In 2000s L.A., vampire Lindsay Lohan prowled the neon-lit streets, her raven-black hair and red lips a blur in the club scene. Feasting on the reckless youth, she stalked through Hollywood’s darkest corners, a nocturnal queen, feeding on power and blood—immortal, untouchable, and hungry for more.
Los Angeles, 2004.
The city pulsed to the beat of electronic music, neon lights blurring the line between the real and the surreal. In the dark underbelly of L.A.'s most exclusive clubs, where the rich, the famous, and the desperate gathered to lose themselves in the glow of neon and the haze of smoke, there was a legend whispered in hushed tones: Lindsay Lohan. But she wasn't the Lindsay Lohan the tabloids wrote about, the girl-next-door actress with a troubled past. No, this Lindsay Lohan had long ago shed that skin. What walked these streets now was something far darker.
Something immortal.
It was past midnight when she appeared, drifting through the crowd at The Viper Room, her raven-black hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, contrasting sharply against the electric pinks and neon greens of the club lights. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes—dark and fathomless—shone with an unnatural glint, reflecting the chaos around her with an almost predatory fascination.
The music throbbed in her veins as she stepped onto the dance floor, her presence as magnetic as it was chilling. People shifted to make room, drawn to her, but also repelled, as if they instinctively knew that she wasn't like everyone else here. Her lips curled into a half-smile, revealing just a hint of the sharp fangs that had long been hidden behind the façade of her former life.
Lindsay had been a star, once. The Parent Trap. Mean Girls. The red-haired darling of Hollywood. But that was before the accident. The night she died.
Or, rather, the night she had been reborn.
She had no memory of the night it happened—just flashes of pain, of blood, of a cold figure standing over her in the darkness, whispering in a language that wasn’t quite human. Then, the feeling of awakening, a thirst deep in her throat that nothing could quench.
L.A. had a way of reinventing itself, and so had she. A decade later, she was something more than human, a creature of the night who wandered through the vibrant city of excess, lurking in its shadows, stalking the clubs and the streets she once knew so well.
But unlike the other vampires of the city, Lindsay didn’t hunt for blood. Not out of necessity, anyway. She hunted for something else. Something darker.
Power.
The moment she stepped into Les Deux, a hotspot where the trendsetters of Hollywood partied until the early hours, the energy in the room shifted. Conversations stilled. Eyes followed her as she made her way to the bar. She didn’t need to say a word; her presence was enough. The bartender, a lanky, wide-eyed man with a bleached fauxhawk, slid a glass of blood-red cocktail in front of her without even asking.
"On the house," he said, almost reverently, before quickly turning to serve someone else.
Lindsay smiled, a twisted kind of satisfaction bubbling within her. The power she held was intoxicating in itself. She had learned to manipulate it, to feed on it, just as much as she fed on the blood of those foolish enough to cross her path.
And tonight, she was hungry.
As she sipped the drink, her gaze scanned the room—locked on a group of young, confident men in designer suits, their eyes scanning the crowd as they laughed and snorted coke, unaware that they were being watched by something much older than they could imagine. They were arrogant, full of that youthful, reckless energy that made them easy prey.
Lindsay’s lips parted slightly as she let the thoughts of their blood swirl in her mind. But she was no mindless predator. She was calculating. Patient. She would wait for the right moment.
Outside, the city buzzed with life, the bright billboards and the glare of the Hollywood sign casting an eerie glow across the horizon. But beneath all that glitz and glamour, Lindsay knew the truth—this city, these people, were just as broken as she was. And while the rest of L.A. played at being immortal, pretending to live forever in the flashing lights of their fame, Lindsay truly was.
The sound of heels clicking against the pavement brought her attention back to the present. A woman, dressed in black leather, approached the alley beside the club. She was a model—one of those who made the rounds, always on the edge of stardom, but never quite reaching it. Perfect for tonight’s game.
Lindsay stepped into the shadows and waited. The woman was just steps away when Lindsay’s voice rang out, soft and seductive.
“You look lost,” she said.
The model turned, startled, eyes wide. There was something magnetic about Lindsay—something that made the woman feel both uneasy and intrigued at the same time. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but no words came out.
Lindsay smiled, the fangs at the edges of her mouth gleaming under the moonlight.
“I can help you find your way,” Lindsay whispered. Her voice was smooth, dripping with the promise of something forbidden.
The woman’s heart raced. Her pupils dilated. The power Lindsay radiated was almost too much to bear.
Before the woman could take a step back, Lindsay was upon her. She sank her teeth into her neck, savoring the rush of blood, the thrill of domination. The woman’s scream was cut short as the life drained from her in seconds, leaving nothing but a cold, lifeless shell in Lindsay's grasp.
But just as quickly as it began, it was over. Lindsay wiped the blood from her lips, her eyes glowing with satisfaction, but the hunger never truly went away. There was always more to consume in this city of endless indulgence. And when she was done with tonight, she would vanish back into the shadows, as she always did, until the next club, the next neon-lit night where the lost souls of L.A. wandered aimlessly, ripe for the taking.
Lindsay Lohan was both legend and predator. And as long as the night thrived, so would she.
As the city breathed in the madness of the 2000s, Lindsay continued her reign as the vampiric queen of L.A.'s club scene, a dark, mythical figure who would never fade from the city's memory, for she was both a part of it and above it. Always watching. Always waiting.
The night never ended. Not for her.
