3 months later
Louisiana Central Prison
The prison warders escorted Renfield back to his cell. His dirty brown uniform clung to his gaunt frame, a testament to everything he had endured behind those walls. Without ceremony, they shoved him inside and slammed the heavy metal door behind him.
"Fuck you, bastard!" Renfield spat, turning sharply.
The warders just laughed.
"I heard from the department," one of them sneered through the slot in the door. "You were sacrificing kids and draining people dry for some ritual bullshit. Innocents, too. Real dark stuff."
He leaned in closer, voice thick with sarcasm. "If you really had magic, why don't you just walk out of here without anyone noticing?"
Renfield lunged at the door, slamming his fist against it with a howl of rage. The sound echoed down the sterile corridor. The guards walked off, their laughter fading into the distance.
Inside, Renfield collapsed onto the cold bunk. His beard was wild, his eyes sunken—haunted. Unrecognizable. He crossed his legs slowly and began to breathe deeply, slipping into a trance.
"Master... heed my call." His voice was barely above a whisper.
Nothing.
Only the low hum of machines in the distance.
"Master! Heed my call!" he cried louder, desperation cracking through his voice.
A guard's voice barked from down the hall: "Number 1074, shut the hell up!"
Renfield fell silent. His head dropped. The anger left his body in a slow, trembling exhale. Quietly, he sobbed.
Suddenly, the atmosphere turned icy, so cold it felt like death itself had entered the room. The lights flickered wildly, trembling on the edge of darkness. Then — pop! — the bulbs shattered one by one, raining glass across the floor. A strange chittering noise echoed through the air, a sound like fear giggling with delight, or death shrieking in hunger.
One by one, the warders collapsed, lifeless. The prisoners too, fell where they stood — no struggle, no scream, just instant, eerie silence.
Then, a thick black smoke slithered across the prison floor like a living shadow.
Renfield grinned as a woman emerged — not through the door, but through the wall itself. She was beautiful in the way only something truly wicked could be. A beauty that cursed you with a glance. A devil's gift wrapped in elegance and rot.
She tilted her head and smiled.
"Hello, Renfield," she purred.
Renfield looked into her obsidian eyes — a mistake.
"How dare you hold my gaze," she said coldly.
Renfield bowed low. "Forgive me, Master."
She smirked. "Renfield, my loyal servant. You've done well. Perhaps it's time I release you from this torment."
"Thank you, Master," he whispered, trembling with gratitude.
Her grin widened, revealing just a hint of something sharp. "You've played your part well. A pawn — but one of great significance."
Renfield smiled... until his eyes suddenly exploded. Blood streamed from his ears and nose. His lips darkened, and his veins bulged, glowing faintly under his skin. Then — snap — his bones cracked, his neck twisted unnaturally, and his body convulsed. Blood poured from his mouth as his soul seeped out in smoky wisps.
The woman inhaled deeply, her eyes pitch black, savoring his essence as it entered her like perfume.
Renfield's lifeless body crumpled to the floor.
The chittering of death grew louder... and then, darkness consumed everything.
The Count's mansion
Alek stood at the edge of the high balcony, eyes fixed on Lila playing quietly in the garden below. His expression, unreadable. He shifted with a sigh, turning to leave—only to sense the soft footsteps behind him.
"Lydia," he said, his voice like steel cooled in ice. "You can stop hiding."
She stepped from the shadows, arms crossed. "You actually adopted Lila... a human? Why?"
He turned slowly, gaze sharp. Why is she always watching, always prying...
"If you must know," he said, voice cold and clipped, "she's a child. And this world will devour her alive."
Lydia arched a brow. "Since when do you care?"
Alek's jaw tensed. He looked away for a heartbeat, then back with that same detached stare.
"My father never cared whether we lived or died," he said flatly. "I won't have her grow up like that. Call it responsibility. Call it convenience. I don't care. But if she's under my roof, she survives. That's all that matters."
Lydia's eyes narrowed. "The same way you never did kill me."
Alek didn't flinch. "I wouldn't call that kindness, Lydia. I'd call it luck."
She gave a bitter laugh as she turned to leave. "Mr. Evil Vampire... call it anything you want."
At the doorway, Lydia paused. "Even at the end of darkness, there is always light."
Alek smirked, his voice calm and cutting. "Light and darkness take their turns, Lydia. Darkness doesn't vanish—it waits. Evil is the shadow of good, just as night follows day. Both exist for a reason. You choose your side."
He turned, his eyes like frost. "I chose to be the black that reminds the white it isn't alone."
New Orleans, Morning.
The morning air was crisp, the sun kissing the cold earth as a new day began in New Orleans. At the New Orleans Police Department, officers were busy with their routines.
Detective Nolan Ives walked into the central office, approaching a handcuffed teenager.
"You're just a minor," he said. "And already have an arson charge?"
The teen looked up, defiant. "They killed my brother. All I did was take revenge."
Nolan's tone softened. "We'll look into your brother. I promise."
Suddenly, the sound of screeching tires cut through the air. Seven black Marias sped into the compound. Men and women in black tactical gear, rifles in hand, filed out in formation.
Sheriff Jackson Swift stepped outside immediately. "The Feds are here."
He narrowed his eyes, thinking, Something big is about to go down.
The agents approached the door. The sheriff intercepted them. "Welcome to the New Orleans Police Department."
A female voice called out, "Sheriff Jackson Swift."
He recognized it immediately. A woman stepped forward.
"You don't need to welcome us," she said, coolly.
"Laura McCoy."
"It's SSA Laura," she corrected.
"Right… sorry." He stepped closer. "What brings you here?"
Laura offered a small, unreadable smile. "Nothing too serious. Not yet."
She entered the central office and raised her voice, commanding attention.
"Officers, I'll need your attention."
Silence fell.
"I'm Laura McCoy, Supervisory Special Agent for the Field Division of the FBI."
One officer nudged Nolan. "Why are the Feds here?"
"I don't know, Richard."
Richard raised an eyebrow. "No offense, man. Just figured you'd know—you being the sheriff's lap dog and all."
Laura's voice cut through the room. "As you all know, New Orleans has always been... different. Strange things happen here—things that defy explanation. And with the recent killings, the federal government has asked us to take over operations here."
Murmurs broke out.
"Murmur all you want," she said. "The Feds are here to stay."
She turned to the sheriff. "Take me to the serial killer."
"Nolan."
"Yes, sir?"
"Take the SSA to Renfield."
Nolan led Laura through the corridors of the station, deeper into a secure wing. They arrived at a large, isolated facility. Upstairs, in the cell block, Nolan noticed a guard slumped against the wall.
"Hey, officer?"
He reached out and touched him. The guard collapsed, lifeless. His skin was pale, dry—like something had drained the life from him.
"Oh no..."
Nolan rushed to Renfield's cell. He flung the door open. Renfield lay dead on the floor, neck twisted unnaturally, bones clearly broken.
Laura smirked. "There's definitely something shady going on in New Orleans."
As she walked away, Nolan pulled out his phone and quickly called Ethan.
"Renfield's dead," Nolan said. "Brutally. Neck snapped, bones crushed."
Laura reappeared. "Who were you talking to?"
Nolan hid the phone behind his back and quickly deleted the recent call. "Just calling my girlfriend."
She took the phone, checked the call log, and saw the last call was to a contact named Tilda. She handed it back.
"Let's go."
---
Back in the central office, FBI agents were settling in, setting up their equipment and taking over desks. The local NOPD officers weren't thrilled.
As Laura passed through the room, a female cop leaned toward her partner and whispered, "I heard she used to be with the sheriff. Back when they were rookies."
The other woman smirked. "Must've broken her real bad to turn her into such a mean bitch." They both laughed.
Laura entered the sheriff's office.
"Jackson," she said sharply, "the serial killer you convicted is dead. And you know better than anyone—that's just the beginning. He didn't die by physical means."
Jackson leaned back in his chair. "Laura—or should I say, SSA Laura—some things are better left buried. This is my department, not yours."
Laura stepped forward. "Not anymore. I'm here to finish the job you ran away from."
He glared at her. "Still the little dog you always were."
---
At his desk, Nolan sat deep in thought when a young woman from the FBI approached him with a bright smile.
"You're Nolan Ives?"
"Yeah."
"I'm Chloe Parker." She extended her hand eagerly.
"Nice to meet you."
"I've admired your work for a while now—the cases you've solved."
He chuckled. "Funny. In New Orleans, cases don't get solved. They line up in queues, waiting their turn."
The department buzzed with murmurs and side glances. Order was already shifting. Laura had officially taken over.
New Orleans night was as lovely as ever.
The Count's mansion shimmered in opulence, its halls dressed in elegance befitting royalty. Even Alek stood on the upper verandah, momentarily admiring the view.
Lisa joined him.
"Why did you organize this night party?"
Alek smiled. "You know the saying—keep your enemies at arm's length… and always be ready to stab them from behind."
Lisa raised a brow. "You actually invited every supernatural in New Orleans to the Count's mansion?"
Below, Jake and his pack entered the estate. Alek descended to greet them.
"Make yourselves at home," he said warmly.
Jake offered a small smile, but it faded as Silas and his vampires arrived. The tension between Jake and Silas was immediate.
"Hello, Jake," Silas greeted.
Jake forced a civil tone. "Good evening, Silas."
He masked his disgust and handed Silas a glass of wine.
Alek remained by the entrance, awaiting more arrivals. Then, a figure in white walked in. He called out, "Annabelle."
But several cloaked witches stepped ahead of her. Alek held up his hands.
"No need to resort to violence."
He turned to Annabelle, who looked strikingly different from her usual appearance.
"I must say, you look beautiful—like the young woman you are, not some old crone wrapped in white cloaks."
Annabelle laughed softly. Alek nodded. "You witches can mingle freely."
He returned to the upper floor, raising a glass.
"Vampires, witches, and werewolves of New Orleans, I thank you for coming to this little gathering."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Beside Alek appeared Ethan, Caleb, and Clarissa. Alek addressed the room again.
"You should know—we are not the threat. I'm not here to cause harm... I'm here to cleanse whatever threatens us all."
Ethan leaned in and whispered, "Renfield is dead."
Without pause, Alek added aloud, "And now, the serial killer Renfield is no more."
Annabelle, seated at a table, smiled to herself. Even the dark beast does the light's work, she mused.
Then Lydia entered. Her beauty caught Alek's eye instantly. She moved through the crowd, unaware of the stir she caused.
Whispers echoed.
"What is a mundane doing here?"
Lydia approached a table, picked up a drink. A few vampires moved toward her, eyes gleaming.
Suddenly Alek appeared.
"Gentlemen, I advise you to keep your fangs to yourselves."
The vampires backed off without a word.
Nearby, Jake sat beside Annabelle.
"What do you think of Aleksander?"
Annabelle sipped her drink.
"I think New Orleans needs a tyrant—an evil one—rather than someone reckless and self-righteous like Silas."
Jake grinned. "You look beautiful tonight. I guess Aleksander finally dragged you out of that Strialin dress."
She playfully patted his arm. "I'm tired of being the bearer of burdens."
Jake nodded. "Being an alpha, a Stryalin, or head of the Society—it's all too much."
Silas appeared. "Maybe it isn't."
Annabelle's tone turned sharp.
"At least someone is doing something. You sat in silence, restricting your own kind—wolves and witches alike."
Silas defended himself. "I didn't take your peace. New Orleans has always been a magnet for chaos. Aleksander returned—but he didn't come alone."
Jake countered, "He restored peace."
Silas's eyes narrowed. "Are you going against me?"
Annabelle cut in. "We don't need to. You're no longer in power. Aleksander took that from you."
Silas said nothing and walked away, a tight smile on his lips.
Music filled the air. Marie, Silas's right hand, danced to the rhythm while watching Alek closely.
She whispered to her partner, "Silas has been defeated... for a long while now."
Jeremy responded, "Marie, even you can't go against Aleksander."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You know something, Jeremy?"
"No."
"This Count family is trouble. I don't take orders—from Silas or Aleksander. Sooner or later, someone's got to put them down for good."
A high-pitched ringing cut through the sound. Alek heard it, his senses sharpening. He approached Silas, who now sat alone.
He patted his shoulder. "My little protégé."
Silas didn't look at him. "What do you want, Aleksander?"
"Just some fun. You see Marie LaCosta? Down there, dancing with Jeremy? She's your only real enemy in this room."
Alek walked away as the music swelled again. Shadows danced on the walls. The light dimmed, and the night grew darker still.