Where Veins Become Shackles

Amelia's consciousness returned in fragments, like shattered glass slowly piecing itself back together.

"God, my head," she groaned, pressing her palms against her temples. The cold surface beneath her cheek wasn't her pillow. It wasn't even her bed.

Disoriented, Amelia pushed herself up only to slam her forehead against something solid above her. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as pain ricocheted through her skull.

"What the—" she hissed, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. Dim light filtered through... bars? Metal bars surrounded her on all sides.

Amelia's heart rate doubled instantly. "Is this some kind of joke?" she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. She crawled forward, discovering her enclosure was barely large enough for her to sit upright. The cell was built into a wall, one of many lining what appeared to be a showroom of some kind.

She glanced down at herself and gasped. Her clothes were gone, replaced by plain black underwear. "What happened to my dress? My shoes?" Panic clawed at her chest as fragmented memories surfaced—laughing with Paige and Fiona at the bar, excusing herself to the bathroom, then... nothing.

"Hello?" Amelia called out, her voice echoing in the quiet space. "Someone help me! There's been a terrible mistake!"

"Quiet," came a hushed female voice from the cell beside hers. "You'll only make things worse for yourself."

Amelia turned to see a young woman—barely out of her teens—peering at her through the bars of an adjacent cell. Her dark hair hung in tangles around a face that might have been pretty if not for the fear etched into it.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Amelia demanded, gripping the bars until her knuckles turned white.

"I'm Keira," the girl whispered. "And you need to be silent. Matron will be making her rounds soon."

"Matron? What is this place? Some kind of human trafficking ring?" Amelia's voice rose with each question. "I'm a marketing executive, for God's sake! My team will notice I'm missing. Paige will call the police when I don't show up for brunch tomorrow."

Keira's eyes widened in alarm. "Please, just—"

The click of heels against hardwood silenced them both. Keira immediately retreated to the back of her cell, head bowed submissively.

A tall, elegant woman appeared, her posture impeccable as she surveyed the cells. Her silver hair was pulled into a severe bun, and her crimson lips curved into a cold smile when she spotted Amelia.

"Ah, our new acquisition is awake," she said, her voice like silk over steel. She approached a control panel on the wall and pressed a button. Amelia's cell door swung open.

"Thank you," Amelia said, relief flooding her system. "There's been a misunderstanding. If you could just—"

The woman's hand shot out with impossible speed, grabbing Amelia by the throat and dragging her out of the cell. Amelia's feet barely touched the ground before she was thrown across the room, landing hard on a polished floor.

"Angie always brings me the difficult ones," the woman sighed, reaching for something on a nearby shelf. "I suppose we need to establish the rules immediately."

Amelia scrambled to her feet, adrenaline surging. "Listen, lady, I don't know who you think you are, but—"

The woman was suddenly in front of her—too quickly, impossibly quickly—fastening something around Amelia's neck. A collar with small metal prongs pressing against her skin.

"I am Matron," the woman said calmly. "And you will address me as such."

"Like hell I will," Amelia spat, reaching up to tear the collar off. "You can't just—"

Matron pressed a small remote, and Amelia's world exploded in pain. Her body convulsed as electricity coursed through her, dropping her to her knees. The agony seemed endless until, finally, it stopped, leaving her gasping on the floor.

"Rule one: You speak only when spoken to," Matron said, circling Amelia like a predator. "Rule two: You address me as Matron. Nothing more, nothing less."

Amelia tried to stand, rage overriding her fear. "You psychotic bi—"

Another shock, longer this time. Amelia's scream echoed through the room as she writhed on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

"Rule three: You will obey immediately and without question," Matron continued as if Amelia wasn't sobbing at her feet. "These rules exist for your protection and mine. The sooner you accept your place, the easier your transition will be."

"Please," Amelia whimpered, curling into herself. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this?"

Matron knelt beside her, lifting Amelia's chin with one perfectly manicured finger. "Because you are merchandise, my dear. Valuable merchandise, but merchandise nonetheless."

The shop bell chimed, and Matron straightened. "Ah, a customer. Perfect timing for a demonstration." She yanked Amelia up by her arm. "Stand straight. Eyes down. Speak only if spoken to."

A man entered the shop, his movements fluid and predatory. Amelia's eyes widened as she took in his unnaturally pale skin and the strange, hungry gleam in his eyes.

"Matron," he greeted, his voice like velvet. "I see you have new stock."

"Indeed, Mr. Blackwood. This one just arrived yesterday. Still being trained, but she has potential."

The man approached Amelia, inhaling deeply near her neck. His teeth—were those fangs?—glinted in the low light. "She smells... different. Afraid, but also defiant. Interesting."

Amelia stood frozen, unable to process what she was seeing. The man's skin was too perfect, too pale. His eyes held an ancient hunger that made her stomach clench in primal fear.

"She's not ready for purchase yet," Matron said, pulling Amelia away. "Perhaps next week, after proper training."

The man nodded and moved to examine other "merchandise" in the shop. Amelia was dragged back to her cell, still too shocked to resist.

"What was that?" she whispered once Matron had locked her in and moved away. "What's wrong with his face? His teeth?"

Keira looked at her with pity from the neighboring cell. "You really don't know, do you?"

Amelia shook her head, trembling.

"He's a vampire," Keira said simply. "They all are, except for us. We're pets—food and entertainment for them. That's how it's been for centuries."

"Vampires aren't real," Amelia insisted, though the evidence of her own eyes was becoming difficult to deny. "This is insane. Vampires are myths, stories."

"Maybe where you're from," Keira replied. "But here, they rule everything. And we're at the bottom of their food chain."

Hours passed in silence as Amelia processed this information, her mind rejecting the impossible reality even as her body ached from Matron's "training." When the shop finally closed for the night, Keira was allowed into Amelia's cell to tend to her.

"Here," Keira said, applying a soothing cream to the burn marks from the shock collar. "This will help with the pain."

Amelia winced but didn't pull away. "How long have you been here?"

"Three months," Keira answered. "I was taken from my village during a raid. I'm considered valuable because I'm young and... untouched." She blushed at the last word.

"This can't be happening," Amelia whispered. "Last night I was having drinks with my friends after closing the Peterson account. I remember going to the bathroom because I felt dizzy, and then... nothing until I woke up here."

"You're not from around here, are you?" Keira asked, her eyes curious. "The way you talk about your world... it sounds different."

"My world had its problems, but vampires weren't one of them," Amelia said bitterly. "How do we escape?"

Keira's eyes widened in alarm. "We don't. No one escapes. The best we can hope for is a kind master who treats their pets well."

"I refuse to accept that," Amelia said, though her voice lacked conviction. The day's events had left her drained and confused. "There has to be a way out."

"Rest now," Keira advised, finishing her ministrations. "Tomorrow will be another difficult day. Matron won't stop until you're broken."

As Keira curled up at the far end of the small cell, Amelia stared into the darkness, her mind racing. Vampires. Pets. A world where humans were merchandise. None of it made sense, yet the pain in her body was undeniably real.

"I'm going to find a way home," she whispered to herself, touching the collar around her neck. "This isn't my world. It can't be."

But as sleep finally claimed her, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered that perhaps there was no way back—that this nightmare was her new reality.