Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Agnes: Part Two

France, 1431

Ysanne returned to the hills that Agnes had pointed out, and dismissed her guards. Once she was a vampire, she wouldn't need them anymore.

At first she couldn't find Agnes's house, and she felt a stab of panic.

What if she'd misremembered and these were the wrong hills?

What if Agnes had moved on during these past two years?

What if she'd changed her mind and would refuse to turn Ysanne?

Then she spotted it – a simple wooden structure tucked away in a knot of trees, huddled in the shadow of the tallest hill, and her heart stuttered.

This was it.

Steeling herself, Ysanne strode up to the door and loudly knocked.

Nothing stirred inside.

"Agnes? It's Ysanne. I've come back," she called.

A moment later, the door creaked open.

Agnes was still dressed in black, but she wore her hair loose now, spilling about her shoulders, and her face was unreadable.

"I've made my decision. I want to be a vampire," Ysanne said.

"I should remind you that a vampire's life is so often hard," Agnes said.

Ysanne thought of Joan, screaming out her prayers as she was burned alive. "In this world, a woman's life is always hard. I want the strength to fight back."

Agnes slowly nodded. "Come inside."

The house was dark, all the windows covered with thick woollen blankets, and the only light came from a few clusters of candles. Ysanne could barely see, catching glimpses of rough wooden furniture as Agnes led her into a room, furnished with a small bed.

"You understand that there is a risk you won't come through the turn. Some people don't survive," Agnes said.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take."

"And you also understand that there is no way back once you have become a vampire."

Ysanne nodded.

"I shall ask you once more, Ysanne Moreau. Are you sure this is what you want?"

Ysanne's voice was clear as a bell. "It is."

"Very well." Agnes patted the bed. "Lie down."

Ysanne did, her heart starting to thump. Agnes pressed her palm to Ysanne's chest, in the space between her breasts and her throat.

"There is steel in you. I wouldn't turn you if there wasn't," she said.

She sat on the bed beside Ysanne, and gently turned Ysanne's head, exposing her neck.

"This will hurt," she warned.

"I don't care."

Still, Ysanne was unprepared for the white-hot flash of pain when Agnes's sharp fangs pierced her throat. Her whole body stiffened, and a ragged sob escaped her throat, but she didn't struggle or try to pull away as Agnes drank her blood, not even when the world started to fade away and Ysanne realised that she was dying.

Agnes shifted her weight, her mouth finally leaving Ysanne's throat, and then something warm and coppery trickled into Ysanne's mouth. She swallowed it down, excitement and anticipation quickening her heart in its final beats, until . . . finally . . . it stopped.