Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 2: Stumbling into debt

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!!"

A flash of anxiety crossed her features as she turned back to the

Belmont flung the door open, revealing three men standing outside, shadows cloaked in

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

their light red eyes. Fear coiled around her stomach

"He's been avoiding us. When

This wasn't the first time a debt collector had knocked

the money only last week!" Mrs. Belmont stated defiantly, bewildered by their

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

time for repayment had come. Vampires—turned or not—were cruel and heartless creatures.

the way to do it!" Mrs. Belmont implored, desperation colouring

watching as his men picked through their

screamed, her eyes

you back. Please! Just give us a little

right!" Mrs. Belmont frantically nodded in agreement. "We'll

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

it over her shoulder,

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

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

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

politely, trying to manoeuvre through the crowded market, clutching the gunny bag tightly. The bustling human world

slippery ground. The world tilted as

eyes widened in horror as she surveyed the

when a large hand suddenly

figure towering above her, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around

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

Belladonna!" A stout man barked nearby, his gaze now fixated

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,

huskiness to it. He loomed over

you. But I need to be somewhere important, so please let me