Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Year 1781

Though the Belmont family were no lords or dukes, they once lived a life far better than comfortable—until twelve years ago, when a conflict between vampires and humans tore through their community, forcing many—including the Belmonts—to abandon their homes and fall into poverty. In the remnants of what was once their vibrant life, a quiet desperation had settled in the corners of their modest dwelling.

Now, in the cosy living room, the soft ticking of the clock played a lullaby against the backdrop of clattering knitting needles as eighteen-year-old Ruelle sat beside her younger sister, Caroline. Each stitch was a breath of hope wrapped in wool, a silent testament to their struggle for survival and dignity.

"You know, the combination of these colours turned out excellent!" Caroline exclaimed with a bright voice. Leaning closer, she admired Ruelle's meticulous handiwork.

Ruelle held up the sweater, a warm flush of pride colouring her cheeks. "I'm glad they turned out alright! Can you imagine how happy Mrs. Clifford will be? I cannot wait to see their reaction!" A smile tugged at her lips.

"Alright?" Caroline laughed. "Mrs. Clifford is going to be positively delighted! She will pay handsomely for them! Isn't that right, Mother?" Her eyes sparkled with innocent hope.

Ruelle turned her brown eyes to their mother, silently pleading for acknowledgement—a nod of approval that had always felt just out of reach. Acceptance was a rare gift, one for which she yearned for more than the warmth of the sun.

Mrs. Belmont glanced towards Caroline first, a smile lighting up her face. "Oh, absolutely, dear. I'm sure she will be." But when her gaze flickered to Ruelle, it lacked warmth. The distance between them often felt unconquerable and hopeless. "Just make sure you finish quickly, Ruelle. The delivery needs to be done today," she added, her tone slightly curt.

Ruelle didn't pay much attention to her mother's lack of praise, and she nodded with a smile. She replied, "Yes, Mother." Determination sparked within her. No, she thought, she would make a better one!

They had laboured over twelve sweaters, each one stitched with care and hope, intended for Mrs. Clifford—a woman who soared above them, perched comfortably among society's elite. The money from this sale could close the growing rift in their finances, perhaps even restore a fragment of their lost dignity. Ruelle had always strived to help her family, driven not merely by duty but by the quiet whisper of love that hummed in her heart.

"Caroline, today when you go to the Clifford's mansion, you will be the one to speak with her," instructed Mrs. Belmont.

"Why me?" Caroline replied. "Ruelle handles people far better than I do!"

"Precisely why you should be the one to do it. You need the practice," Mrs. Belmont insisted, though the unspoken motivations lingered in the air—rumours of Mrs. Clifford's son, now of marriageable age, had come to her attention. With careful precision, Mrs. Belmont was weaving plans that stretched beyond mere sweaters and money.

Once Ruelle completed knitting the last sweater, she folded it neatly and placed it among the rest, ready to deliver them. But suddenly, their peaceful afternoon was shattered.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" The front door rattled violently. The clamour made Ruelle's heart leap into her throat. "OPEN IT NOW OR WE WILL BREAK IT DOWN!!"

"Caroline, get inside the kitchen. Now!" Mrs. Belmont urged. A flash of anxiety crossed her features as she turned back to the door, dread pooling in the pit of Ruelle's stomach.

Hesitantly, Mrs. Belmont flung the door open, revealing three men standing outside, shadows cloaked in menace.

"What do you want?" she questioned, her voice wavering with worry and caution as the men stepped right into their home.

Ruelle quickly noted they were vampires—once humans but now terrifying with their light red eyes. Fear coiled around her stomach and squeezed tighter as their fangs glinted in the light.

"Where is your husband? Harold Belmont?" the shortest one demanded, with a sneer twisting his lips. "He's been avoiding us. When he needs money, he asks for it, but he can't return it on time. Take everything of any value in here!"

Not again, Ruelle thought, her mind racing. This wasn't the first time a debt collector had knocked on their door, demanding payment.

"He returned the money only last week!" Mrs. Belmont stated defiantly, bewildered by their audacity. "We have been paying on time."

"I was paid back only for what he had borrowed. Who's going to pay the interest?" The debt collector's eyes narrowed as he raised his hand, signalling his men. Panic spread in the room as they began to rummage through the meagre belongings. "Your daughters will be worth something too," he added, and Ruelle's world tilted dangerously.

Dread filled the air, thick and suffocating. Her father had borrowed more than he could repay, and now the time for repayment had come. Vampires—turned or not—were cruel and heartless creatures. She had to do something. Think, Ruelle, think!

"This is not the way to do it!" Mrs. Belmont implored, desperation colouring her voice.

"If you have money, we will take it and leave," the short man sneered, watching as his men picked through their meagre possessions. "You shall come with me too. I am sure we will find decent use of you."

"No!" Mrs. Belmont screamed, her eyes wide with fear.

"Wait! We'll pay you back today!" Ruelle blurted out, her heart racing like a caged bird seeking freedom. She caught the short man's gaze, steeling herself. "Once these sweaters are delivered, we'll pay you back. Please! Just give us a little more time!" All she wanted was for her family to be safe. The very thought of the vampires using them in such a ruthless manner made her blood run cold.

"That's right!" Mrs. Belmont frantically nodded in agreement. "We'll repay you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is too far off. Who knows if you'll all flee?" The debt collector clicked his tongue, sizing them up disdainfully. He pointed at Ruelle. "Make it quick. You have one hour to settle this before I clear out your house. We'll be right here, waiting."

Ruelle nodded, panic coiling in her stomach as she rushed to grab all the sweaters, hastily stuffing them into a gunny bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she assured her mother, "I'll be back soon," and dashed out the main door, her heart pounding against her ribs.

She ran down the streets as fast as her legs would carry her, her face marred with deep lines of worry. With each assertive step, she felt the shadows of uncertainty closing in. Her heart raced at the thought of reaching her father's shop to warn him about the debt collectors, but if those men had come to their home, it meant her father wasn't there.

The carriages didn't run at this hour, so Ruelle took the market route, hoping it would lead her to her destination faster. The path was slick with mud from the previous day's rain, and the earth pulled at her feet as if to drag her back into despair.

Once she delivered the sweaters to Mrs. Clifford, there might be enough money to pay the debt collector, she thought to herself. The flickering hope ignited within her, but doubts about her mother and sister's safety gnawed at her. Steeling her resolve, she ran.

"Make way, please," Ruelle called out politely, trying to manoeuvre through the crowded market, clutching the gunny bag tightly. The bustling human world around her felt alive yet indifferent.

In her haste to reach the mansion, her foot landed on a squashed tomato on the slippery ground. The world tilted as she stumbled backwards, colliding with something solid before falling to the ground. Her bag spilt open, leaving the sweaters stained and muddy.

"Ow!" Ruelle winced as pain radiated through her. Her eyes widened in horror as she surveyed the mess, dread swallowing her whole. "No..."

Quickly collecting the sweaters, she prepared to rise when a large hand suddenly caught her wrist, and she gasped.

Turning, Ruelle encountered a striking figure towering above her, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around them.

As her eyes adjusted, they fell upon a viciously handsome man—his black hair was tousled and wild, yet it looked neat on him. His dark brows framing brooding red eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. He appeared to be in his early twenties. It took her a moment to tear her gaze from him and realise that she had crashed into a vampire, and he looked far beyond merely annoyed—his irritation was evident and intense.

"What have you done?! You broke the last vials of Belladonna!" A stout man barked nearby, his gaze now fixated on the shattered vials scattered across the ground.

Ruelle followed his stare, her eyes widening at the glittering contents pooling in the mud. Panic surged within her. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to break them," she stammered, her voice trembling as she paled under the hawk-like intensity of the man who held her wrist in an ironclad grip, making it impossible for her to move even an inch. 

"You aren't going anywhere until you pay for it." His voice, though low, had a hint of huskiness to it. He loomed over her, the intensity of his red eyes locking onto her with a predatory gleam. 

"Pay?" Ruelle asked in worry. "I—I will repay you. But I need to be somewhere important, so please let me go for now!" 

Right now, she had more important matters on hand. She had to deliver the sweaters. But he didn't let her go. 

What did he want from her? She had already apologised for her error. Ruelle tried to explain, "I didn't mean to crash into your things! I was only trying to walk from here when my foot slipped. I will pay—"

"A human like you cannot possibly repay what you've destroyed, even if you sold your soul." He regarded her with a cold, piercing gaze. "How typical of your kind—so blind to the consequences of your actions. Did you think that because you're insignificant, your mistakes would be overlooked?"

Ruelle frowned at his words and replied, "I acknowledge that it was my mistake, and I should have been more careful, but that doesn't give you the right to speak to me like that. I told you I was sorry." 

"You have some nerve to use that tone with me after causing all this," the man holding her wrist glared at her, his eyes like molten lava, ready to engulf her. Ruelle gulped softly, instinctively trying to take a step back.

"I truly am sorry." Desperation clawed at her heart, and tears glimmered in her brown eyes, momentarily catching him off guard. "The ground was slippery, and I was carrying the sweaters… I need to clean them. Please…" Her voice wavered, sheer vulnerability laid bare before him.

With the ringing of the tower bell, the grip on her wrist loosened.

Ruelle yanked her hand free, dropping to her knees to gather the sweaters scattered across the muddy ground with trembling hands. As she tucked the last sweater away, she looked up to see him still watching her, his expression unreadable, before she bolted away.

Vanishing from sight, Ruelle fought the urge to glance back. She focused instead on the task ahead, spurred on by the memory of her family waiting at home, their needs burning fiercely in her heart.

When Ruelle finally arrived at the mansion, Mrs. Clifford's daughter, a young lady around her age, pointed and giggled with disdain as the mud-stained sweaters caught her eye.

Ruelle felt her heart sink at Mrs. Clifford's words. "I think we will not buy them after all."

"Is it because they're wet? I assure you they are still in excellent condition and will keep anyone warm, as we have crafted them using the finest wool!" Ruelle's eagerness spilt forth, laced with desperation, as she held up the best sweater. "This is a new design. I'm sure it will look lovely on you, Mrs. Clifford."

However, her daughter simply shrugged, a smirk twisting on her lips. "These look like they were used before, and you simply washed them to make them look new. Unfortunately for you, we don't wear hand-me-downs like you do."

Ruelle's hands tightened around the fabric, her knuckles whitening as frustration and hurt surged within her. "My family and I may be in a poor place now, milady, but we aren't the kind of people who would stoop so low as to sell anything less than the best we can offer. My sister, mother, and I have put our hearts into these. They have been made with love and care."

Mrs. Clifford's daughter remained unyielding. "We are no longer interested in buying them," she declared sharply.

With that, the door slammed shut in Ruelle's face, echoing the finality of her dreams fading along with it.