FND: Yes, it's short, but there's more on the way. Please bear with me! And if you're impatient for more "VH", check out my newest work: "Marigold".

Chapter 18

Fantastical Fascination

The long grass that had sprouted up through the old, broken concrete felt nice and cool against her rosy, warmed skin. Newly fed and comfortable, Bulma stretched lazily and sighed, nestled nicely in a wild niche of vegetation. Her smile was small, content as she breathed in the haunting scent of the clumps of amaranth flowers that dominated the little patch of vegetation. She'd always liked the small, sweet flowers and the astounding variety of colors they came in.

The sky visible between the broken building structures was dark, far enough away from the working city lights for her to make out faint outlines of stars. Amused, she used her finger and traced connections from dot to brilliant dot, outlining the constellations she knew by heart. The light from the curve of a half moon made her skin white in the dark—the pale, translucent white skin of a ghost or some strange, ethereal beauty. Her pink lips curved and she indulged in a very soft laugh, blue eyes twinkling. She was getting sentimental in her old age, wasn't she? At that thought, she threw back her head and laughed again, louder. 'Old age' indeed! She was fifty-three and didn't look a damned day over thirty.

Her husband had missed no opportunity to sneer at her years ago whenever he'd caught her indulging her in youthful, obsessive vanity. "How many times do I have to tell you, woman? It doesn't matter what you do, you'll get just as old and wrinkly as the rest of the pitiful weaklings on this planet!"

The pleased smile ebbed slightly and her expression became thoughtful. Well...he hadn't been her husband, not technically... But Bulma wondered what Vegeta would think if he could see her now. She folded her hands over her stomach and mulled it over. It had been some time since she'd thought of the proud Saiyan man that had flipped her entire life upside-down almost a quarter-century ago. He'd been a vain creature himself, her mighty Prince of All Saiyans—an arrogant, scarred and handsome demi-god among the insignificant mortals. They'd despised each other on sight and mere principle, had spent their days sniping and arguing fiercely over every little thing. It hadn't taken long for their angry passion to shift into another kind of fire between them.

They enjoyed each other in a basic, primal way. He wanted her. She wanted him. It was little more than that, at first. During and after their affairs, they continued their usual fighting with just as much meanness and spite. But once in a while, the stoic prince would let something slip and Bulma had begun to see that the Saiyan had his own demons to fight, like everyone else. He was morbidly obsessed with his own lifespan, pushed just short of madness to gain immortality. He was a Saiyan, aged impossibly slow, healed every wound, and would've remained healthy and handsome for decades, had he lived long enough. But still, Vegeta had been desperately afraid of death, though he'd have curled his fingers viciously around her throat had she ever spit the truth of it at him.

Bulma stared pensively at the sky. She was still beautiful, which she believed he would've liked. Part of her had always worried if Vegeta would've remained interested in her once she'd gotten older. It had been one of her insecurities when she'd been pregnant with her son. But her own eternal beauty aside, she wondered now if Vegeta would've become a Vampire, if he'd had the chance. To be immortal, like he always wanted, without that fear hanging over his every waking moment—to still be with her to this day...

She closed her eyes and remembered one of the few times he'd actually spent the whole night with her. She'd lain beside him and watched him sleep, confused and surprisingly endeared by the relaxed, almost vulnerable expression on his face. His tanned skin so dark against her white sheets, his hair like black fire across her pillow, his arm tucked under his cheek, the other curled possessively around her waist, even in respite...

Her eyes opened halfway. The thought of Vegeta hiding from the sun, forever lurking in the shadows seemed...wrong, somehow. Immortal or not, she'd always seen him as some bright, defiant star, proud and fierce. She couldn't see him ducking the light, recoiling from something as measly as holy water, or to have to submit to the hunger for blood. She shook her head in silent dissent. It just wasn't something she'd wish upon Vegeta, not even to keep him with her. Relying on a human for blood would've driven him mad, would've caused him endless shame and disgrace. Perhaps his warrior's death had been right for him, after all...

Oh, but Trunks had been so excited when he'd come back from the past, full of stories and ramblings about the father he'd never known. Yes, she'd been right when she'd told him Vegeta was an ass of man and no, he had seen a difference in Vegeta before he'd left.

Tsk. My poor boy, Bulma sighed in her mind. He always wanted so desperately to be accepted by his father... She wasn't sure how the Vegeta of the past had turned out after Trunks' intervention, but the Vegeta she'd known and loved had wanted absolutely nothing to do with "her half-breed brat". After the initial sting of his rejection, Bulma had been determined to be both mother and father for her son, until Vegeta decided he was ready to be a damned father.

But then... Goku had died, and a great part of Vegeta's world crashed over his head. If there was only one obsession greater than his need for immortality, it was his desire to finally best the one he called Kakarot. And when Bulma's dearest childhood friend had sickened and died suddenly, Vegeta was one of the hardest hit. If the only one Vegeta ever considered to be greater than himself could be killed by something so-so lowly as a virus, then...what possible hope was there for Vegeta?

Still hurting from his rejection, Bulma nevertheless had tried to be there for Vegeta. He grew even more distant, spending all his time training, pushing himself to the very edge of death again and again in futile hope that he would grow stronger and live just a while longer. He was beyond desperate at that point and more than once, Bulma had decided that he had finally lost his thin grasp on sanity. He had confided in her once, the last time they were together, that he was inches away from becoming one of the legendary Super Saiyans, one far stronger than any level Kakarot had ever achieved.

A week later the Androids had ended his life like the wind snuffs out a flame. After what she'd been told was hours of absolute torture, just a flicker of light, a low burst of energy from those monsters, and her all-powerful lover was gone.

She plucked one of the ruby amaranth blossoms beside her and twirled its vibrant green stem between her fingers pensively. She remembered feeling violently ill that day, a wretched tightness in her chest and a sticky sourness in her gut. Little Gohan had come to Capsule Corp. that night, beaten bloody and sobbing apologies. T-They got him, the half-Saiyan child had hiccupped, scrubbing blood and tears from his face. I'm so s-sorry, Bulma, Vegeta...he was—his legs, he couldn't get away...

Bulma curled her fingers tight, crushing the fragile bloom in her fist as she sat up. Her expression was dispassionate as she stared at the torn crimson petals against her white skin. It had been almost twenty years since then, but she recalled clearly holding her toddler son that night and laughing hysterically until she was bawling, her child's frightened screams nearly drowned out by her own noise. It had taken Gohan more than an hour to pry her howling son from her clinging, desperate arms.

The next few weeks passed by in a blur of grief and hazy pain until Gohan's persistence and the mewling whimpers of her son had forced her out of her fog. Bulma had begun to live again, but that had been the beginning of the loneliness: a deep, throbbing wound of pain and longing that never completely healed over.

But Bulma had the opportunity to fix that now. She shook the shredded flower petals from her hand and watched them drift down to the ground listlessly. She could have her son with her—and if she worked hard enough, she'd have him forever.

It wouldn't be easy, by any means. Bulma remembered clearly the prickling hatred and contempt her son had shown her in the Dark Haven Cemetery, the careless, certain way Trunks had told her that he'd kill her right along with Dominique, the icy detachment with which he'd broken her arm like a twig... No, it wouldn't be easy at all. But Bulma did have one advantage now that she didn't have before. He'd wanted to get rid of her because she wasn't Human anymore. Well, he wasn't Human anymore either. She'd seen to that herself. If that lieutenant and that doctor hadn't gotten involved, she'd have been able to complete her baby's transcendence. Her lips trembled into a small smile. He'd been so needy and desperate for her when she'd gone to his hospital room, wrapped tight in her arms as she listened to his tiring, weak heart beating pitifully. She had been so close...and had failed.

The wind stirred again, twisting flower petals into her short turquoise hair. "If you're trying to hide," she said thoughtfully to the silent shadows, "you're not doing a very good job of it." She turned her head, letting the blue light of Vampirism fill her eyes. "Then again, you're just a baby, aren't you?"

Flat eyes watched her silently from the darkness.

"She's got you on a very short leash, doesn't she?" Her mouth stretched into an amused half-smile, showing only enough of her fangs to disprove her mortality. "Well, you can go right back and tell your creator that I'll convert my son on my own—and I won't share him with her." Bulma nodded primly and dismissed the stranger with a dainty wave of her hand. "Go on, go on. The next time she wants to have a little talk, she can come see me herself."

"Arrogant bitch." The voice was low and thick—and so very young. As her visitor stepped from the shadow, Bulma sighed a little for the poor mother out there somewhere that was surely mourning her lost child. He could only be five or so years older than her own boy. "Don't take her lightly." She was actually disappointed when he returned back into the shadows. "I'll be back."

Bulma's smile was gone now, replaced by morbid curiosity. "I look forward to it, young man," she assured him softly as his fading footsteps were swallowed by the wind.

Her palms were damp inside her thin leather gloves, her fingers trembling ever so slightly on the grip of her weapon. She forced her voice to be firm and steady in the freezing darkness. Snow clung sharply to the knot of pale blonde hair curled at the nape of her neck. "This is General Adelina Atkins of the Aderes Order speaking." Her own voice echoed back to her hollowly. "You have one minute to show yourself and surrender peacefully before I exercise necessary force to subdue you, as per my orders."

"You're a bit young for this, aren't you?"

Her delicate weapon jerked as she whipped around, trying desperately to get a lock on the voice bouncing off the walls of the decrepit, crumbling cathedral. Despite the freezing Budapest winter, sweat trickled a chilly line down her spine. She fought back a shiver as her gray eyes danced around for her target. She'd lost her communicator on her way to the church; she was essentially on her own. The thin, sharp stiletto shook in her hand ."I repeat, you have one minute to surrender yourself peacefully into my c-custody—" The sensation of being watched had her voice stammering nervously.

"I didn't know those old bastards sent children to fight their battles for them now." That voice, that damnable voice, was impossible to pinpoint. With the acoustics of the old building and the dampening factor of the snow, the woman's words seemed to originate from everywhere at once. For all Lina knew, the cool words were borne on the same icy harsh wind that whirled in through the broken stain-glass windows. "You ought to go home, little girl, before you get yourself hurt."

Lina stiffened, her spine going rigid in the face of her fear. She was a goddamned general, wasn't she? Her grandmother had warned her about this particular Vampire, the Order had intelligence on her. Lina was prepared. She flexed her fingers on her weapon as she circled slowly, silently. The voice was closer now. Her eyes focused on the remains of leaning stone support column and she crept carefully forward. "You now have approximately thirty seconds to surrender yourself peacefully."

"You sound like a broken record, you know."

Changing her stance into something that would enhance her movement, she held her breath and went still with her back against the curve of the column, muscles tense. Lina didn't dare to close her eyes even for a moment, so she swallowed hard and prepared herself. With a steady grip on the stiletto and a silent Gaelic prayer, she launched herself around the curve of the column, arm poised mid-level for an instant strike.

Her blade hit empty air.

The faintest whisper sounded behind her. "Lost?" Lina gasped and whirled herself around, only to have cold fingers curl around her wrist, halting the stiletto in the air. "Oh, no, none of that." As her breath clogged in her chest, Lina realized she finally had a face to go with the voice that had been haunting her in this godforsaken church. Direct emerald green eyes set in an ethereally pale face studied her casually, the unsmiling mouth a thin line above a lightly pointed chin.. Her hair was night-black and straight as poured water, stirring in the snowy breeze. Dominique Kellis matched her photograph—and her grandmother's description of her—exactly. To Lina's surprise, the other woman looked just several years older than she herself was, but the strength with which Dominique held onto Lina's wrist was no joke.

Lina jerked on her arm. There was no slack in the woman's grip. "Let go of me!" she hissed. She arched her leg up to deliver a strong short kick and the immortal held her leg suspended. Lina twisted her body and ended up having her last leg swept from under her. She hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, leaving her gasping on the slick stone floor.

Dominique crouched down beside her, leaning over her with her head tilted slightly. Not once did those green eyes blink, not even when those cold fingers curled around her throat firmly. Lina struggled and the woman tightened her grip warningly. "You don't heal a crushed windpipe," she reminded Lina, "so I suggest you don't move around so much." Lina went absolutely still. "Now...you're going to answer my questions. My first question: how old are you, little girl?"

"I am not a little girl," Lina spit through clenched teeth, her thin fingers curled around Dominique's wrist. In silent response, Dominique applied enough pressure to make Lina work for her next breath. "Eleven!" she gasped out. "I'm eleven!"

"I thought so." The Vampire lowered her lashes. "Sounds to me like Aderes is running out of options if he's using children to do his worldwide hunting. Next question: how did you find me?"

"You've been sighted in this church multiple times in the last thirty years." Lina strained her fingers for the stiletto she dropped and Dominique flexed her fingers harder. "It was a g-gamble...with little chance of finding you..."

"It was a gamble with your life and your little chance of keeping it, little girl. Anyone else who stalked me here would be dead. Now listen and listen closely." Dominique lifted Lina off the ground with one hand until the girl was eyelevel with her.

Gray eyes stared anxiously into green. Lina's breathing was labored, her small heart beating frantically in her chest. Through the haze of low oxygen was a thick layer of fear. What did I get myself into? Lina silently lamented. Why did I think I could do this? What kind of general am I?

"In a few moments, I am going to let you go and I am going to leave. You will not follow me, you will not track me, and you will not come back to Budapest." Dominique reached into the inside pocket of her thin coat and took out Adelina's small communicator. "You should be more careful with your toys, little girl." She pushed the distress signal on the device and let it drop to the snowy ground. "Your masters should come get you in an hour's time." She paused when she noticed the thin trickles of tears streaming from Lina's eyes.

"Why don't you just kill me and stop toying with me?" Lina rasped hoarsely. "Pretending you're going to let me go is just cruel and sick."

To Lina's astonishment, Dominique rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. "You just can't take a gift graciously, can you, kid? So, let me get this straight. I'm letting you live and have actually called people to rescue you, and you wanna debate that I'm toying with you so I can kill you? Kids these days. So cynical." She dropped Lina onto the ground and stuck her hands in her pockets, watching the girl gain her bearings. "I've no more time to play with you—the main point is that if you come back to Budapest, I'll end you. And try being a little damn grateful that I'm leaving you in one piece this time, would you?" She turned on her heel and started to stroll away from the gaping child on the snow-covered stones. "By the way, 'General Adelina Atkins'...you're the only general to have ever attacked me and lived. Congratulations."

Lina stared incredulously at the retreating form of the Vampire until a biting wind forced her to blink. When she opened her eyes again, the Vampire was gone. Her mind reeling, Lina sat there with her fingers on her bruised throat, unaware that beneath all the fear and confusion...there was fascination.

FND: As always please review and let me know what you think. Again, yes, I know it's short, but bear with me, there's more on the way.