Last Daughter of the House of Belmont (Book II)

7.

Elizabeth's limbs felt like lead as she entered the training grounds, the vast stone courtyard echoing with the sounds of clashing steel and grunts of exertion.

The weight of Hector's blood was gone, leaving behind a hollow, gnawing emptiness that scraped at her insides like a dull knife. She was dizzy, and disoriented, her body betraying her with every step.

The other guards— the newly turned and veterens alike—were already deep into their training, sparring with ferocious intensity under the watchful eye of Captain Haldric. His steely gaze swept over the room, settling on Elizabeth as she hesitated at the threshold.

It was hard to miss the sneer as his eyes washed over her, a silent hiss thrumming in his throat, "You're late," he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice was low and gruff, carrying decades of hardened authority.

Elizabeth swallowed the bile rising in her throat and nodded, stepping into the courtyard. Her sword felt heavy at her side, the hilt cool against her palm as she gripped it for support. She could feel the eyes of the other guards on her, some with open disdain, others with pity.

She was a Belmont, a fucking Belmont, and now she was nothing more than a pet kept on a short leash by Carmilla. Her former enemies were now her reluctant comrades and the irony was not lost on any of them.

"Pair up!" Haldric barked, his voice slicing through the tension. The guards moved quickly, choosing their sparring partners with the ease of routine.

Elizabeth stood alone, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for the inevitable.

"Looks like you're with me," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see Mikhail, one of the older recruits, a sneer curling his lips.

He was a tall man with broad shoulders, and a tuft of brown fluff on his head. A jagged scar marred his face, running from his temple to his jaw in one solid red smear. His eyes gleamed with a predatory glint as he drew his sword, the steel catching the light as he twirled it in his hand.

As a human, wielding Seethe nearly killed her. The enormous greatsword had trained her back and body into a tight knot of muscles... but now, even with supernatural strength behind her, she struggled to even raise a broadsword.

Her movements were sluggish, her reflexes dulled by the overwhelming fatigue that had settled deep in her bones. Every time she parried one of Mikhail's strikes, she could feel her strength slipping away, her body growing weaker and weaker with each passing moment. She stumbled backwards, her foot catching on loose snow, and barely managed to keep herself from falling.

"Is this really the best you can do, Belmont?" he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "I've seen fledglings fight better than you."

Elizabeth tried to summon the anger, the cold rage that kept her fighting, but it was nowhere to be found. All she could feel was the gnawing hunger, the insatiable craving that clawed at her insides, demanding to be sated. It was worse than any pain she had ever known, worse than any injury she had ever sustained. It was a void, a black hole that threatened to consume her from within.

She could barely concentrate on the fight, her vision blurring as the hunger intensified, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself together. She could feel her strength draining away, like sand slipping through her fingers, until there was nothing left but the hollow emptiness that gnawed at her very soul.

Mikhail's blade came down in a vicious arc, and Elizabeth barely managed to raise her sword in time, the force of the blow driving her to her knees. Her arms shook violently, her muscles burning with the effort of holding him at bay. But she couldn't hold on much longer. She could feel her grip slipping, her strength failing her.