Streets of Ravetham

Thaige—masquerading as Kaelen—stalked through the dark, narrow alleyways of Ravetham. In her doppelgänger form, she wore Kaelen’s face—a perfect replica of his silver hair, his violet eyes, his lean frame. But unlike him, she walked these streets with a twisted purpose. She was completely naked, every inch of her exposed to the cold, but she didn’t feel it. The streets of Ravetham, especially near the strip, were alive with activity—the flickering neon lights casting long shadows, the hum of traffic, and the low murmur of voices as people crowded the sidewalks, unaware of the danger lurking in the alleys.

Thaige held a makeshift cardboard sign above her head. The crude, bold letters scrawled in marker read: “I’ll do anything for drugs.” It was a twisted perversion of her brother’s identity, one designed to tarnish his reputation, and she reveled in it. With every step, she could feel eyes on her—gawking, staring, some disgusted, others intrigued, and a few… a few who saw her as prey. Exactly what she wanted.

Her bare feet slapped against the cracked pavement, and her breath came out in slow, controlled puffs as she sauntered along, weaving through the dark alleys near the strip. Laughter and drunken catcalls echoed from the nearby clubs, but here, in the shadows, Thaige was the predator. She felt the weight of cellphones being raised, people capturing her on camera—Kaelen’s face plastered across every social media feed, debased and humiliated. Perfect. Let them record, let them spread the filth. The more eyes, the better.

“Hey, man, you okay?” A young woman stopped, her eyes wide with disbelief as she looked Thaige up and down, her phone still recording. Thaige turned to her, face a perfect imitation of Kaelen’s, contorted into a desperate expression.

“Please… I’ll do anything,” Thaige whispered, her voice hoarse and trembling, perfectly mimicking a broken man on the edge. “I just need a fix…”

The woman recoiled slightly, but her phone stayed steady, capturing every moment. “Yo, someone call the cops,” she muttered to her friend, and they both moved away, leaving Thaige standing in the alleyway, the cold night air brushing against her bare skin.

As they retreated, another figure emerged from the shadows, a middle-aged man with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes. He wore a leather jacket that had seen better days, his demeanor shifty, eyes darting around as if checking for witnesses. He licked his lips as he approached.

“You say you need a fix?” the man asked, his voice low and eager. “I can hook you up.”

Thaige’s eyes flickered with interest, her lips curling into a weak smile as she played along. “Please…” she whispered again, taking a few hesitant steps toward him. “I’ll do anything. I just need something… anything.”

The man grinned, his yellowed teeth flashing in the dim light. He gestured for Thaige to follow him deeper into the alleyway, away from the prying eyes of the street. Thaige complied, feigning desperation, her body trembling as if with need. But in reality, her mind was sharp, focused. She was not the victim—she was the predator, and this man had no idea what was coming.

Once they were far enough into the shadows, the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bag of white powder. “This is the good stuff,” he said, holding it out to her. “You do something for me, I’ll give you a taste.”

Thaige stepped closer, her eyes never leaving his. She reached out as if to take the bag, her fingers brushing against his hand. Then, in a sudden, fluid motion, she grabbed his wrist and twisted. The man gasped in pain, but before he could scream, Thaige's other hand slammed into his throat with terrifying precision. The cartilage snapped, silencing him instantly. His eyes bulged, fear overtaking his face as he realized too late what had happened.

She smiled, a twisted, cruel smile, as she felt his pulse racing under her fingers. With a sickening crack, she snapped his spine, paralyzing him. His body went limp in her grasp, and Thaige wasted no time sinking her fangs into his neck. His blood flowed into her mouth, warm and thick, fueling her insatiable hunger. “You shouldn’t have tried to take advantage of me,” she whispered, her voice dripping with venom.

As she fed, she could feel his life slipping away, but that wasn’t her goal. No, she didn’t want him dead—not yet. After draining enough to satisfy her, she pulled away, her lips stained with crimson. She bit her own wrist, allowing her blood to drip into his mouth, healing his shattered spine and revitalizing his broken body. As her blood worked its dark magic, his eyes, once filled with terror, glazed over with obedience.

“You’re mine now,” Thaige whispered into his ear. “You’ll bring me more… more people who think they can take advantage of me. Do that, and I’ll let you live.”
“Go find others,” she commanded, her voice hard. “Anyone who looks like they want to take advantage of me. Bring them here.” The two men nodded, their expressions blank, and they disappeared into the darkness, eager to please their new master.

As she watched them go, Thaige smiled to herself. It was only the beginning. Soon, her army of thralls would grow, and Kaelen’s name would be dragged through the mud. Every person who approached her would be another victim, another free meal to feed her endless hunger. And as the bodies piled up, so too would the chaos.

Far across town, in the luxurious heart of Ravenwood, Valerian sat in his grand manor, his form reclining within a shadowy chamber filled with ancient tomes, artifacts, and candles that flickered with soft, eerie light. His violet eyes glowed faintly as he focused, his senses stretching out like dark tendrils through the city of Ravetham. Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

He could feel it—a disturbance in the very fabric of his territory. Someone was turning humans into thralls, and worse… fledglings. His hand clenched the arm of his chair, the wood creaking under the pressure. A cold fury burned in his chest. The turning of thralls into fledglings without permission was a direct violation of the clan’s laws. Every fledgling, no matter how they were created, had to be acknowledged by the ruling clan in the area. It was a matter of control, of order—and whoever was doing this was undermining everything he had built.

His instincts screamed that something was gravely wrong, but it was still daylight hours, and that fact tied his hands. He couldn’t act until nightfall. By then, it might be too late—too many fledglings could be made, and controlling the situation would become a nightmare.

His anger simmered beneath the surface, but outwardly, Valerian remained calm, methodical. He reached for his phone, dialing Kaelen. If his son had anything to do with this, there would be consequences. But as he raised the device to his ear, something strange happened. There was no signal—just dead air. His phone, usually reliable, was now completely useless.

His lips curled into a snarl of frustration. Someone or something was interfering with his ability to communicate. This wasn’t just a simple act of rogue vampires—it was deliberate sabotage. Valerian’s mind raced, calculating his next move. He needed eyes and ears on the ground immediately.

“Summon Ragnar Fang,” Valerian commanded to one of the maids who had been standing silently in the corner. The maid bowed and left the room swiftly.

Moments later, Ragnar Fang entered the chamber. He was a towering figure, muscular and imposing, with piercing eyes that gleamed with fierce loyalty. His presence radiated strength, a perfect enforcer for Valerian’s will.

“How may I serve, my lord?” Ragnar asked, his voice deep and steady.

Valerian’s eyes narrowed. “There is something happening in Ravetham. Someone is turning humans into thralls—and worse, into fledglings. I cannot move until nightfall, but I fear that by then, the damage will be too great to control. I need you and your pack to hunt, but do not engage. Find my son, Kaelen, and stop whatever is happening. I will deal with the perpetrators tonight.”

Ragnar bowed his head. “As you command, my lord. We will not fail.”

With that, Ragnar left, his purpose clear. As Valerian sat back in his chair, he could only hope that Kaelen was not involved in this madness. Because if he was… the consequences would be severe.