A/N: This is my first FF, so any feedback is welcome :)

Summary: Rayne Shepard is a three-hundred-year-old damphir with a lust for blood and a vice of always trying to save humanity. Now, she joins the Alliance military to go after threats in the great beyond. How will she hide her vampire nature aboard the SSV Normandy, and how will her vampirism affect her conquests of war and her conquests of the heart? Eventual femslash F/F.

A/N: My Shepard is based on Rayne from BloodRayne, but besides the character's origin this story will lack any crossover elements.

Content Warning: Blood (lots and lots of blood), Language and Adult Situations

I am Rayne, Rayne Shepard.

It was ten years ago, in 2173, that I the damphir had masqueraded as a poorly raised, wild child with a barely-passed GED, to sign myself up in Alliance military. With Earth's entire worldview changing with the discovery of Prothean technology and galactic society, I as an independent agent of the Brimstone Society decided to search in the great beyond for greater threats, supernatural or otherwise, to humanity. I was not human, but my loyalty to humanity was absolute. Too, personally speaking, leaving Earth behind as a tiny blue dot in the sea of stars, leaving behind... all of that, I hoped it would all help me... move on and start over. I wanted to make a new life for myself far from the ravages of Earth.

In any case, too, after breaking into eezo storage facilities, exposing myself to it, and drinking the bloods of those empowered by it, I myself could feel the dark elemental power flowing through me, and I knew that the Alliance's training programs would help me master it. Just because I was going on three hundred years old did not mean I was too stubborn to think that I had nothing more to learn.

It was with my thrall that I skipped through the Alliance's physical screenings; humanity was still ignorant of the supernatural presence, and I had every intention of keeping it that way, for their own safety. In basic training on Arcturus Station, I acted first appallingly bad and then brilliant, hoping that a progression from the bottom of the class to the top would catch the drill sergeant's eye. Indeed, I graduated with a future rank of sergeant myself, and then I was whisked away to biotics training.

At Jon Grissom Academy I trained for a year to master my new power. There at the school everyone always asked, "Which implant you have, Rayne?", and I would sign "L3" to them, the same implant as everyone else, even though I didn't have one at all.

And I always signed instead of spoke, and I did this ever since I started interacting with the Alliance. I did this to hide my canines. I knew that anymore it would not be a problem if someone did see my fangs, as I had seen even stranger things in non-supernatural humans, yet I still did not want to draw attention to them. I always donned a necklace or armor attachment that would hear my signs and speak out in my voice anyways, so it made no difference to many whether I spoke or signed.

Again I was whisked away to the next career step via an early graduation. I supposed that my superhuman affinities lent naturally toward my affinities with the biotic power. Indeed, it was not long before I had surpassed my instructors in sparring. My centuries of combat experience probably had something to do with it too, on both kinesthetic and instinctual levels.

My early career in the marines was as trying and bloody as all the missions in my past lift. I saved the fellow marines when I could, as I had when batarian slavers raided Elysium in the Skyllian Verge, but I was not opposed to ruthless slaughter when necessary, as it had been on the Alliance's retaliatory assault on Torfan. So far in my career, I had mostly not needed to employ my vampiric talents beyond enhanced cognition. The one exception to that was on Akuze, when after the rest of my squad had been killed by a thresher maw, I descended into a blood rage as I tore the entire thing apart with my own hands. There was too much risk; too many cameras, too many recording devices. Oh, I still did love to tear apart my foes with my blades, omniblades I had specially modeled to match my original brimstone-steel ones. And oh, I still loved to decapitate my foes in showers of delicious alien blood raining onto my armor. I just had to be content with not drinking any, unless I was certain I could do so without surviving witnesses.

I had made a name for myself; with my lust for blood, and my acrobatic combat style, my fellow marines and those in the know called me variations of 'The Bloody Harpy', 'Blood Harpy', and 'Blood Bitch'.

With these exploits and my unmatched combat reputation, I was fast-tracked through the N6 and then N7 Special Forces programs after only nine years of service. And a year later, I found myself assigned to the SSV Normandy. And there I was, back on Arcturus Station, approaching the frigate's docking bay.

As I walked to the dock, I could see the Alliance soldiers' energy humming through the walls. Warm, delicious life force. The troop's feet snapped to attention as I turned the corner. At the front of the honor guard stood Captain Anderson. I stopped and examined him. His facial expression betrayed nothing, until he grimaced at the teasing sway of my hips as I started toward him. I stopped and saluted across my chest, and then signed: "Commander Shepard reporting for assignment aboard the SSV Normandy."

"Welcome Commander. I am Captain Anderson. Let's get started," he said, not beating around the bush of formalities. He turned on his heel and started toward the ship's airlock.

For each step I took through the tunnel of guards, for each pair of them, I sensed their muscles tense, and heard their breaths catch in their throats. Before, they had been proper and disciplined, looking only forward. But as my visage and scent happened upon their senses, I stunned them. Everything about me; my flawless, makeup-tinted skin; the glow of my eyes, simultaneously shimmering gold and green; my perky red lips; my flowing, blazing red hair; my against-regulation hair hoops with draping black ribbons; my custom, tight, black and red leather uniform, which showed less skin than I wanted it to; the dagger-sharp timbre of my voice; and my sweet, aromatic fragrance; all my sins conspired to lure the base attentions of men and women. Yet too; I confidently preened my medals and N7 insignia upon me. After the shock that is my assets, those marks of experience upon me reminded them that I wouldn't be fucked around with by anyone. Fuck them.

"Commander, this is Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko, who commands our detachment of marines," said Captain Anderson, stopping at the ship's airlock where the Lieutenant waited. We looked over each other, sizing each other up in a silent battle of dominance. I sensed a biotic aura about him, but not one as strong as I had seen in myself or Asari.

"At your disposal, ma'am," said the marine officer, saluting. And he was right, most of his men were disposable. He himself though, his aptitude was enough that I resolved to keep an eye on him. I nodded toward him, silent.

We entered the airlock, with the marines filing in behind us. We were quite the sight. The Captain gave me a tour of the ship, introducing me to Navigator Pressly, who scowled at my seductive self-presentation. The good doctor Chakwas blushed at the sight of me, and she also looked like she wanted to run tests to diagnose my sickly appearance. He ended the tour with the bridge, where he left me to chat with the pilot, who Anderson referred to as Joker.

I instantly knew that this disabled pilot was someone, or else he wouldn't be so endeared as to have a nickname used by even his CO. He turned in his swivel chair to watch me approach. "Bloody Harpy, sounds right," he said. "You're a proper murderin' officer."

"Me? Murder?" I signed, smirking.

He swiveled forward, looking away from me, grimacing. "There are two types of officers, killin' officers and murderin' officers. Killin' officers get you killed by mistake, but murderin' officers get you killed on purpose."

"I wouldn't worry, Moreau. You're a more essential crew member than me, by some measures." Then I leaned in behind him, whispering into his ear with my own voice: "I'll make sure to murder you last." I let the pilot catch my closed-mouth smirk as he looked back at me in startlement as I turned away from him, off to do a real tour of the ship, on my own.

As I approached the stairway to the crew deck, I noticed the marine guard leaning against the wall, snoozing off. Grinning sadistically, I unfolded the stiletto leviathan-cross-handled punch dagger I always carried in my right hand and pressed its end into the man's cheek as I pressed my body into his, pinning him against the wall. The man jumped in startlement and squealed like a little girl, and I let the dagger nip into his skin, blood leaking down his cheek.

I signed with my left hand, "Name. Rank." while giving a seductive hum contrary to my seriousness.

"Jen-Jenkins, Cor-Corporal," the man stuttered in fear.

I felt the eyes of everyone on the command deck on me, but I didn't let them or the stench of the man's now soiled clothes get to me. "Well, well Jenkins, Corporal. Can you tell me what makes a good soldier?"

"N-no, ma'am."

"What makes a good soldier is the ability to destroy the enemy, in any situation. When does your shift end?"

"At si-sixteen hundred hours, ma'am."

"At oh-two-hundred hours tomorrow morning, in the cargo deck, I will evaluate your combat proficiency, and unless you impress me, it will be Private Jenkins tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am..."

I stood back from him, withdrawing the dagger from the flesh of his cheek. "At ease, Corporal. Let me through."

With a shaking hand he pressed the button to open the door, and I started down the stairs without a backward glance. Alone in the confines of the stairway, I rose the dagger's tip to my lips, sucking on it, letting the sweet blood take the edge of my nerves. I folded the blade back into place against my wrist.

I approached the Lieutenant at his station, and the man stood and saluted as I approached. I signed, "At ease, Lieutenant. Tell me, what are the consequences of sleeping while on duty?"

The man nodded, not showing any confused expression, "Dishonorable discharge, and forfeiture of all pay and allowances, ma'am."

"Very well. Is there anything you and your men need, Alenko?"

"Not in the foreseeable future, ma'am."

"Very good. Carry on Lieutenant." I started to move on.

"Permission to speak, ma'am?"

I turned back, and nodded.

"Is there a reason you asked me about that?"

Annoyed by the man's lack of imagination, I approached him, and pressed myself closely to him. The man was disciplined, standing still, as I whispered into his ear: "There are reasons for everything I do. You will learn in time."

"Yes ma'am," he said, stoic as ever, as I pulled back and walked off. I headed into the medi-bay to get some duties out of the way.

The good doctor was at her desk, but her face twisted into concern when she saw me enter.

"Dr. Chakwas, two things we couldn't address when we first met," I signed, "One concern of mine and one of yours. First, for me, I need to know, what current or expected ongoing health concerns are there in my crew, that I need to be aware of?"

The woman's expression changed to one of first surprise, then thoughtfulness. She didn't expect me to ask such a question. What, did she not think I cared? "Well, concerning the ship's stealth system and oversized drive core, the ship emits a unique radiation signature, the full effects of which have yet to be measured in an in-depth study. Due to his L2 implants the Lieutenant Alenko can suffer from headaches after overexerting his biotics. Otherwise, not much different from any other Alliance crew. But I think that changes with you. I was just looking at your health file, it—"

"I know," I signed, "It doesn't have the answers you were looking for. So ask me."

"Your pale skin worries me. I don't see how—"

"I have a unique skin condition that does not in any way impact my performance, and does not require any attention whatsoever. Is that enough?" I glared hard into her eyes.

"Y-yes, I suppose so. You know your health better than me, and I hope that doesn't change, because it will only change if I ever have to patch you up."

Me getting so hurt, that I would be incapacitated and brought into here, was not an option. "I hope you don't have to patch me up either, but I hope we can still become otherwise acquainted. Is that all? Is there anything the medi-bay needs?"

"We are fine and fully-stocked commander."

I nodded. "And Doctor, I want to be notified whenever anyone comes in here for medical attention."

"Of course, that's standard procedure already."

"And if Jenkins comes in later asking for a band-aid, ask him for the real reason he got nicked." And with that, I turned on my heels and walked out.

Then I visited Adams down in engineering, learning more about the frigate's capabilities. I was impressed; the oversized drive core really did pack a punch, and the top of the line stabilizers were just enough to contain all the intense mass effect fields. Adams himself was just himself. His role was essential; he himself was disposable.

After going back up to visit Joker and rile the roguish pilot up a bit more, I noticed the time and went down into the cargo bay. If the Corporal Jenkins had any sense of dedication, or even an instinct toward self-presentation, he would go down into the cargo bay as soon as possible to practice. I entered the bay just as Jenkins should be getting relieved; I stalked over behind a pile of supply crates, climbed on top of it, and then went further up into the rafters. Here I could oversee everything happening the cargo bay. The requisitions station had some activity, but it was otherwise quiet.

After the time it took to shower and change into a fresh set of clothes, as I could smell, Jenkins came in from the elevator, prepared his armor and his weapons, and set up an impromptu shooting range in a corner of the bay.

For eight hours the soldier practiced with a variety of weapons and situations, only taking intermittent breaks. The word spread; those who had heard of our episode in the CIC or who overheard the noise of his training stopped by to watch or to encourage him. A few also gave snarky comments about how troublesome I was going to be for the crew, and I ignored those.

Eventually, as the deadline came closer and the day rolled over to the next, a crowd started forming, waiting for the eventual confrontation between their beloved Jenkins and their new XO. Alenko and Chakwas were among them. At oh-two-hundred hours sharp, the Corporal Jenkins stood at attention in the middle of the bay, facing the elevator, apparently waiting for my arrival. I creepy crawled like a spider over him in the rafters.

I dropped down right in front of him.

Before his eyes could even register me, I pushed a forceful tap against his chest.

The man gasped and tumbled backwards, but managed to save himself from falling.

I signed, not missing a beat, "If I were the enemy, you would have been defeated, and you would be Private Jenkins."

The man stood back into attention, awaiting my evaluation.

"But fortunately for us, I am on your team. Your evaluation is complete, Corporal. I have watched you for eight hours, and your stamina and skill are sufficient. Carry on." With that, I turned on my heel and headed back to the elevator. Alenko, at the door, nodded toward me. He now understood my reasons.

I was alone in the elevator, and everyone else who now wanted to go up stayed out due to some instinctual obligation to let me have my dramatic exit. I shook my head, chuckled, and signed: "Come on in, I won't bite." They filed in among chuckles of the nervous laughter.

Getting off on the crew deck, from the mess I quickly grabbed a can of soup I could sip through a straw, and went over to my sleeping pod. On the terminal there I saw I had a message from Anderson about our first mission, our shakedown run.

I didn't know what was coming, but I knew this ship and this crew were what I needed. You scared?… Don't want to play anymore?…

A/N: Did I bash Jenkins enough? Please review and let me know if I should continue this, I have lots of other unpublished projects and I'm not sure which to prioritize. Also let me know if I get any of the lore wrong.