Last Daughter of the House of Belmont (Book II)

6.

Throughout her life, Elizabeth had pondered the reasoning behind the vampire's insatiable hunger for blood. It baffled her how one could stray so far from their own humanity, resorting to feeding on those they once considered kin. As a human, it was a concept that repulsed her and made her question the depths of their depravity. However, with the blinding ecstasy of Hector's blood thrumming under her skin, she understood.

It was no wonder Carmilla forbade the guards and servants from feeding on anything but swine and sheep. Animal blood kept the hunger at bay, kept it quiet - for a while - but not like this.

The emotion coursing through her veins was more than simple bliss or euphoria; it was a visceral experience as if life itself was flooding her every sense. She could feel Hector's warmth enveloping her, as though it were her own, their thoughts and memories intermingling and intertwining.

One moment, she was a young boy running through fields of wheat with the wind in his hair, and the next, she was stealing a sweet kiss from a village girl. The memory so tender and real that she could almost taste the fresh strawberries on their lips.

As her stomach churned and gurgled with sickening intensity, a fluttering sensation spread through her entire belly, leaving her desperate for more. Even sleep could not silence the insatiable need within her, as every time she closed her eyes, she would awaken on the cold, hard floor, clawing her way through the layers of dust and dirt in a desperate attempt to reach Hector's chambers. She heard his heart even in the bowels of the castle. And every time she mustered the strength to crawl back to the dark, musty wooden box that served as her bed, it was a devastating reminder that she was no longer human - she had become one of them.

This went on well after the sun set, and longer still, even as the other guards banged on her door and told her to get up. How was she meant to think of anything else, do anything else, when Hector's life was laid bare behind her eyes? She felt the lash on his father's cane over her fingers, felt the hurt as his mother turned away in fear. His firsts, his lasts, and everything in-between crashed into her with overwhelming force. How could anyone stand it? It was maddening.

"Hurry up and get moving!" The guard captain's voice boomed, echoing off the walls as he pounded on the door with such force that the iron hinges shook and rattled in their sockets. "Carmilla wants your arse in the council chambers."

Soon paranoia swept in; did Carmilla know? Could she sense it? Had Hector told Carmilla, or Lenore? Elizabeth hoped Hector would not throw her onto the coals like that. Then fear and guilt reared their heads; did he have a choice? A painful shudder peeled down her spine.

It could be nothing, she lied to herself, forcing herself to reach for the door.

Carmilla often liked to have Elizabeth in council meetings, if only to show off to her sisters; her pet Belmont. It would be less demeaning to wear a collar and leash and walk on all fours, than be made to refill her wine and feed her fruit and other delicacies.

As Elizabeth opened the door, a wave of exhaustion washed over her. She looked at the captain, her face pale and drawn, her eyes sunken into their sockets. Her skin felt dry and coarse, as though it were parchment stretched tight over her bones. "You look like shit," the captain grumbled, stepping aside to let her pass.

The council chambers were dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering flames of the torches mounted on the walls. Carmilla sat at the head of the table, flanked by her sisters, Morana and Striga. Their eyes were fixated on Elizabeth as she shuffled towards the table, her movements slow and laboured.

"There you are, pet. I was beginning to worry." Carmilla's voice came with a grating edge, her claws passing over the lip of her goblet, whilst she tapped impatiently.