The air in the cramped, windowless room hung heavy and still, thick with the scent of old dust and dried blood. Michelle lay on a threadbare mattress, her body a canvas of fresh bruises and half-healed wounds. Every breath was a painful reminder of her existence, every tremor of the floorboards a jolt of terror.

Eight hours she’d waited in the suffocating darkness, a silent testament to her latest master’s caprice. Her stomach ached with hunger, a dull counterpoint to the sharp pangs of her injuries. The only mercy was the dark itself, a temporary reprieve from the cruel scrutiny that came with light.

Then, the lock clicked. A sliver of blinding light pierced the gloom as the door swung open, revealing a pale, aristocratic vampire. He held a plate of plain bread, but his eyes, cold and assessing, were fixed on her naked, battered form. He entered, the door clicking shut behind him, plunging the room into a chilling half-light.

He began to undress, slowly, deliberately. Michelle’s breath hitched. She knew this ritual. She knew what came next. But this time, something shifted outside, a distant rumble that grew into the roar of a powerful engine.