Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

"You've almost got it," Ruelle said, leaning over to point at the equation. "You just missed a step here—see?"

"Ah… right." Leslie's brows drew together, who sat beside Ruelle. Her hair fell forward as she bent over her book with the quill in her hand. "I forgot."

Right now, three lanterns burnt brightly in the room, their glow spreading across the table. The books laid open along with notes spread out between Ruelle, Hailey, Kevin, and Leslie. The faint rustle of paper and scratch of quills filled the room.

"That's alright," Ruelle assured. "This one is trickier. It's not the formula—it's the amount of ingredient to use that catches people. Once you remember which ingredients use which percentage value, it's straightforward." She slid her notebook toward Leslie. "Here. Copy these down—they'll help."

Leslie's mouth twitched, the ghost of something that might have been gratitude—or hesitation. "Thanks for helping me again."

"Don't think of it like that," Ruelle replied lightly. "It's nicer to work with someone than alone."

"She's right," Hailey added, tapping her quill against her notes with an easy grin. "And you'll see that your results will start climbing fast."

"Still," Leslie murmured, glancing at her hands, "not everyone says yes when you ask. Even Groundlings. People worry they'll be pushed down further…" Her smile was bashful.

"I think there's a place for all of us," Ruelle said, her tone soft but certain. "And it makes no sense not to help each other when we're already the minority here. Hopefully, we'll all get to live better than we do now."

Leslie's nod was small. She brushed her hair back, the motion unguarded enough to pull her sleeve with it—just far enough for Ruelle to catch the faint mark on her wrist. Yellowing at the edges.

Ruelle also noticed how Leslie, even though she was a rank higher, it meant she had a better grasping ability. Yet, when the subject was explained, her classmate's mind felt elsewhere.

When Kevin was talking to Hailey about another subject, Ruelle asked her classmate in a quiet tone, "Is everything okay?"

Leslie blinked, too quickly. "What?"

Ruelle's eyes flicked to Leslie's wrist. The young woman tugged her sleeve down at once. "It's nothing. I just… ran into something last week."

"I see," Ruelle murmured. "Be careful."

Her eyes lingered on Leslie's face, but she didn't press. She knew that answer. She had given it herself often when the bruises on her arms and shoulders had been fresher than her lies.

When the hour grew late, they packed their books and left the room. Moonlight spilt through the high windows, their steps echoing lightly against the stone floor.

"Good night," Kevin wished as he walked off with Hailey.

"Night," Ruelle replied, walking alongside Leslie. Leslie opened her mouth to say something—but a familiar voice came from the other side of the corridor.

"Burning the midnight oil again, Ruelle."

The voice drifted from the far end—light, teasing, with that hint of knowing that never let one forget who the person was. It was Dane. He was wearing a long coat and gloves, as if he were heading out of Sexton for the night. His smile carried a blend of warmth and mischief.

Ruelle bowed her head politely. "Good evening, Mr. S. Are you still on duty?"

"An instructor at Sexton is never off duty," Dane replied, his tone holding a touch of mock-seriousness. His gaze slid past her to Leslie, who dipped a quick bow before excusing herself to get back to her room. "I was making a little stop at the infirmary."

"Was it to check on the senior vampire…?" Ruelle asked.

His eyes gleamed. "Huxley's going to live."

"I meant Lucian," she clarified. "Will he get into trouble for what happened today?"

This had Dane's lips stretch around the corners. He replied,

"Hard to punish a man for defending himself—especially when the other idiot downs a tonic and pulls a dagger to fight like a rabid wolf. They called it self-defence." Dane's smile deepened, but there was something watchful in his eyes. "Better than his first week here. That one ended with a senior in the grave and an emergency committee meeting because that senior was the earl's nephew."

A faint unease curled in Ruelle's chest.

"He knows exactly how far he can go before one becomes a body to clean up." It wasn't that Dane was praising his brother, but he was calm about it, as if he knew it could happen again. Then, as if flipping a switch, his voice warmed. "By the way—congratulations."

"Congratulations…?"

"You passed the test. We should celebrate."

"Thanks. But it wasn't exactly an outstanding result," Ruelle replied with an awkward smile, feeling a little self-conscious.

Dane tilted his head, amusement tugging at his mouth. "If you did better than you did yesterday, that's worth celebrating. Comparing yourself to others only steals the fun out of winning."

"I don't think everyone thinks that…" Ruelle murmured under her breath.

He hummed in response before his eyes drifted to her ears. "No diamonds?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The earrings," he said, like the answer was obvious. "Gemma mentioned you're the only one who failed. She wasn't pleased. Not to mention, people fail later in her subjects, not in the beginning."

"Oh… I just didn't find the right moment to wear them."

He murmured, "Is that so?"

Ruelle's fingers brushed her ear. The earrings had been a test. But by leaving them unworn, she couldn't help but feel Sexton was taking offence at it.

She then left Dane with a polite nod, where his footsteps thinned as she continued to walk. Somewhere behind her, she heard a footstep so soft that for a moment she thought she was imagining it. However, she heard the sound again, as if it were following her.

When she slowed, the sound of the footstep fell into silence. When she turned, the hallway was empty, shadows lying still against the walls. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her satchel. This time, she walked faster until she reached her room. She quickly turned the knob and slipped inside.

That night, she didn't see Lucian again. She told herself it wasn't her concern, yet his absence settled in her mind like a pebble in a shoe.

The following evening, the classroom was quieter with just Ruelle and Leslie sitting at the table. Hailey had been feeling hungry and she had left twenty minutes ago with Kevin.

"You've caught up quickly," Ruelle scanned the words in Leslie's notebook. "At this rate, you'll be bridging the gap to the top of the class in no time."

A smile touched Leslie's lips. "I didn't expect this chapter to be so easy. I understand it better when you teach."

Ruelle began to pack her things, feeling a faint rumble of hunger escaping her stomach.

When they stepped outside the room, Ruelle turned toward the dining hall, and noticed Leslie had taken a step the other way.

"You're not coming?"

"I… left my other quill in another building. I need to get it," Leslie said, her voice hesitant. Her fingers clutched on her opposite wrist. A quill would be nothing to an Elite, but to someone who owned little, it was worth a lot.

"Now?" Ruelle's brow rose slightly. Leslie's unease was faint but evident. Especially with the shallow rise of her breath and the way her eyes darted briefly toward the end of the hall. She had seen Leslie alone more often than not.

"Alright," Ruelle said, shouldering her satchel. "Let us go get it."

"Y–you will?" Leslie blinked in surprise.

"Of course," Ruelle nodded. "Then we can have dinner together."

They left the familiar, well-lit wing behind, crossing the narrow bridge that joined to another building. Below, darkness pooled like water between the stone walls. The torches grew fewer until there were none at all when they entered the next building, leaving the corridor cold.

Leslie moved ahead, her steps quick but cautious, as though she wanted to get somewhere without drawing attention. Every few paces, she glanced over her shoulder as if needing reassurance that Ruelle was still following.

"I don't think I've ever been here before," Ruelle said, her voice carrying in the long, empty hall, footsteps echoing alongside it. "It's… abandoned."

"That's right," Leslie replied quickly as her grip tightened around her opposite wrist again, the small motion catching Ruelle's eye even in the low light.

Ruelle tilted her head. "You don't look so good." She offered, "If you want we can come back for it in the morning. You can use my quill until then." Her tone was gentle but steady, the kind of offer she meant to keep.

Leslie shook her head without looking back. "No… it's fine. The q–quill is somewhere right here. It is close."

They turned down a corridor and followed it into a room that was connected to two more connecting rooms. The air felt cooler here, with a faint smell of something Ruelle couldn't pinpoint. Her eyes moved over the broken furnitures fallen across the floor, the dark stains that marred the wooden floor and the shattered windowpanes. Mould clung to the corners of the walls.

Ruelle's steps slowed. Something about the place didn't feel right.

But what caught her attention more was Leslie. The young woman made no attempt to search, her gaze flicking not to the floor or the corners where a quill might have rolled, but toward the doorway ahead. Her hands were clasped in front of her, fingers worrying at her sleeve.

It then struck Ruelle. Leslie wasn't looking for anything. She was… waiting.

"Leslie…?" Ruelle felt her stomach drop.

"I–I am sorry," came the barely audible whisper from Leslie's trembling lips.

And a second later, the wooden flooring creaked at the door.

"Finally," a pleased voice drawled. "You lowly thing brought her here."

Ruelle turned sharply and found Alanna standing in the doorway, red lips curved in satisfaction, her long coat sweeping the floor. Behind her, three Halflings lingered like shadows—two of the faces Ruelle knew too well, and she could tell they hadn't forgotten about her either.

"I thought I'd have to break your arm this time for such a simple task," the pureblood vampiress scowled.

Ruelle's gaze snapped at Leslie, the realisation striking with cold clarity. She murmured, "It was Alanna who hurt you."

"How dare you address her by name!" One of the Halflings barked, stepping forward, only to halt when Alanna lifted her hand.

"You've been getting in my way every single time. So far as to go to frame me. Did you think you could get away unscathed?" Alanna asked, her eyes narrowing to burning slits.

"Framing?" Ruelle repeated, with her brow furrowing. Her weight shifted subtly, trying to remember the distance to the next room's door.

"Don't pretend you weren't waiting for me to pick up that pendant. People like you always play the naive card—it's how you stole a seat at the Elite table," Alanna looked at Ruelle as if the Groundling was the dirt on the scrape of her shoe. "What makes you think you can sit where I sit? Where we sit? And stain it with your presence."

Alanna mockingly sighed, "This little bitch didn't like following orders, but… finally, she came around."

Ruelle's eyes flicked to Leslie. The young woman's head was bowed, trembling, unable to meet her gaze. Shame clung to her after betraying the kindness she had been given.

"If you wanted to speak to me, you could have asked me. There was no need for such an elaborate…plan," Ruelle's voice was steady, but internally she was worried.

Though Ruelle couldn't shrug off the little detail where Alanna thought she was the one who took the pendant. Wasn't it found in the vampiress's bag? Why was she turning it around after all this time?

Alanna's laugh was soft, almost amused, until it wasn't. The sound cut off, her smile flattening into something colder.

"And you would have come to me?" the vampiress asked in a clipped voice. "I don't know what you've said or done to have Lucian shielding you… but this ends tonight."

She should have gone to have dinner first! Ruelle thought in her mind.

And Alanna wasn't wrong—Lucian, who hadn't returned to their room at night for the last four days, wouldn't even notice if she didn't return tonight. Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting against skin.

This wasn't good.

"I–I can go now, right?" Leslie's voice was low with hope, her eyes flicking toward the doorway like it was the only source of air in the room. "I did what I was told."

From the corner of her eye, Alanna regarded the trembling human. A slow, satisfied smirk curved her lips. She let the silence hang just long enough for Leslie's breathing to quicken. Then, with a lazy flick of her hand, the vampiress dismissed the human.

Relief washed over Leslie's face. She didn't waste a heartbeat. Her footsteps hurried across the creaking floor, and she slipped through the doorway without so much as a glance back.

The echo of the footsteps outside disappeared, and Ruelle felt the room grow smaller, with everyone's attention now solely on her.

Alanna's lips curved, but it was the kind of smile that promised pain. She remarked,

"It is time for you to atone, Ruelle Belmont. Bring her before me."

One of the Halflings stepped forward, hunger gleaming in her half-red eyes. The pulse in Ruelle's throat thudded so hard she thought they could hear it too. She forced her voice to stay calm, though it came soft and defiant,

"I haven't done anything that requires atonement."

Alanna's laugh was low, cruel. "You've done plenty. You've crossed lines without even knowing where your place is. And now—you'll learn it."

The Halfling reached for her. Ruelle's eyes flicked down—not at the vampire's hand but at the splintered leg of a broken chair by her foot. She quickly snatched the jagged wood and drove it through the Halfling's palm.

"ARGH!!!" the Halfling screeched, staggering back and clutching the bleeding hand.

Ruelle didn't waste the opening. She turned and bolted for the connecting door.

"What are you waiting for? Drag her back here!" Alanna's barked the orders to her underlings.

The floorboards thundered while Ruelle slammed the door shut behind her and twisted the lock, her breath sharp and ragged. She pulled a chair and shoved it against the handle, the wood rattling beneath fists hammering from the other side. The knob shook violently.

She ran across the room, shoving open the next door—then another, then another. Six rooms blurred past her, and the pounding footsteps didn't rest. Glass cracked, and furniture crashed as her hunters tore through the connecting halls beside her.

Think, Ruelle! If I go into the corridor, they'll catch me in seconds. If I stay, they'll tear through the walls, she thought to herself.

Her chest burned. Every instinct screamed that the moment she stepped into the open corridor, claws and fangs would be waiting. But staying here—trapped in a chain of empty rooms—was nothing more than offering herself to the slaughter.

Ruelle shoved the windowpane upward, the hinges groaning, and leaned out into the night air. Her breath caught. The ground was far below—far enough that if she leapt, she would splatter open like a dropped melon.

Her eyes darted along the stone wall. And she then noticed a narrow slab of ledge ran the length of the building, jutting out.

She gathered her dress, the fabric clutched in her fists, and swung one leg over the sill.

Don't look down.

For a moment, her shoes slipped against the stone, and her heart jumped into her throat. For one brief, terrifying second, she believed she was about to fall. Then her soles caught, pressing flat.

From inside, she heard a door break. One of the Halflings' snarls carried into the night.

"Run, little rat," Alanna's voice sang from somewhere inside, cruel and lilting. "We like it better when you struggle."

Ruelle pressed her back to the wall, breath jagged, and forced her body forward. One foot and then the other.

She edged along the narrow ledge, skirts gathered in one fist, until she reached the thick pipe running down the wall. Metal steps glinted faintly in the moonlight, slick with damp. She gripped them and began to climb down, each step sending her heart hammering against her ribs.

"She's right here!" Alanna's furious voice was heard from above.

Ruelle quickly hit the ground, breath rushing out of her lungs—only to falter when two Halflings stepped out of the building. Turning around, she bolted as fast as her legs could carry her.

Behind her, she could hear the sound of the Halflings footsteps. Alanna vaulted down from the broken window—less graceful than a pureblood ought to be, but careful, taking her time as if to show she didn't need to rush. Her coat flared as she landed, dust scattering at her feet.

"You're making a mistake, Ruelle!" Alanna's voice carried in the air, reaching Ruelle. "Stop now, before I decide to peel the skin from your bones and hang it for the hounds."

"I haven't been bitten by a mad dog to do that," Ruelle muttered under her breath unevenly as she put in all her might.

The Halflings weren't as fast as the usual vampires, as if not accustomed to wearing the shoes that were bought recently. Alanna's eyes narrowed at this and she gritted her teeth, because she herself was wearing brand new shoes she had received from her father this weekend.

"Take the fucking shoes off and catch her!" the pureblooded vampiress shouted at her underlings. "Whoever catches her gets a gold shilling!"

While the Halflings kicked off their shoes, the soft thud of leather hitting the ground, Ruelle ran into the deeper side of the forest. Even with the moon, the forest felt dark and it was hard to see where she was going. She picked stones on her way, throwing them in different directions. Branches tore at her sleeves and scratched across her cheek, the forest swallowing her with shadows so thick she could barely see where she placed her feet.

But the vampires had no disadvantages anymore. Barefoot, they moved with uncanny speed. She barely made it twenty paces before a weight slammed into her shoulder. The impact spun her sideways, and she tumbled hard onto the ground, gravel biting her palms.

Ruelle groaned, pain ringing up her arm where bark had scraped her skin raw. A sharper burn tore through her sleeve—hot, stinging—where a Halfling's claws had ripped into her flesh. Her breath hitched, chest tight.

"Got you," one of the Halflings hissed. "You are going to pay for making us lick the ground."

Ruelle pressed her palm against her bleeding arm, pushing herself shakily back until her spine touched the rough bark of a tree.

"I think you're talking to the wrong person…" Ruelle panted, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breath. "You should save that line for Lucian—if you can that is."

Alanna emerged from the shadows with predatory grace, lips curling into a smile that was far too calm for the fury behind her eyes. "By the end of tonight, you'll be the one begging. Because you won't be stepping back to Sexton the same. You will learn your place."

"I know my place," Ruelle replied, her eyes meeting the vampiress's and her nails biting her palms. "And it's not beneath you. If that frightens you, that's on you."

"Frightened? Of a worm writhing in the dirt?" Alanna's laughter filled the space around them. It started to drizzle. "You mistake my disgust for fear. To think you are running your mouth when you are up against four vampires. How stupid are you?"

It wasn't that Ruelle wasn't aware of her situation. She had been fortunate to successfully strike one of them the first time, but she knew it wouldn't work again.

"Enough of this," Alanna said coldly. "Take her. Drink from her. Just enough to make her crawl, not enough to kill. I want her conscious when she begs."

One of the Halflings, the same one who had licked the floor in humiliation over the weekend—stepped forward eagerly. She crouched low before Ruelle, as if she had been waiting for this chance.

"Bon appetit then…" the Halfling murmured with a smirk, baring the fangs that glinted.

Ruelle felt the Halfling's breath near her neck, the damp heat of it making her skin crawl. Her hands clenched into fists, ready to drive her knuckles into bone—one last strike before fangs tore her apart. If she was going down, she wasn't going down quietly.

But then a soft rustle was heard. So faint it might have been the wind stirring the undergrowth.

The Halfling paused, frown twitching at the edge of her lips. Alanna's head tilted ever so slightly, her red eyes narrowing toward the sound.

The rustling grew louder and agitated before silence fell again. And then suddenly a guttural growl rolled out of the darkness. The bush exploded outward as a massive, feral-looking creature leapt with a snarl and fangs.

"I—Is that a wolf?!" one of the Halflings stammered, stumbling back in shock.

The creature didn't give them time to blink. It pounced on the nearest body—the Halfling crouched over Ruelle, lips bared for her throat. But before fang could meet flesh, the wolf's jaws clamped down on her leg. Bone cracked, and the Halfling's scream echoed.

The wolf dragged her thrashing body into the treeline, its growls melding with her shrieks until the sound vanished into the suffocating dark.

But it wasn't done.

A long, guttural howl ripped through the forest, carrying over the trees, rattling Ruelle and others' breaths. The sound was raw, primal, a proclamation that the hunt had only begun and it was coming back.