Last Daughter of the House of Belmont (Book II)

4

At some point, Elizabeth must have fallen asleep, because she woke with something wet, smelly and slimy brushing against her hand. It was as rough as scorched fabric, and it purred louder the more she stirred. The vampire slowly blinked to clear the rosy haze in her vision and was met by a small, mangy feline, with half its face rotted off and a back leg missing. He brightened immediately and proceeded to slither his way under her cloak.

A year earlier, she might have flinched away from it, but she and Gus were well acquainted. The gangrene and soot-coloured kitten often liked to follow her around the castle on patrol. It would walk between her legs, knowing damn well she couldn't see well through her helmet's thin slits. Gus was particularly crafty and cunning for a creature whose skull was completely exposed. He knew she would either trip over him or give in and fuss over him - either way, he won.

"I see Gustav is making himself comfortable." Hector's voice wafted over through the doorway. Underneath her cloak, the kitten found a spot - or rather made a spot - behind her knee and nestled in close, purring as loudly and obnoxiously as he could. It was clear he was trying to pester her, but she found it strangely comforting nonetheless.

"I should probably," Elizabeth carefully extricated herself from the cloak, leaving the kitten to sleep...

"Don't!" Hector's shout came a beat too late. Stepping into the doorway, Elizabeth felt a searing agony as boiling light speared her flesh. A shriek tore from her throat as she snatched her hand back, cradling it to her chest. Hector dropped his hammer and ran over, his eyes widening in horror. Elizabeth's hand was a grotesque mess of red, blistered flesh, the skin peeling back in some places like burnt parchment. The commotion startled Gus, who shot from beneath the cloak and vanished into the shadows, his panicked yowls echoing in his wake.

She pressed her face against the cold stone wall, gasping for breath. "Stupid...Sunlight..." Each word was a ragged groan, ripped from her by the agony. Hector felt her burn through his clothing, a terrifying heat that seemed to sear from the inside out.

"I should have warned you, I'm so sorry!" He apologised repeatedly, his voice trembling.

"It's perfectly alright," Elizabeth reassured him. The worst of the burns were already healing, blurring together as the skin formed a smooth surface, resembling the texture of liquid silk.

"No, you're hurt. I'm so sorry." The apologies came faster and faster, and quickly it was clear that he was just reacting - reflexive, fearful and perhaps a little broken. He was looking at her, but something in his eyes focused elsewhere, on something distant and far away. "I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey," she cooed, gently extending her healed hand out to him, a warm smile on her face as she reassured him, "I'm okay, you're okay," Elizabeth repeated her words, slowly approaching him just as he had approached her - with carefulness, empathy, and caution.

"...I didn't mean to, Lenore... please."

Elizabeth, with a gentle gesture, removed the cloak from the cot and carefully draped it over his shoulders. She took care to rub the soft fabric up and down his tense shoulders to bring him back to his senses. "Lenore isn't here, Hector. It's me, Elizabeth, okay? You're safe." What a laughable pair they made, she thought to herself. A pathetic forge-master acting like a beaten dog, and a pitiful vampire with a guilty conscience. Then she shook her head, it wasn't her voice in her head - it was Carmilla's, or whatever imitation of her their connection conjured.

"I'm sorry."

"You haven't done anything wrong," she reassured him. Her gaze now fixated on the abyss in the thin shadows. As she observed his hands tightly clasped in hers, she couldn't help but feel a heavy weight of guilt and regret wash over her, causing her stomach to churn with each wave. It's not me, is it? I wish it was.

As the room fell into a moment of eerie silence, Hector's body involuntarily shuddered. Breaking free from the trance, he quickly withdrew his hands from hers and began to vigorously rub the cold away from his knuckles. The warmth that lingered on Elizabeth's hands vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but the perpetual chill in her fingertips.

"When was the last time you ate?" Hector asked, on the verge of slipping back into the trance. He quickly shook his head and offered a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Your back still hasn't healed, has it?"

A few layers of scorched skin was easy, but the deep and festering welts down her spine needed more encouragement - which meant feeding. Carmilla had given her a few drops of sow's blood between her lashings and a few brief hours of rest in the dark. But Elizabeth needed something stronger, more potent, and the thought made her belly gurgle. It felt like a betrayal, feeling her body hunger and thirst for it, reminding her that not even her body belonged to her anymore.

"I'm fine," she lied, the scabs and skins pinching and pulling with every movement. She'd just slink her way into the kitchens and steal a few drops from the pigs, or the sheep. It would keep her alive - if she could be called that - enough to crawl to her coffin and rest until Carmilla came looking for her toy.

As Hector's well-practised and almost automatic movement began to roll up his sleeve. His eyes were filled with a harrowing yet empty expression. With each inch of fabric peeled back, the length of his arm came into view, revealing puckered bites and claw marks, some more healed than others. "Here," he offered with an unmistakable tremor in his wrist.

"Hector, no-" she immediately recoiled, feeling the saliva pool under her tongue and a low, desperate rumble in the pit of her stomach. The red in her eyes deepened to an almost black, and her lips clapped dryly together as her tongue ran the length of her mouth. Eat. "I- I can't-"

"You need to eat," he whispered, with a single rear trailing his cheek.

Her body moved against her, leaning into his offering, just close enough to smell the blood beneath his skin. Eat. The sound was sweeter than birdsong, sweeter than laughter... it lured her in, caressing her cheeks and jaw so gently that by the time she realised what was happening, her fangs were embedded deeply into his skin. Eat! Then it was on her tongue, swirling and filling her mouth with such a sweet, succulent taste - like a ripened fruit. It tasted like home, like hope, like joy. EAT! Her heart raced with excitement as she fed, and fed, and fed, lapping at him like a starving dog on rotted meat.

Hector didn't cry out, didn't flinch, just sat... so painfully still.

No! With a sharp and sudden tug, Elizabeth forcefully pulled herself away from him, causing the poor man to slump to the side and let out a slight wheeze, his face completely drained of any colour. She couldn't look at him, couldn't see the vision of herself reflected at her. As she gazed into his eyes, she could see the crimson liquid slowly trickling down her chin and leaving a dark stain on her chest. With a sense of dread, she looked down at her hands and saw blood on her fingertips. Despite her revulsion, her stomach growled for more, reminding her of the monstrous creature she had become. Hector, barely conscious, wheezed and weakly offered his wrist to her, even as his body slumped further down to the cold, hard floor.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, fleeing from the room, letting the light burn and singe at her - as if any amount of sun could purge what she had done.

Once she was back in her rooms, she sank to the floor, screaming and crying. But even with all the horror, all the hate she felt for herself, she couldn't stop herself from sucking her fingers clean.