<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family:Assistant"></span>​</div><span style="font-family:Assistant"> </span><br/><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family:Assistant"><span style="font-size: 18px">"If fear has not killed me yet, then nothing will." </span></span>​</div><span style="font-family:Assistant"><br/>
He did not take a rejection as an answer. Of course he didn't. He was a powerful man in this world, probably one of the most powerful men that Nazi Germany had to offer at the moment. And she was just Rachel, the somewhat poor woman that was desperately trying to hide the fact that she was Jewish, part of the Resistance that had great plans for this city - and she should have wrapped him around her slender fingers before she had lured the lion away from his den. But the roles had been twisted and changed, and suddenly the dark-haired woman had become the prey, and he was the hunter. A part of her feared him, because she knew exactly what he was capable of. But another part of her felt the adrenaline that rushed through her veins, and reminded her of the task that she could still fulfill. She could ensure the safety of her friends, her allies - if she only picked up the cards and played the game. <br/>
<br/>
A glass of white wine was pushed in her right hand, and she could hear how her own breath hitched in the back of her throat as she heard him speak. He threatened her, obviously tried to remind her of the fact that he could own her if that was his desire. That he was the one who was pulling the strings, instead of her. He made it clear as he stepped forward and put a hand on her waist, his fingertips exploring and finding their way into her panties while he pressed her back against the wooden door behind her. It was the first time in ages that Rachel actually felt terrified of someone - even if it was only for a brief moment. Never had she feared the threats from the war, even while those same threats had gotten her father and her older sister killed. But now, with someone this close to her and knowing that he was able to do anything he wanted without any consequences - an unpleasant shiver ran down her spine and actually caused her to wince as she looked into his eyes.<br/>
<br/>
No, she could not fear him. If she continued to fear him, he would walk right over her. And she knew that he could not want that. <br/>
<br/>
Rachel took a deep breath, and although she was still shaking lightly, she managed to straighten her back as she pushed him gently, yet firmly away from her. "Tell me which wine I am about to drink." She brought the glass to her lips, allowed the scent to prepare her mouth for the taste. But she did not take a sip before she had curled her free hand around his wrist, in order to pull him carefully back to the small dinner table. "And tell me why you are here. You do not simply want me, but there must be something you want from me." Finally, she took a sip as she was about to take a seat. The flavour was rich and filled her entire mouth - a very pleasant wine to the tongue. "Is it French?" <br/>
</span>