In the bar; Skye leaned forward, her eyes scanning over the yellowed newspaper clippings and police reports scattered across the tabletop. "So, my mother is the Slayer, and yes, she and your dad are—let's call it—mutually acquainted through her Watcher, Giles. They've shared information on a few occasions."
Dean absorbed this, the edges of the articles blurring as he focused on Skye's words before she took a swig of her beer. "And a Watcher is…?"
"Think of it as a mentor or guide. Vampires often have protégés, right? Well, a Slayer is trained by a Watcher. They're the ones who help us understand what we're up against and how to fight it." She stopped at a particularly worn article, tracing a line of text as she spoke.
Dean's voice was tinged with curiosity. "And your Watcher is…?"
She took a slow sip, setting her beer down with a soft clink. "I don't have one. I was taught by my mother and a few of her allies. Call me a rogue Slayer if you like. I'm not bound by the Council or any Watcher's agenda."
"A freelance vampire slayer," Dean mused with a raised eyebrow. "That's a new one."
Skye's laugh was light, almost carefree. "Yeah, you could say it's less about destiny and more about choice for me."
Dean nodded, his expression serious. "Choosing your own path… I can respect that."
Her gaze fell back to the articles. "I pulled up some records from the library. They go all the way back to 1967—mysterious disappearances, gruesome murders, always with mutilation around the neck." Skye waved her hand around her neck for emphasis, her gesture dramatic, as if demonstrating the brutality of the wounds.
"I've taken out nest after nest where I can, but I haven't come face to face with the family... as several vampires have referred to them."
Dean raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between her and the papers. "And this family," he gestured to the articles, "they're a group of vampires?"
"Not just any group," Skye corrected, "the biggest and most organized I've ever seen. And they're not just in this town—they're everywhere, I've even ran into a few in Sunnydale But here in Maple Ridge, we're sitting on the heart of it."
Dean leaned forward, the hunter in him awakening. "Then let's go rip that heart out."
Skye met his determined gaze, her own resolve unwavering. "That's the plan. But Dean... I don't know if just the two of us can pull it off. I've been hunting vampires for almost six years, and I've never seen anything like this — the organization, the sheer number of them. The last nest I cleared had twelve. If the sun hadn't been on my side, even with all my training, I probably wouldn't have made it out alive."
Dean nodded. He'd never actually come face to face with a vampire, but in their world, he knew they were out there—he'd just been lucky enough to avoid them... until now.
Skye took a long swig from her beer before setting the bottle down and clasping her hands together. "I've got some allies coming into town—they'll be here by morning. And my mother had John reach out to you for extra backup. Dean, this is as close to pure evil as it gets. We need you."
Dean leaned back, his chair creaking under the shift of his weight. "Just tell me where to aim, and I'm your guy." He shrugged, inwardly wincing at the unintended innuendo. But Skye, unfazed, offered a soft smile and an assured nod that eased his nerves.
Meanwhile, across town, a shadowed, dilapidated mansion stood in eerie silence, its busted windows and crumbling stone façade giving way to decay. Inside, the air thick with the metalic scent of blood and rotting odor of flesh. Serena, a stunningly seductive vampire, moved gracefully through the dim hallways. Her figure was wrapped in a crimson gown that hugged every curve, the plunging neckline daringly bold. The soft glow of flickering light seeped through the cracks of a heavy study door. Without hesitation, Serena pushed it open, her presence commanding the space.
"Darling, I've been searching for you," she called out, her voice rich and enticing.
He sat in front of the fireplace, his wavy, shoulder-length hair catching the flicker of flames. His attire was casual yet sophisticated—a dark shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing inked skin beneath. His eyes, intense and calculating, lifted to meet Serena's as she entered.
Like Serena, Julian was beautiful and striking, but ancient—an age evident in the way his steady gaze followed her every move. As the leader of the family, he commanded authority effortlessly, never needing to raise his voice to be heard.
His mouth parted slightly with hunger as her intoxicating scent filled the room, her every step a study in seduction. The firelight danced across her face, highlighting her sharp, alluring features.
Serena knelt beside him, her fingers gliding gently across his face—a tender touch at odds with the hungry gleam in her eyes.
"Missed me, did you?" Julian's voice, a low rumble infused with amusement and affection, broke the silence. He allowed her touch, his gaze never wavering, as though trying to read her thoughts.
Serena leaned in, her lips brushing against Julian's ear. "Always," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. She trailed soft kisses along his neck until her teeth sank into him, blood oozing into her mouth.
A low, hungry growl rumbled from Julian's chest—until Damien, the family enforcer, interrupted them.
"What?" Julian barked, glancing away reluctantly as Serena knelt before him, her hands teasing the belt of his jeans.
Damien shifted uncomfortably, his voice carrying a hint of hesitation. "Julian, there's a problem."
Julian exhaled sharply, stopping Serena with a firm touch. "What is it?"
Damien's gaze flicked between them before he spoke. "It's about Cassie and Callum. They've been taken out."
The words hit like a physical blow, the weight of them shifting the energy in the room. Julian's relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by a taut, lethal readiness.
He rose abruptly, his movements swift and deliberate. "Who?" he demanded, his voice dangerously calm.
"We're not sure yet," Damien answered quickly. "But it's someone skilled—someone who knows exactly what they're doing."
"We picked them up outside Willie's Bar. I don't think they're local," Damien explained.
Julian didn't wait for more. He grabbed the chair he'd been sitting in moments earlier and hurled it across the room with a crash.
"I want you to go back out there and find them! I want a fucking name!" he roared, his voice vibrating with fury.
Before Damien could respond, Julian lunged, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him off the ground. With effortless strength, he flung him across the room.
Damien hit the wall hard, landing with a thud. He straightened slowly, wiping a thin trail of blood from the corner of his mouth. His gaze, filled with both respect and a flicker of fear, never wavered from Julian.
Julian paced the room now, his rage palpable, pulsing through the space like a living force. "They think they can come into my fucking territory and take out my people?" His voice was cold, precise, each word laced with danger. "We're going to show them exactly what happens when you cross this family."
Serena, still on the floor, watched Julian closely, her expression a blend of concern and admiration. She knew better than to interfere when he was like this—a storm on the verge of breaking. The raw power emanating from him was both terrifying and mesmerizing.
Damien straightened, brushing off the remnants of his crash with a nod. "I'll get right on it. We'll find out who's behind this." His voice remained steady despite the ache spreading through his chest.
Julian stopped pacing, his piercing gaze fixed on Damien. "Do it fast. And when you find them..." His voice dropped into a dangerous calm. "Bring them to me. I want the pleasure of dealing with them personally."
Damien gave a curt nod before disappearing into the shadows, leaving only the tense crackle of firelight.
Serena rose gracefully, smoothing her crimson gown as she approached Julian. Her fingertips brushed his arm, a gentle yet deliberate touch. "Let me help," she murmured softly. "We'll do this together."
Julian's hardened expression eased ever so slightly as he met her eyes. "Of course," he said, his voice low. "We'll hunt them down—side by side."
He took her hand, fingers curling around hers, then lifted it to his lips, pressing an icy kiss against the ruby-red ring that gleamed like fresh blood on her finger. "You are the only thing in my entire existence that's ever held my cold, black heart, and never broken it." He whispered kissing her hand once more before turning and disappearing out of the study.