The carriage crawled along the narrow road, its wheels rattling sharply against uneven stones. Each jolt echoed through the quiet space, like the approaching beat of a war drum. The landscape outside blurred in the dim light, but the air inside the carriage was thick—charged with something primal, something dangerous.
"Such beauty," a low, thick voice murmured. It slithered through the dim interior, thick with unspoken desire.
Hugh's eyes never left Dydra's unconscious form. He leaned forward, the weight of his gaze pressing against her like a hand. Her body, still and vulnerable, lay across the carriage seat. Her red hair spilled in soft waves, the faintest breath escaping her parted lips. His arm reached out, slow, deliberate, fingers catching a stray strand of hair that brushed her cheek. He tucked it behind her ear. Her lashes fluttered in response, but she did not wake.
The potbellied man smiled to himself, satisfaction curling his lips as his gaze drifted lower, lingering on the exposed line of her thigh beneath the hem of her dress. He moved closer, his fingers brushing her skin, soft as silk. The air thickened, every breath between them heavy with intention.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched, hitting a bump in the road. The jolt sent Hugh and Dydra tumbling forward, both off balance. She slipped from her seat, crashing face-first onto the floorboards. The muted impact was enough to snap Dydra out of her unconscious haze.
A small, breathless whimper escaped her lips. Her fingers brushed the sore place on her cheek, instinctively feeling the dull ache. She pushed herself upright, her head swimming with disorientation. As her eyes scanned the unfamiliar space, unease bloomed in her chest.
The carriage was cramped and dim, the light from a single lantern flickering weakly. Across from her, Hugh was settling back into his seat, his small, hungry eyes fixed on her. His face gleamed with sweat in the flickering light, a fleshy, oppressive presence that filled the space.
"Hello, there, Ms. I'm Hugh," he purred, his voice oozing with unspoken craving.
Dydra's heart stuttered in her chest. Her body stiffened, every muscle bracing against the tension in the air. The man's gaze was predatory—narrow eyes, a crooked smile forming as he took in the sight of her—wild red hair, those unusual ocean-blue eyes. The light falling through the window caught her face just right, making her eyes appear almost transparent. He licked his lips.
Her mind screamed for movement. She jumped to her feet, heart pounding as she backed into the wooden wall of the carriage. She couldn't look away from him, but she had to think. One door. One exit. And him.
"Now, dear. Where are you going?" Hugh's voice was thick with amusement, as if this were some game.
Dydra's eyes scanned her surroundings in a flash. Her palms balled into fists. Stay calm. You need to think.
Hugh's laugh bubbled up from his chest, loud and mocking. His smile widened, and his lips curled into something dark. The laugh died abruptly, his expression shifting—suddenly sharp, cold. A red glow flickered in his eyes.
Vampire.
Fear slammed into Dydra's chest. The truth hit her like a cold gust of wind, but she refused to lower her guard. I'll fight. She kept her fists raised, her breath steady despite the terror clawing at her insides.
Hugh's sinister smile grew. With smooth, practiced motions, he surged from his seat, his bulk blocking her path. His plump hand shot out, grabbing hers, yanking her down onto the floorboards with a force that took her breath away. Her body was pinned beneath his weight, the musty smell of his clothes suffocating her.
Panic seized her. She twisted beneath him, struggling to break free, her hands pressing against the floor in a futile search for leverage. She kicked, her legs thrashing, but Hugh's grip was like iron.
His breath was hot against her neck, his lips drawing closer. His skin brushed against hers, and she shuddered with revulsion. She screamed—raw and desperate—but it barely seemed to reach the air. Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of him.
Then, just as she thought she would lose herself entirely to the terror, the carriage gave a violent jolt. It slammed to a halt.
Hugh cursed, his hand pulling back from Dydra's neck. Her body went limp beneath him, tears streaking down her face as she gasped for air. The coldness of the floorboards felt like a distant relief.
"What the hell was that?" Hugh snarled, pulling himself away from her and lurching toward the door. He shoved it open with force.
"S-sire, we... we have company." The coachman's voice trembled from outside.
Hugh's face darkened with annoyance. He shoved past Dydra, his eyes flashing one last time with cruel satisfaction before he slammed the door behind him. He gave her one last dirty wink.
Dydra shuddered, her body aching and exhausted. She backed away from the door, curling into herself against the wall.
Her eyes darted through a crack in the door, watching as Hugh staggered into the muddy road, his bulk falling heavily against the dirt. A figure—massive and masked—towered over him. Hugh's face was bloodied, his body slumped as the figure continued to strike him, fists pounding into his face until the man was unconscious, his limp body crumpled to the ground.
Dydra's heart skipped a beat. Is he dead?
"Heathcliff, bring the door down. Take whatever you can," came another voice, low and commanding, from the other side.
Her pulse quickened. What should I do? Her mind raced. What will they do if they find me here?
She looked frantically around, her gaze catching on a small gap in the carriage wall. She scrambled toward it, her breath shallow as she peered through the slit. She saw the second masked figure—Heathcliff—detaching the horses from the carriage. Her mind worked quickly, calculating her options.
I can't fight. But maybe I can run.
The idea hit her like a strike of lightning. She could play dead—use the sticky blood from the vampire's bite to look like an unconscious corpse. He would drag her to his partner, lay her across one of the horses. Then, when the time was right, she could take the reins, ride out, and escape.
Without thinking twice, she dropped to the floorboards, letting her body go limp, eyes closed. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest, her breath shallow, but she forced herself to stay still.
The door burst open.
Heathcliff froze, his eyes falling on Dydra's unmoving form.
"George, come check this," he called out.
George stepped forward, his gaze flicking over Dydra's body, his eyes glowing red in the dim light. He knelt beside her, sniffing the air.
"The blood's fresh," he said softly, voice laced with amusement. "We can sell her to someone rich. Pretty, young... these weird features. We'll get a good price for her."
He stepped back. "Take the girl. Put her on one of the horses. We'll take whatever we can find."
Dydra's heart thundered in her chest. Now. Now's my chance.