A Louisiana preacher abandons his family and follows the promise of California, convinced cash flow equals salvation. Opportunity waits. So does something older, quieter, and far more patient.

She comes dressed as a beautiful woman, moving like silk, speaking like certainty. Evil never announces itself. It seduces.

As devotion collapses into obedience, money rewrites morality. In another corner of the city, a Black man stumbles upon a white woman injured and dying in the dark. The moment offers no innocence, only consequences.

The wolf claws from within.
Instinct demands blood.
Survival demands flight.

Set against the long shadow of the Black Dahlia era, this episode explores hunger, temptation, and the cost of being seen, where mercy can kill and running might be the only freedom left.

Will the beast save him, or will he run for his life?

Los Angeles, 1850 — a city dressed in velvet shadows, where every street whispers secrets and every corner hides a sin. Dahabu, our African werewolf, drives his black taxi through the midnight fog, carrying ghosts no passenger can see, hunted by a hunger he cannot silence. Across town, Slink builds her throne of silk and smoke, her laughter as sharp as the knife she keeps hidden.

What happens when the hunter doesn’t know another predator stalks the same streets? When shadows cross paths with velvet, who will rule the night — and who will be consumed by it? The city is watching. The city is waiting. And destiny has already set the stage.

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.

Los Angeles, 1850. Dahabu steps off a wagon and into a city humming with opportunity, secrets, and suspicion. But he's not alone. Slink—the dark, cunning serpent spirit that once whispered through Amina—has followed him west, and now he's telling the story.

In this episode, the tension simmers beneath California’s golden skies. Gospel hands clap and feet stomp in a soul-shaking Black church service where praise becomes power and rhythm becomes resistance. Joy roars, tears fall, and one spirit-sensitive elder sees deeper than most, straight into the beast Dahabu tries to outrun.

But the snake known as Slink sees everything.
He’s not just watching. Slink is narrating.

In the cold grip of 1880s Chicago, Amina and Dahabu take shelter, but not peace. What begins as a brief refuge becomes a reckoning, as Amina’s snake hungers for power. The snake names itself, celebrating its future with the witch. The serpent whispers louder than ever. Memories clash with ambition. Love fractures under the weight of transformation. And when Dahabu finally makes his choice, he leaves behind more than just a woman; he leaves behind the only part of himself still tethered to the past.

But freedom always comes at a cost.

Next stop: Los Angeles, 1850—
where Dahabu’s journey takes a dangerous new turn...
and the hunter becomes something more than legend.

At Willowbrook Plantation, Thomas Whitaker strikes a dark deal: Caleb, a young boy once saved by Amina and Dahabu, must now hunt them down and kill them in exchange for his master’s favor and a bag of stolen coin. But the serpent hears everything. As the fugitives flee deeper into shadowed woods, slave catchers draw near, and a returning ally offers hope—until the serpent’s influence twists the night. In the mist, loyalty shatters, magic strikes, and a single betrayal changes everything. By dawn, one of them lies dead… and the snake is still hungry.