Incest/Taboo Akeldama

Air rushed out of his lungs as the fiend propelled his bulk into him. Conner was taken aback momentarily yet soon took hold of the man's flailing arms. Conner looked into the man's eyes and only saw the insanity that fueled his rage. Conner knew how intoxicating it was, how easy it would be to just give into the insanity. No. Conner couldn't walk that path if he wished to see those destroyed for their crimes against him.

A pang of pity for the man swelled within his chest, yet that was all there was for the man. Bringing his leg up, pressing it against the man's chest, flinging the man across the alley. Jumping to his feet as the man crashed into the brick wall. Conner readied himself if the man thought he'd be taken unaware once again.

"Please, hurt no more," Daniel said, bringing up his arms to shield his face. "Forgive me, I did not know," he said, eyeing the sword wearyingly. Conner eyed the woman's mangled neck, sickened by the man's brutality.

"Who is your master?" Conner asked in a monotone voice masking his emotions. He needed information, and bashing in the man's skull would get him nowhere.

"Master?" Daniel asked, perplexed as he looked up at the strange man. "You master, yes?" His eyes displayed feigned glee.

"No, the one that made you," Conner said, arching an eyebrow. Wondering just how far gone the man's mind was, wondering if it was worth allowing him a few more moments of breath.

"Not master," Daniel's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Master was here then, not here. Master Dustin said he only be gone a day, yet it feels longer than that. I do not know where he has gone." Conner was surprised to hear the sadness in the man's voice.

"Dustin, you say?!" Conner latched onto that bit of information like a tick to a dog. "So this Dustin left you and your house leaderless, interesting. Do you remember which direction your house is?" The man's mood brightened as he vehemently shook his head.

"Yes, yes, I know Dustin told me to always be home before the sun rises," Daniel said, pouring on his madness to lower the man's guard.

"And where is home?" Conner asked, eager to be on his way.

"That way, towards the river, the big brown building looks dull and rundown. Yet inside, it's filled with lights and shiny things," Daniel said, letting out a deranged chuckle.

"What of Dustin's chamber?"

"Hmm." Daniel contemplated for a moment tapping his chin. "Top floor all his, he allows no one to enter, not even poor little old me," he said, picking at his fingernail. "Big windows along the wall he's likes to watch the sunrise. He told me I was too young to join him, although one day I will be able to join him, he told me, that he did."

"Thank you, mad one, you have given me what I sought." Daniel squirmed with anticipation that was swelling in his breast. Soon the man would be gone, and he would find another lovely to play with. If the man could read his mind, the deadly light in his pale blue eyes told him so. "Your House should have seen how far gone you were and placed you into isolation. Where you would be a danger to no one, including yourself. Yet, alas, I have no time to fix what is wrong with you," Conner said, readjusting his grip on his sword. "I am truly sorry about this; not everyone is to be one of us." Horror flashed across Daniel's face as it dawned on him the man never meant to let him go.

"No!" Daniel screamed. His arms outstretched, wanting only to escape so he could indulge in his favorite pastime. The next thing he saw was the pity in the man's eyes, the flash of metal and nothing else.

Conner paced the abandoned rooftop he had stumbled across once he reached the river. For two days after his encounter with the mad one. Conner spent his time recovering his strength and reflecting on how close he had come to losing his own sanity. As the setting sun washed the land in its red hue, Conner listened as Dustin's lackeys tried to bring order to his house. Conner nearly laughed at the sheer madness they seemed to be in without a leader. Had his mother been the one that did this to their people, or were they just so weak they could not think for themselves?

Conner had to admit, at least to himself, his mother had a knack for hiding their houses in plain sight. For he wouldn't have suspected she would allow the homeless to camp out in front of the entrance. Then again, it did bring their meal to their doorstep. Shaking off the thought peering into one of the empty rooms that housed the less fortunate. As he pressed deeper into the interior, Conner listened to the faint whispers and the hum of the electronic motor of the elevator as it sped towards the ground level. His eyes darted side to side, looking for a place to hide long enough for those within the car to pass him.

"I'm telling you, Chris, something's wrong." Came a sweet female voice in time as Conner ducked into the adjacent room. "Dustin just doesn't up and leave without leaving a reason why."

"Well, he is, and it will only be a matter of time before she finds out," Chris said; Conner nearly chuckled at the man's disdain for his mother. "I'm glad I'm not the one who has to inform her of Dustin's absence. Remember Thomas," though he couldn't see the pair yet, Conner knew the woman was nodding, "well, he was the one that told her about the drop in the market, and no one's seen him since."

"Now you're just sinking into your fear," the woman went silent for a moment, "although I have heard rumors that someone has been taking out quite a few of us."

"Now that I would like to see," Chris said, doubling over in laughter.

"No, Chris, I'm serious. Marty told me someone got John from the London House. What about the Paris House that went up in flames a few days earlier."

"Yes, do tell," Conner said, stepping out from his confinement. Hiding his mirth at their stunned and startled looks beneath a mask of stone.

"Who are you?!" the woman stammered, caught off guard by his swift movements. Conner's eyes ran down the small, lithe woman, from her chocolate brown hair, her matching eyes. To her dimpled cheeks, those supple lips, all in all, a very attractive woman. One in which Conner would have taken to his bed long ago. His gaze flickered over to her male counterpart; he was nothing like what his mind imagined. Instead of the hulking brutes, his mother favored long ago stood a boy no older than twenty. Conner couldn't believe the man was a vampire with his lanky arms, a wiry body, and orange-red hair.

"No one you need to be concerned with," Conner said, letting it be known it wasn't up for debate.

"It seems to me that it does when you show up out of the blue on our doorstep," Chris said, stepping in front of his companion. Conner only smiled at the display. "Don't let him frighten you, Mary."

"So your House is leaderless, and you allow the insane to roam the streets," Conner said, letting the accusations hang in the air.

"What do you mean?" Mary said, pushing Chris aside so she could get a better look at the man. Her eyes roamed up his muscled body, the faint scent of blood that clung to him. Noting the bullet hole in the right shoulder of his coat. To his fine jawline, his sharp cheekbones, gazing deeply into his pale blue eyes. To his raven hair as it shadowed his pale skin. "I was not aware that her grace had already sent a Hunter."

"The mad one," Conner said, hiding his scorn. "When I arrived in this city, the man was clearly mad and a danger to our kind."

"Wait, you mean Daniel," Chris said in shock. "You killed him, didn't you?!" he growled, ready to throw himself at the man only to be stopped by the point of a sword.

"Yes, the man you knew no longer existed and had to be put down," Conner said, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"We understand," Mary said, pulling Chris back. She had seen the killer beneath that calm exterior before from her own maker. "What can this House do to aid you?" she asked, giving Chris a look to remain quiet.

"I need to see Dustin's rooms," Conner said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, of course," Mary said, extending her arm, leading them back towards the elevator. She had always heard that Hunters always had a partner to stave off the madness. It was a means so their partner could be their anchor so that the years of their service would not take a toll upon them. Her own maker had suffered from the madness. She had seen how mad he became after his house leader sent him out to hunt down rogue vampires. As the silver-gray doors closed, Mary studied the man's reflection in the polished surface. "It's an odd thing to see an unbound Hunter these days," she said offhandedly. In a split second, what she saw clearly unnerved her. Hunters were supposed to be emotionless yet what she saw was far from it.

"She was murdered." The words came out in a low whisper. Mary and Chris shared a curious look between them as the metal doors slid open. Conner was assaulted by the clamor of noise that filled the bullpen. Even this late an hour, trading was still happening all around the world. Knowing his mother, she wouldn't want to deny herself one penny she could earn. Conner felt their eyes on him as he exited the elevator studying the man that entered their home. They would never openly voice their complaints, yet their eyes spoke volumes. One lone man was not about to let him pass; his hazel eyes locked on him, giving off a sadistic feel.

The 1920's Tiffany lamps sat upon the tables that lined the walls every ten feet. Their deep-sea green shades casting the large area in a soft, warm light. However, in a room full of predators, could anyone think of anything resembling soft or warm. A sadistic look played across his hazel eyes. Conner had seen it far too often in his long life. He, himself, had broken up fights numerous times early in his life when a new member was brought into a House. His mother thought it was amusing to watch the young ones vie for rank. Even though Conner knew she would not raise one of the turned to her court. Straightening his sandy blonde hair, smoothing out the wrinkles in his attire as he walked with smug satisfaction, Conner heard Mary's muted sigh.

"What do we have here?" the man asked, trying to hide his southern drawl. "Looks better than the one Dustin brought in last year."

"Ignore him," Mary whispered. "Adam, this isn't someone you should toy with," she said, pleading with the man.

"Hush you, I run this House until Dustin returns, and I will not have this house eroded by the weak, like this one," Adam said, poking Conner in the chest. Conner's hand flashed out, catching hold of the man's wrist; Adam didn't utter a whimper.

"I have not fed upon my own kind in many days," Conner said, his free hand taking Adam by the throat lifting the man off the ground. True fear played across his face; Conner doubted the man ever saw one such as he. "I am quite thirsty, yet the foulness of your blood would only weaken me," he said, tossing Adam across the room. "Since you, too, share in Dustin's sin, then you, too, shall partake in his punishment." If the man could pale any further, Conner had no doubt he would.

"Come," Mary said, tugging on his arm. Mary had no doubt the man would slaughter everyone that had a hand in Dustin's atrocities. Casting Adam a glance telling him he would remain there if he had any sense until the man was gone. "This will lead you to his chambers," she said. sliding the keycard into the reader. "Will you need anything else?"

Wondering if he truly did feed on their own kind. For if that was true, then Mary could not fathom how old the man was. Mary had assumed the man was two, maybe three hundred years old; no Hunter she knew of could live past their fifth century. Given how their minds disintegrated after every kill they made. Many sought the burning rays of oblivion over the madness that was sure to overtake them. Yet here was a man that surpassed all those that came before them. An uneasy feeling washed over her as she watched the metal door slide closed.

Mary paced behind her desk, where she had spent most of the century. However, she was good at her job, and there was nothing like outmaneuvering another trader on the floor. However, the days were getting tedious and lacking any mental stimuli that would have even a slug bored. Her ill feelings towards that strange man still swirled in her mind. Her slender hand rested on her desk phone, pondering if she should inform the Queen. Yet this was not the time for her lowborn status to interfere with what must be done. Her heart hammered in her chest as she dialed the Queen's private number.

"Yes?" Mary's knees felt like rubber as Helen's honey-toned voice came over the line. "Speak up, child. I do not have all night for you to learn how to breathe."

"Forgive me, my Queen. I do not mean to question you or who you send."

"My dear, I have not sent anyone to your House." Panic spread throughout her being as Mary looked towards the elevator.

"If you did not send him, then who is he?" Mary whispered, sinking down into her chair.

"I do not know, my dear, all I can say is destroy everything that can be traced to us and have your House immigrate to the capital. Here, at least, we can protect you from whomever Dustin is involved with."

"Yes, my Queen," Mary replied hastily. Shouting out Helen's orders, Mary watched as they scrambled to remove every trace of their presence from the building. Mary looked towards the elevator hoping the man had other things to keep him occupied. For if her hunch was right, then not one of them could survive against an elder.

His fingers tapped against his legs as the elevator sped upwards. Conner couldn't believe he walked through Dustin's house unmolested. He had far too much to do to allow the young upstart to stand in his way. As the doors rolled open, stepping onto the black rug that greeted the visitors. Flood lights flared, blinding Conner momentarily, beeps chirped in the cavernous room as spots danced before his eyes. Berating himself lifting up the rug, a pressure pad laid beneath the cheap polyester rug. Thin red wires branched out nestled within the grooves of the hardwood floor. Conner had a feeling he wasn't going to like what he found at the end of those wires. As he followed it to its end, leading Conner to a walnut armoire.

"Aw, hell!"

The cold night air chilled her to the bone as she waited for the next car to arrive. Her breath came out in great clouds of fog as her foot tapped the sidewalk. Jumping as the giant fireball shot out from the windows that lined Dustin's rooms. Her eyes caught the silhouette of a man as he leapt from the window before the fire could consume his body. Mary watched as the man's arms flailed, as the flames trailed his body as he sped towards the ground.

"What the...?!" Chris muttered as he came up to Mary's side. They watched the charred body landing on the nearby BMW. Shattering the glass of the car's windows, sending out the lethal shards in all directions. Metal groaned as it gave into gravity's pull on the man's body.

"Someone put him out and get a body bag!" Mary yelled, coming to her senses.

"Are you insane, Mary?!" Chris said, aghast.

"No." How she wished he was more courageous and outgoing, yet her hopes were dashed as she saw his fear. For too many years, he had hidden behind that cowardly exterior, and she was sick of it. "We just lost our House. Do you really want to show up at the capital, tell the Queen we had the man yet were too afraid to go near him? What do you think she will do to us if we allow this opportunity to pass us?" Mary asked, throwing up her hands at his gaping mouth. "If you can't do it, then go and hide; I, for one, will not let the chance pass me by," she said, stalking off towards the trio as they hosed the man down. Holding back her tears as she felt the car pass by her, all that was left was three of the youngest Hunters and herself. The slight movements of his fingers, the low moans of pain that escaped his bloody, blackened lips caught her attention. "Get the body bag, now!" A smile graced her fine lips, knowing this would finally achieve what she sought.

A small, slender dagger rested in her lap as she watched over her charge. Miles of twists and turns were behind them, yet not even a flicker of life emanated from her captive. Biting her lip, wondering if he had passed beyond the veil, or was he merely conserving his strength. Still, they weren't taking any chances that the man might recover on the trip to the capital. As the van slowed to a crawl, she peered through the loose strands of her hair. Pink hues dusted the sky, foretelling the arrival of a new day.

Her pink nails clinked on the blade of her dagger, waiting for something to happen. Mary wasn't about to be taken by surprise this close to their destination. As the garage door closed, protecting them from the sun's deadly rays. Her heart hammered in her chest, waiting for the garage motor to cease. Mary jolted upright as the van's rear doors were flung open. Her eyes grew wide as Queen Helen stood there, her pale arms outstretched. Her silk maroon gown flowed effortlessly over her taut body. Her raven hair was held back by a diamond-encrusted headband; her glacial blue eyes lingered upon the body bag.

"Ah, Mary, was it?" Mary was too stunned to speak. If she had known that the Queen would greet them, she would have worn something other than her torn jeans and faded nine-inch nails T-shirt. "This is the one that impersonated one of my Hunters?"

"Yes, my Queen, I believe he is still alive." Mary didn't miss the glee that danced along her eyes.

"Good," Helen said, holding out her hand. "You have done this House a great service. Name it, and it shall be yours," she said, smiling sweetly at the girl.

"I... I want to be taken into a House," Mary stammered.

"Looking for a mate, I see," Helen teased. "No harm in that," she said, patting Mary's hand. "I do believe Lord Harland has been looking for a daughter, and I'm sure he will be very pleased."

"Thank you, my Queen," Mary said, bowing low.

"Come, I shall introduce you," Helen said, looping her arm around Mary's. "See to that," she said to the two guards as she pointed at the body bag. Once word had reached her that her son was being brought to her, she made certain that those lesser creatures wouldn't disturb him. A hot bloodbath awaited him; she only hoped his body wasn't too mangled.

Mary could hardly believe it as she walked alongside her Queen. Mary tried to ease her frayed nerves, yet how could one do that when you walked alongside one of the oldest of their kind who was also their Queen. So lost in her own mind, she failed to notice the fine wood carvings that dominated the paneling center. Nor did she notice the late 19th-century gas lamps that had been retrofitted to burn electricity, that sat fixed three-fourths of the way up the walls. The subtle hints of incense that drifted into the hallway from the adjoining rooms, nor the fact that they had come to a stop until Mary heard Helen's soft rasp of her knuckles echoing down the corridor.

"Yes?" answered a page that appeared to be no older than eleven. His blue-green eyes grew wide as he took note of Helen's presence.

"Is your master here?" Helen asked, smiling sweetly at the boy. Seconds passed before the boy's mind could function enough to respond.

"One moment," the boy stammered before softly closing the door.

"My Queen, what a delight," Lord Harland said as he ushered them in. His sandy brown hair was streaked with gray due to his age before he was turned. In the age of England's war with Scotland, Helen had taken advantage of the chaos that ensued. Helen had kept an eye on the man for years, from his large swath of land he governed to the numerous sorties that led to his victories over the Scots.

As he lay dying on a forgotten field lost to history with a spear through his abdomen. Helen came upon him floating over the blood-soaked soil like the angel of death. Offering him a choice between immortality or death. Choosing life, and with it came a large portion of land and a foothold in England and a sizable army. Many of whom would become Hunters enforcing the laws of her empire and hunting down those who opposed her.

"What brings you here at this time of the day?" Harland asked, leading them into his sitting room. Mary was stunned by the sheer volume of antiques that dotted the room. From the flawless Chippendale furniture, the pristine phonograph playing a song she feared she would never hear again. Paintings adorned the walls depicting life in 17th century England, how it made her heart yearn for home. Since her master's death, Mary felt at home for the first time.

"I brought someone here that you should meet," Helen said, propelling Mary forward.

"A pleasure," Harland said, placing a gentle kiss on Mary's hand. "Lord Thomas Harland at your service." Crossing his arm over his chest as he bowed.

"Mary McGee," she said, curtsying, feeling her cheeks flush with heat.

"My, such manners," Helen mocked jokingly.

"Yes, a shame how the world forgets such manners," Harland said, gesturing for them to be seated. Walking casually towards his wine cabinet, taking out three glasses from the top shelf. The warmth of the circulated air within the modified refrigerator was soothing against his skin. Pulling out a crystal decanter, the red spicy liquid sloshed as he filled the wine glasses halfway. Uncorking a bottle from his private reserves, adding a quarter of the sweet wine to their glasses. "Ladies," handing each a glass, "now tell me what this is about?" Harland asked, sipping on his blood spiked wine.

Helen began to describe the events that had brought Mary to her attention. Her boldness in capturing the impostor that had infiltrated Dustin's House. Lord Harland cast a weary glance at Helen; he was one of the few that opposed her son's imprisonment. He knew all too well the depths of a man's vengeance when it came to one he loved.

"So you bring me the daughter I have longed for," Harland muttered, his green eyes flickering over to Mary. "What do you have to say of this?"

Placing down her glass and straightening her back as Mary looked into his eyes. "I have no objections to this," Mary said, gathering her breath. "It would be an honor for one such as I to join a house with unquestionable honor."

"Good, then, I shall have a room prepared for you," Harland said, reaching over to the silver bell next to him. The hurried footsteps of the page were muffled by the thick rug that lined the wooden floor. "Harvey, see that the room down the hall is prepared for my newest daughter," he ordered. With a nod, the boy rushed off towards the servant's quarters. "Now, my Queen, let us discuss the matter of your son." Mary choked down her gasp, for none spoke of the man.

"Oh?! Such as?" Helen asked, leaning back, crossing her legs while resting her hands in her lap.

"The betrothal of my daughter," Harland said, waving his hand towards Mary. While Mary was used to the idea of arranged marriages, she was no stranger to them, given she was supposed to wed the local village sheep herder a week after she was turned. Yet the idea of it after so long was frightening. "To your son, Prince Conner."

"Though this child of yours has done this house a great service. That does not mean she is worthy to wed my son." Mary felt her cheeks grow hot as they spoke as if she wasn't even there.

"That is true she has yet to make a name for herself, however," Harland said, raising a finger. "Was it not this child that brought that impostor here when none dare approach him?" Harland watched Helen for any signs that would give him the body's identity they had brought in. "Can you say any better than Lord Garland's daughter? Was she not the one that fled her house when she should have taken the security of such an ancient house into mind. Instead of allowing her over-eagerness to get the better of her?" The faint wrinkling of her forehead was the only indication of emotion on her ageless face.

"Costing us not only the fuel she used to speed her flight. Allowing her prisoner to run free to lay waste to two Houses. Now Dustin's betrayal, I'm beginning to wonder if she had a hand in all of this," Harland said, draining the last dregs of his glass. "So tell me, my Queen, after all the women he has sent away, would he choose her?" he asked, giving Helen a knowing look of her son's last words. "When I have such a lovely daughter that isn't afraid of the gruesome aspects of our world." A fine smile graced her face as she leaned sideways towards Mary.

"Look at him, not five seconds after you're brought into his house, and he's already trying to marry you off," Helen whispered into Mary's ear. "What do you think of this?" Her cold blue eyes took a measure of the woman.

"Why not let her meet the man before she makes her decision." Helen's head snapped around, her eyes narrowed, casting daggers at Harland. Harland had only seen this reaction when it involved her son. He knew all that charm she showed was a facade, yet when it came to her son, you saw more of the woman that lie beneath that stony exterior.

"As you wish, Lord Harland, although I cannot guarantee that my son will take a liking to her or her to him," Helen said, getting to her feet. "Once he has recovered, I shall send word to you." Harland filed that tidbit of information for later use.

"Forgive me, Mary, for using you in such a manner," Harland sighed as the door closed. "If I had a choice, I wouldn't place you within her sights." Mary's ears perked at his foreboding statement.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked, casting him a weary glance.

"There is something about this whole affair with Dustin's betrayal, John's mur*er, and the loss of an ancient House. There's something about this that the Queen wants no one to know about. At least I know part of it," Harland said, casting her a weary glance. "What do you know of the war between our kind and mankind?"

"Nothing really, just tidbits of a story that my master used to ramble on about on his good days," Mary said, remembering the days when her master's insanity had yet to seize his mind. "Though he was half-crazed by that time, so I cannot tell what truth is and what is fiction of his delusions."

"Then allow me the honor to show you the history of our race," Harland said, lifting himself out of his chair. Jumping to her feet as Lord Harland approached the far wall. If she lived for another hundred years, she would never get used to how or why they hid their doors. Stopping at the threshold, Mary marveled at the sheer volume of tomes that lined the walls. While not an overly large room, half the size of the sitting room, shelves were built into the walls to accommodate the lack of space. A person only had enough space to walk around the table that dominated the space.

"Please, forgive the cramped space; we lesser nobles weren't asked about floor space when they built this place," Harland said as he peered around the room. His green eyes scanned the rows of leather-bound books, looking for what Mary couldn't say. His eyes fell on an old tan faded cover, his hand gingerly pulling it out, cradling it in his arms so as not to put stress on the centuries-old leather. "Come forth, child," he said, beckoning her forward. "Now, before we begin." His pale hand rested over the cover barring any from gaining the knowledge within.

"What we discuss today can never leave your lips." Harland's voice was stern, carrying the severity of their situation. "For if the Queen learned that I, a minor noble, had such a tome, our house would not see the dawn. I must have your word that you will speak of this to no one." Mary doubted the Queen would do anything of the sort. Yet the deadly tone of Harland's voice told her otherwise.

"You have it," Mary replied with a nod.

"Now," opening the book slowly so as not to tear the yellowed vellum, "no one knows how the Queen came to be or how old she truly is. Although I have a suspicion she was born this way, many suspect her mother was a mortal in some dark pagan ritual to some dark god that gave rise to our kind. A few believe she is Lilith, Adam's first wife thrown out due to the evil that lies in her soul. Out of all the theories that have arisen over the years, those two make the most sense. Given that those brave souls that asked her out right were never seen again," Harland said, pausing to allow that news to settle on her shoulders. "Yet we are not here to debate our origin." Painstakingly turning each page until he came upon the only surviving portrait of the Prince. Mary's eyes absorbed the rich colors, the fine workmanship that went into the artwork. Then she took note of the man that dominated the background.

She could hardly believe it as her fingers ran down the yellowed, aged vellum. Tracing along his jawline, he came incredibly close while the artist could not fully depict the light in his pale blue eyes. His wind swept raven hair, the fierce set of his supple lips as he gazed out on the battlefield below him. The glint of his armor as he stood on the cliff overlooking the two warring armies. Yes, she has seen that man before; however, she saw something else within the man that seemed lost now.

"I am told this was taken on the eve of the final battle. I have it on good authority that the Prince grumbled at the request," Harland said, studying her face. "Though I was brought into this life during the Jacobite uprisings. The remnants of that war still could be seen, for the war had depleted both our ranks. We were driven into the shadows of history yet while our foes dwindled to nothing. Their order died out a generation later, and we became nothing more than tales to frighten small children," Harland sighed.

"What was he like?" Mary asked, keeping her tone passive yet something in her yearned to hear more about the man she had met.

"Hmm," scratching his chin, "I only met the man twice in passing; from what I gathered, he never attended court unless his mother ordered it, which it appeared was to his liking. From what I saw, he cared nothing for the squabbling of the highborn that dominates court life. I think that was the only reason he fought in the war was to escape the bickering hens. Yet given his discomfort of court life, I can only assume the war was paradise."

"Surely not," Mary said, aghast.

"You will learn that the noble houses are always under some form of an attack that their foes can muster. If it wasn't for the Queen's interference, our halls would be filled with streams of blood. Some days I simply wish I was a lowborn, then I wouldn't have to worry about a dagger in the back." Mary heard the exhaustion in his voice.

"Well, you are no longer alone," Mary said, smiling sweetly at the old Lord.

"Not anymore," Harland said, a wiry smile touching his lips. "So it was him you brought with you?" he asked, pointing to the picture. Biting her lip then quickly nodded that it was so. "Then it was him that torched his home and killed John. However, I cannot fault the man, for if it was me that was injured so grievously, I might do the same," Harland muttered into his chest as he leaned on the table. "This is most troubling to hear; I fear if he is not discouraged from this course of action, we may have another war on our hands, if not a civil one."

"Why, what do you mean?" Mary asked, reaching across the table taking hold of his arm.

"Come if I must tell this tale, I at least wish to do it in comfort," Harland said, letting out a breath leading Mary back to the sitting room. "Now I was against this from the start," he said, retaking his seat in the brown leather chair. "Yet, the Queen would hear none of it; to her, it was a betrayal. Her son marrying a woman from the working class, let alone a human. However, I was overlooked time and time again; Helen saw her bloodline being diluted due to their union. Her alliances crumbling if she did not stop her son." Leaning forward, dark shadows played across Harland's face.

"Yet, to Ra*e and drain her dry, they had gone too far!" Mary sucked in a gasp at the sheer vileness that was done to the man. "I could do nothing as she had him whipped to the bone and tossed into darkness for a hundred years."

"But that's..." Mary's voice trailed off, unable to come to terms with it all.

"Horrible, cruel, vile," sadness danced across his eyes, "yes, I agree; however, you must understand; the Prince is the only true highborn if you don't take into account his mother. As much as the other nobles like to think of themselves as highborn, they are nothing more than turned, just with the privilege of their social standing when they came into this life. Even their children are no more highborn as their parents are; they will never be as powerful as that man is."

Helen's blue satin gown flowed around her as she entered the underground submersion chamber. Her nostrils flared at the scent of the heated, circulated blood. The slushing of the crimson liquid against the porcelain tub, its song pulling at her ancient hunger to partake of its blissful sweetness. Her high heels echoed off the tile; gas lamps flickered in the artificial breeze that was blown through the vents.

She has visited her son for days, judging his recovery, taking note of the pink skin as the charred remains flaked off. Helen trusted no one to see to this other than herself. The lights would be gentle on his newly healed eyes; IVs were on hand once his time in the bath was over. Resting on the lip of the tub, her eyes peered into the depths of the heated liquid. Looking for any signs that the shadowed figure showed any signs of movement, her ears strained to hear the faintest of heartbeats.

"Not today, it appears," Helen sighed heavily into her chest. Walking towards the door, peering over her shoulder, sorrow filled her eyes on what she had afflicted upon her child.

"I wish to see him!" Lynn blurted out as Helen entered her public sitting room.

"Oh, and you think to command me?" Helen said, her tone light, yet her words carried her displeasure.

"Forgive my bluntness," Lynn said, placing her balled fist behind her back. "It's been so long since I've seen my betrothed." Helen weighed her request as she walked towards her favorite chair.

"Then I fear you must wait a little longer," Helen said, noting the anger that played across her reverse teardrop face. "Have you not heard the request from Lord Harland?"

"No, no, I haven't," Lynn said, keeping the shock from her face. "However, my offer is long in standing, and I'm a better candidate than some minor noblewoman."

"That may be, Lynn, yet I cannot decide this when Conner still slumbers. Until then, none may see my son until that time comes."

"As you wish, my lady," Lynn said, bowing as she exited.

"My lady, are you well," Shawn said, ducking the flying vase before shattering against the wall. "What troubles you?"

"I was all but guaranteed the throne!" Lynn fumed, tossing aside the chair. "Now I can't see the Prince, all because of some upstart woman!" Shawn said nothing as priceless china came to an end, noting everything he could use to further his own plans.

"If you believe this woman is a threat to you, why not see that she is taken care of?"

"Do you take me for a fool?! Do you have any idea what the Queen or Lord Harland would do once they found out I had a hand in her demise? What should I do once I become a rogue to be hunted down? She has too many friends at the moment to be taken care of in any form," Lynn said, sticking her face within an inch of his.

"Then..." That was all Shawn could mutter before Lynn cut him off.

"I am noble-born. I have served the Queen in ways that would curl even your toes," Lynn said, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "Yet, once again, I must prove that I am the better."

Helen awoke with a start; the steady beat of another's heart, not her own, filled her ears. Jolting upright in her bed, throwing off the covers, stopping at the threshold of her door, remembering that she had nothing more on than her black lace teddy. Dashing back towards her bed, snatching up her black silk robe. Hastily tying a loose knot in the belt racing towards the submersion chamber. Sliding along the tile floor, her breath was stolen as her son stood before her. Rivulets of blood ran down his newly healed skin, droplets hung precariously along his fingertips. His raven hair was slicked back, crimson streaks highlighting his midnight locks.

"Conner." His name was nothing but a whisper on her lips. His pale blue eyes peered over his right shoulder, and in that maddening glance, she saw his hatred for her. This was not the boy she had condemned; no, this was a killer with no remorse for those around him or himself. Before Conner could launch himself at his mother, weakness overtook him. His legs buckling underneath him, his hand darted out, catching hold of the edge of the tub. Yet, he was not expecting the firm grip of his mother's arm wrapped around his waist. "Come, my son, you are weary and in need of a proper bath," Helen said, brushing his damp hair behind his ear. "Once you are cleaned, we shall see that you are restored to continue your hunt." Conner glared at her suspiciously.

"Right, and I'm to believe that when even you will meet the same fate," Conner growled.

"Conner, you must believe me. I took no pleasure in what I did to you," Helen said, kicking open the door to the bathroom. "You have no idea how much it pained me..." Maddening laughter bubbled up from Conner's throat.

"Pain! Oh, I know all about pain," Conner sneered, trying to push his mother away, yet her grip was like iron. "I spent twenty years in pain," he spat.

"If I could take it all back, Conner, I would; I cannot change what happened in the past," Helen said, pleading with him. She saw the defiance in his eyes, the musical twitch of the jaw wanting to refute her claims. "If you wish for my life Conner here it is," she said, over the sound of the water as it poured into the lion claw tub. Tilting her head to the side, pulling aside her robe, revealing her left breast. Conner grunted as he slipped into the steaming water. Not believing for a second, she would willingly offer her life to him. Smiling inwardly that at least for the moment, she had him off guard and easy prey. Handing him a washcloth and a bar of soap, Helen set out to wash the clotting blood from his hair.

"I'm not so feebleminded that I can't wash myself," Conner said as her lathered hands ran through his hair.

"I know, son, humor me," Helen said, filling a pitcher full of the bathwater. "How could I ever think of that when you so masterfully slipped past London House's defenses? You have the nobles all in a flutter over it, me; however, I agree: John had it coming long before your imprisonment. Now Dustin's betrayal has us grasping at straws as to where he would flee. Some believe he returned to Europe, siding with those that broke away from me. Fools, do they not know I am the mother to all?!

Others think he has fled west where the lowborn have spread across the Midwest like a plague. In this, I have to agree with them. Dustin would have to transverse a great deal of land that I govern. Dustin's a fool, yet not a stupid one. So the logical choice, for the man on the run, is to head west," Helen said, watching as the bathwater took on a darkening pink hue.

"But enough of this, there is time to go into such things when you're fully healed. Now I know you may not wish to hear this at the moment, yet I must inform you Lord Harland put forth his daughter's hand in marriage. There is also Lady Lynn to consider who has also looked after you all these years." Conner huffed at the foolishness of it when he doubted he'd be alive for much longer. Even if he did survive this trial, he doubted he would be a Prince for much longer. As if his mother could read his mind. "Fear not my son none other than I know it was you," Helen said, stroking his hair. Pushing herself off the cold floor, grabbing a towel from the shelf, laying it within easy reach of her son. "Take your time, Conner. I shall have clothes put out for you once you're done."​