Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Ruelle no longer knew which was worse: accusing an elite vampire of holding her by her skirt or dousing him with orange juice—a vibrant splash against the stark white of his shirt, which was left exposed as he carried his Sexton robe draped over his arm.

The sweet scent of citrus wafted around them as the bright liquid dripped down his shirt. Her heart raced as her gaze nervously climbed to meet his furious eyes, which darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

Run, Ruelle!

In a fit of panic, she tugged at her skirt, desperate to free it from the grip of the light fixture. To her horror, the fabric tore with a sound that seemed to echo ominously in her ears. Things were only getting worse!

How far could she go? He was a vampire, a predator lurking just beneath the surface, ready to pounce like a leopard. She could almost imagine his claws, sharp and gleaming, ready to tear through her defences with ruthless precision. He had likely sharpened them the night before, plotting how best to ruin her life.

There was only one option left. 

Swallowing her fear, Ruelle took a deep breath and offered a deep bow to the vampire, her voice trembling. "I am so sorry for spilling the juice on you! I didn't mean to offend you! I thought you had—" Embarrassment flooded, threatening to overwhelm her. "But it was the wall! Please forgive me!"

As she raised her head, Ruelle fished a hand into her pocket and produced a clean handkerchief, offering it to him as a gesture of peace.

"Do you truly believe that your measly handkerchief can remedy what you've done?" he asked, his voice a menacing whisper. His gaze bore into hers unyieldingly, making her skin crawl.

"There's a towel back in—"

"Breaking my vials, badmouthing me, and now spilling juice on me," he listed, taking a step closer, the domineering air thickening around them. Ruelle felt small under his scrutiny, her gaze dropping to the floor in a reflexive gesture of submission. "And after all that, you have the audacity to make light of the situation."

Ruelle blinked, taken aback. Huh? She instinctively stepped back, an ingrained response to his overwhelming presence. "It's my fault. Please, allow me to make amends."

"So that you have a clear conscience that you did no wrong?" He raised an eyebrow, a faint, dry smile curling at his lips, and though he spoke calmly, the weight of his words was evident. "That is how most humans are. You make a mess and when it's time for accountability, you think a simple 'sorry' will suffice."

"I didn't mean it that way…" Ruelle's voice quivered in response, her hands clenching at her sides as his anger loomed like a storm on the brink of breaking. "I ruined your shirt. That's why I—"

"Were you going to buy me a new one? Can you even afford it?" He shot back, a tinge of mockery lacing his words as he glanced at her torn dress, a glaring reminder of their social divide.

No… Ruelle knew she couldn't afford it. If she could, she wouldn't be here, tangled up in the web of vampires who treated humans as mere amusements. She had fleetingly considered offering to wash his shirt, but the thought evaporated as quickly as it came. He probably had a host of servants for that—a luxury she could barely comprehend.

"What can I do then?" Ruelle asked sincerely, her voice barely more than a whisper as she cast her gaze downward, afraid to meet his furious eyes. It was only her first day at Sexton, yet she felt as if she had already made a fool of herself more than once. Why did she always manage to mess things up?

When she caught sight of his feet moving towards her, a shiver of dread raced down her spine. Anxiety tightened in her chest as she quickly shut her eyes, bracing herself for the worst.

"I will tell you what you can do," he said, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, each word deliberate with warning. He leaned in slightly, his presence like a stormy cloud. "Stop crashing into me. The farther away you are, the better, or do you prefer your neck to be squeezed?" His eyes narrowed. 

Ruelle shook her head quickly. It wasn't as though she had intended to run into him. He wasn't some red cloth meant to be charged at like an enraged bull.

After a few seconds of tense silence, during which he offered no further remarks, she finally dared to pry her eyes open. To her surprise, she found herself standing alone in the corridor. Glancing back and forth, she realised he had already left, leaving only the remnants of the orange juice splattered on the floor.

Her heart was still beating loudly from the close brush with danger. Fuelled by lingering adrenaline, she sprinted down the deserted corridor, painfully conscious of her lateness. The walls loomed dark and rough, hewn from uneven stone that seemed to claw at her passing form. When she finally reached her classroom door, she was breathless and her vision was dancing with spots.

"Tardiness is not tolerated here, especially from Groundlings expected to serve the Elites," the teacher's voice cut through the room, devoid of compassion. 

Ruelle's gaze met his, her breath catching as his red eyes burned with disdain at her lack of punctuality. Hastily, she offered an apology, stammering, "I'm sorry for being late! I—I had trouble with the bath."

"It must be the dirt you brought with you that clogged it," snickered a sarcastic voice, unmistakably June's. Laughter erupted in the classroom, directed at Ruelle and her background.

"It was because sh—" she began, but the teacher's ice-cold glare cut her off, silencing her mid-sentence.

"Did I give you permission to speak? I can already see at least one of you won't make the grade," he hissed, his contempt evident. "Sexton's reputation is paramount, and I won't allow lowly humans to sully it. If you believe I'll overlook this lapse just because it's your first day, you are gravely mistaken."

Ruelle paled at his harsh words. First day at this place, and she had already managed to court punishment. 

"Stand here," the teacher commanded, indicating the spot he had just vacated. He then moved deliberately towards the table at the front of the room.

Ruelle stepped cautiously into the dimly lit classroom, the absence of windows casting long shadows across the stone floors. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed the students seated at their desks—a mix of humans and vampires. Among them, four elites stood out, their silver and gold masks adorned with intricate designs, lending them an air of mystery and prestige. She found Hailey's friendly face among the crowd, whose expression was filled with worry for her. 

Her gaze then shifted to the blackboard, where bold letters spelled out 'Haematology'. Under the title were various notes and numbers, but her eyes were fixated on the word haematology. 

"You there," the teacher pointed at a student sitting near the front. "Join her."

"Me?" June asked, nervously gesturing to herself. "What did I do, Mr. Northman?" She attempted a smile, though her voice trembled slightly with uncertainty.

"This is for speaking out of turn. It would be best for you to be on your feet. Now," Mr. Northman replied, picking up a blade from the table with a steady hand. He appeared to be in his late forties, his long grey hair falling past his shoulders lending him an air of seasoned authority. Despite it being the first class of the year, he looked utterly exhausted, as though the weight of many years settled heavily upon him.

Ruelle watched as Mr. Northman twirled the sharp blade in his hand, feeling a mix of dread and resignation. Meanwhile, her roommate June looked as though she had swallowed poison, her face pale and on the verge of fainting.

"Raise your hand," Mr. Northman instructed. June, accustomed to her privileged status in society, hesitated, unprepared to be put at such a disadvantage. With a swift, practised motion, he took her hand and made a precise cut. 

"Argh!" June winced as pain shot through her finger, and four bright drops of blood fell into the petri dish, their vivid colour stark against the clear glass.

"Get used to the sensation," Mr. Northman advised, casting a pointed glance her way. "This is just a mere paper cut compared to what you'll experience here." With that, he moved on to Ruelle.

She steeled herself and voluntarily raised her hand, determined not to show fear. As the blade sliced through her wrist, a sharp pain twisted her stomach, but she clenched her jaw and endured it, unlike June, whose eyes brimmed with tears. 

"You there," Mr. Northman called, gesturing to a human boy in the class. "Come forward and taste both samples, then tell us what you taste."

The humans flinched at the request, repulsed by the notion of tasting another's blood. But in Sexton, refusal led to dire consequences, and no one wanted to risk displeasing the staff.

Ruelle watched as the boy hesitantly approached the front. With obvious reluctance, he flicked his finger to each sample, tasting them carefully. "They taste the same," he admitted in a hesitant voice.

"Groundling," Mr. Northman said with mocking superiority. "This class is about understanding the subtleties of blood health. It is crucial for each of you to recognise and comprehend the characteristics of healthy blood, to determine whether your blood meets the necessary criteria or requires improvement. Now, I need a volunteer from among the Elite."

A masked vampire moved gracefully to the front, sampling the blood in contemplative silence. "Better," he pronounced, nodding towards June's sample, before returning to his seat with a self-assured air.

Mr. Northman raised his hands again, commanding attention from the class. "Vampires possess an innate ability to discern blood quality, identifying which samples are rich in vital nutrients. You may both return to your seats," he told the humans dismissively. He then continued, "However, there are times when a vampire's senses may be impaired, which is why I will demonstrate how to assess and select the best blood. The darker the shade, the higher the quality."

Ruelle found her seat beside Hailey, who was quietly jotting down notes from the teacher's instructions. Mr. Northman, now engaged in a demonstration, added various chemicals to test tubes containing their blood samples. The tube with June's blood transformed into a deep purple, while Ruelle's took on a soft lilac hue. 

As the class ended and the teacher left, Hailey swiftly turned in her seat to face Ruelle, her voice tinged with concern. "How's your hand doing?"

Ruelle could still feel the sting from the blade's cut, and she replied, "It should be better by evening."

"Why were you late?" Hailey asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"It's a long story," Ruelle deflected. "How was your night?"

"Far better than I expected," Hailey replied, her voice low and confidential. "Senior Blake is surprisingly friendly compared to most of the vampiresses here. She gave me some advice—to follow the teachers' instructions closely and to carry a weapon."

"A weapon?" Ruelle asked, eyebrows raised.

Hailey nodded, her expression serious. "Apparently, vampires have a lot of leeway here, just like anywhere else. They can harm humans as long as the teachers don't witness it. No body means no evidence."

June's voice sliced through the chatter, loud enough for Ruelle to hear. "What a pity your blood turned lilac. Your family must be struggling to feed you properly. You should probably sign up as a maid or a slave with that blood count. At least mine is considered tastier."

Ruelle paused and responded just as audibly, "Perhaps you should consider stationing yourself in the dining room, then." The remark drew a few stifled giggles and whispers from around the room.

"How dare you speak to me like that? Do you even know who I am?" June demanded.

Ruelle regarded her coolly, letting the question linger before offering her reply. "A groundling. Just like me." She watched with a hint of satisfaction as a vein throbbed in June's forehead, finding amusement in the knowledge that it must be particularly infuriating for someone like June Clifford to be equated with someone like her.

Before June could retaliate with a mean remark, the teacher for the next class strolled through the door, interrupting the brewing confrontation with an amused observation. "It seems this year's class might be sharper than the last. 'Groundling' is indeed correct."

Students hurried back to their seats, the air charged with a newfound respect mingled with curiosity. The Elites adjusted their posture, their backs snapping straight as the figure at the front commanded the attention of the room.

The girls couldn't help but admire the man at the front, who wore a polite smile. He had blond hair and striking dark red eyes that gave him a fox-like appearance as he scanned the class. He looked to be in his late twenties. Dressed in a crisp red shirt beneath a tailored black coat and trousers, he exuded a polished elegance that was hard to ignore. 

"Good morning, class," he began, his voice smooth and inviting. "I am Dane Slater, and you can address me as Mr. S. I am thrilled to guide you through the intricacies of social hierarchy this year." As he spoke, the corners of his lips curled upwards, a subtle reminder of the vampire's predatory grace.

"Slater?" One of the students whispered, barely audible over the settling murmur. "As in from the lineage of vampire lords?"

"Lords?" asked another student beside Ruelle, who turned intrigued. In their world, lords were no less than royalty, and it made her wonder what someone like him was teaching here. 

The vampire positioned himself at the front, casually leaning against the edge of the desk. "Today, we will delve into the topic of humans—known here as the Groundlings," he began, his voice rich with intrigue. "But before we proceed, why don't we start with some introductions?"

The introductions began with the front row, where the human students sat, each one stating their name as the teacher acknowledged them with a nod.

"Baron Bryson Tenebris's daughter, Lady Peyton Tenebris," one of the girls announced with a smug expression as she basked in the attention. She had enrolled without her parents' knowledge, who would by now have noticed her absence from their mansion.

June wasted no time in introducing herself next. "Lady June Clifford," she declared, flashing a coy smile at everyone in the room, reserving a particularly charming glance for the teacher. "I would be more than happy to help you if you need it," she added before sitting down. 

"I am Hailey Elliot," Hailey said with a giddy smile, her eyes alight with the same admiration that several other girls shared as they gazed at the captivating presence of the teacher before them. 

When it was Ruelle's turn, she rose from her seat to introduce herself. Unlike many of her classmates, she lacked a prestigious title, and she could sense their disinterest. The vampires in the room exchanged knowing glances, already scheming to make her a target, just like the few other easy marks among their year.

She offered a polite bow before introducing herself. "My name is Ruelle Belmont."

When her eyes met the teacher's, his gaze seemed to linger on her for a brief moment, as if assessing her presence. Then, with a smile and a nod, he said, "Next," allowing her to take her seat. 

After the introductions, he addressed the class, his gaze sweeping over the students. "Now that we've finished our introductions, let me remind you, Groundlings," he began, his tone firm yet cordial. "While you might hold respectable titles outside these walls, they hold no weight here. Within this academy, you are all classified as Groundlings. Set aside your titles, as you will all start from scratch." He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

Ruelle diligently took notes in the notebook she had brought with her, capturing the essential points as the class continued. Around her, a few students struggled with their writing, a consequence of not having had the privilege of a proper education. Hailey, though writing slowly, managed to record most of the lesson.

When the bell rang loud and clear, signalling a break, Ruelle and Hailey joined the other students in stepping out of the classroom. As they passed by the teacher's desk, a stack of books unexpectedly slipped from the edge and scattered across the floor.

"My, how clumsy of me," Mr. S chuckled, making no immediate move to retrieve them.

Sensing his expectation, Ruelle and Hailey quickly stooped down to gather the fallen books. As they stood up, the teacher turned to Hailey with a charming smile. "Would you be a doll and take these to the staff room?"

"Of course, Mr. S!" Hailey responded eagerly, happy to oblige. With the books in hand, they made their way out of the classroom.

"Hailey, was it?" he confirmed, and Hailey nodded enthusastically. As they walked, Ruelle observed the passing students from different classes mingling in the bustling corridors. "Only child?" he inquired casually.

"I have a younger brother," Hailey responded, her voice brightening as she chatted with him. "My father, Brody Elliot, works as a coachman for Earl Sangery's nephew."

As he conversed with Hailey, his eyes occasionally shifted towards Ruelle. Upon arriving at the staff room, they placed the books neatly on his desk. He offered them a warm smile and said, "Thank you for the help. I'd be sure to send your fathers a note of commendation for your good work."

For bringing in books? Ruelle thought, a bit puzzled. Then his gaze settled on her. "Harold Belmont," she responded in a respectful tone. 

The vampire watched Ruelle leave the room with the other human girl before disappearing behind the door. 

"Ruelle Marie Belmont," he murmured softly as a thoughtful expression flickered across his refined features. His smile grew, a subtle curve of intrigue playing at his lips. "Well, isn't that interesting…"