Helena was feeling lazy. Owen’s blood was potent stuff. It was honestly impressive that he hadn’t been made a pet, willing or otherwise.

He was certainly playing the part, head in her lap, half asleep and content. She carded her fingers through his hair and smiled when he leaned into her touch.

“I have a stupid question,” he mumbled without opening his eyes. “It’s rude too.”

“I don’t mind,” Helena assured him, amused and a little sleepy herself, and willing to forgive nearly any rudeness as long as she didn’t have to get up. “What is your question?”

“The Elder you killed in Josef’s lair,” Owen said slowly. “He said you were very young.”

“He did,” Helena agreed with a faint smile that Owen couldn’t see. “Wilhelm was Turned during the Witch Hunts of Europe, and was old by any vampire’s standards.”

“Sure,” Owen said, and finally opened his eyes. “But that’s the thing. I’ve got some Fae blood, you know?”

“I do.”

It was hard to miss that little fact with the magic of his blood burning a trail through her veins. The blood of Others was rare and prized for the power it provided. Owen probably didn’t know how much she wanted to have him again.

But no. She liked him too much, and his delightful humanity was a part of her fondness for him.

“Well,” he said, and rolled over so he could wrap his arms around her waist comfortably, but gave no indication of wanting to get up. “See, my Gramma, she was from the Old Country. Scotland.”

“Oh?” That was interesting. Owen kept his history a closely guarded secret, and not without reason. Hunter families were often targeted. “What of it?”

“Well, Gramma knew a vampire,” he said, and opened one eye to look up at her. Helena smiled down at him and traced one fingertip over his brow and nose. “In the fourteen-hundreds. A vampire named Heléne.”

“It was not an uncommon name,” Helena allowed, and tapped the tip of his nose lightly. “Are you asking how old I am, Hunter?”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I said it was rude.”

“You did.”

She considered for a while. Long enough that he started to doze again, a pillar of warmth curled against her cool skin.

“I was born in England,” she said quietly after coming to a decision. “Not wealthy, but not destitute either. We never wanted for food, for all that it was not always particularly good food.”

“Who was king?”

Helena laughed softly. “Edward.”

“Which one?” Owen was interested enough to sit up and give her his full attention. “There were like, six.”

“Seven or eight, depending on whether you count the one that abdicated before his coronation,” Helena said, and smiled. The color was back in his cheeks, and he was clearly feeling better for some rest. “Edward the Third. His son, the Black Prince, was only two years older than me.”

“That’s the thirteen-hundreds,” Owen realized when he did the math. Helena was rather surprised he knew the English kings so well, considering how quintessentially American he was. “You’re almost seven hundred years old?”

“Six hundred, eighty-six,” Helena admitted her precise age easily. Not all vampires kept track of their age, but she enjoyed marking the centuries as they passed. “I was born in thirteen thirty-two.”

“The witch burnings were at the end of the fourteenth century,” Owen thought out loud, and cracked a grin. “That Elder, he thought he was older than you, didn’t he?”

“My first three centuries were spent traveling,” Helena admitted, and smiled at the now-distant memories. “My family thought I was dead. I was free of human restraints. I dedicated myself to learning everything there was to know. Tactics, magic, art. I even spent some time as a particularly untalented poet.”

“Quiet way to enter the Vampire scene,” Owen murmured, and closed his eyes again, even though Helena’s finger traced over his throat, and his pulse. “Why do they all think you’re so young?”

“That was deliberate,” Helena told him honestly. “I made a show of my appearance, when I came back to England. I entered Vampire society, and feigned ignorance of my abilities, and let the Greatest of our elders think me a Childe. That has been of great value to me over the years. Three hundred years equates to a lot of power that most do not know I have.”

“I’m glad I came to you,” Owen said after a while. “That first night. I picked you because you have a reputation for working with non-vampires, but I’m glad now.”

“Because I am a more powerful ally than you thought?” Helena teased, and chuckled when he opened his eyes again, very serious all of a sudden.

“Because you’re a good ally to have,” he tried to explain. “Because you’re a good friend too.”

“I should hope we are more than friends at this point,” Helena said, intentionally dismissive, because it was always amusing to get a rise out of him. “Since you’ve had my fangs in your throat.”

“That was fun,” Owen didn’t take the bait, but did wink saucily up at her. “We should do that again.”

“Ask me again when you have time to think it over,” Helena told him, very firm on that point. It was a big decision, and not one to be made lightly, even if it never became more serious than some time shared and blood spent. “For now, my human, sleep. You can ask me more rude questions tomorrow.”