Akeldama

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 17^th 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 murder, 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 rape 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."

Chapter Three

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."