helga looked at Nicolas. He noted the burning look in her eyes, felt his own burning, but was struck mute and immobile by the goddess before him.

Helga stepped back and in one quick motion her dress fell to the dirt.

She stood motionless in front of him, her warm bronze skin glowing in the morning sun. Her nipples were hard, the soft golden patch between her legs held mysteries undreamed of by Nicolas.

She spun slowly, allowing him to view every bit of her, from the soft swell of her hip, to the long muscular curve of her thighs. Nicolas stood mesmerized by the simple vision of her naked openness.

Completing her spin, Helga walked slowly towards him. Her hands reaching out, unbuckling his belt, he felt his pants slip down, her hands surround his hardness.

Nicolas's breath caught in his throat as, after giving him a small kiss on the cheek, her lips widened into a wicked grin as she knelt before him.

Never had he experienced anything like the warm supple caress of Helga's lips as the hard tip of him slipped between them. Her tongue swirling around his member sent shock waves through every nerve in his body. He was assaulted by the shear pleasure of the act and lost his seed almost immediately.

He watched in wonder as, with half of him in her mouth, Helga swallowed all of his spend, squatting there naked before him in the morning sun. Life could not get much better than this he thought.

The next few days were spent with Helga. He saw Hagen and Ingrid occasionally, but Helga was his almost constant companion.

Several more times she took his essence, seeming to savor every drop that issued from his loins. It was a study in desire that would leave a lasting impression on Nicolas.

Seven days after his beating by the wall, Nicolas was awakened harshly in the middle of the night as Hagen threw him from his bed, kicking him, telling him to go to the stables.

Through out the day, Nicolas moved between Marie and Ines, beginning a process that would, he hoped, assuage some of his fury, allowing him to find his balance for the things to come.

Removing his mental influence from Ines she immediately began crying, wailing for her mother as she looked up into his fiery eyes.

"Relax my dear, your mother is right here," Nicolas said stepping aside so Ines could see her mother, bound and chained just as she was.

Seeing her mother, the black and blue welts that were visible on her face, Ines's fear turned into rage.

"How dare you, I'll kill you, you have no right... ," Ines's sentence was cut short as the whip in Nicolas's hand flashed out, cutting a deep swath across her left breast and down across her abdomen.

The fury froze in her chest as the searing pain lanced through her.

Ines's chained form bucked against her restraints, a bit of blood now starting to slide down her arms from where the manacles cut into her wrists.

"Shhhh," Nicolas said as he spun around, the whip striking her mother in almost the same spot, her cries mixing and blending with Ines's.

Now begun, Nicolas was feeling better with every passing moment, with every crack of the lash.

He whipped the women for an hour. His precise strokes reducing the women to writhing masses of pain. Their clothes had been flayed from their bodies, pale skin interlaced with red, black and blue welts fired their skin.

The rough coughing cries had finally ceased when each woman had fallen hoarse and then slipped into unconsciousness.

Nicolas regarded the two women, slack in their bonds, their breathing erratic but steady. Looking down at himself he found his chest and legs covered with drops of blood, his shirt stained through with sweat from his exertions.

Dropping the whip he removed his shirt and walked over to the water trough. Soaking his shirt he brought it over his head, the cool water feeling good on his skin as he refreshed himself.

Standing there in the dying orange light of the sunset he felt he understood what god must feel like, having the power of life and death in his hands. Nicolas smiled; the feeling suited him to a tee.

Returning to the stable, Nicolas turned on the three exposed bulbs that lit the small space.