Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 7: Late to the first class

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.

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

serve the

disdain at her lack of punctuality. Hastily, she offered an apology, stammering, "I'm sorry

you that clogged it," snickered a sarcastic voice, unmistakably June's. Laughter erupted in

teacher's ice-cold glare cut her

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

words. First day at this place, and she had already managed to court

vacated. He then moved deliberately towards the table at the front

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

the title were various

pointed at a student sitting

I do, Mr. Northman?"

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

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

be put at such a disadvantage. With a swift, practised

as pain shot through her finger, and four bright drops of blood

her way. "This is just a mere paper cut compared to

wrist, a sharp pain twisted her stomach, but she clenched her jaw and endured it, unlike June, whose eyes

to a human boy in the class. "Come forward

the notion of tasting another's blood. But in Sexton, refusal led to dire consequences, and no one wanted to risk

the front. With obvious reluctance, he flicked his finger to

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,

contemplative silence. "Better," he pronounced, nodding towards June's sample, before returning to

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

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

teacher left, Hailey swiftly turned in her seat

the sting from the blade's cut, and she replied, "It should

you late?" Hailey asked

Ruelle deflected. "How was

friendly compared to most of the vampiresses here. She gave me

Ruelle

a lot of leeway here, just like anywhere else. They can harm humans as long as the teachers don't witness it.

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

dining room, then." The remark drew

like that? Do you even know who

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

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