Something had happened to Thackery after the battle. Perhaps the stress of meeting the Tempests for the first time - the sworn archenemies of vampires - had cracked his mind irreparably. The unnatural clash had been gruesomely violent, both sides ripping into each other with a primal ferocity borne of centuries of inbred hatred. Kill or be kill cranked to its pinnacle. An ultimate struggle of darkness vs light. Thacks had not been himself, not been anything other than murder incarnate when that unnatural twilight shaded the sky. The bloodlust he’d slowly acclimated to after Turning had raged so hot and so sickening inside him that no other thought penetrated his skull. Any injuries he endured fell upon a canvas numbed by loathing. It wasn’t until three days afterward, when the adrenalin finally seeped from his system, that the blonde vampire had even realized the damage he took.

Seasons later, his flesh and bones healed beautifully - stitched back together so that it appeared as if the leech had never been harmed at all. He had his vampirism to thank for that lovely perk. His brain, however… never returned to its former cunning glory. Even if Thackery experienced no savage anger, he operated entirely on the principles of thirst: an evil addiction to that which sustained him. No longer did a single kill satisfy the handsome beast. Thacks found himself killing over, and over, and over, not just the predators he required to sustain himself but also meaningless prey creatures; he shredded rabbits inside out to feel the warm slide of their bloody organs against his muzzle, took down deer to floss his fangs with their arteries, amused himself with birds because he liked the crunch of their bones. Not a night passed wherein his sunshine-hued pelt was not slick and matted with viscera. His jaws ached with the desire to tear. Bite. Feed. More. I need more.

This evening proved no different than the others. Thackery had already whetted his appetite with the meager life of a new fawn; hardly a couple days old, its wobbly legs had not been swift enough to carry it from the merciless hunter’s jaws. Serrated daggers clamped onto the back of its neck. Twisted. Wrenched. He had eaten a hole through its throat, nearly decapitating the carcass, and stuck his muzzle up to the eyes in the little scarlet lake that crater created. The deer would not sate him, obviously - that was the job of his next target. Jowls dripping crimson, having left the cooling cadaver far behind, the devil snuck soundlessly through the woods. Only the hellfire glow of his portals betrayed his approach - and even then, their horrific beauty drew in curiosity the same way deadly flames tempt insects closer. So many delicious scents painted the air tonight… promises that made the hessian’s stained mouth water, his fangs protrude grotesquely from parted lips, his hackles prickling with anticipation. I smell… pups. Round, plump, warm pups. All for me.

In his right mind, Thackery might have worried that tracking down the younglings pushed him ever closer to the border of Wudubearo; however, the vampire had long suffered in this unbreakable prison, and if anything his steps hurried faster as that heady mixture of lupine scent caressed his nose. Whoever they were, the children were not within the border - which meant they were free game. Ripe for the plucking.

His smoldering vision found the litter tucked safely away in a makeshift den; their mother had probably left them while she went to hunt. Thanks for the meal, mommy dearest. Saliva dribbled like rainwater from Thackery’s mouth, joining the fawn’s fresh blood and glistening down his chin. The mesmerising power of his mind reached out to touch the sleeping cubs… prompting them from their half-dreams, locking their limbs into his puppet-master’s strings. A ghoulish grin stretched his maw so that his fangs caught the carmine shimmer of his lanterns. “Wake up, little ones.”