Index of Terms

The Order: A vampire organisation made up of eight councils in Phoenix, Chicago, Denver, Seattle, LA, Austin, Miami and New York. The Order acts as a government to vampires and maintains the secrecy of their race from humans.

Consensuals: Humans contracted by The Order for vampires to feed on.

Initiation: The process of officially swearing a human into The Order so they can gain full access to information and records.

Debriefing: Wiping a human memory.

Source-blood: Blood of the First Vampire.

Warnings: Contains themes of violence, torture and horror.

AN: Sorry for the delay! Had to navigate a few things which Southsidesister (darvey_love) and Beth (NAhavenbb) have helped me with :D And thank you to everyone for all the encouragement and reviews :) xx

Chapter 5: The First Vampire

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Baltimore, Maryland, 1897

Harvey's vision spins, his stomach tight like a welded, twisted piece of metal. All he can see is blood, the taste putrid and bitter in his mouth as he brokenly knocks on the door in front of him.

For centuries he's fed without remorse, known by Darius' army as The Butcher, but he wasn't always driven by bloodlust. After waking as a vampire, his grief consumed the ravishing need to feed. The brutal attack that left his wife and son dead should have been his fate as well. But Darius coaxed out the rage smothered by regret and gave him a new purpose. Encased in a new identity, he abandoned the rules that used to govern him in the human world. He fed for hunger, revenge and for sport. Anything Darius asked of him was met with a malevolent desire to please his Maker. But Jessica's influence has kept him from senselessly killing everyone in his path—an influence that for over a century resided in his chest, spreading like a disease beneath his skin, akin to the plague of smallpox pillaging the country.

He's been sensing Jessica's own regret starting to seep through her hard exterior, heard the whispers of doubt becoming louder as one voice in Darius' army. Tonight, he wanted to expel his remaining humanity. Exhausted from trying to stave off nightmares and flickers of guilt, he tried to free the monster inside him and annihilate any chance of redemption. But as he stood in the carnage of his rampage, snarling at the dismembered bodies at his feet, a cry had reached his ears, turning his blood to ice and freezing every molecule of his being.

A baby.

He'd followed the screaming to an infant's crib, the cries echoing like his own son's once had. His wife's life had already been taken when he returned home, but he'd held his son, Thomas, for the last few moments of the boy's life. As he'd stared down at the orphan something snapped, his knees buckled and his own sobs drowned out the child's.

After what felt like an eternity, he managed to drag himself back up, and now he's standing through sheer will, hoping—praying—Jessica won't turn him away. When she rips open the door, her eyes falling to the baby asleep in his bloody arms, he shudders, trembling as he silently begs her for help.

Suddenly, the weight is gone, the bundle transferred into her steady hands, and he stumbles after them, realizing he was wrong. He isn't the monster Darius tried to create or the venomous beast that's been trying to swallow him whole. The remorse he feels is inescapable, and he swears to himself the orphaned boy won't suffer the same cruel despair growing up. He can't take responsibility for the child, but he can do right by him—make sure he grows up with financial support and has a loving family to provide for him.

Instead of the hollow vengeance he's been seeking, he'll honor his wife and Thomas by trying to make the world a better place for the infant.

With a deep, harrowing sigh, he stands weakly next to Jessica at the basin in her kitchen. She fills the sink with warm water to rinse the blood off the baby, carefully unwrapping the tiny bundle, and he shakily picks up the boy's blanket, running his thumb over the embroidered name in the corner.

J. Specter.

A name he's going to spend the rest of his existence fighting for.

...

As Harvey pours himself a glass of synthetic blood, his mind wanders to his father, Gordon Specter, like it often does when he's morally conflicted. The plane he boarded with Donna and Mike has been in the air for almost an hour, but his instincts are still at war with putting the two of them in danger. A decision his father would have been able to help him reconcile with.

Gordon wasn't his biological father. Over the years, his title took on several incarnations after he showed up on Harvey's doorstep one day, still in his early twenties, presenting a folder of evidence that Harvey couldn't deny; pictures, articles—all with his face never having aged a day.

Despite his determination to remain an anonymous benefactor in the Specter-family line, Harvey had had no choice but to come clean. He'd planned to have Gordon debriefed after their conversation, and he doesn't know if it was the young man's spark or his own desire to learn more about the descendent of the boy he'd spared, but they formed a friendship. He was there when Gordon met Lily and when Marcus came along. For the outside world, they adapted different truths as the years rolled by, with Gordon being a friend, a brother, and eventually a father.

Until the day Lily cheated.

When her betrayal came out, he estranged himself, angry that the family he'd regained was being torn apart by her actions, but now he would give anything to have those years back with Gordon.

His shoulders sag as he abandons the glass of blood he's hovering over, no longer interested in its repulsive smell. He'd rather spent his time close to the people he cares about, and he heads back to the cabin, sighing when Donna's groggy gaze washes over him. "You're supposed to be sleeping," he whispers quietly, not wanting to disturb Mike, who's snoring across from them.

She sits up and shrugs as he drops beside her. The truth is, she's been trying. But they haven't talked properly since he skulked back into his apartment after Jessica went to find him. And she's still coming to terms with the fact she's the Bloodkeeper. Her mind is buzzing with so many questions neither of them have the answers to, but he looks as exhausted as she feels, and even though she has no idea how to open up the lines of communication, she knows what he needs.

"Here." She sweeps her hair to the side with a sheepish smile. Usually she would offer her wrist, but with all the uncertainty they're drowning in, she wants to be close to him, too.

His entire body churns with hunger as his gaze falls over her exposed neck. It's not just her blood calling out to him. He wants to touch her, fill the insatiable urge to hold her and know she's safe. But they have no idea what will be in store for them when they land, and she should conserve her strength. "I'll be fine."

She throws him a stubborn look. He's poured himself at least three glasses of synthetic blood since they boarded and hasn't touched a single one. She may not have the right words to disperse the tension, but he'll be able to think more clearly after he's fed. "You'll feel better," she insists, skating her hand over his tightly clenched knuckles. "I want you to. Please."

His mouth runs dry as she shifts closer, the vein in her neck throbbing a melodic hum that's begging him to lean forward and taste her. A fire ignites inside him that he struggles to control, and his voice shudders as he contemplates giving into the temptation. "Are you sure?"

She nods, her own breath catching as he tentatively reaches up, laying his thumb over her pulse. The only time he's fed from her neck was during the throes of sex, both of them drenched in juices and whipped cream. She asked him what it felt like, and he showed her, his pleasure and hers, taking them both to new heights. But since then, they've carefully catered to his needs, not either of their desires. At the moment they're somewhere in the middle, her body tingling with anticipation as his pupils swell darker.

"About this?" she answers calmly. "Always."

A low growl swaddles his throat as he bends forward, dragging his fangs across the hollow of her neck. He can already taste beads of sweat forming in her pores, and he envisions a sensation like dark chocolate and sea salt, finally biting down hard—desperate for her essence to sustain him. to drink from her.

She gasps, angling her head to give him better access and clutching his shirt to draw him in closer. His hands roam her body, finding purchase wherever they can, and she feels his muscles expanding as he takes in his fill, her heart beating faster to pump more blood through her veins.

He could stay attached forever, drowning in her rich taste, but he rips his mouth away, his cells thundering with adrenaline as he grabs her waist. He's panting heavily, satisfied yet aroused, her scent wrapping around him like a siren's call, and he can see the same desire for more pooled in her gaze. But for the first time since Darius took her, he feels in control—high on more than just instinct and survival. Donna sates his hunger in a way no one else ever has before. And God knows he's tried.

But with her, it's different.

She's different.

"Donna…"

Her fingers wrap around his bruising grip at her hip, easing his hands around her waist instead. His palms instinctively settle at her spine, and he doesn't need to say anything. The fact he's trusting her and letting her in means more than the words he's trying to find. "Thank you."

He isn't sure why she's thanking him, but the fire burning through his veins recedes into a warm hum, and he pricks his thumb, pressing it to the puncture wounds at her neck. "Shouldn't I be thanking you?"

"Wasn't sure you knew how," she teases, brushing the shadow of stubble along his jaw. He looks healthier, his skin returning to a more natural, darker glow. But she can still see echoes of concern embedded in the lines around his soft smile, and she kisses him gently, finding his gaze with confidence. "Mike and I know what we're signing up for. We can handle this."

He inhales slowly as he watches her skin heal. She thinks she knows what's ahead, but she's only had one encounter with Darius. Physical wounds aren't the worst punishment his Maker can enact. Darius is cruel and manipulative, capable of inflicting decades' worth of torment for fun, and it takes all of his willpower not to discourage her confidence. She's stronger than anyone he's ever met, fearless in the face of danger, and that's something he loves about her. At the firm, he relies on her, and Mike, too, to get things done. But they're outside of that world now and playing higher stakes. Keeping them alive is his focus, and he feels the weight of that pressure as he lightly strokes her hair. "You should get some sleep. We'll be landing in a few hours."

She looks ready to say something else but seems to change her mind, and he's relieved when she sinks down, resting her head against his chest. He tucks her in under his arm, hearing her heartbeat slow, and he doesn't know why he waited so long to admit how he feels about her.

It took almost losing her to jolt him to his senses, but now they're together, he's going to do everything in his power to keep her safe—no matter the cost.

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"So, this whole Indiana Jones thing…" Mike swings his gaze around the tunnel they're in as Harvey grapples with another rusty door. "This a regular Tuesday night for you guys?" he jokes, settling his torch on Donna, who rolls her eyes. Deciding he's not going to get a verbal answer, he directs the light back to the metal slab Harvey heaves open.

What started out as a relatively 'simple' plan—avoid Darius and find the underground tomb of The First Vampire—quickly turned complicated when they arrived at their starting point, and discovered the church and entrance Donna saw in her vision had been demolished in the late 90s. Four blocks were replaced by a shopping mall complex, and there's no guarantee the chamber even still exists. But they descended into the sewers to find out, blindly traipsing through a maze of cold and dark, narrow tunnels in search of the First Vampire's tomb.

Harvey grunts as he reveals another room with no exit, growing more frustrated with each dead-end. They've been searching for hours and are miles below any construction that's happened within the past few centuries. The last set of winding passages held promise—symbols and markings carved into the rocky walls, possibly denoting a religious belief, but his shoulders grow stiff as he faces off against the hard solid barriers boxing them in.

"Over here."

He swivels at the sounds of Donna's voice.

"I found something." She drops her backpack, kneeling at a latch rusted into the ground. Beneath the loose rubble is a metal plate, a trap-door, and she smiles up at Harvey. "I think this is the entrance."

He extends his hand, helping her up again. The good news is the hatch hasn't been tampered with. What worries him is anything that could still be sealed down there, and he lets go of Donna, retrieving her pack. "You two should start heading back up."

Mike snaps his head around. "What?"

"No," Donna answers at the same time, clutching the strap of her bag and slinging it over her shoulders. "I'm coming." She shines her light at Harvey's chest as Mike steps forward.

"Me too," he agrees, earning a glare from Harvey.

"You've fought a vampire once, and you destroyed my record player doing it."

"See?" Mike nudges Donna with his elbow. "I told you he was never going to let that go."

"My point is," Harvey interrupts, "we don't know what's down there. If it's something dangerous, I can't protect the both of you."

Donna scuffs her boot over the latch, kicking up more dust. "Anything that might have gotten trapped couldn't have survived this long without a food source."

"And if it had found the First's blood, I think we can all agree it wouldn't be down there just hanging out," Mike adds, strengthening Donna's argument.

Harvey's jaw twitches as Donna steps forward, giving his arm a soft squeeze, and he's swayed to reluctantly offer a compromise. "You get out of there at the first sign of trouble. I mean it." He snaps his gaze at Mike. "Same goes for you."

"Aye-aye, captain."

Mike throws his hand up in salute, and Donna intercepts Harvey's glare, urging him to look at her, instead. "We'll be careful, I promise." She reaches up on her toes, placing a soft kiss against his lips. Before she can pull away, his hands settle at her waist, his mouth lingering over her blooming smile, and he seems to relax somewhat until Mike clears his throat.

In their rush to get to Paris, and after having spent nearly a decade by Harvey's side, she almost forgot the development in their relationship is new, and heat flares across her cheeks as she steps back into line with Mike. "Not a word."

Mike smirks as he watches the vampire use his brute strength to wrench open the latch. "After all this, finding out Harvey has emotions is the last thing I'm surprised about."

The metal clangs on the ground, and Harvey slips his own torch out, the beam catching rungs of steel that are embedded in a rock-wall. The drop wouldn't injure him, but being human, Mike and Donna can't make the jump, so he takes the ladder down, testing its stability for them.

When he lands at the bottom, he flashes his beam around, and listens for any sign of movement, but his ears only pick up two pairs of heartbeats above, and he sags in relief, calling up to Mike. "It's clear!"

Mike stuffs his flashlight in the side of his pack and takes a deep breath, following after Harvey. Donna counts to ten, then does the same, tightly gripping the rungs until she feels two hands at her waist.

"I've got you." Harvey guides her down the last few steps, making sure she's steady on her feet.

She glances at the only way forward, teasing him with a small smile. "Lead the way, Indiana." She falls in between his cautious strides and Mike's, keeping an eye out for anything unusual. But her instincts were right. There's no sign that anything has been disturbed recently. They're treading ground that no man or vampire has walked in centuries, but that's not what humbles her. She senses the tree before she sees it, can feel the life-force, hot and throbbing, reaching out through the darkness, and when Harvey speaks, she knows he's being pulled in by the same thrall.

"We're getting closer," he comments." I can feel her."

She nods, overcome by a foggy sense of calm, but she pushes through the cloudiness, forcing her mind to stay alert. "I feel it, too."

Mike looks around quizzically. "Really? I've got nothing, except—oof." He stumbles into Donna when she suddenly stops, and before he can shine his light, the chamber comes alight, fire appearing in the sconces surrounding a twisted, white oak tree. "Okay. Creepy. Kinda cool though, right?"

Harvey ignores him, his head humming with a gentle and warm vibration as he steps forward.

"Wait." Donna catches his elbow. They came here to prevent Darius from getting the First Vampire's blood, all of them prepared to destroy the tree despite its origins. But the energy charging through the air is sentient, reaching out, not with words, but with emotion and influence. Almost like a whisper she can't hear, testing her freewill. "We should be careful."

He peels her hand away, ignoring the warning, needing to be closer to the blood. He can smell it, taste the power on his tongue, and he bares his fangs as he approaches the bark, snapping a growl when he's suddenly wrenched back.

Donna flinches at his dark, swirling pupils like he's compelled forward, and she hears Mike's pack drop behind her.

"Donna, maybe you shouldn't…"

"It's okay, Mike." She swallows thickly, holding Harvey's forearms with a tight squeeze. He would never hurt her, and his eyes grow brighter, more concise, despite his irrational plea.

"I could stop Darius." Taking the blood for himself, absorbing the power would mean keeping her safe no matter what the threat.

"You still can."

He snarls, jerking his gaze at the tree, and she lifts her palm, turning his cheek to look at her. "Hey. I feel her, too. But you need to focus."

He blinks several times, forcing her words to stand out above the loud buzzing between his ears. He can feel himself slowly coming out of the daze, and he breathes in deeply, nodding his head.

"Are we good?" Mike asks hesitantly, his eyes flicking between the pair.

"Yeah." Harvey clears his throat, pushing more confidence into his voice. "Yeah, I'm good."

Relieved, Donna lets her arm drop. Jessica supplied them with lighter fluid and a small amount of C4, but her stomach twists in a knot at the thought of destroying the tree. Whatever it is and however the First Vampire is woven into its essence, they didn't come here for an unjust execution. She's not even sure their supplies would work against the power emanating from the room. So, with a careful step, she moves around Harvey, edging closer to the bark.

"Ah, Donna?" Mike follows her, expecting Harvey to do the same, but the man stays perched where he is, making him more nervous as he scoots behind her. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for something," she answers cryptically, not sure she knows what she's searching for herself. But if their little knowledge of the Bloodkeeper is true—that her ancestry dates back to when the First Vampire was born—then, like Harvey, she may also have a connection to the tree's sap. If nothing else, she knows how powerful the blood is. It's stronger than Darius', and just being close to it could trigger a memory—something to help them.

Mike scrubs a hand through his hair, receiving no back-up from Harvey, who is still keeping his distance, obviously not trusting himself to come any closer. Whatever is affecting them both, Mike doesn't sense it. All he saw was a neat parlour trick with some fire. But he doesn't doubt something powerful is lurking in the cavern, and he tries to warn Donna off messing with it. "Can't we just… " He lowers his voice, motioning at the contents of their packs. "Do what we came here to do and leave."

"No!" Both Harvey and Donna snap at the exact moment all the lights flicker, and he feels a shiver of dread rattle down his spine. "Okay." He holds his hands up defensively. "It was just a suggestion."

The anger isn't hers, not really, but she can still feel it coursing through her veins and fights to separate the emotion from her own. Mike is right to be wary. Which is even more reason for her to try and find another solution, and she places her fingertips against the gruff grains of wood. Suddenly, the room disappears in a bright flash of white light, and she gasps.

Lutetia (Paris), 59 BC

"You betrayed me!" Aafiyah bares her fangs, snarling at the creature before her—a man with whom she once ruled; a prince, her council, and now someone she would rip apart shred by shred if not for the life seeping out of her body.

Epiphanios buries the sob in his throat, keeping the stake lodged in her chest. Before Aafiyah's reign, he bore witness to the rule of a tyrant, his father, a man who was selfish and callous, senselessly killing for pleasure. When Aafiyah sought revenge on his father, he did not help her wield the blade, nor did he stop her.

His father brought about his own fate, as did Aafiyah. A girl sentenced to death, only to return with the bright white light of the gods spilling from her fingertips. As the first man she turned, he swore his allegiance as her First Son, and he watched her turn Darius, the army's guard, next. Together, the three of them vowed to return the kingdom to its former glory and bring forward a new age of peace.

Regret hitches in his throat, tears streaming from his eyes. "May the gods forgive me, for I cannot."

She can feel her soft, immortal tissue hardening, splinters of hurt and hatred like knives digging into her flesh. But what is done cannot be undone by anger or smite. A new vessel will carry her forward, and she breathes in her last ragged death, embracing her destiny.

…

Donna staggers back into Mike, panting as the vision, clearer than the others, resonates through her. Now she knows the grief Darius pulled out of her memories belonged to Epiphanios, The First Son. But so many more questions swarm through her mind; why did Epiphanios betray Aafiyah if she ruled in peace? What happened to him after Aafiyah's body returned to the earth? And as the Second Son, what role did Darius play in the imprisonment? The answers won't come, at least not here, but she knows what they have to do, and with her head still pounding, she grips Mike's arm to steady herself. "We need to take the blood with us."

"What? Why?" Mike glances at Harvey, who moves an inch, clearly needing to reach out and comfort Donna, but Mike leads her to Harvey instead, wanting to keep them both as far away from the tree as possible.

"The tree isn't a tomb. It's a vessel." She clasps Harvey's fingers, slumping against his side. His weak grip isn't much stronger than hers, and she can tell fighting against the thrall of power is exhausting him, but she feels safe by his side. The force surrounding them isn't dark, it simply is. But she doesn't know enough about who Aafiyah was before she turned or how becoming The First Vampire changed her. Even in hands that have the right intention, the energy is still dangerous, but better the devil they know than leaving this place for Darius to find. "The only way to destroy the tree is by draining the sap and containing its essence."

Mike shakes his head, worried that taking the source-blood with them is asking for trouble. Donna and Harvey are already acting rash, and both are physically weakened. They should seal the cave up and bury it, not take it home in a doggy bag. "So we don't destroy it. We use the C4 and we destroy the chamber."

"That's only going to slow Darius down," Harvey growls. "You have no idea what he's capable of."

"I'd rather know what you're capable of," Mike fires back, regretting it when Harvey snarls, but Donna's hand keeps the man from lashing out.

Donna catches Mike's pointed look and winces, the throbbing in her head compounded by the rush of anger she feels pulsating through Harvey's fingers. Mike's right, at least about the effect the blood is having on them. But they only need a miniscule amount of the sap to keep its essence alive. "We don't need it all. The less we take the better, but this is the only way, Mike." As soon as the words leave her mouth, she's overcome by a wave of grief. The sorrow Epiphanios left her with, feeling more intense as Mike gives in with a reluctant sigh.

Her instincts are screaming to stop him, and judging by the bruising grip Harvey still has around her hand, his are too. But they both know the potential consequences of leaving the tree intact.

Mike pulls a switch-blade from his pack and unscrews the lid on his water bottle, tipping the remaining liquid out onto the dirt. "You're sure?" he asks, wary of the tight lines furrowing Harvey's brow. Deep down, his gut is telling him the man is in control. But if he did suddenly snap, Mike doubts he would have time to blink, let alone react.

"Do it, and hurry," Donna urges, half-tempted to drag Harvey further back and out of the cavern altogether. But despite the vision she saw, and her firm belief she's instructing Mike to do the right thing, she doesn't know what will happen when he makes the first cut, and she steps in front of Harvey, holding her breath as Mike approaches the tree.

She feels the second he slices through the bark, Harvey's hand ripping violently from hers, and she struggles to hold him back, not because of his snarling strength or darkened pupils, but because she's mourning the loss, too. But what stops his fight is droplets of blood overflowing, being absorbed by the earth. He backs down, slumping to his knees, and she falls with him, tears welling at the black withering branches of the tree. The power charging through the air retracts, clinging to the dying vessel, but hope bleeds into the canteen Mike had pressed against the flowing sap.

This is what she saw in her vision, what Aafiyah wanted—a new destiny.

Even though she grows cold as the sconces flicker out, she's left with a renewed sense of purpose, too. She can't rewrite history, but she can see it. And if her newfound gift can shape the future and stop Darius, then like Aafiyah, she's prepared to do whatever it takes to survive.

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