The Count's mansion
The mansion felt cold. Lifeless. Like it had forgotten what warmth ever was.
Alek walked into the living room, passing Lisa and Caleb at the dining table without a glance.
"Lydia!" he called.
She came running down the stairs. He grabbed his coat; she picked up a small fascinator cap, quiet but quick.
Caleb raised his coffee cup, smirking toward Lisa.
"He's parading that human around again. I swear, she's just another toy to him."
A sudden gust—Alek moved in a blink. One moment Caleb sat comfortably, the next, Alek had him by the throat, eyes burning.
"She's not a toy. And who I spare? None of your damn business."
Caleb choked out a bitter laugh.
"The Alek I knew didn't keep human souvenirs."
Alek's grip tightened for a second.
"Don't project your twisted habits onto me, brother."
He let go and turned away. Lydia was already behind him, following without a word.
Upstairs, Ethan leaned on the railing, watching with a faint smirk. Lisa just stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork and pointed it at Caleb.
"You and Alek haven't been civil since the 1800s. Why start now?"
Ethan shook his head and walked off.
He stopped in front of Lila's door and knocked softly.
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
She sat cross-legged on the floor, hunched over a sketchpad, drawing something strange—shapes and shadows that didn't make sense.
"I'm Alek's brother," Ethan said as he stepped inside. But the moment he crossed the threshold, something... shifted. The air felt off.
Lila looked up, smiling like she already knew.
"Uncle Ethan," she said. "Father talks about you all the time."
Father? Ethan blinked. She calls Alek "Father"?
He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching her scribble furiously in one corner of the page.
He reached for her shadow. His eyes flickered golden as he tried to scan her memories—but something pushed back, hard.
"What the hell is she?" he muttered. "Her mind's locked tight... feels like vervain in her blood."
Lila looked up, catching the glow in his eyes.
"Your eyes glow like Father's," she said. "You're a vampire too."
"Yeah," Ethan replied, watching her. "Aren't you... scared?"
She gave a little shrug.
"I've seen worse."
That made him pause.
"Worse than vampires?"
She pointed at the sketch she'd been working on.
Ethan stared at it, trying to make sense of the image. It looked like a creature—or maybe a symbol. Either way, it unsettled him.
"What is this? Who is it?"
She glanced at him, her tone soft but firm.
"You're not Father. I can't tell you."
He laughed under his breath, walking over to her shelf. He picked up a chessboard.
"You play?"
"Only if you play with me, Uncle Ethan."
"My pleasure," he said, setting it down.
As the pieces moved, so did his thoughts.
There's something off about this girl, he thought. Too calm. Too sharp. Too... aware.
And maybe, just maybe—he liked that.
Aleksander and Lydia walked down New Orleans' busiest street when Lydia suddenly turned to him and said,
"You know, you vampires really are just like the myths."
Alek replied,
"Not exactly. Most of those stories? Just people trying to explain what scared them."
Lydia raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so? You really believe that?"
Alek said,
"Look, we can walk on walls, sure—but that doesn't mean we're bats. And we definitely don't turn into them. Someone even named a flying mammal after us. A vampire bat. Seriously, what kind of joke is that?"
Alek looked genuinely irritated as he spoke.
Lydia asked,
"So, when you say 'not exactly,' does that mean you can go out in the sun?"
Alek replied,
"I can. So can my siblings . We're not like most vampires, lady."
Lydia said,
"Right. You're primordials, aren't you?"
Alek nodded.
"Exactly. You're catching on."
Lydia asked curiously,
"What about the others?"
Alek answered,
"Most vampires aren't born with sun immunity. They go through a ritual for it—it's called the Helios Rite."
Lydia said,
"Huh. That's actually kind of cool."
Alek stops in front of a casino.
Meanwhile, somewhere in New Orleans…
The evening brothel had just opened its doors to welcome the usual crowd. Funny thing about this place—there was no bias here. Vampires, werewolves, humans... it didn't matter. The only currency that counted was desire. It existed for one reason only: to satisfy the hunger that lived beneath the skin.
But tonight, all attention centered on one particular room, dimly lit by a crimson glow—a room that bore witness to the kind of temptation that made men forget their names.
Jeremy lay on his back, shirt open, the same man who once danced with Marie at Alek's party. Now, he was ready to indulge again—this time under the dying light of the evening sun.
Sasha straddled him, matching his hunger. Her skin met his with greedy need, eager for the chill of his touch. She kissed him with desperation, her hands fumbling to undress herself. As she revealed her body and climbed onto him, Jeremy's hands slid down her thighs, gripping tight to guide her rhythm, coaxing moans from her lips like music.
"You're different," she whispered, biting his ear with a sultry grin. "Not like the others."
"You have no idea," he replied, voice low, feral.
She moved in slow circles on his lap, as if dancing to a song only she could hear. Jeremy gave into it—her warmth, her breath, the pulse of lust thudding in his veins. But then, something shifted.
Suddenly, the world around him blurred. He was weightless, lost in a void of pleasure so intense it bordered on the unreal. A voice echoed through the haze—soft, sensual.
"Yeah… more…"
But it wasn't Sasha's voice. It was inside his mind, yet felt foreign. Familiar. Female.
Jeremy blinked, the illusion flickering. The bed twisted. He rolled, now facing Sasha on their sides—until another presence made itself known.
A second woman lay behind him, her arms wrapping around his chest like silk. Her voice caressed his ear.
"She'd enjoy it, Jeremy. You know she would. Sink your fangs into her."
He turned and saw her—a dark, impossibly beautiful woman with curves that made the mind reel. Her eyes glowed with seductive power as her fingers trailed across his chest.
"No one's going to blame you," she purred. "You want to feel it, don't you? The real high? Give her the gift…"
It was like being possessed.
Jeremy turned back to Sasha. His lips met her shoulder in a slow, reverent kiss… then his fangs slid into her flesh.
She cried out—not in pain, but in ecstasy—and moaned as her body trembled. For a few perfect seconds, the world was only blood, skin, and the bliss of the forbidden.
Then her body seized.
Sasha convulsed, her body slipping from his grip and collapsing onto the bed. The haze shattered.
Jeremy sat up fast, breath sharp. The weight of what he'd done crashed into him like a wave.
"Fuck… not again," he muttered, panic rising.
He scrambled to gather her clothes, scooping her up as her body twitched in his arms, still caught in some unnatural seizure.
Without thinking, he slipped through the open window and vanished into the evening , the guilt clinging to him like a second skin.
Society's Courtyard
Vampires circled the open courtyard, sparring with long wooden poles under the dim glow of enchanted torches. The sound of wood clashing echoed like thunder. Among them, Marie stood out—graceful and lethal. With fluid, assassin-like precision, she brought down three opponents in one swift, coordinated strike. All eyes were on her.
Then came a sharp voice.
"Jeremy!" Silas called, entering the courtyard.
No response.
"He's not here," Marie answered, not even looking his way.
Silas strode toward her. "I need your help. Come."
Marie grabbed another wooden pole, her eyes narrowing, laced with venom and intent. She turned to Silas, a wicked smirk tugging at her lips.
"Hey, Lord of the Society," she said mockingly.
With a sudden motion, she tossed a pole to him.
Addressing the other vampires, her voice rang out, fierce and cold:
"This man here is your lord, vampires."
She pointed to him with the pole in hand.
"And I'm going to fight him."
Silas raised his hands. "No! Marie, no—"
Too late.
She launched at him with ferocity, slamming the end of her pole across his cheek. He staggered back, spitting blood. His gaze locked with hers, intense and conflicted.
"You're not rebelling… are you?"
Marie circled him like a predator. "The same lord who gave him his power—who handed it all to the Count."
Silas barked, "Do you really believe that?"
Marie's voice dropped to something darker.
"The best way to lie… is to lie to yourself. It feels good, doesn't it?"
She turned to the watching vampires, shouting,
"The one you call your leader? He's nothing more than Aleksander D'Thane's puppet. A protégé, molded ages ago. What makes you think anything's changed?"
Silas tensed. The spark of rage flickered in his eyes.
Marie saw it. She smiled. "Now you see how poison spreads. The truth is bitter—and toxic when you finally taste it."
With a fierce cry, she lunged at him again, her pole sweeping dangerously close to his eyes.
Silas blocked the strike, retaliating with a swift blow to her torso, then followed with a heavy kick. She stumbled back. In a split-second motion, he hurled his pole—straight and hard.
It struck her shoulder, impaling through muscle and pinning her to the stone wall behind. The force shook the courtyard into silence.
Marie gasped, eyes wide as blood trickled down her arm. The pole had left a gaping wound.
Silas stepped in, voice low and cold.
"Your heart… is just a few centimeters from here."
He twisted the pole.
As Marie faced him, her voice cut through the air like a blade.
"You're just a weakling hiding behind society. If you were a true leader, Aleksander wouldn't have taken your power from you."
Silas sneered.
"I made you, Marie."
She smirked coldly.
"You ever heard of a Frankenstein who kills his creator? Guess I'm going to be yours."
"You snake!" Silas snapped.
Marie stepped closer, her voice rising as she addressed the others.
"You are nothing. And you vampires—do you truly want to remain under the thumb of this frail excuse for a leader? I'm the only one with the strength to rule the Society. And I will handle those crude Primordials returning to this town, since he clearly failed in that responsibility."
In one swift motion, she slipped a dagger from her coat pocket. With a sharp slash, she severed the wooden pole beside her and hurled the dagger into Silas's abdomen. The impact made him stagger backward, gasping, as she vanished into the night—leaving nothing but the crackle of air where she once stood.
Silas roared in pain, ripping the dagger from his body as blood poured down his side. The gathered vampires stared in silence as the wound slowly began to heal, his rage simmering.
"Everyone, leave!" he bellowed.
One by one