Chapter 17: The First Proto-Vampire (Part 1)
I'd been watching Marcus Cole for two weeks.
Not stalking—observing. Learning who he was before I offered him something that could kill him. Because if I was going to create a vampire from my bloodline, someone who'd be nearly as powerful as an Original, I needed to be damn sure they deserved it.
Marcus was forty. Looked fifty from the wear. Construction worker, three jobs, sleeping maybe four hours a night. He had calluses on his calluses and a tiredness in his eyes that went bone-deep.
But he kept going. Every day. For his nephew.
The kid was eight. Orphaned when Marcus's sister and her husband got hit by a drunk driver last year. Marcus had taken him in without hesitation, despite barely making rent on his own place. Now he worked construction during the day, stocked shelves at night, did weekend security shifts whenever he could get them.
And he was drowning. Slowly. But drowning all the same.
I found him at a dive bar on Saturday night, his one night off, nursing a beer he couldn't really afford. Alone at the corner table, staring at his phone—probably looking at pictures of his nephew.
I sat across from him.
He looked up, wary. "Seat's taken."
"No it's not." I kept my voice low, non-threatening. "Marcus Cole. Age forty. Three jobs. Raising your nephew Dylan alone after losing your sister Sarah to a drunk driver thirteen months ago."
His hand moved toward his pocket. "How do you know—"
"Relax. I'm not a threat. I'm an opportunity." I leaned back, let him see my empty hands. "What if I told you I could give you power to protect the people you love? Real power. The kind that means nobody hurts Dylan ever again."
"I'd say you're selling something illegal."
"Worse. I'm offering immortality. Strength. Speed. Abilities that would make you nearly unkillable." I met his eyes. "But the process might kill you. And if it doesn't, you'll never be human again."
Marcus stared at me. Then laughed—short, bitter. "You're insane."
"Probably. But I'm also serious." I pulled a business card from my pocket—just a phone number, nothing else. "Think about it. If you're interested, call. If not, forget this conversation happened."
I left before he could respond.
Either he'd call, or he wouldn't. But I'd given him the choice. No compulsion. No manipulation. Just an offer and the freedom to refuse.
That had to count for something.
He called two days later.
"This is Marcus." His voice was rough, uncertain. "From the bar. You gave me your number."
"I remember."
"Is the offer real?"
"Yes."
"What's the catch?"
"You have a one-in-twenty chance of surviving the transformation. Those with easy lives, soft souls—they die screaming. The process requires something inside you that's already been hardened by genuine loss." I paused. "You've suffered. That might be enough. But I won't lie—this could kill you. Painfully."
Silence on the line. I could hear him breathing, thinking.
"And if I survive?" he asked finally.
"You'll be stronger than any human. Faster. Nearly immortal. You'll be able to protect Dylan from anything that comes for him."
"What are you? Really?"
"Meet me and I'll show you. But Marcus? This isn't something you agree to lightly. Think about Dylan. If you die, he loses the only family he has left."
"If I don't take the risk, I lose him anyway. I'm barely keeping up with bills. One medical emergency, one missed paycheck, and we're homeless." His voice hardened. "I'm already dead inside. Let me be reborn or let me die—either's better than watching from the sidelines while life destroys everything I care about."
The conviction in his voice. The acceptance of death as preferable to helplessness.
He'd make it. I could feel it.
"Tomorrow night. 10 PM." I gave him the warehouse address. "Come alone. And Marcus? Say goodbye to Dylan. Just in case."
I hung up before he could change his mind.
I spent the next day preparing.
Cleaned the basement. Set up blood bags in case Marcus survived and needed to feed immediately. Called Davina and Elijah, asked them to be present—Davina for pain-dampening magic, Elijah as witness to ensure I wasn't doing this secretly.
"You're certain about this?" Elijah asked when he arrived at 9 PM, impeccable suit looking wrong in the industrial warehouse.
"No. But he is. And I'd rather have a small, loyal sireline than create an army I can't trust."
"The survival rate concerns me."
"Me too. That's why I'm being selective." I checked the time. "He'll be here soon."
Davina arrived at 9:30, backpack full of grimoires and spell components. "You really think he'll survive?"
"I think he has a better chance than most. He's been ground down by life until only the core remains. That's what matters—the core. The part that refuses to break."
"And if he doesn't make it?"
"Then I bury him and try to live with the fact that I offered hope and delivered death." I met her eyes. "But I won't stop trying. I need a sireline. People I can trust. And that means taking risks."
Marcus arrived at 10 PM exactly.
He looked like he hadn't slept. Eyes bloodshot, jaw tight, moving with the careful control of someone who'd made a decision and wouldn't back down from it.
"You came," I said.
"Told Dylan I loved him. Arranged for my landlord to take him if I don't come back. I'm ready." He looked around the warehouse, taking in Elijah's suit and Davina's teenage appearance with barely concealed confusion. "These your witnesses?"
"Davina provides magical assistance. Elijah ensures I'm not doing this in secret." I gestured to the center of the room where I'd set up a clear space. "Last chance to back out, Marcus. No shame in it."
"I've been dead inside since I lost Sarah. Let me be reborn or let me die." He walked to the center. "Do it."
I approached slowly, giving him time to change his mind. He didn't move. Didn't flinch.
"The process is simple," I explained. "You drink my blood. You die. Your body attempts to transition. If you're strong enough, you wake up as something new. If not..." I didn't finish the sentence.
"How long?"
"Between death and waking? Could be three hours. Could be six. Depends on how much your body fights the change."
"And the pain?"
"Excruciating. Like being torn apart from inside. Davina will help with that, but she can only do so much."
Marcus nodded. Rolled up his sleeve. "Dylan needs me. That's enough."
I bit my wrist. Blood welled up, dark and potent with over a millennium of immortality concentrated in every drop. This wasn't normal vampire blood. This was the source. The foundation of every bloodline.
And Marcus was about to drink it.
"Last chance," I said one more time.
"Do it."
I offered my wrist. Marcus took it without hesitation, pressing his mouth to the wound and drinking. The taste made him gag—old blood, thick with power—but he kept going until I pulled away.
"That's enough."
He stumbled back, already looking sick. "I feel—"
His heart stopped.
Marcus collapsed. I caught him before he hit the concrete, lowering him carefully.
"Davina," I said quietly.
She knelt beside him, hands already moving through spell forms. "I've got him. But Roy—his body's rejecting it. The blood's trying to take hold and something inside him is fighting back."
"He's strong enough."
"How do you know?"
"Because I saw it in his eyes. He'd rather die trying than live helpless." I looked at Elijah. "You're witnessing this. If he dies, I want you to tell Dylan the truth. That his uncle tried to become something more. That he died brave."
Elijah nodded grimly. "And if he survives?"
"Then I have my first Proto-Vampire. And Dylan has a guardian who'll never let him be hurt again."
We settled in to wait.
Marcus's body lay still on the concrete. Davina's spell flickered around him, trying to ease pain he couldn't feel yet but would soon experience in full.
This was the moment. Success or failure. Life or death.
I'd offered hope. Now we'd see if it was enough.
The transformation began at the one-hour mark.
Marcus's back arched. His mouth opened in a silent scream. And the blood I'd given him started burning through his system like acid.
"Here we go," Davina whispered.
I knelt beside Marcus and prepared to watch another being suffer for power I'd offered them.
Please work. Please let him survive this.
Because if he didn't, I wasn't sure I could live with the guilt.
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