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 door, dread pooling

Mrs. Belmont flung the door open, revealing three men

voice wavering with worry and caution as the

quickly noted they were vampires—once humans but now terrifying with their light red eyes. Fear coiled around her stomach and

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

mind racing. This wasn't the first

week!" Mrs. Belmont stated defiantly,

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

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

it!" Mrs. Belmont implored, desperation

as his men picked through their meagre possessions. "You shall come with me too. I

Mrs. Belmont screamed, her

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

frantically nodded in agreement. "We'll repay

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,

Slinging it over her shoulder, she assured her mother, "I'll be back soon," and dashed out the main door, her heart

felt the shadows of uncertainty closing in. Her heart raced at the

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

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.

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

to reach the mansion, her foot landed on a squashed tomato on the slippery ground. The world tilted as she stumbled

winced as pain radiated through her. Her eyes widened in horror as she surveyed the mess, dread swallowing her whole.

a large hand suddenly caught her wrist, and she

above her,

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

Belladonna!" A stout man barked nearby, his gaze

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

hint of huskiness to it. He loomed over her, the intensity of his red eyes locking onto her

repay you. But I need to be somewhere important, so