Conquering Hell (The Master's Bloodline Series: Book 3)

By McKinley Adams

When not drinking, fighting or partying--Accalia Jameson spends most of her days training for the day when she may be called upon to lead her mother’s pack. But her life is forever changed after learning the truth about her late father’s identity--and something even more disturbing: Her own mother may have had a hand in his death.
After abandoning her lavish life and traveling far from the safety of her wolfpack, Accalia is forced into uneasy alliances which lead her to a destination that no one would have ever expected: The Underworld. And just when Accalia feels she can’t handle anymore truth, she discovers there’s a secret battle brewing--and it has everything to do with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: McKinley Adams
• Release date: May 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310367540

McKinley Adams

McKinley Adams is a native of North Carolina and has been writing for 12 years. He has written seven novels; A Crack in the Glass, Death and Women Come in Threes, The Circle of the Dragon, Birth of an Assassin, The Master's Bloodline, and Beyond Here. His most recent work is entitled: Conquering Hell.

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Conquering Hell

* * * * *

The Master's Bloodline

Series: Book 3

By

McKinley Adams

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

McKinley Adams

Conquering Hell

Copyright © 2015 by McKinley Adams

This eBook remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Chapter One

My name is Accalia Jameson and I’m a Werewolf. Kinda. Sorta. Well, not really. Okay, I know all that sounds a bit confusing so allow me to explain. My mother is a Were but my father wasn't. I think he must have been human—at least that's what I figured out from what little Mom would tell me about him. My mother is Talya Jameson; Alpha Prima of the Jameson Pack—based out of Washington DC. She comes from a long line of very powerful wolves, stretching all the way back to the time when the first Homo sapiens stepped foot on North American soil. She is a full blooded Werewolf which means like all Weres, she has the ability to completely shift into an actual furry, four-legged, yellow-eyed wolf. Me? Not so much. I can shift into a bipedal half-wolf but not much further than that. That means no furry feet or bushy tails for this gal. Also, unlike the others I don’t howl at the moon or have a thirst for violence. Luckily, I did at least inherit the Were strength, speed and reflexes—and a set of wicked ass retractable fangs and claws.

If I had to describe ‘me’ in fifty words or less I’d say I was tall—way too tall for a woman in my opinion. I’m 5’11’’, which for a chick is Sasquatch territory—especially since Mom is barely over five feet tall. I suspect my height comes from my father. I’m muscular, but not overly so and light-skinned. My hair is very dark and thick, which makes me prefer to wear it in a single braid. My hair definitely comes from my mother’s side of the family—or rather the Native American DNA that has long since been buried in their genes.

I’ve spent most of my life amongst my mother’s people; the Werewolves. But between me and you, I’ve never really felt a kinship with them or even felt like I fit in. Some nights when the moon is high and bright they like to shift into their wolves and go running through the woods buck ass naked. Not really my thing, ya know? Besides, since I'm not a full Were and can't fully shift it just makes things awkward. No one really says anything about it though and members of our pack are respectful enough but still; feeling like an outsider amongst your own people sucks—besides, I suspect I’m only shown respect out of fear; my mom is quite the badass.

Now don’t confuse the word badass with tyrant because most members of our pack see my mother as a liberator of sorts. Ever since arriving in DC almost twenty years ago, she’d managed to bring together several warring packs and mold them into a single cohesive unit. The initial effort was bloody and a lot of heads got ripped off in the process—but ultimately, the ends justified the means.

Harsh but fair was Mom's mantra: That meant if you obeyed all the rules and proved yourself a valuable member of the pack you would live a long and healthy life—but if you cross her or violate the peace in any way: You'd pay dearly for it. It worked for the most part. I mean sure, DC had its fair share of problems but overall it is still a great place to live. The crime rate was relatively low, nobody is at war and the residents of this and the other areas within our domain were fairly well off. We may not have all the modern conveniences like some of the larger cities but we were doing pretty darn well if I do say so myself. And unlike other areas, we haven’t had a major conflict with any of the surrounding Vampire Lords or Lesser Alpha's in almost a decade and a half.

My mother spends a lot of time and effort preparing me for the day when I might be called upon to lead our people—or the day when I decide to branch off and start my own pack. Trained to fight since the time I grew my first fang, Mom instilled in me the following values:

Trust no one (except your mother of course).

Friends are for the weak.

When in doubt, kill it first and figure it all out later.

Only accept a mate that can best you in battle. (Yeah, I've chosen to ignore that little gem. Hell if he's cute enough, I'll let him win.)

…and several dozen other trinkets that I've chosen to forget, but you get the point. Secretly, I hope I never have to lead a pack—especially after seeing just how empty my mother’s life appears to be. Aside from me, she has no one. I’ve asked her why she’s never chosen another mate, but she always claims it’s because she doesn’t have the time or the desire. I am not sure I believe her and I suspect it has something to do with my father, especially by the way she always tries to dissuade me from even talking about him. That tells me one thing: She loved him a lot. I can tell from the pain I see in her eyes whenever I used to ask about him. And so I’ve stopped asking questions.

Our pack lands stretch all the way from DC—which we’ve claimed as our Capitol, to parts of Delaware, Maryland and a tiny sliver of Tennessee. And since Mom’s pack covers such a large range, humans, Weres and Vampires alike fall under her domain—which means I have many acquaintances that are of varying species. Sadly, I never really felt like I fit in with any of them either. In my opinion, the single greatest benefit of having friends of different species’ is that I get to see how the other half live. Being around them gives me just a little bit of insight about other species. For example, in other parts of the world, Weres and Vampires are often natural enemies—but I have started to notice that both species have surprisingly similar ideas of fun. They both love a good fight, they both like to skulk around in the woods, eating raw meat or drinking animal blood—which is a little on the disgusting side if you ask me.

Every so often I like to play zoologist and hang out at a human club and watch them drink, flirt or dance and do all the other silly things humans do. I'm able to retract my claws and fangs so I have no problem fitting in—plus, I’m a pretty good dancer. It usually works out well until a fight breaks out and then all hell breaks loose. Even though they’ve been aware of our existence for almost forty years, humans can be fickle sometimes when it comes to being in the presence of the supernatural, but as long as I can keep my cool, I can remain undetected. Sometimes when I get angry my claws and fangs extend against my will. I'm still working on that. My Mom says I get my temper from her and that she too was a spitfire but has since found the benefit in controlling her temper. I guess old age has its benefits. By the way; if you tell her that I made a crack about her age I will deny it to high heaven and possibly kick your ass.

Werewolves age very slowly and although she'll never admit it—I’ve estimated Mom’s age to be nearly a hundred years old. However in her human form, she looks to be a woman in her mid thirties. Weres age much like a human until reaching the age of 30 or so and then all of a sudden they began to age more and more slowly until they reach a point where they no longer age at all. For example, there are Weres in our pack that are three and four hundred years old but only look to be in their 40's or 50's. They will continue to look that way forever.

We are for the most part, an immortal species but we can be killed. Silver and significant amounts of wolfsbane are our kryptonite—well that and of course disembowelment. Beheading works in a pinch too. I would like to add however, that because of my other parent, I have none of the Weres' weaknesses for silver or wolfsbane.

Suddenly remembering that I was here to have fun and not give a history/biology lesson, I continued to throw my hands in the air and wave them like I just didn’t care—all while yelling out something about the roof being on fire. However, we weren’t going to use water because we wanted the mother-effer to burn. My point is; I’m at an oldies party, I’m having fun and right now I didn’t have a care in the world other than the man I was dancing with. He was a tall, muscular Were with a goatee and short dark hair that was neatly coifed. He wore way too much cologne. Confidence spilled from his dark eyes as he looked at me with a smile. Beneath his stupid grin I felt him growing bolder and he was becoming way too familiar with my behind.

I casually danced backward a few steps to deter him, but he closed the distance between us. Again, I found his grubby mitts on my bum. Something in him must have told him that he should ‘go for it’ because to my surprise, he pulled me close to him, cupped my breast and tried to kiss me. I doubt he even saw the punch coming. Before long he was sailing across the dance floor, knocking over dancers like a two-hundred pound bowling ball. A small crowd formed around the downed man and before long, dozens of eyes and fingers were pointing in my direction. I felt my lips curl into a smirk as I casually walked away.

The reflections from the strobe light bounced off the walls and faces as I headed back toward my table before I decided to take a brief detour and hit the bar. Raising my hand, I caught the attention of Bryan; the bartender in this not-so-fine establishment that is Club 1201. And in case you are wondering—its name comes from the fact that it doesn’t open until exactly one minute after midnight.

Raising his unibrow, Bryan recognized my face before flashing a wide, goateed smile. His head was as bald as a baboon’s backside, as his fire-red brows and facial hair contrasted his pale skin heavily. Whatcha drinkin’? He asked; yelling over the bass heavy-tune. The volume in which it was played forced everyone to yell, thus adding to the noise.

The usual! I yelled before making my way toward the rear. For me, the usual meant a margarita with a quintuple shot of tequila. What?

You got it! He screamed back with a voice that was way too soft for such a burly frame. I mean it too: The boy was built like an oak tree but he has the voice of an effin’ ground squirrel. It's weird I tell ya, but I think I'm kinda getting off subject here.

Thanks, I replied, knowing that I'm gonna have to hear that stupid voice again. Thankfully, he just nodded.

Anytime, he replied after a pause—his shrill voice damn near making my panties ride up. I swear, when you have a voice like that guy and acute hearing like mine it makes you want to scream. Or choke the hell outta him. Now where was I? Oh yeah.

As I waded through the clouded mixture of tobacco and marijuana smoke, I finally reached my table and two of my closest um… acquaintances. I smiled at the sight of a third acquaintance that had joined my table while I was out on the dance floor with Octopus-boy.

Happy Belated Birthday, Cali! Oscar screamed festively before engulfing me in a flutter of arms, hugs, kisses and glitter. I returned Oscar’s affections before pulling away.

I’m surprised that the General actually gave you the night off, Oscar continued as his pale skin and silver-blue eyes glowed in the dim light. I watched as he pushed sandy brown hair, complete with platinum blonde highlights away from his face. He slowly sipped on an animal blood/tequila mix. I know it sounds gross but the drink was a staple of the tavern. It was called: The Hart’s Heart.

Well since it’s the week of my birthday, Mom let me off the leash—well, at least for tonight anyway. But trust me; by tomorrow morning it’ll be back to business as usual. Here punch this, study that, learn this, recite that…

All the more reason to live it up tonight, Annika chimed, raising her glass toward the ceiling.

Here, here, Clarissa added, cosigning Annika’s statement.

I concur, I said before hijacking her glass and taking a sip of Annika’s drink. She too had a penchant for margaritas but her single shot of tequila was much too weak for my tastes. I took one more sip of her weak ass drink anyway.

By now I'm sure you’ve noticed that I’ve used the word acquaintances a few times. See the truth is; I don’t really have anyone in my life that I consider a close friend. Sure, I have these guys right here, but I suspect their lives are just as structured and boring as mine. All of their parents are influential people who fall within my mother’s domain. I think we only hang out together because we share a common bond: A strict upbringing, sheltered lives and influential parents—which is why us four misfits get together once in a while to let our hair down—much to the chagrin of our families.

Oscar is the son of Lord Hollingsworth; an influential Vamp who sits on my mother's council. Hollingsworth’s primary responsibility is to address the concerns of the Vampire community and act as their representative. It’s the same with Annika except that she’s human. Her father also serves on the council and handles all matters concerning human affairs. Clarissa is actually one of Annika’s friends and tags along wherever her more influential friend goes.

I gave the thin dark-haired waitress a polite nod as she sat my drink down in front of me. She was as pale and thin as a reed—her coppery blood marking her as a human. However, the earthy scent that lay across her like a serape told me that she was involved with a Were. Ignoring her, my attention returned to my eclectic set of kinda-sorta friends. I raised my glass.

Oscar gave me a wink. I propose we drink to Cali’s birthday, to freedom, peace and… Oscar paused as his thin, vampiric fingers wrapped themselves around a thick goblet.

And unimaginable wealth, added Clarissa, her manicured nails tightly gripping a glass full of bright, purple liquid.

Woo! Hell yeah! I cheered before offering the best smile I could muster. Secretly it was all a fake because I was finding it difficult to truly get into ‘party mode’. Now don’t get me wrong; I like my life. My mom is wealthy, I’ve never wanted for anything and when she doesn’t have me studying the Art of War or having me kill things, I get to live in a very nice mansion and do a lot of things that most people can’t. But tonight all of this just felt so unreal—and as clichéd as it may sound; I blame my mother for my lack of fun. Before I left for the evening, she got all up in my ass about drinking, partying and all other behavior that she deemed unbecoming of the future leader of our pack. And now, because of that damn talk we had, she’s spoiled my good time before it has even had a chance to get off the ground… or out of hand. Well I’ll show her—where’s my damn drink?

Hey Bryan! I said, yelling over the music. Fix me another margarita and keep ‘em coming—and a round of drinks on me for everybody! Cheers erupted from the crowd.

* * * * *

As the night wore on, Bryan struggled to keep me in margaritas. Because my Werewolf metabolism quickly breaks down the alcohol, after twenty minutes or so I continue to find myself sober. Being human, Annika was not so lucky which was why I am now standing over her in a bathroom stall, holding back her strawberry blonde hair while she vomited profusely. I think she may have actually chucked out a lung. Clarissa, with her jet black hair and matching nails, stood on the outside of the door with her arms folded as a look of pure disgust fell across her mocha colored face.

I knew you should have cut her off after the third drink, she reminded me before heading over to the mirror to check her face and hair.

Tell me something I don’t know, I replied as I helped Annika over to the sink. Clarissa instinctively came over and supported Annika’s other arm as I grabbed a paper towel and wet it. I began wiping Annika’s forehead and then her mouth. Her breath made me want to vomit.

Now that I’d gotten Annika somewhat presentable, it was time to get her out of here. She’d had enough and quite frankly I think I had too. This night was turning into a long, boring bust anyway. Besides, it was almost 5 a.m. and the bar would be closing soon.

Just as I was about to reach into Annika’s purse for softer tissues, I was distracted by the sound of the door creaking open, followed by pairs of heeled footsteps; three in all. I focused on the newcomers. They were practically layered in expensive perfume, but it still did nothing to mask their earthy Were scent underneath. The trio evaluated me and my two cohorts before a smirk erupted on the painted mouth of the first woman.

Their faces didn’t seem familiar to me and their scent did not spark a memory which told me that I had never encountered these women before. Still, I didn’t like something about them. As I continued to evaluate them, I noticed that their clothes were expensive, which told me they came from wealthy families or at least had married into one. I couldn’t tell which. But the one thing that I could tell was that they were bitches. It was confirmed after one of them—a tall woman with bronze skin and wild, tumbleweed hair said: What’s the matter? That human trash can’t hold her liquor?

The other two hens that were with her laughed—not because of what she said was funny, but more out of obligation. That told me that Wild Hair was the Queen Bee of their little clique. My first impression was to rip that smile off that doxie’s painted-on face but with Annika being drunk and Clarissa halfway there I didn’t want to risk their safety. Besides, I could hear Mom’s voice in my brain saying: A true leader knows when to fight, when to make peace and when to walk away.

Good one, I said sarcastically before taking Annika by the arm while Clarissa grabbed the other. Come on, let’s get her home.

As we walked past the three female Weres who looked down their noses at us as if we were something that got stuck under their shoe, one of them—a light, chubby female with stringy hair recognized me. Hey, I know who she is. That’s Accalia, the Alpha Prima’s daughter.

The half-breed? Asked Wild Hair.

Yep, that’s definitely her, Stringy Hair replied.

The third—let’s just call her Regular Hair, finally spoke. Damn, why is she here with a bunch of humans?

Because she’s not a real Were, Wild Hair replied. Her mother’s a Were, but I heard her father was a human. Shit, I heard that bitch can’t even shift all the way. It’s sad really. She has to spend her time with these humans because real Weres don’t want to be around her.

Yeah that is sad, replied Stringy Hair.

So sad, added Regular Hair before all three of them broke into laughter.

I hadn’t realized it but I had unknowingly stopped and listened to what they were saying. Realizing this, I continued through the door and out of the bathroom. A good leader knows when to make war and when to make peace. ~ Talya Jameson, Alpha of the Jameson Pack

It took us quite some effort to get Annika back to the table. As we returned, Oscar offered to take her home—since he too had become bored with the club scene. Clarissa, who I could tell never felt comfortable around me, decided to join them. Gathering up their belongings—including Annika, the two of them all got up from the table, preparing to leave.

You’re staying? Oscar asked, his crystal eyes reflecting every bit of light that was thrown at them.

I’m just going to finish my drink before heading out, I replied.

Okay, he said before lifting Annika and cradling her in his arms like a giant, drunk ass baby. I’ll call you later tonight.

Sounds good, I said before raising my drink to my lips. As they made their way out the door, I placed my glass back on the table. Standing, I headed back toward the restroom and toward the three Were chicks who had just insulted me. Hey, remember that part about me not having a thirst for violence or something like that? Yeah, well I was lying. I do like a little bit of violence from time to time—which is exactly why I went back into that restroom and kicked their asses.

Chapter Two

After handing out an ass whipping times three, I had a few more drinks. And now that I was satisfied with my current state of drunkenness, I settled my debt before making my way outside and into fresh air. Plopping down on a hard, concrete bench, I looked up at the night sky—enjoying the feeling I got as the alcohol coursed through my blood stream. A warm summer breeze blew through the city and I closed my eyes, allowing myself to enjoy it.

Boy was I drunk and if I had to guess, I probably had a good ten to fifteen minutes before it wore off and I would be sober… again. Even though I was snookered, good sense crept its way into my thoughts. My friends had already left, I’d consumed a ridiculous amount of alcohol and I’d gotten into a fight. Oh yeah and I punched a guy out. Perhaps it was time I headed home.

I began searching the streets for my small red convertible when suddenly I thought about my mother and how she would react to my drinking. I was well above the legal drinking age in these parts, but my mother objected to alcohol because she felt it left you vulnerable and uncoordinated—especially during an attack. I was fairly certain that in the morning she was going to ream me out—especially after she smelled the liquor on my breath. She’d probably kill me if I drove.

I took a moment and thought about how good I felt right now before quickly realizing that I didn’t give a crap. Yeah I know it sounds harsh, but the life of a high level Alpha’s daughter is no walk in the park. Besides, my mom is way too paranoid for her own good. No one would dare attack the Alpha’s daughter; she was too well-loved, feared and respected—and by that I mean her and not me. Regardless, I decided to walk home instead of taking my car. Hell, it was only about a fifteen minute walk and I should be sober by then. The fresh air would do me some good.

I had been walking for nearly ten minutes before I heard alternating footsteps echo in the distance and I was struck with the feeling that someone or rather someones were following me. It’s funny; after you find yourself in potential danger you suddenly realize that all the crap your mother gave you holds some modicum of truth. She’d always told me never to walk the streets at night alone—especially after drinking. But here I was, in the middle of the night… er early morning and I was half drunk and loose as a damn noodle. Good thing she taught me how to fight.

The footsteps came to a stop just as mine did, leaving me