A/N: Welcome to Blood of the Covenant (Water of the Womb)! I've been on a bit of a vampire kick lately, so here's a True Blood offering to join my other Vampire Diaries fic. Updates as they're written.

Warnings for this story: Canon-typical violence and swearing, and possibly sex (though, God help me, I've never written smut before, so we'll see); wild canon divergence is planned, so extensive knowledge of the series is probably not necessary.

I hope you enjoy the first chapter!

Olive shivered lightly as an unseasonably chilly wind swept through the darkened streets of the city of Shreveport. Winters in the deep south may not have been as cold as they were in her home state of Virginia, but without the warmth of the sun to protect her Olive was feeling decidedly underdressed for the cold of a December night in northern Louisiana. Her trusty pullover sweatshirt and denim jacket combo was simply not cutting it.

Glancing around the sparsely populated streets a bit nervously, Olive hitched her backpack higher on her shoulders, burying her freezing fingers in her armpits and taking the opportunity to palm the trusty silver dagger hidden in her inner pocket. Normally Olive tried to avoid the seedier areas of the cities she didn't know well-especially when said cities were known to be vampire hotspot-but she'd spent most of her remaining cash on a train ticket to Shreveport from Little Rock, so this was realistically the only part of town where she'd be able to afford a motel room for the the night. Needs must, and all.

Olive grimaced at the unmistakable sound of fucking coming from an alley way as she passed by. Why was she here? Why had her gut been urging her south to Shreveport for nigh on a month? Why was it still pushing her forward even now? Olive made a point to always listen to her instincts, as they'd gotten her out of more than one sticky (read: potentially deadly) situation over the years. Of course, they'd also gotten her into trouble on occasion as well, though she had always emerged from those particular scraps having learned some sort of important lesson or skill that had served her well henceforth.

If Olive were honest with herself, which she tried to be, then she knew her instincts weren't just normal old gut feelings. They were more of an honest-to-God sixth sense than anything else. Olive's mother had been a genuine, practicing psychic medium, so perhaps she came by her extra sensory perceptions honestly. Olive still hesitated to call herself a psychic of any kind, but she couldn't deny that there was a little something supernatural about her. After all, other people's instincts didn't tell them exactly what to say or do to get them out of trouble, every time, without fail. Or precisely how they needed to hold themselves to seem most appealing, or least threatening, or most threatening. Regular intuition didn't tell you what route you should take in order to avoid a traffic accident or a street fight that hadn't even started yet. They certainly didn't blare at you that you should not get on a particular bus, only for you to find out later that the driver had a bad reaction to an interaction between his heart and thyroid medications halfway through the route, consequently crashing the bus and killing seven people. And if your instincts did tell you that once, they certainly wouldn't do it again and again, allowing you to scrape in and out of circumstances that really should have killed you with little to no harm done.

Olive sighed. Her magical gut feelings had told her to come to Shreveport, so she had come to Shreveport. Hadn't even really considered not doing so, in fact. The urge had felt. . . incredibly important, somehow, in a way that not even warnings about immediate danger to her life had managed. It wasn't a feeling she was familiar with. It was. . . bigger, Olive supposed. Bigger than just danger or deception or any of the other things Olive's gut usually instructed her on. As if the decision to come to Louisiana would affect her irrevocably, for years to come.

It felt like opportunity. And if Olive was anything, it was opportunistic. She'd had to be.

Now that she was actually in Shreveport, however, all Olive really felt was that she was surrounded by a low level of danger at all times. Whatever opportunity she was supposed to be grasping here, Olive couldn't see it. Well, good things to those who wait and all, and hopefully to those who follow their preternatural instincts. Olive could be patient.

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up, the skin beneath them prickling. Shit. Okay, so maybe she couldn't afford to be patient. Olive would recognize that feeling anywhere. Her instincts blared an alarm at the base of her skull.

Someone was watching her. More than that, her intuition warned, someone was hunting her.

Fucking vampires.

Olive crammed her hands into her inner pockets, curling her fingers around her silver knife. She scanned her surroundings with both her human senses and her supernatural ones, allowing her instincts to flare and direct her attention towards the threat at hand. She didn't know exactly where the vampires stalking her were, but there was definitely more than one. The streets around her appeared empty, lined by disreputable establishments whose bright neon signs provided the only light and color in an otherwise dim, gray area. They flickered and flashed blindingly, humming with electricity. Olive could hear the roar of city life in the distance, and the dull thud of pulsing dance music through the concrete walls of a strip club across the street. She considered going in. It was likely crowded, and vampires were forbidden from feeding in public spaces-including private establishments into which the public was invited, such as restaurants and clubs. She might be safe there for a time. . . No. Her instincts urged her forward, faint impressions of potential consequences flitting lightly across the backs of her eyelids as she blinked. A V lab in the basement of the strip club, a fight breaking out, screaming and gunshots. Hmm. It wasn't often that she got details like that. Olive made a note of the address. Assuming she survived this, she'd have to find some way to alert the local vampire Sheriff to the V operation running right under his nose. Vampires took that shit seriously, and for good reason. V could wreck people quicker than heroin and cocaine combined.

So the club was out. The thrill of real fear and adrenaline was now beginning to take root in Olive's chest. Her breath still fogged up the air in front of her face, but with her blood pumping this fast, Olive wasn't anything resembling cold anymore. Unfortunately, she was probably becoming more tempting to her vampire stalkers by the moment as her heartbeat ratcheted up.

Olive considered her other options. The half-illuminated sign of the motel she'd planned to stay at tonight was now visible at the end of the street. She might be able to make it, but once she was there, there wasn't really anything to stop the vampires from following her in and draining her in the privacy of her room. Motels didn't offer the same protections from vampires that private residences did, after all. Her pursuers wouldn't need an invitation to enter.

Abruptly, Olive's intuition yanked on her, hard, and she followed it blindly, veering unhesitatingly into a narrow alley lit only by a single flickering floodlight. Snarls rang out behind her, Olive's hair blowing about in a burst of displaced air as the vampire who had appeared suddenly behind her failed to grab hold of her. Olive whirled around, snatching a wooden broom that had been leaning against the wall as she went. Lifting her foot high, she brought it down on the handle as hard as she could, snapping it. Instincts still blaring, Olive leapt backwards even as she completed her turn back towards the mouth of the alley, raising her new weapon as she went. Her vampire attacker froze as she leveled the sharp end of her makeshift stake at his chest, having nearly impaled himself on it with the force of his own forward momentum as he pounced towards her.

"Good evening," Olive said placidly, keeping her face calm through sheer force of will. "Bit cold for Louisiana, isn't it?"

The vampire seemed amused despite himself, and he smirked, showing off a respectable set of fangs. "Ah well," he commented. "It's December, after all."

Two more vampires materialized at the mouth of the alley way in a blur of speed, another male-bigger and physically older in appearance than the one who had lunged for Olive already-and a female. Their fangs descended in fury when they saw the position their nest mate (presumably) was in.

"No need for that," Olive said quietly. "Why don't we talk about this like the civilized adults we are?" she suggested.

Big Guy scoffed out a gruff snort. "I don't have to talk to food."

Olive couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes. "But apparently you like to play with it," she retorted.

The smaller male laughed lightly, breaking his stand off with Olive's stake to blur back towards his companions in a movement Olive could barely follow. "You've got balls, blood bag," he grinned. "It's almost a shame to eat you."

"You could always go eat someone else," Olive said, shamelessly throwing a hypothetical stranger under the bus. One by one the vampires began to stalk towards her, and she turned to put her back to the wall of the alley. The last thing she wanted was one of them getting behind her. "As you can probably tell, I'm not about to make myself an easy meal," she cajoled. Even as she pressed for a bloodless outcome to this situation, however, Olive could sense this wasn't going to end any way but violently. Still, it was worth a shot. "Why go for me when you could pick up some fast food at any fangbanger bar in the city?"

Little Guy chuckled again. "I dislike the taste of desperation," he admitted, shrugging callously. "But I do so love the sweet tang of fear."

Olive narrowed her eyes. "Fair enough," she said darkly, before lunging forward. The move was so unexpected that she actually managed to plant the broken broom handle in the smaller male's stomach before he or either of his nest mates could react. Olive followed that up immediately by chucking her backpack straight at Big Guy's face as a distraction and making a break for it.

Of course, that didn't work, but Olive hadn't really been expecting it to. She made it all of two feet before Lady Vamp was on her, pinning Olive to the wall and sinking her fangs into her throat. Olive cried out at the shock of sudden agony and the bizarre feeling of her blood being sucked, but this was far from the first time she'd been bitten by a vampire, so she worked through the pain, groping in her jacket for her dagger. Silver in hand, Olive reached up and stabbed blindly, planting the knife in Lady Vamp's neck with a grunt of effort.

The vampire shrieked, instinctively tearing herself away from the silver, which had the unfortunate side effect of pulling the dagger's razor sharp edge through the front of her throat as she hurled herself backwards, slitting her neck open from the inside out and splattering Olive with blood. "Eugh," Olive complained, wiping blood away from her eyes with a sleeve. Unfortunately, she knew that if she succeeded in killing any of the vampires, she'd be dealing with a lot more mess than just a little bit of blood. Preemptively, she bid a fond farewell to her favorite jean jacket.

The sight and smell of the silver dagger had all three vampires hissing dangerously, practically spitting in rage. "You dare-" Big Guy rumbled angrily.

Olive cut him off impatiently, "Oh, just get on with it already!" she snapped.

This, evidently, was all the encouragement needed, as no sooner had Olive spoken then she was being slammed against the far wall of the alley by two sets of hands, ribs crunching painfully and hip banging against a dumpster as she went. Two pairs of fangs dug into her body, one at her shoulder and another at her bicep. The arm holding her dagger was pinned so hard that she could feel the bones in her wrist grinding together. Still, Olive twisted her hand, expertly reversing the grip on her knife and stabbing downward and through the forearm holding her dominant hand prisoner. Little Guy roared in agony, tearing his head away from her bicep and loosening his grip slightly.

Instantly, Olive struck, tearing her arm free and nailing him in the face with a vicious right cross. Her dagger, still in a reverse grip, swiped clear through his cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, and up into the corner of his eye as her fist traveled, leaving a searing, smoldering trail in its wake. The smaller male stumbled back a step or two, snarling, and Olive didn't hesitate to punt him in the groin when the opportunity presented itself. He fell backwards, releasing a tortured groan and leaving Olive's right side completely free.

Big Guy had continued drinking from Olive's shoulder all this time, and she was beginning to feel dizzy. Therefore, she didn't allow herself to falter, instead following her gut's urging to lift the dagger and stab again, directly into the back of Big Guy's neck. He dropped like a rock, fangs tearing free messily, and didn't move. Dimly, Olive realized she must have severed his spinal column. With the silver knife still inside, the wound wouldn't heal, leaving him paralized from the neck down until he managed to expel the silver or one of his friends worked up the courage to pull the dagger out. This left Olive minus one enemy, which was good. It also left Olive minus a weapon, which was less good.

Lady Vamp screeched in rage (Shit that was unpleasant, didn't she have super hearing? How could she stand to make that kind of racket?), her throat finally healed, and rushed forward at speed, shoving Olive so hard she went flying back into the alley way, landing harshly on the pavement. She groaned loudly as her head cracked against the ground, brain ringing in her skull. Olive could practically feel the goose egg forming, not to mention the fact that if her ribs hadn't been broken before, they certainly were now.

On the bright side, Olive's intuition told her that Lady Vamp had tossed her to the ground close to where Little Guy had dropped the broken broom handle after he'd extracted it from his intestines. She groped around for it desperately, aching fingers wrapping around it just in time to thrust it forwards as Lady Vamp descended upon Olive from above. In a mockery of the maneuver Olive had pulled at the very beginning of this confrontation (mere minutes ago, though it felt like much longer), Lady Vamp's own momentum worked against her, as the force of her movement impaled her on the stake without Olive applying much pressure at all. The wooden weapon struck true, piercing the vampires heart with ease, and she exploded in a massive splatter of blood and stringy viscera, most of which landed squarely on Olive's legs and stomach. She gagged. "Fucking ew!" Olive griped.

Now really wasn't the time for complaints, she could acknowledge distantly, but her vision was beginning to blur and it was becoming rather difficult to think straight. Olive managed to sit up about halfway, propping herself up on her elbows before rolling to the side and hacking up a mouthful of blood. Well that wasn't good. Olive's head sagged.

Suddenly, her surroundings tilted and whirled nauseatingly as she was flung against a dirty alley wall for the third time that night. Little Guy pinned her by the throat with one hand, fingers digging painfully into the bite mark Lady Vamp had left. With his other hand, he caught Olive's arm as she swung weakly at him with the broom handle, snapping her wrist mercilessly. It hurt like hell, but Olive barely had it in her to whimper. The world was beginning to go dark at the edges. Olive couldn't even tell if her eyes were all the way open.

"You little bitch!" Little Guy hissed, spittle flying everywhere. The cut across his face was now nothing more than a faint, burned line, fading fast before Olive's eyes. Then again, everything seemed to be fading before Olive's eyes, so maybe he wasn't so special.

Olive laughed a tad hysterically, not remembering why she shouldn't. "Told you. . . I wasn't gonna make it easy," she choked out. "Shoulda gone. . . for the desperate fast food after all. . . huh?"

Little Guy snarled, lifting her away from the wall only to slam her back down into it again. Olive's skull hit the filthy bricks hard enough that she felt something crack. "I'm going to enjoy eating you," he growled.

Somehow, Olive wasn't afraid. Her instincts had kept her alive for 20 years, yet they had brought her here to Shreveport, to this alley, on this night. Maybe it was arrogant to think that her gut would never steer her wrong, but Olive was still waiting for that. . . largeness. That great, gaping maw of opportunity that had tugged her to Louisiana in the first place. That feeling was important, and it had led her to this encounter. Something more than death was coming for her. Something bigger, something. . . something vital.

As if on cue, Olive's intuition flared up again, that huge, open, yawning sensation making itself known again, more immediate than ever before. This close to the feeling, Olive could identify it a little better. It was still a bit unfamiliar, something she couldn't quite put a name to, but it felt a bit like a kind of freedom. Like something dangerously close to hope.

"Well, well, well," a new voice interrupted suddenly. Deep and male with a peculiar accent (something southern meets something. . . old), the voice cut through Olive like a freshly sharpened knife. She gasped quietly, something shifting inside her. Her instincts screamed. Important! This person is important! This person is inevitable! The man continued, stepping into the dim fluorescent cast of the floodlight. Through her fluttering eyelids, Olive could see only that he was very tall, and very blond. "Looks like we had some kinda party here." The man paused, and when he spoke again his voice took on a certain edge. "A party of the fun, but illegal variety."

Little Guy dropped Olive like she'd burned him, exclaiming, "Sheriff Northman!," and turning to face the newcomer so quickly that she wondered absently if vampires could get whiplash.

But then Olive fell to the ground, legs folding beneath her like wet paper and pure agony racing up her spine, and she figured vampires could go fuck themselves.

Fangtasia was as crowded as ever, maybe even more so than usual. It was winter, after all, which meant longer nights and more hours for vampires to be out and about attracting tourists and fangbangers alike. It was mid December as well, nearly the winter solstice, and the longest night of the year always saw a special celebration at Shreveport's own vampire bar. In this, the week leading up to it, Pam had seen fit to offer a series of deals and themed nights in order to increase business and interest in the solstice party.

She always was the better businessperson between the two of them, and Eric had never hesitated to tell her so.

In the heat of the packed club, one could hardly tell that it was unusually cold outside for a Louisiana winter, with temperatures having dipped down into the low 30s. It didn't bother any of the vampire clubgoers of course, let alone Eric himself, but the cold sent humans scurrying for indoor cover, drawing customers to Fangtasia who wouldn't normally bother visiting and adding to the massive throng of breathers currently taking up space in Eric's club.

The conflation of these factors resulted in a crowd of nearly 150 writhing bodies, all crammed up right against one another on the dance floor like sardines in a can, stinking up the place with sweat and pathetic outpourings of pheromones. Eric was glad for the separation from the crowd granted to him by the raised stage and his throne. Truthfully, while it was amusing to lord over the breathers and watch them lust and pine after him, he didn't really enjoy putting in face time at the club. He had much better things to be doing than entertaining the masses. But Fangtasia had an image to maintain, and the club was too good of a source of easy revenue, willing blood, and enthusiastic partners for Eric to damage that image on a whim.

So, as usual, Eric would stay sitting on his throne for a couple of hours, looking appropriately intimidating, sexy, and unattainable (not difficult, considering he was all of those things, if he did say so himself), before retreating to his blessedly soundproofed office for the rest of the night. He'd already been on the stage for about an hour and a half, so he only really had to stay for another 60 minutes or so before he could escape without attracting Pam's wrath. Maybe he'd take someone with him, if anybody caught his eye, but with the way the scent of stale sweat and desperation had overtaken the club tonight, he doubted anyone would appeal to him this evening.

Suddenly, a distinct tug from somewhere behind his breastbone startled Eric out of his stone-faced contemplation of the masses below, and he sucked in a startled breath. He'd recognize that tug anywhere, for all that he'd only felt it once before, a little over a century ago. It had been that tug, that pull at his cold, undead heart, that had led him straight to Pamela, back when she was still human. Godric, he knew, had also felt that pull, and had followed it across the Scandanavian peninsula 1,000 years ago until he'd found Eric himself.

It was an instinct known as the Maker's Call, and it was as old as vampires themselves. An impulse, an intuition that led potential Makers to those who were perfectly suited to be their progeny. Vampires could turn whomever they wanted to, of course, but none would ever compliment them so well as those they were drawn to by the Maker's Call.

The Call was actually quite rare. It was unusual for it to be felt as frequently in a single bloodline as it had been in Eric's. He put that down to the power and age of Godric's blood. Both Eric and his Maker had, after all, been over 1,000 years old the first time they felt the Call. It was an honor and a privilege to respond to it.

Another tug at his sternum had Eric standing quickly. "Pamela," he summoned, speaking quietly, and she arrived instantly at his side.

One look at his face and a brush of his emotions against hers within their bond had Pam's light smirk falling off her face entirely. "What is it?" she asked seriously.

Eric made for the back door of the club, gesturing for her to walk with him. "I need to go," he confided, voice low enough that none of the other vampires in the bar would be able to hear. "Your future sibling Calls."

"My future what now," Pam said blankly, unimpressed, before catching on. "Calls-the Maker's Call? Now?"

"Indeed," Eric said brusquely, pushing through the "Employees Only" door at the back of the club and striding down the hallway behind it. "And whoever it is, they're close. I'll likely summon you within the hour to bury us."

"So, what, you're just going to race off into the night and come back tomorrow with a new childe?" Pam accused peevishly, and something about her tone and the emotions their bond was sending to him from her had Eric pausing halfway out the door to look back at her.

"Pamela," he said softly after a moment, having identified her mild feelings of jealousy and insecurity for what they were. "There is nothing and no one in the world who could replace you." Eric cupped the back of her neck and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. His progeny didn't often feel insecure, and he wanted to nip that in the bud before it got out of hand.

Pam smirked wryly, seeming reluctantly pleased. "Not even the new baby?"

"Not even them," Eric swore. "Besides, I thought you might like having a younger sibling to boss around," he joked. Eric, of course, would be the ultimate authority for his new progeny, but Pam would be an important influence in his or her life as an older sister as well. Hmm, he liked the sound of that. "You might not be my only childe after this night, but you'll be something greater." He looked her straight in the eyes. "You'll be my firstborn. My eldest. I expect you to take that responsibility seriously."

Eric could sense Pam steeling herself, shoving her jealousy down in the face of her Maker's wishes. The problem wasn't completely solved, but hopefully seeing with her own eyes how having a new childe would not decrease Eric's love for her in the slightest would help Pam settle. For now, at least, he knew she would obey him. "I hear little ones are a lotta work," Pamela drawled, crossing her arms, clearly wishing to move past the moment of vulnerability.

Eric smirked. "You were," he teased, not untruthfully. He'd spent many years cleaning up Pam's messes when she was a young vampire. "But I wouldn't worry." He focused on the strong tug within his ribcage, pulling him towards his future progeny, somewhere out there in the city. "I have a feeling they're going to be magnificent."

With that, Eric elbowed his way of Fangtasia's back door, taking to the skies as soon as he was clear of the building. The Call pulled him away from the city proper, out of more mainstream clubbing areas and into truly decrepit neighborhoods. Fangtasia was hardly prime real estate, part of an old strip mall as it was, but even the vampire bar found its home in less sleazy parts of town than the streets that the Maker's Call urged Eric towards. What was his wayward little future childe up to?

The Call suddenly yanked on him harshly, urgently, and Eric sped up at its insistence. Hmm. Perhaps this was going to be more similar to his own Turning than anything else. Godric had approached Eric about becoming a vampire only after he'd been fatally wounded in battle.

The wind brought the smell of blood, both vampire and human, to Eric's nostrils. The scent was coming from the same direction Eric was traveling, which supported his theory. Alarmingly, the pull from the Call faltered slightly. Whatever had happened, his potential progeny was fading fast. Eric raced ahead, determined to reach the human before it was too late for even him to intervene.

There! Up ahead, the source of the blood and the sound of a fight. A vampire snarled loudly, closely followed by a female voice, young, croaking out a laugh. "Told you. . . I wasn't gonna make it easy," the girl said. Eric's still heart leapt, the Call surging forward in his chest. That was her. She was his. A daughter, a sister. His. "Shoulda gone. . . for the desperate fast food after all. . . huh?" she groaned.

"I'm going to enjoy eating you," a male voice growled, guttural. A vampire, not one Eric recognized by voice. Anger ignited in the Sheriff's chest. How dare some puny little upstart lay a hand on what was rightfully Eric's?

The confrontation at hand suddenly became visible as Eric crested over the edge of a tall warehouse building. Down in an alley below, a vampire had a young human woman pinned to the wall by the throat. She was bleeding from several wounds, and far too much blood was outside of her body for her to survive the night, even with the help of medical attention or vampire blood. Either she would meet the True Death, or she would Turn. However, it seemed Eric's little progeny-to-be had not actually come out worst in this fight. There was another male vampire, down on the ground with a silver knife in the back of his neck keeping him paralized, and a large pile of guts, blood, and other viscera a little further into the alley that could only be the remains of a slain vampire. Eric noted with pride that his future childe had clearly been the one to dispatch the unfortunate vampire, given that her lower body was completely coated in a layer of blood and gore.

Quickly, Eric dropped to the ground at the mouth of the alley and stepped forward into the small amount of light thrown by a floodlight above a dumpster. "Well, well, well," he said cooly, interrupting the only vampire still on his feet before the fool could bite Eric's potential progeny. Eric's tone was flat, almost bored, but he was releasing enough furious pheromones to intimidate a fellow ancient vampire, let alone this pathetic creature. "Looks like we had some kinda party here." He paused, getting a better look at the human. Three bite marks on her throat, shoulder, and bicep. The woman's wrist was obviously broken, and her chest rose and fell unevenly, indicating broken ribs and likely a punctured lung. Eric resisted the urge to snarl and bare his fangs. It was beneath him to show trash like this vampire his fangs. "A party of the fun, but illegal variety."

"Sheriff Northman!" the other vampire gasped, dropping Eric's destined childe and whirling to face the angry Sheriff. The woman released a pained moan as she fell to the ground, and Eric's ire increased,

"So you do know who I am," the Viking observed. "That's interesting, because I don't know you, seeing as you never presented yourself to me upon entering my Area. That's a rather serious offence," he said, tone deceptively mild and contrasting sharply against the anger Eric was projecting.

"I-we only just got into tow-" the younger vampire began nervously.

"Save it," Eric cut him off. "Collect your friend and present yourselves to me within the week so you can receive your punishment for breaking protocol and for feeding so carelessly in a public place. If you fail to do so, I will be forced to involve the Magister."

The younger man was smart enough not to argue. "Of course, Sheriff," he grit out. "But-the silver. . ." he trailed off, gesturing helplessly to the dagger in his nest mate's neck.

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" he drawled. Outwardly, he was nothing but calm. Inwardly, he urged the coward to just get on with it already so Eric could meet his future progeny properly.

Gulping, the other vampire didn't argue further. Reluctantly, he crossed to the downed vampire and reached hesitatingly toward the silver knife. He faltered, glancing back at Eric pleadingly.

"Some time today," Eric snapped, and the man didn't hesitate any further, grabbing the silver handle and yanking the dagger out as quickly as he could. Both vampires cried out in pain, and the smaller dropped the knife immediately. It clattered to the ground, small pieces of skin clinging to it from both immortals' wounds. "Good," Eric purred dangerously. "Now get out of here, and don't let me see you conducting yourselves in public this way again. It reflects very poorly on me as Sheriff." He paused briefly, then tossed some salt into the wound for good measure. "Especially if you can't even properly win the fights you pick."

Wisely choosing not to respond to the taunt-though it looked like they dearly wished to-the two nest mates raced off into the night without so much as a backwards glance, leaving Eric alone with the injured human. He turned to her, considering how to approach the topic of her Turning, but she spoke up lowly before Eric could think of what to say. "The knife. . . give it to me. . . please."

Eric paused, but acquiesced. She likely wouldn't want to keep it if she Turned, but he could understand it if she wanted to be armed around an unfamiliar vampire, especially given that she'd obviously just participated in a rather gruesome fight. Not that she'd be able to defend herself from him in her state if Eric really wanted to hurt her. Still, he could admire the impulse. Obligingly, he kicked the fallen dagger over to the woman. To his surprise, she merely picked it up with her good hand-movements slow and jerky-brushed off the burned flesh clinging to it, and tucked it into the inner pocket of her ruined jacket. "You're. . . the Sheriff?" the woman asked quietly, peering up at him through a pair of hazy dark green eyes.

Eric crouched down in front of her, reaching out to smooth back a lock of her riotously curly hair, currently clumped and tangled with blood and gore. She was young, he noted absently. Older than Godric had been when he turned, but not by much. "I am," he confirmed, surprised by the softness of his own voice. It was slightly alarming, the connection he felt with her already, before he even became her Maker.

"Perfect," she coughed, a slight smirk tugging at her bloodied lips. Eric's admiration for her grit rose another notch. "There's. . . a V lab runnin' out of. . . the strip club. . . 'cross the street."

Startled, Eric leaned back slightly. Now how did she know that? It wouldn't do for his future progeny to be involved with a V operation. "What makes you say that?" he questioned a bit darkly.

She laughed wetly, blood bubbling audibly in her esophagus. "Call it. . . intuition," she burbled. Her eyes held his intently, intelligent despite the cloud of pain hovering over her. "'m Olive," she introduced herself. "You're important." Her words were matter of fact.

He chuckled. "I'm flattered." He cupped her chin, turning her head to get a better look at the wound on her neck. She whimpered in pain, and he shushed her soothingly. "You must have fought very bravely," Eric complimented. "Not many humans could fend off three vampires at once, let alone incapacitate or kill one." He stroked her cheekbone, staring straight into her eyes. "I wish I could have seen it. It must have been. . . beautiful."

Olive choked out a chuckle to mirror his. "Now who's. . . flattering who?" Her chortles tapered off after a moment, and she furrowed her eyebrows, still examining his face. "Why are you. . . so important?" she whispered, almost to herself. Then she hacked out a cough, leaning to the side to spit out blood and mucus, chest heaving. A low, steady whine escaped from between her bloodied teeth as she dragged herself up into a sitting position.

Eric pursed his lips. "You're looking kind of rough there, little breather," he said. Aw fuck, that wasn't what he'd meant to say. How was he supposed to broach this topic? Pam had asked him to turn her, he had no frame of reference for this conversation. What was he supposed to do?

"Not sure I'll be. . . breathing much longer," Olive joked morbidly.

Fuck it. She was fading fast. Eric would just have to take the plunge. "I don't know about breathing," he began, "but how would you like to continue living?"

Olive quirked a dark eyebrow. "You offerin'. . . to heal me? Thought you vamps were. . . more particular. . . 'bout your blood?"

No seriously, how did she know that? Vampires were very protective of the knowledge of their blood's healing properties, lest they be literally sucked dry by the medical industry. Regular drainers were bad enough as it was. Combined with her knowledge of the V lab, Olive's knowledge wasn't painting a very pretty picture. But Eric's destined progeny was dying right in front of him, and he had to act quickly. He could always command an explanation out of her later if need be. Not allowing his confusion to show, Eric answered her implied question. "Oh we're very particular, and I'm not offering to heal you. I'm offering to give you a new life."

Olive gazed at him seriously, even as the light behind her eyes continued to dim. "You. . . wanna Turn me."

"If you can give up the sun, and walk beside me in darkness through the wide world. . ." Eric trailed off, leaning in towards her face. She smelled of sweat and adrenaline, but beneath that of something fresh like the sweet air of spring, and something cool like stone smoothed over by waves. "I will remake you into something new, something better. I will pour into you a thousand years of honor, wisdom, and experience." Recalling Godric's words to him all those years ago, the promise he had made Eric on his human death bed, the Viking found something else to promise his soon-to-be-childe. "I will be anything and everything to you," he vowed. "Your father, your brother, your child. Certainly your friend," he smirked, "or even your lover. Whatever you need." Eric paused, caressing Olive's jaw. "Do you understand?"

Olive considered him seriously. Trapped in her gaze, Eric could feel her heavy judgement weighing down around him. It was a heady sensation. ". . . No," she said eventually, and Eric's stomach dropped, but she continued before he could react further. "Father. . . brother . . . friend. I don't understand . . . any of those things. . ." she breathed out, eyelids fluttering. Her wounds continued to bleed sluggishly, leaking her precious life out onto the ground.

Eric's heart leapt, and he exhaled sharply in relief. She wasn't rejecting him, just answering his question. "That's alright. I'll teach you everything you need to know," he assured her, leaning in even closer to trail the tip of his nose down her cheek, along her jawline, down the unmarred side of her neck.

She hummed. "Okay," she murmured, eyes slipping shut as she came to her decision. "Do it."

And Eric dropped his fangs and dug them into the delicate skin of her throat.

A/N: I've actually never written a fight scene before, so please let me know what you think of it. Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it, and please drop a comment if you've got the time!