Location: Aiyana's penthouse
Timing: Middle of night
---
Midnight dripped like ink over Paris. The rain had stopped, but the air still carried the scent of thunder — and of blood.
Aiyana Vale stood on the rooftop of an old hotel, the city stretching below her like a living heartbeat. Her eyes burned faintly gold, reflecting the glow of distant lights.
It had been a week since the Blood Pact.
The world had no idea what had changed — but she did. The whispers in her mind were sharper now, clearer. Every thought, every pulse, every sin floated through the air like perfume.
She could taste corruption.
She could smell guilt.
And she had decided: if the Order wouldn't bring justice, she would.
---
The Disappearances
It began subtly.
A banker — known for exploiting women and laundering blood money — found dead in his mansion, no marks, no cause.
A serial killer the police had been chasing for years vanished, his apartment soaked in red.
A trafficker who hid behind charity foundations simply… stopped existing.
Each death was silent. Clean. Perfect.
The newspapers called it: The Paris Phantom.
Aiyana called it balance.
She never fed on the innocent. Never harmed those who didn't deserve it. Her victims were the monsters hiding in daylight — men who smiled in courtrooms, shook hands on TV, and left bodies buried under money and lies.
Now they were the ones buried.
---
A Predator with Principles
Her penthouse had become her throne — the walls lined with maps, red strings tracing the city's corruption like veins.
Aiyana sat by the window, sipping wine that wasn't wine, scrolling through her digital hunting list.
"Rapist. Politician. Trafficker. Murderer." Her voice was silk and venom. "How busy humans keep me."
She moved with purpose — always at night, always unseen. The city whispered of a woman in blue silk, a ghost who appeared in alleyways with eyes like blood and lips like sin.
To the righteous, she was myth.
To the wicked, she was prophecy.
---
The Order's Reaction
Deep beneath Paris, the Order seethed.
"She's killing indiscriminately!" Morvane thundered, slamming his fist on the obsidian table. "She draws attention to our kind!"
Lucien leaned against the wall, silent.
"Not indiscriminately," another elder muttered, studying the dossier spread before them. "All her victims are human men — all criminals. She's cleansing the rot."
"Justice is not ours to give," Morvane hissed.
Lucien's eyes flicked up, gray and cold. "And yet we watch mortals slaughter and corrupt while we hide underground like cowards."
The elder turned on him. "You sympathize with her."
"I understand her," Lucien replied. "That's not the same."
Morvane sneered. "Then you will stop her before she reveals us all." (A.N.: Fucking stupid old son of a bitch, never knowing when to shut your filthy mouth. Don't worry she will do it for you soon 💅🏻)
Lucien's voice dropped to a whisper. "Or what?"
"You'll share her fate."
The room fell silent.
Lucien straightened slowly, the old fire sparking behind his calm. "Then I'd better hurry."
---
The Confrontation
She sensed him before he appeared — that perfect stillness in the air, the echo of ancient strength.
Aiyana stood on the rooftop of an abandoned church overlooking the Seine, her dress clinging to her form like liquid midnight. Below, the city was quiet — too quiet.
"You shouldn't be here," she said without turning.
Lucien's voice drifted from the shadows. "And yet, here I am."
He stepped into the moonlight, silver hair gleaming, eyes sharper than blades.
"They're calling you a phantom," he said. "The humans are terrified. The Order is furious."
"Good," she replied. "Let them all be afraid."
"This isn't fear, Aiyana. It's exposure. You're risking everything."
"I'm saving what you never did."
Her voice cut through the night, soft but deadly. "You and your Order sit in your marble crypts, preaching restraint, watching humans destroy themselves. You could have stopped wars. You could have saved lives. Instead, you did nothing."
Lucien's jaw tightened. "We maintain balance."
"Balance?" She laughed, a sound dark and musical. "You call indifference balance?"
She turned to face him — eyes glowing gold, power radiating like fire beneath her skin. "How many centuries have you lived, Lucien? How many innocent girls have screamed for help while you stood in the shadows pretending neutrality was mercy?"
He took a step forward, voice low. "You think slaughter is mercy?"
"Yes if it's of the filthy low level men having the gut and audacity to come argue with me after hiding for centuries like little bitches, then I think justice should bite back," she whispered.
The wind picked up, her hair swirling around her like a dark halo.
Lucien freezes in stunned silence a flicker of hurt flashing in his crimson eye's.
---
Fire and Fury
Lucien ignoring the throbbing in his throat due to absence of tears drew his sword, its silver edge gleaming with ancient runes. "The Order will come for you. You've made too much noise."
Aiyana smirked. "Then let them. I could use some company."
Lightning cracked the sky as they faced each other — predator and predator, every breath charged with power and memory.
Lucien moved first, a blur of silver. Aiyana dodged effortlessly, her hand catching his wrist mid-strike. The impact sent sparks through the air.
"You're faster," he admitted.
She grinned. "You taught me how to be."
Their fight was a dance — fast, brutal, elegant. Marble shattered beneath their feet as sword met claw, steel met flame.
At one point, he pinned her against the wall, blade at her throat.
"Yield," he breathed.
She smiled, blood dripping from her lip. "You first."
With a flick of her wrist, she sent him flying backward, crashing into a column that exploded into dust.
Lucien rose slowly, laughing under his breath. "You're enjoying this."
"More than you know."
But when she looked at him — really looked — she saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes. The conflict. The duty tearing him apart. Especially her mistrust in his character.
It disarmed her more than his sword ever could.
---
Truth and Temptation
The storm softened. They stood facing each other, breathing hard, surrounded by ruins and rainlight.
"You think I don't want to change things?" Lucien said quietly. "I've seen what mortals do — what they destroy. But if we rule them, we become the monsters they already believe we are."
Aiyana stepped closer, voice barely a whisper. "Then maybe they need monsters — ones who protect, not consume."
He shook his head. "That path always ends the same way. With fire."
"Then let it burn," she said fiercely. "At least the innocent will sleep."
For a moment, neither moved. The space between them shimmered with something fierce — not quite hatred, not quite love, something older and far more dangerous.
Lucien's hand brushed hers before he realized it. She didn't pull away.
"If I let you continue," he murmured, "they'll destroy you."
"If you try to stop me," she whispered back, "I'll destroy them."
The air trembled. He could feel her heartbeat — steady, powerful, alive and far away slowly blooming in deep.... love.
He closed his eyes. "You don't make this easy."
"I wasn't made to be easy."
---
A Silent Understanding
Thunder rolled again, distant now — the storm moving toward the horizon.
Lucien turned away, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "I can't protect you forever."
"I don't need protection," Aiyana said softly. "Just time."
He paused at the edge of the rooftop, glancing back once. "Time is the one thing we always lose."
She smiled faintly. "Then let's waste it beautifully."
Lucien's lips twitched — almost a smile — before he vanished into the mist.
Aiyana stood alone again, the city lights gleaming like fallen stars beneath her.
She could feel the pulse of Paris — the hearts of the wicked still beating, waiting for judgment.
And somewhere deep inside her, Seraphine purred with approval.
> You wear power well, my darling.
Aiyana's eyes glowed honey brown gold.
"Let them come," she whispered. "The phantom of Paris has only just begun."
Beware of your own temptation and desire. Just like love and lust, the line between justice and the desire to kill is very thin. 🩸
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End of Chapter 10