1. (JO POV)

(JO POV)

The courtroom was a freak show, and I was the main damn attraction, my anger making me seethe as I stood by my lawyer. The judge, a relic of a vampire with eyes as cold as the crypt he crawled out of, stared down at me.

His ancient, emotionless look didn't faze me. I knew the drill. These bloodsuckers loved to make a spectacle out of handing down sentences to us mere pathetic humans.

The whole damn charade of justice unfolded long after the sun went down. It was ticking close to midnight when they finally decided to call my name. Midnight, because apparently, sunlight is too much for our all-powerful mafia vampire overlords to handle. 

Figures.

'Back in the day,' vampires were nothing more than bedtime stories. At least, that's what my grandparents used to say. They always spoke of times when these hellish creatures were just whispers in the dark, figments of overactive imaginations and bad movie plots. 

Or so they liked to pretend 'back in the day.'

When the prominent vampire families decided to step into the spotlight, it wasn't some grand revelation for improving human-vampire relations. It was because their little puppet show with the major mafia families in the early 1900s didn't quite cut it in the control department. 

 These ancient bloodsuckers attempted to manipulate from the shadows, but they failed miserably because, let's be honest, the mafia's influence was limited.

They craved more power and control over unsuspecting humans than the mafias could ever provide. So, they enhanced their mobster facade by revealing their supernatural nature, believing that unveiling themselves as the bloodsuckers they truly are would propel them further in the world. 

It did.

Makes you wonder, why the hell didn't they start with that? If you've got the whole immortal, super-strong, scare-the-living-fucking-daylights-out-of-people card up your sleeve, why mess around with Tommy Guns and Bootlegging?

But then again, who am I to question their tactics? I'm just a 'simple human,' trapped in their intricate web, struggling to survive in a world where the boogeyman doesn't just exist but also has a penchant for finely tailored suits... and a taste for my blood.

My generation, and even my parents' generation, never knew a day without these fanged rulers dictating our lives. 

They sit on thrones of power, in every government office, making and enforcing rules with a clear message. Humans are little more than walking and talking blood banks. Our lives, our choices, everything is under their control. Walk the line, or our blood will be theirs for the taking. 

Now, we're supposedly 'free' as long as we dance to the tune set by vampire judges, vampire cops, and their brainwashed human daytime counterparts. They tell us it's not so different from the days when vampires lurked unseen. Some humans consort with the vampires willingly, offering themselves like dinner, but that was a whole other mindfuck.

But really, it's just the same old tyranny, only now with fangs openly bared and an unquenchable thirst for control. And blood. 

Blood, I had no choice but to give to them now that I was in 'trouble.' 

"Joselyn Fisher," he began, "Your actions have egregiously violated our societal laws and displayed a profound disregard for life, both human and otherwise."

"Cut the bullshit," I spat, my disdain slicing through the courtroom causing whispers and gasps. "I didn't kill anyone, did I?" I challenged.

His dead eyes locked on mine. "Your insolence is duly noted," he replied, his demeanor unflinching. "Nevertheless, it does not alter the seriousness of your situation. You find yourself here by virtue of your own misguided decisions, Miss Fisher. It is time you confronted the repercussions."

Before I could tell him where to shove those repercussions, he added, "Given the seriousness of your misconduct and your adolescence, you are spared a more severe punishment. Were you merely a few months older, you would be dispatched immediately to the auction block or consigned to a blood farm to spend the next five years as nothing more than a source of sustenance for your vampire superiors. Instead, you shall be sent to Camilla Academy."

Whispers buzzed through the courtroom at the mention of auction houses and blood farms, making me shiver involuntarily. But I wasn't about to let these leeches see me sweat.

"What the fuck is Vanilla Academy?" I yelled.

"It's Camilla Academy," my lawyer whispered, trying to yank me back to silence. "Joselyn, for once, shut it. This is a lifeline. It means you'll be under the care of a high-level vampire who has been trained to treat you decently. Just... shut up."

As if. The mere idea of being handed off like a damn trophy ignited my rage. "Treated decently? By a vampire mafia overlord? Bullshit. Give me a fucking break," I yelled, my defiant and unyielding voice echoing through the courtroom.

That was the final straw for the ancient judge. "Enough!" he bellowed.

"You are hereby sentenced to five years under the guardianship of a vampire at Camilla Academy. Perhaps there you will learn the virtue of respect and a fraction of humility. If you are lucky."

I was about to unleash a torrent of curses, but in a flash, two vampire cops clamped down on my arms, preparing to take me away. I fought like hell, screaming, cursing, "Get the fuck off me! I'm not some piece of property!" My resistance was futile. They were immovable, their grip bruising my arms as I fought against them. They forced me down. My face collided with the table, my lip splitting instantly. The sharp scent of my blood had the vampires around us on edge, their fangs popping out with loud clicks as I kept struggling.

But it was pointless. The judge slammed his gavel, sealing my fate. Dragged from the courtroom, my spirit raged against the darkness circling me.

Camilla Academy, the words a grim precursor of what lay ahead. Despite every fiber of my being screaming in resistance, I was about to be thrown into the thick of it.

Tossed into the back of a van like trash, the bitter taste of defiance in my mouth, I was plunged into a nightmare far removed from the sterile injustice of the courtroom. Blindfolded and gagged, my existence reduced to darkness and the stifled sounds of despair all around me.

I wasn't alone. 

The van was crowded with others, their breaths heavy with fear and rage, just like mine. Our captors didn't waste time on niceties. To them, we were just cargo, plunging toward a dreaded fate at Camilla Academy. I'm sure they had perfected this during their mafia days. 

Our fears were our only company in the oppressive silence as hours morphed into a disorienting blur before the van jerked to a stop. The back doors were thrown open with force. Dragged out one by one, our sight still stolen by blindfolds, the outside world was a mystery, its air laced with an ominous chill and unmistakable smell of blood. 

Then, cutting through the silence with a chill that could freeze hell over, a voice announced, "Welcome to Camilla Academy." The fake warmth was eerie and fucked up. The owner of that voice, a woman, radiated a cold authority mixed with a hint of evident delight at our discomfort.

The moment they ripped off my gag and blindfold, my eyes, burning and slow to adjust, locked onto the figure before us. She was everything you picture as a female dominatrix personified, decked out in leather and lace. She was the very image of dominance and control, almost like she stepped out of every BDSM dominance, fucked up movie ever made. 

Vampires, in their infinite wisdom, decided to cherry-pick human hobbies before they swaggered out of the shadows to claim their throne over us. And what did they latch onto? The BDSM scene, thriving at the time, which apparently screamed 'ideal governance model' to our nocturnal mafia overlords.

So, these creatures, lacking any original flair for domination, adopted BDSM not because it tickled some ancient vampiric fancy, but because they observed humans seemingly eating it up. "Oh, humans like a bit of kink? Must mean they're dying to be chained and bossed around for eternity. This is what we were missing with the early criminal enterprises," they must have thought. 

It's laughable, really, if it weren't so pathetically tragic.

To the vampires, using BDSM as a blueprint for human control wasn't about exploring mutual pleasure or understanding. It was about convenience, a ready-made system of hierarchy and submission. They didn't care about the dynamics that make BDSM what it is for humans: trust, consent, mutual satisfaction. No, to them, it was just a tool, a means to an end, and that end was keeping humans under their thumb, obedient and manageable.

I couldn't stop the scoff that erupted from me,  challenging her authority.

Her retaliation was swift and brutal, a slap that ignited a scorching pain across my cheek. The sting was sharper than any emotional void I'd been trapped in since the dreadful realization that I was bound for this cursed academy. My split lip, freshly opened by the slap, made the taste of my own blood invade my mouth while smearing her hand with it.

Her fangs descended. The sight of her licking my blood from her hand made me shiver, blurring the line between threat and allure. Was she about to make me her next meal? The thought sent a strange panicked thrill through me. 

She nicked her finger on a fang, her smile never wavering as she retracted her fangs and leaned close to me.

She applied her blood to my reopened wound, her touch strangely gentle, and murmured, "We cannot have you bleeding out so soon, child. There will be ample time for that here." The moment her blood touched my skin, the pain ceased, my wound sealing as if by magic.

"As you will quickly learn," she continued, clearly not one to tolerate disrespect, "Camilla Academy is governed by a strict set of rules. These rules will become your new creed. Adhere to them, and you might just make it through."

She laid out the rules, each one like a shackle meant to bind us to the will of our "guardians."

Obedience was non-negotiable. We had to follow every vampire command no matter what, blurring the line between submission and survival.

Curfew dictated our nights, confining us to avoid roaming after dark... vampire prime time, no doubt. 

Feeding was based on a so-called consent principle. We were expected to offer our blood willingly to our guardians, who would 'protect' us. A twisted codependent bond between humans and vampires would be established. Resistance wasn't an option.

Respect was demanded, a laughable concept considering my stinging welcome. This mutual respect, supposedly, was built on a foundation of 'trust' ... what she really should have said was 'of fear and control.'

Education at the academy wasn't just about serving our sentence. It was about being indoctrinated into their world and learning our "place" in vampire society.

And finally, No escape. The most bone-chilling rule of all. Any escape attempt meant severe repercussions, not just for the escapee but for all humans at the academy... A collective punishment that ensured compliance through fear.

As she wrapped up her spiel, the reality of our imprisonment hit home. Camilla Academy wasn't just a school. It was a fucking prison where the lines between protector and captor, between safety and suppression, were hopelessly tangled.

My cheek still stung from her slap as I scanned the faces of my fellow captives. Fear, defiance, and total resignation was written all over their faces. We were all trapped in this nightmare together. 

But as the harsh reality of our circumstances sank in, one thing became crystal clear to me. 

I'd be damned if I let them break me. Not without a fight.