The First African Werewolf slips deeper into Los Angeles nights.
Dahabu drives the city’s underbelly, his cab filling with confessions, ghosts, and the fragments of a past stolen by Slink’s spell. A starlet’s hollow smile, a priest haunted by the boy he betrayed—every ride sharpens the beast inside him.

Across town, Slink rules her nightclub like a queen on a velvet throne. Smoke, jazz, and sin curl around her as she laughs, watching Dahabu’s every move. She knows he’s more than a driver. He’s her echo. Her balance sheet settling itself.

Together, they haunt the city: one with fangs, the other with silk and poison. And neither is finished.

The train shrieked as it barreled west, steel wheels screaming against the rails, spitting black smoke into the California night. Passengers tried to sleep, but something in the last carriage refused to let the air settle. It wasn’t the groan of the brakes or the restless sway of the tracks. It was her.

She sat in the rear of the train like a queen in exile, emerald silk glinting in the lamplight, her smile curved just enough to unsettle anyone who dared look too long. No one could name the feeling she carried, but they all felt it—a slow, coiling tension, like the room itself was holding its breath. Even the men who wanted her didn’t dare move closer. Not yet.

Madam Slink wasn’t just traveling to California. She was arriving. And there’s a difference.

Her fingers traced the glass window as the landscape blurred by, but her eyes stayed sharp, hungry, taking in every detail like she could taste the future waiting for her. This was a woman who didn’t follow luck. She hunted it.

By the time the train screeched into Los Angeles, every man in that carriage had lost something to her—money, courage, or a piece of his soul.

And she hadn’t even stepped off the train yet.

In Los Angeles, Dahabu walks a dangerous line between survival and savagery. Lured in by a smooth-talking white businessman, he finds himself collecting debts—not just money, but pieces of his own soul. When a moment of recognition stops him cold, the werewolf inside finally stirs. A brutal reckoning follows, and with blood still fresh, Dahabu makes a plan: buy a taxi, blend in, and hunt predators by moonlight.

Meanwhile, in Chicago, Amina has become someone else—Madam Slink. Her speakeasy drips with jazz, perfume, and whispered danger. She’s rich, ruthless, and feared… until a ghost from her past walks through the door. Her older brother, long dead and burned in a tribal hunt, returns with a message that shakes her foundation. When he speaks her birth name, Amina, everything unravels.

Two monsters. Two cities. One chapter closer to collision.