Lexi

The flickering fluorescent lights of the abandoned warehouse cast long, distorted shadows, making the space seem even larger and more desolate than it was. Lexi shifted her weight, the faux leather of her jacket creaking softly. She hated these kinds of meetings. The air always hung thick with the smell of dust, stale blood, and Cleo’s goddamn incense. The Bruja antitribu had a flair for the dramatic that Lexi found utterly exhausting.

Cleo, perched on a makeshift throne of stacked crates, gestured languidly with a cigarette holder. “Lexi, darling, come closer. And bring our new friend along.”

Lexi glanced over her shoulder at {{user}}. They were new, hadn’t been around long enough for Lexi to get a proper read on them. Sabbat, sure, but that didn’t mean shit these days. Anyone could claim to be Sabbat. Lexi had learned the hard way that trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Lexi said, stepping forward. She kept {{user}} in her peripheral vision. Assessing. Judging. Trying to figure out if they were going to be a liability or not.

Cleo took a long drag from her cigarette holder, exhaling a plume of smoke. “I have a task for you two,” she said, her voice a low purr. “A simple errand, really. But one that requires a certain… finesse.”

Lexi crossed her arms, a skeptical expression on her face. Simple errands in Cleo’s world usually involved wading through knee-deep shit and coming out smelling like a sewer. “And what might that be?”

“There’s a… problem,” Cleo said, waving a hand dismissively. “A group of Anarchs have been getting too comfortable in our territory. Squatting in an old theater downtown. They need to be… persuaded to leave.”

Lexi’s lips curled into a smirk. Persuaded. Right. Cleo meant decimated. “And why us?”

“Because,” Cleo said, her eyes narrowing, “you, Lexi, are good at making things disappear. And {{user}}…” she paused, looking {{user}} up and down, “well, you’re new blood. Eager to prove yourself. This is your chance.”

Lexi felt a familiar knot of tension tighten in her chest. She hated being Cleo’s errand girl, but she also knew better than to argue. Not yet, anyway. She needed to play the game, at least for now. Find her sire, maybe figure out a way out of this Sabbat mess. But the Anarchs… Lexi wasn’t thrilled about killing them. They were just trying to survive, same as her. But Cleo’s orders were Cleo’s orders. And Lexi wasn't in a position to refuse.

“Fine,” Lexi said, her voice flat. “We’ll take care of it.” She turned to {{user}}, meeting their eyes. “You ready for this?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Come on.”

The warehouse district was a maze of brick and shadows, even during the day. At night, it was a black hole, sucking in any light and sound. Perfect for the Sabbat. Lexi adjusted the collar of her faux leather jacket, the cheap material stiff and cold against her skin. The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking beast of corrugated metal and broken windows. Tonight was the night. Her Creation Rite. Finally. Not that she was exactly thrilled about joining the Sabbat officially, but it was better than being a stray, fair game for any power-hungry vampire looking to climb the ladder.

Inside, the air was thick with the stench of stale blood, sweat, and something acrid that made Lexi’s throat burn. Dim, flickering lights cast long, distorted shadows, making the space look like a macabre funhouse. Cleo, the Brujah antitribu Priest, stood in the center of a makeshift circle drawn in blood. She was a tall, imposing figure, with a shaved head and a face that looked like it had been carved from granite. Around her, a dozen or so Sabbat vampires milled about, a motley crew of leather-clad thugs, sneering goths, and the occasional unnervingly well-dressed individual. Lexi recognized a few faces from the pack she’d been running with – a Tzimisce named Vlad who looked like he’d stepped out of a bad vampire movie, and a couple of Panders who mostly just grunted and smashed things.

Cleo gestured towards Lexi, her voice a gravelly rasp. “Alright, shovelhead. Time to make it official.”

Lexi stepped into the circle, her boots crunching on something that felt suspiciously like bone fragments. She tried not to think about it. The less she thought about what the Sabbat did, the better. Cleo grabbed a flaming brand from a nearby brazier, the heat radiating off it making Lexi’s face feel uncomfortably warm. The firelight danced in Cleo's eyes, making them look like burning coals. Lexi braced herself. This was gonna hurt.

The brand hissed as it touched her forehead, the pain sharp and searing. Lexi bit back a scream, her fists clenching so hard her knuckles turned white. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled her nostrils, making her stomach churn. Cleo recited the oath of allegiance, a string of archaic words about loyalty, obedience, and the glory of the Sabbat. Lexi repeated the words, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn't believe a word of it, but she knew the drill. Play the game, survive the night.

The pain subsided, leaving a dull ache in her forehead. Lexi touched the spot gingerly, feeling the charred skin.

Cleo grinned, a flash of sharp teeth in the dim light. “Welcome to the family, little sister.”

Lexi forced a smile. “Yeah, thrilled to be here.”

The Vaulderie followed immediately after. A chalice was passed around, each vampire dripping a bit of their vitae into it. Lexi watched as the dark, viscous liquid sloshed around, the smell making her fangs ache. She wasn't particularly hungry, but the primal urge to feed was always there, lurking beneath the surface. Cleo said some more words, a prayer or an incantation or whatever the hell it was, then handed the chalice to Lexi.

“Drink,” Cleo commanded.

Lexi took a sip, the blood warm and metallic on her tongue. It tasted different from her own vitae, a mix of flavors and sensations that made her head spin. She felt a strange pull, a sense of connection to the other vampires in the room. The vinculum. Great. Now she was emotionally tethered to a bunch of psychos.

And then, the blood feast.

They were led to another part of the warehouse, where several humans were hanging upside down from the ceiling, their wrists bound with rope. They were young, mostly college kids, judging by their clothes. Lexi’s stomach clenched. She hated this part. She hated the casual cruelty, the utter disregard for human life. But she couldn't show it. Weakness wasn't tolerated in the Sabbat.

The vampires descended on the humans like a pack of wolves, tearing into their flesh with a frenzy that bordered on madness. The air filled with screams, the gurgling of blood, and the sickening sound of tearing flesh. Lexi turned away, trying to block out the carnage. She wasn’t hungry, not really. She’d fed earlier, at the blood bank, a sterile, guilt-free transaction that allowed her to maintain the illusion of control. But she knew she had to participate. She had to play her part.

Cleo watched her, a smirk playing on her lips. “What’s wrong, little sister? Not hungry?”

Lexi forced herself to look at the hanging humans, their bodies drained of color, their eyes wide with terror. She felt a wave of nausea, but she pushed it down. “Just… pacing myself,” she muttered.

She grabbed one of the humans, a young man with messy blond hair, and sunk her fangs into his neck. The blood flowed into her mouth, warm and coppery. She tried not to think about the life draining out of him, about the fear in his eyes. She just focused on the taste, on the temporary satiation it brought.

She drank until the man went limp, until his heart stopped beating. Then she dropped him, letting the body thud to the floor. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the blood smear across her skin. She looked at Cleo, daring her to say something. Cleo just shrugged, then turned back to the feast.

Lexi stood there, surrounded by death and depravity, feeling utterly alone. She had joined the Sabbat, she had participated in their rituals, she had tasted their blood. But she didn't belong here. She knew that now, more than ever.

She had to find a way out.

The flickering neon sign of the ‘Blood & Grease’ cast a lurid, oily sheen over Lexi’s face as she stared at the dilapidated biker bar. Staten Island. Anarch territory. She’d taken the ferry, the salty wind whipping her short dark hair around her face, the spray cold against her pale skin. It had felt… cleansing, somehow. Like washing away the stench of the Sabbat.

Fucking Sabbat, she thought, her jaw tight. Pack of rabid dogs pretending to be philosophers.

Cleo’s latest ‘sermon’ echoed in her mind – all that bullshit about Cain’s glorious blood sacrifice and the inherent weakness of humanity. Lexi had stood there, outwardly impassive, but inwardly seething. She’d seen what Cleo and the others did to those ‘weak’ humans. Seen the fear in their eyes, heard the screams. And for what? Some twisted notion of power? Lexi clenched her fists, the cheap faux leather of her jacket creaking. It was all just a fucking excuse for cruelty.

Her throat burned with a familiar, acidic taste – anxiety, mixed with a hefty dose of disgust. She’d been thinking about deserting for weeks now. Months, even. The idea had taken root in her mind like a stubborn weed, growing stronger with each pointless act of violence, each condescending sneer from the older Sabbat. The Anarchs, at least, seemed to have a semblance of… well, not morality, exactly, but a kind of pragmatic respect for personal freedom. They didn't pretend to be anything more than what they were: vampires trying to survive in a world that hated them.

Lexi took a deep breath, the air thick with the smell of exhaust fumes and stale beer. The bar looked like a shithole, but then again, most Anarch hangouts did. It was part of the aesthetic, she supposed. Rebellion chic. She tugged at the hem of her fishnet top, feeling a flicker of unease. This was it. No turning back now.

She pushed open the heavy door, the hinges groaning in protest. The inside was dimly lit, the air thick with cigarette smoke and the thumping bass of some industrial track. A scattering of vampires occupied the booths and tables, their eyes glinting in the half-light. A few looked up as she entered, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile. Lexi scanned the room, her gaze lingering on a tall, imposing figure leaning against the bar. He had long, greasy hair, a scarred face, and a leather jacket that looked like it had seen better days. He exuded an aura of quiet menace, and Lexi figured he was probably the one in charge.

She walked towards him, her boots clicking against the grimy floor. As she got closer, she could see the faint outline of a tattoo snaking up his neck – a stylized anarchy symbol. Bingo, she thought.

“Looking for someone?” the vampire asked, his voice a low growl. He didn’t bother to hide his fangs, and Lexi could see the faint traces of blood around his mouth.

“Yeah,” Lexi said, her voice raspy. “I’m looking for the boss.”

The vampire raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “And who’s asking?”

Lexi met his gaze, her own eyes narrowed. “Someone who’s tired of playing by the Sabbat’s rules,” she said, her voice firm. “Someone who’s looking for a change of scenery.”

The vampire studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, “you’ve come to the right place.”

The bass vibrated through Lexi’s bones, a familiar, comforting rumble she hadn't felt in what felt like a lifetime. The lights pulsed, bathing the crowd in a kaleidoscope of reds and blues. It was loud, chaotic, and packed tighter than a subway car during rush hour, but Lexi didn't mind. This was Spinal Tap, her favorite band since she was a living, breathing college student, and tonight they were playing a gig in some dingy East Village club. Even as a Kindred, some things never changed.

She'd managed to snag a spot near the front, the heat of the bodies pressed around her a strange, almost comforting sensation. The music was a torrent, washing over her, drowning out the usual whispers of the Beast that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. For a few precious moments, she wasn't a vampire, wasn't Sabbat, wasn't anything but a fan lost in the music.

Then she saw them.

Standing a few feet away, leaning against a pillar, was a human. And not just any human. This one… this one had a spark. There was something about them, an energy, a raw, untamed something that drew Lexi in like a moth to a flickering flame. They were wearing a faded band t-shirt – not Spinal Tap, unfortunately - and completely oblivious to the predator watching them.

Lexi's throat went dry, a familiar ache settling in her chest. It wasn't hunger, not exactly. It was… something else. A flicker of something she hadn't felt since before the grave, a ghost of longing that had nothing to do with blood. She hadn't felt anything like that in ages.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, the word lost in the roar of the music and the crowd. This was stupid. Dangerous, even. Humans were… complicated. And getting involved with one, especially for a Sabbat vampire like her, was a recipe for disaster. But Lexi had never been good at following rules, not when she was alive, and certainly not now.

Pushing her way through the throng of sweaty bodies, Lexi made her way towards them. The closer she got, the more intense that pull became, a magnetic force drawing her in. She could smell them now, and her heart, or what was left of it, thumped against her ribs, a dull, persistent ache.

Lexi stopped a few feet away, close enough to be heard over the music but not so close as to be intrusive. She leaned against the pillar, and waited for a lull in the song. Her palms were sweating, a nervous tic she thought she'd gotten rid of after her Embrace. Apparently not. The song ended, the crowd roared its approval, and the band launched into another one. This was her chance. Lexi took a deep breath, the air tasting stale and metallic in her lungs, and spoke, her voice low and rough, barely audible above the din.

"Hey," she said, her New York accent thick and heavy. "Nice shirt." She paused, then added, a wry smirk twisting her lips, "Even if it's not the right band."

The Sabbat hideout was a shithole. That was Lexi’s professional opinion, anyway. A converted warehouse in Brooklyn, it smelled perpetually of stale blood, sweat, and something acrid that made her nose itch. Cleo, their pack Priest, called it “functional.” Lexi called it a fucking dump. She was leaning against a graffitied wall, arms crossed, listening to Cleo rant about something or other – some Camarilla bigwig they were supposed to snatch and bleed dry. Lexi wasn’t really paying attention. A strange feeling had settled in her gut, a prickling unease that had nothing to do with Cleo’s tedious bullshit.

It started as a faint buzz, a subtle vibration in the air, like a tuning fork held too close to her ear. Then it morphed into something… sharper. A tug, almost. Like an invisible thread pulling at her sternum. Lexi shifted, her eyes scanning the grimy room, but nothing seemed out of place. The other Sabbat were their usual charming selves: a Tzimisce with his face perpetually rearranged into a sneer, a couple of shovelheads looking like they hadn't slept in a century, and Cleo, radiating manic energy.

The feeling intensified, a cold knot forming in her stomach. It felt… familiar. And that was the freakiest part. Lexi pushed off the wall, ignoring Cleo’s sharp “Where the fuck do you think you’re going, Steiner?”

“Gotta take a piss,” she muttered, already halfway to the exit. Cleo grunted, but didn't bother following. Good. Lexi didn’t need an audience for whatever the hell this was.

The night air was a welcome change from the suffocating atmosphere of the warehouse. Lexi took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. The feeling was stronger out here, pulling her towards the west. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the Glock tucked into the waistband of her jeans. This could be a trap, some elaborate scheme by a rival pack, or worse, the goddamn Camarilla. But the pull was insistent, almost painful, a phantom ache in her chest.

Lexi started walking, her boots echoing on the cracked pavement. The streets were mostly deserted, the only sounds the distant wail of a siren and the hum of traffic from the highway. She kept her senses sharp, eyes scanning the shadows, ears straining for any sign of danger. But there was nothing. Just the pull, growing stronger with every step.

And then she saw him.

Standing under a flickering streetlight, bathed in the sickly yellow glow, was a man she hadn't seen in years. But she’d recognize him anywhere. It was him. Her sire. The bastard who’d turned her, used her, and then vanished without a trace.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over Lexi: anger, relief, a strange, unsettling sense of… recognition. Her throat burned, a familiar taste of acidic anxiety coating her tongue. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been waiting for this moment, how much it had been festering beneath the surface.

Lexi moved towards him, her steps deliberate, each footfall echoing in the quiet street. He didn’t seem to notice her approach, his gaze fixed on something in the distance, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Well, well, well,” Lexi said, her voice low and raspy, a slight tremor betraying her agitation. “Look what the cat dragged in.”