Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 7

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.

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.