Incest/Taboo Akeldama

​

Prologue​

In the beginning, there was Eve, or so they would have you believe. However, many have forgotten that one walked beside Adam before the age of Eve. Her name was Lilith, cast out of paradise for her defiance to submit to Adam's dominance.

As the children of Adam grew and died, Lilith did not. For in that dark history, Lilith chose immortality, granted to her by her demon lover Samael. The demon laughed at what Lilith would unleash throughout the world. Lilith's children moved within the shadows as the ages passed. Feeding upon the blood of man, corrupting those they could use to strengthen their hold.

Bringing about a race that would become known as the vampires. Through them, Lilith watched from her throne as her children rose in their might. Few brave souls stood against her will, hunting down her children wherever they rose up. Cleansing the world of the evil Lilith had brought upon it. So began the Unctuous War; this shadow war cost the lives of a quarter of the earth's population. The church blamed the deaths from their secret war on a small plague that started in Constantinople. Ending in 1588 when the last of the Zwei Knights strongholds fell to their might.

Led by the very son of Lilith, sired by one of her favorites at the time. Few knew that he was indeed a pure blood vampire. Although he had no wish to wage war with man, he took no pleasure in ending their short lives. However, their existence was at stake as much as he mourned the loss of life on both sides: his duty was to his people as he stood upon the cliff that overlooked the fortress. He knew neither would rise to the heights of their former selves ever again.

The year was 1900; the war was a thing of the past. His kind was long forgotten only to frighten small children into behaving. The warm sun shone down upon his ancient shoulders. A thin smile formed on his lips at the thought of the mortals' ignorance. True, his kind couldn't walk the streets at the height of the sun's strength; however, those old as he could easily withstand the weak light of the waning sun.

Scanning the skyline of Rue de Rivoil, the old gas lamps shown through the soot from decades of use refitted to burn electricity, yet not all have been converted. Conner enjoyed the warm, soft light the gas lamps would produce. Not the harsh, blinding light of the incandescent bulbs, which seemed to be replacing the lamps. Sighing inwardly, Conner had lived long enough to see many changes occur within the mortal world. Many had him in awe, yet this new leap forward made him wary.

His eyes darted to the alleyway, knowing who awaited within the shadows. The gentle breeze tugged at his black waistcoat, its ivory buttons glistening in the waning light. The gleam of the silver pocket watch chain stood in contrast to the dark fabric. His century-old pocket watch sat nestled in its small breast pocket. His pale hand rested on the ivory-capped walking stick; a high tensile steel blade was hidden within its wooden embrace. In truth, Conner had no need of the blade, yet he was no fool. His highly polished ankle boots echoed off the cobblestones as he continued down the boulevard.

Always wary of the ones that followed him, knowing his mother had sent them to watch his movements. It was one of the reasons he was taking such a roundabout way to meet her. Although Conner had a few hours to meet Margaret at Bois de Vincennes. Where he would marry the one he had longed for, for so many years. It was on a cool fall morning that Conner had first met her. The sun haloing her crimson hair, setting it ablaze. Her light green eyes sparkled in the light as they had transfixed him. Her ruby lips were thin but full; her form-fitting gown did little to curb his imagination.

Conner had taken many beautiful women to his bed throughout his long life and to the other side. Yet as he looked upon her, Conner knew without a doubt she was the one. How he knew he could not say, however, a part of his being knew they belonged together.

As the months passed, their courtship deepened, Conner knew he was flirting with danger every time they were together. Conner knew his mother would never condone what he was planning. Margaret knew the truth about him; he had told her on a moonless night on the hilltop in Bois de Vincennes. Conner dreaded her rejection to his revelation; would she flee from him, call him a monster, abomination, devil.

True, she was shaken to her core, yet she never once failed to banish away his fears. The night was warm, the sky was clear, the moon's pale silver light bathing the land in its embrace. Conner had chosen this place, for it was the place he had first seen her. Standing hand in hand beneath the starry sky, the priest recited words that meant little to him. For what he already knew in his heart.

"Stop this madness at once!" Came a familiar voice from behind him. Looking towards the source for once in his nine hundred years of life, he wished his mother would leave him be. Her once angelic face was now marred in her unbridled rage. Her pale skin glowed eerily in the pale light. John and Dustin stood at her back, both wearing smirks of amusement. For years they had wormed their way into his mother's graces. If their betrayal would elevate their position within the clan, how could they not take the chance. Conner felt a fool for trusting in them.

"Mother, this is no concern of yours," Conner said, shielding Margaret from the attack that was coming.

"Oh, but it is," Helen growled, raising her left hand above her head. Snapping her slender fingers, leaves rustled, twigs snapped as twenty armed warriors surrounded them on that hilltop. "Take them and kill the priest," she said, her cold blue eyes never leaving her son. Before he could defend Margaret, his arms were bound, his legs kicked out from underneath him. Conner howled in rage as he was forced to watch as they pummeled Margaret into unconsciousness. What happened next, he could not say, for darkness rose to claim him.

The air smelled of damp soil and mold-ridden wood. Chains rattled; pulleys shrieked as they came to life after their long slumber. Conner's arms screamed in agony as he was hoisted into the air. Orange light flickered off the cold gray stone. Conner knew where they had taken him; he also knew this was only the beginning. The old metal hinges groaned as his mother entered the cell's gloomy interior.

"You disappoint me, my son," Helen said, shaking her head in disbelief. "What would your father say if he saw this?"

"I wouldn't know you ate him before I was born." A swift backhand caught him across the face.

"Nevertheless, I have gone to great lengths to insure this House's continuous survival," Helen said, taking hold of his face in her vice-like grip. "You dare dishonor this House by pretending to love this thing," she seethed, pointing towards the door. Conner said nothing, for it wouldn't matter to his mother. "You think to marry a human whose only reason for living is to feed us immortals!" Conner fought against his restraints as he caught the hints of blood on the air. His pale blue eyes were filled with sorrow as they tossed Margaret's bloody broken body at his feet. Sneering at his mother as he caught the smell of sex that clung to her skin.

"Well, she was quite lovely in bed. I can see why he would," Dustin said, leaning against the doorframe. His golden locks spilling down his bare chest, his brown eyes held wicked glee within their depths.

"True. She was a rare thing," John said, joining Dustin. "I haven't had one like her in what, twenty years," he said, licking her blood from his lips. Conner went cold as he looked upon her naked form. Never again would he see her smile, never again would he hear her laughter, nor the sweet words she used to comfort his weary soul.

"Now, Conner, you have a choice," Helen said, nudging Margaret's body with her foot. "You can marry Lord Garland's daughter as planned, and I shall forget this lapse of judgment."

"I would rather die," Conner spat at the thought.

"Fine," Helen said, wiping the blood from her face. "Death is what you shall have," she said, tearing his shirt from his chest. "You are highborn. The insult you have caused me cannot go unpunished," looking past her son, "whip him to the bone!" Helen growled. "Maybe a hundred years of starvation and darkness will make you see reason."

"Doubtful," Conner said to himself as the first lash of the whip cut away his immortal flesh. Ivory bone protruded from the mangled meat of his back. Blood seeped into the loose soil as it ran down his legs as they dragged his mangled body through the corridors. Near to death as any immortal could know, he would come to know it well as they tossed his body into his awaiting coffin. Chains tumbled over the dark wooden boards, the clicking of the lock ensuring he would not escape his prison. As they wrestled his coffin into position, Conner faded into the darkness hoping for oblivion.

A hundred years had passed since her son's imprisonment, her polished fingernail tapped on the phone, debating whether or not to wake her son. Helen could remember the maddening look in her son's eyes as Dustin tossed that blood bag at his feet. She had seen that look numerous times in her long life. None lived long enough to see their deed done. However, he was her son and heir to the throne; on her orders, Conner was given enough blood to stave off death. Yet not enough to fully recover from his slumber, no, that was too risky given their last encounter. Nevertheless, she would be very pleased if he did regain his former self.

Helen would be safe across the Atlantic ocean where her new court resided. The possibility that her son would somehow escape in his weakened state was so remote it was hardly worth noting. Yet, she had not lived this long taking unnecessary risks. In reality, Conner would be near insanity due to the years of starvation. Even she could not be lenient towards her son, that would only make her appear weak. Her enemies were only waiting to take advantage of such an opening. Many had come to an end at her own hand, others by their own people, easy pickings for those waiting on the sidelines.

A few met their end thinking they were gods; once Helen had learned this, she spent no time taking over the poor fools. Her empire now stretches from France to the southern tip of Spain, northern Italy, Germany, and now the northeast United States. Where her new court sits nestled on two hundred acres in the northern part of New York state. Flipping open her phone, squinting at the harsh backlight of the phone's screen. Scrolling through the list of lieutenants she had placed in various Houses across her empire. Coming to a stop at the one she called daughter.

"Yes, my Queen?" Lynn's voice resounded over the line. Over the years, Helen had come to hold the daughter of Lord Garland in high esteem. Even going as far as planning her father's downfall to prove her loyalty, Helen easily absorbed his lands into her empire. This was the reason she allowed Lynn the task of guarding her son during his imprisonment.

"Prepare my son; it is time for him to return to my side."

"It shall be done, my Queen," Lynn said, hiding her mirth. For years she has waited for this moment when she would be bound to her son and in line for the throne.

"Good. Call me once you're in the air," Helen said before closing her phone.

Lynn paced her spacious room with her nerves on edge, debating what to take with her on their trip. Her gown was the one piece she knew she had to take; once Conner was well their wedding would occur a few days later.

"Alex!" Lynn called out to her second in command that stood just outside the door.

"Yes, mistress," Alex said, entering her chambers. Arching an eyebrow at the luggage strewn across the bed yet said nothing.

"The time has come for prisoner 126 to be released," Lynn paused, tapping her chin. "Give him enough blood to reverse some of his weakened state. Not too much now; we don't want him awakening while we are airborne. We don't wish to displease the Queen, now do we?" she said, narrowing her gaze at Alex. Silently telling him the severity if he failed in his orders.

"Yes, mistress, I shall see to it personally, anything else," Alex said, hiding the glee for what was coming.

"Yes, while I am gone, you are in charge of this House, temporarily, of course," Lynn said, the last word reinforcing that he was not lord yet. "See that the plane is ready to depart in two hours," she said, hovering over her undergarment drawer. Wondering which to take for their night of bliss.

"So soon?" Alex asked puzzled, he knew no one within the prison ghetto that required such swift action.

"As I have said, Alex, we cannot displease the Queen," Lynn said, giving Alex a look that told him that was all he needed to know.

Darkness was his constant companion, hunger his lover that was never sated. His revenge was his will to see another day within his coffin. Eight times they fed him to stave off death's embrace. Eight times he willed his weakened body to escape his cell. Whoever was in charge of his feedings knew when his body was at its weakest to fulfill his plans. Yet he sensed something, his hunger flaring, its life force blazed brightly in his mind. Confusion set in for this was not the time for his regular feeding, smiling as he tested his arms as they responded to his call. Wincing as the key slid into the lock, tumblers sounded like drums in his ears as the noise pierced the silence.

The grunting was music to his ears as the guard lowered his coffin to the stone floor. His fingers twitched in anticipation as the chains slid across the lid of the coffin. Blinding light stabbed at his dried-out eyes, yet he had no need of them to know where his prey was. His hand struck out like a startled viper, bringing his struggling meal to his dry, cracked lips as his fangs gleamed in the light. Hot rich blood flowed into his mouth; as the rich liquid hit his tongue, it was heavenly to him. As the blood poured into Conner's withered body, waking tissue that had long since laid dormant. With a portion of his former strength surging through his limbs, tossing his meal to the side as the last flicker of life ebbed from the body.

His pale, wrinkled hand gripped the lip of the coffin. Pushing himself up, his long raven hair fell beneath his shoulder blades. Unruly and unkempt due to his long confinement, his pale blue eyes surveyed the place he had not laid eyes on in over a century. A strange humming noise assaulted his ears, thinking it was nothing but an annoying fly. Swatting it away, yet it still remained. For a moment, he thought he was going mad until a flash of memory from his forgotten meal flared in the forefront of his mind.

"Paul, are you done yet?!" came a voice over the radio that was clipped to the man's belt. Conner pondered on how the strange contraption worked as he rolled the radio in his hand. "Paul, are you there?" the disembodied voice was growing agitated. "Damn it, Paul! You better not be sleeping down there; you know what will happen once Alex finds out." This puzzled Conner; for whoever this Alex was it seemed he was responsible for his early feeding. Rising to his full height, finally noticing the two blood bags next to the coffin.

"Sorry about that, I had my hands full," Conner said, into the radio.

"Good. I assume you got Mr. Dry Bones fed," the man chuckled.

"Sure did, now what am I to do with him?"

"Close him back up and wait for Alex; you will be going with mistress Lynn to the airport." Now there was a name he did remember, yet why was she a part of this House?

"You mean I have to go with her," Conner said, feigning fear and dismay.

"Don't worry, I'm sure nothing bad is going to happen..." the radio went silent for a few seconds, "better hurry up; Alex is coming." With that, Conner tossed the radio and the man's body into his coffin. After donning the man's clothing, binding the coffin with the chains that once held him bound just in time as Alex descended the stairs.

"Are we all set?" Alex asked from the shadows.

"Yes, sir," Conner said, masking his voice.

"Now go and pack; I'm sure Thomas has told you the details?" Nodding that he did, Conner kept his head hidden just in case Alex knew him before his confinement. As he climbed the stairwell, Conner dived into the tide of information he had gained from Paul's memories. Stumbling as his head pounded as his mind absorbed the information in seconds.

Conner stood in dismay in the center of Paul's room, unsure what was before him. As he moved through the room, the flat screen that hung on the far wall sprung to life. Jumping at the sudden noise of the television, running his fingers over the glass surface, wondering how they got the woman in such a small device.

As the news reel moved across the bottom of the news cast, Conner couldn't believe his mother had kept him contained for so long. Paul's laptop sat below the television, peering down at the strange image as it moved across the screen. Conner's fingers moved on their own thanks to Paul's fragmented memories. Scrolling through the computer's hard drive, a file caught his attention. Reading down the list of names, Conner was shocked at how much his mother had done in his absence.

Her kingdom had doubled in size since he was thrown into that coffin. It had taken years of endless pain to recover from the injuries she had inflicted on him. That alone gave him cause to seek out those that had taken everything from him.

"Paul, you in there?" A knock came on the door. Conner could only assume it was Thomas. "They're waiting for you in the garage," Thomas said, inching the door open. Conner turned towards the door, smelling the fear rolling off the man's body. "You're not Paul," he stammered, backing away.

"No, I am not," Conner said with a wicked smirk. His pale lips lifted enough to reveal the lower tips of his fangs. Thomas' chubby face turned ashen as he watched Conner move across the room in two steps. Thomas tried with all his might to will his body to move; however, his gaze was transfixed on those deadly, pale blue eyes, knowing his death was certain.

Cool crisp silk flowed over his shoulders as Conner finished rummaging through Paul's closet. The mother of pearl buttons shimmered in the artificial light. The black fabric felt delicious against his skin after so long in those rags. Conner paused for a moment as a black, leather, knee-length coat caught his attention. With Thomas's blood flowing through his veins, Conner nearly felt like his old self. Yet he couldn't be careless, not when Lynn could overpower him in his current state. No. He couldn't tip off her or his mother this early that would only ruin his sweet vengeance. There was one man on this side of the world he so desperately wanted to see.

"What's the hold-up?" Alex asked over the radio. "We've been waiting for half an hour. Have you not found that guard yet?"

"No sir," Conner said, mimicking Thomas' voice. "We checked his room only to find his things hastily strewn about. His window was wide open when I arrived. I have men out looking for him."

"Fine, it can't be helped," Alex sighed into the radio. "I knew there was something wrong with that boy. Send out the hunters. I want him brought back alive."

"What about the plane? Should I assign someone else?"

"No, I'll have Jeff tag along on this one." If Alex said anything else, Conner wouldn't know. At that moment, Conner was making his way down towards the armory. Granted, they didn't have automatic guns or plastic explosives in his time. If it could explode, what did it matter? Even if it was a hundred years more advanced than he was used to.

Conner watched from the small rectangular window as the van pulled out, heading towards its destination. Conner stood in front of the box labeled C-4. Once again, Conner relied upon the memories of his two victims. Pulling out a remote detonator stuffing it into his coat pocket. Pressing the corresponding receiver into the playdough-like substance. Making his way out, a flash of metal caught his eye. The sword slid effortlessly out of its sheath; the newly adorned leather hilt smelled of oil and resin. Conner smiled to himself; sometimes, the old ways were the best. Slipping silently out of the armory, the darkness of the hallway seemed so inviting.

Moving over his skin like water did over the polished rocks of a stream, feeding life into his body, as did the blood of his two victims. Bending its will to him as it encased Conner in its loving embrace. Allowing none to peer at its lover while he was in its arms. The next thing he knew, Conner was standing outside, just within the tree line. The feel of the dew as it plucked at his exposed skin, the sound of the leaves rustling in the breeze. The call of the nocturnal animals high above in the trees. The cries of those less fortunate to see another day. Fog rolled along the underbrush in its war to obscure those within the low clouds. Slipping his hand into his pocket, his thumb poised over the switch. Conner smiled evilly as he watched the giant fireball roar to the heavens.

Helen stood beside her car, waiting for the plane to taxi into their private hangar. Her sapphire blue dress whipped violently as the plane's exhaust washed over them. Scowling at the scent of the jet fumes, her raven hair held in place by the two-century-old net of pearls. Her two body guards behind her stood motionless as the engines slowly powered down.

Helen could see Lynn's impatience as she waited for the mortals to get everything in place. Helen studied Lynn as she descended the stairs. Her light auburn hair bounced along her shoulders; her icy blue eyes held emotions that her ageless face failed to show. Her cream-tone dress clung tightly to her lithe body; some would debate it was only millimeters thick.

"Well met, Lynn," Helen said, smiling at the woman. "I trust your flight was pleasant.

"Yes, my Queen," Lynn said, bowing to Helen. "I've brought what you have asked for," she stated as the cargo doors began to open. Helen barked out an order to the two behind her, watching as they scrambled to retrieve the coffin.

"Where's the human you brought along with you?" Helen asked, yet given the flush color of Lynn's cheeks, she could take a guess.

"Where all food winds up one way or another," Lynn said, with half a smile.

"Indeed," Helen said, returning her own devilish smile. Their conversation came to a cease as they laid Conner's coffin at her feet. Nodding to her guards to release the lock that held the chains taut, her heart raced as they tossed the chains aside. Waving them away, she wanted to be the first one to look upon her wayward son. Something was wrong when she smelled the stale hints of blood. Helen stared dumbfounded at the body of a man she knew not. "What's the meaning of this, Lynn!" Helen growled, stepping aside to allow her to view the body. Helen noted the surprise and startled look that could only be genuine.

"That's... Paul," Lynn said, trying to wrap her mind around what she was seeing. "How can this be," she said, looking to Helen for answers.

"It means my son is free, and who knows where he is now," Helen said, slamming the coffin lid closed. "Call your House, Lynn; hopefully, he doesn't have enough strength to be a problem," she said, watching as the woman fumbled with her phone. "You two, see that this trash is disposed of," Helen commanded before grabbing Lynn by the arm, stalking back to her car. "Well?" she asked as she watched the guards stuff the two bodies into the incinerator.

"I don't understand; no one is answering, not even Alex. He was all but willing to carry me and Conner's coffin to the airport. He knew I would be calling once I landed, so why isn't he answering?" Lynn said, looking at her phone with unease.

"That's easy daughter, they're no longer there," Helen said, sadness welled in her heart. Tapping her driver on the shoulder, telling him they were no longer needed there.

London. The last time he was there was when Big Ben was just finished being built-in 1859. Conner could smell them as he stood on the rooftop of the nearby building that sat along the street once called Phoenix Place. Conner was very fond of the old name; he couldn't fathom why mortals needed to rename everything. Shaking his head at the distracting thought, his eyes peered into the home of his hated foe. Conner had no concern for those that dwelled in his House. His only target was the one that took the light from his dark, weary soul. For days he had hunted the streets of London following their human minions. Taking out a few of his warriors without raising too much suspicion.

Conner was unnerved by this new ability he seemed to have gained during his imprisonment. Days after, he had rendered his former home to ash. The shadows seemed alive, calling out to him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, taunting him to return to its embrace. Was this because he had spent so much time in total darkness that he could distinguish its subtle shades? Was it because he had spent years staring at death's door?

Becoming so intimate with it, he could describe every scratch, every dent, every aspect of that golden door. Conner was willing to bet it was the latter. Smiling into the night as he watched his prey pulling out from the underground garage heading to the city for his nightly fix.

John leaned against the wall of the elevator with smug satisfaction. His crisp gray suit sat snug around his shoulders. John could never understand humans' need to wear such tight garments. Yet if he wished to partake in his favorite victims, he needed to stay with the times. The rich and lonely kind, where their husbands cared little about them. Humming a tune as he stepped into his suite, unaware of the unwanted visitor lurking within the shadows.

Pain, unbearable pain radiated up his left leg. Peering down at the crimson blotch as it spread around the protruding bolt. Taken aback by the shock and surprise that anyone could have broken into his private chambers, much less had gotten the drop on him. Sinking to his knees as another bolt tore through the flesh and bone of his right leg. Blood sweat beaded along his brow, forcing him to face his attacker. Blood drained from his face as he looked upon the man he had betrayed.

"Lovely is it not," Conner said, fingering the tiny crossbow. "Not powerful enough to take down a man, but enough to render him helpless." John swallowed down his pain to call out for help. "No, you don't," Conner said, firing another bolt into John's left hand nailing him to the floor. Stifling down his pain, all John wanted to do was submit to it; if he did, John knew his life was over. If only he could remain coherent enough, just maybe he could talk his way out of this.

"What do you want?" John asked, keeping his pain from his voice.

"First, you're going to call your pilot and have him ready your plane for takeoff in three hours. Tell him to keep it off the books, tell him his Queen wouldn't want anyone snooping," Conner said, bringing his face inches from John's. "If you speak a word of which I have not spoken, then I shall take your most precious item." John had no doubt that Conner wouldn't hesitate.

"There, anything else," John said, sliding the phone over to Conner.

"Oh yes." John saw the sadistic light within those pale blue eyes. "You took something from me that can never be replaced. Tossed me into darkness that I had hoped to escape, caused us pain beyond belief. You should have never crossed me." John's gaze caught the glint of metal within Conner's coat.

"Please, Conner, think about this; if you do this, you place every House against you. If you kill me, your mother will send out Hunters to track you down." John was startled by the insane laughter that bubbled forth from Conner's throat.

"Do you think I care if they stand with me or against me? I have already taken care of my former home, and you certainly put too much faith in my mother. She couldn't care less if you live or die. Did Margaret beg for mercy as you raped and drained her dry?' Conner asked, his hand clenching tightly around the hilt of his sword.

"Wait. I can help you," John pleaded as Conner stalked towards him.

"As you helped me before?" Conner's voice was cold and alien. "As you helped yourself to my wife!" John pulled frantically at the bolt that pinned him to the floor. "Don't bother John; no one is going to miss you. Not even your underlings care enough about you to report your death until whoever is secured in their new position. Only then will they let the world know of your death." John released a blinding howl as Conner relieved him of his most precious jewels.

"This is a mess," said the chairman of the Netherland house. "First, one of our most ancient Houses goes up in flames with no survivors. Now John from the London House was found cut to pieces. No one can tell me how his attacker breached his defenses, nor can they tell me how he escaped." Helen watched as the other chairmen whispered amongst themselves.

They had called this meeting to discuss this new attack on one of their own. Helen had her suspicions on who it was but dared not speak his name. Looking over at Lynn, wondering if he would come for her. Knowing she was one of the reasons why he was put in that box. Shaking her head. John had made enemies mortal and immortal alike. A few were among his own House, yet Helen could not ignore the skill his attacker had used.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Helen said, her voice carrying power within the circular chamber. "As for our lost House, I grieve for those who lost their lives. Yet, we all know that House was in decline before Lynn took over as its mistress. As for John, he made his bed when he refused to heed our words." Again, their gathered voices began to grate on her nerves. "Enough! Are we not immortals, are we not the hunters of the night? Have we sunk so low that we cower from an unknown villain?" Helen shouted, rising from her throne.

"No, we are vampires, masters of all that walk this earth. Not in five hundred years has anyone dared rise up against us. I will not have my empire brought to a knee because of one man!" Helen said, staring down those in their polished thrones. Taking Lynn by the arm dragging the woman behind her to her chambers.

Soft red velvet curtains lined the dark walnut-stained wooden panels. Thick plush carpet dampened Helen's pacing footsteps. The rich brown leather sofa squeaked as Lynn lowered herself onto its overstuffed cushions. Sinking into the wingback chair that was placed in the center of the room. Helen loved how it made anyone that entered look right at her and be cowed by the experience. Thoughts raced through her mind on what to do about her son. What frightened her was the fact that Conner had taken John's life without alerting the others. Helen couldn't figure out how he pulled off such a feat.

What was most disturbing was the fact that the London House's private plane was missing. No one knew where it was headed, only that it had taken off an hour before dawn. If she had to guess, Conner was on his way to New York. She had placed Dustin in charge of running the finances of the Houses. However, if she knew her son, she debated if anything of her son remained. Her cold blue eyes flickered over to Lynn as she sat patiently on the couch.

"What do you think his next move will be?" Helen asked, wondering if she too came to the same conclusion.

"If I was him and going after those that turned on him," Lynn said, pinching her lips. "First, I would remove those who stood in my way, hence the destruction of the Paris House," shuddering at the fate she avoided, "find some way to track down my enemies once I was strong enough. How he got to John is beyond me, the sheer fact that none felt his presence frightens me."

"Yes, I, too, am concerned about that," Helen said, biting her nails. "Conner is old enough to hide his essence from many of the younger ones. Yet, there are enough elders within London to know when another enters their domain. So, we can assume Conner is on his way here, and we may not know it until it's too late," Helen said, her brow wrinkled as she pondered the problem. How could she use this to her advantage and curb her son's wrath at the same time?

"If I may speak freely, my Queen?" With a wave of her hand telling Lynn to continue. "Why not use Dustin to lure your son to the heart of the country. We all know how those low-born thugs have been trying to infiltrate your empire. Why not send Dustin there under the guise of a traitor. In no time, those things would jump at the chance to bring him into their fold. We plant a trail for Conner to follow, plant explosives in Dustin's office, where he is sure to go. Conner will think it was meant for anyone that went to investigate Dustin's treachery," Lynn said, leaning forward as the rest of her plan began to form. "If Conner dies, then so be it, and we gain a valuable spy. With the intel Dustin will supply to us, we can finally wipe them out. However, if Conner does survive, we can have our people on the police force be the ones who find him. Ensuring that he comes to no harm, you, my Queen, will post his bail if the events play out. Where you shall offer him an uneasy truce telling him, you share a common enemy.

Then we will pick a small group of hunters only loyal to you. Reporting back to you about everything they can learn about him. Under no circumstances is Conner to be left alone for any amount of time." Helen was quite pleased with her plan. Although there were parts she would change to suit her own plans to cow her son. Yet as Helen contemplated on the man that had awoken in her son's body. Once, she knew how far she could have pushed her son; now, however, this man that wore Conner's face was an enigma to her.

Rats scurried within the shadows of the alleyway. Fear led their flight to escape the thing that lurked within the shadows. Foul air hung low surrounding the buildings in its sickly yellow-green cloud. Obscuring the night sky even from his unnatural sight. The homeless stirred within the trash they called home. Ignoring him as he did the same all the while their blood pounded in his ears.

Its hypnotic rhythm lulling him into a trance as his body swayed to the beat. Car horns blared, bringing him out of his blissful trance, wincing at the ungodly noise as it pierced his ear drums. After his arrival, Conner had walked the streets trying to ascertain Dustin's whereabouts. Even with the foul air masking the scents of those like him. Conner waited and watched, unsure what his senses were telling him. Unsure they could be relied upon within this strange city.

As Conner crept down the dark alley, steam billowed out of the sewer grates. Yellow-aged newspapers tumbled along the asphalt pathway driven by the faint breeze that was funneled down the alleyway. Shadows darted to and fro around him, yet he paid no heed. Conner was too caught up in his own mind to notice the mortals. For they mattered little to him, he thought it best to focus on more pressing matters.

"Hold it right there, pal. This is 13th street territory. There's a tax for nonmembers for the use of our streets and our protection." The flash of the nickel-plated 9mm handgun caught his attention.

"Is that so," Conner said, taking stock of the man standing before him. Standing a little over five feet, his mixed Latino heritage was evident in the weak light that managed to seep into the alleyway. "Does it appear that I need any form of protection from grunts like you?" His pale blue eyes flashed dangerously.

"Get a load of this fool Tommy, it sounds like he's on something," said the man standing behind Tommy's left shoulder.

"What you think he's on coke, crank, PCP, heroin, well whatever it is, it'll be ours before the night's over," Tommy said, smiling sadistically.

"I believe you fools have me mistaken for those you prey upon. I have no quarrel with you; however, if you insist on this, then it will not be I that dies this night," Conner said, testing the hidden mechanisms that house the hidden blades in the cuffs of his coat. He was fast yet not fast enough to dodge a bullet at point-blank range. So his only option was to take out the men before his body weakened due to blood loss.

"Put a bullet in his head. I'm getting tired of his mouth," said the man to his right. Time seemed to slow for Conner as the blades of his throwing daggers left his hand. Wet thuds were met with gasping wet gargles as the two pawed at their throats before sinking into oblivion.

As the hammer of the gun flew forward. Conner only had milliseconds to place his body into a position where the bullet would do less damage. Conner's body jerked backward as the bullet tore through his right shoulder. Righting himself, the ring leader stood in stunned fear as he watched the wound close in on itself, with shaking hands aiming the gun at Conner's head. While the wound was painful, it wasn't anywhere near what he had endured. Conner had suffered enough pain to last two lifetimes. Catching the boy by the wrist, listening to the bones breaking underneath his grip. The sound of the gun hitting the asphalt was overshadowed by a woman's scream a block away.

"Run, little fool, for today you get another chance at life," Conner said, tossing the man aside. Conner didn't need to see which way the boy was running; his fear was easy enough to detect on the foul-laced air. His legs sped along the asphalt at an unnatural pace. He had sensed one of his own at the source of that scream. Conner hoped he could reach the woman before the vampire had his fill.

All Daniel ever wanted was to be one of the night children. After years of endless servitude, he had finally gotten what he wished for. Had he known those he once loved and cherished would look down upon him for being turned, he would have told Dustin to shove it; however, in his excitement, his mind failed to voice its concerns.

Conner looked down at the creature that appeared to be one of his kin. His unkempt hair flailed wildly in the breeze; his fidgeting movements told him he was either very young or just turned. If the mangled body at his feet was any sign of the state of the man's mind. His pale crooked fingers ran over his hands as he savored the rich blood coursing through his veins. Conner scowled at the sight every so often; those chosen to take the change are driven to the point of insanity. Those who could not be brought to heel were culled never to see another night. "Why hasn't his House put him into isolation, where the man wouldn't expose our kind to the world of man," Conner asked himself.

Conner had lived through one war with man and wasn't overly thrilled to do so again. Conner felt no joy in seeing a man brought low due to his own weakness. Nevertheless, Conner would be the man's herald into the next world. His heels touched lightly on the pavement as Conner glided down from the rooftop. Daniel was too engrossed in his merriment to notice the faint noise behind him. Berating himself for lingering over his meal. His master had always warned him to linger long enough to take what you need then move on. Now he was caught, and there was only one solution to his problem. Wicked glee spread across his face as he turned and launched himself at the thing at his back.​