Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

The Last Link

France, 1669

Edmond Dantès was tired and thirsty. Hunger twisted his stomach into a hard knot.

He paused, slinging the knapsack from his shoulder and opening it. There was nothing left inside but a small wedge of cheese, gone hard at the edges, and his stomach groaned at the sight of it. Maybe he could just break off a little corner . . .

No.

Edmond sighed and closed the knapsack.

He didn't know how far he was from the nearest town or village – or even where he was – or if he'd be able to buy any food when he got there.

The money that he'd made from selling Ysanne's diamond necklace was long gone, and fear of the plague returning still had him sticking to the countryside rather than trying to find a job where other people might be. But he couldn't avoid civilisation forever.

His hand crept to his pocket, and he pulled out the brooch that Ysanne had left in their bed on the day that she disappeared. If it was worth even half as much as her necklace, then it would buy supplies to last him months.

For months he'd stayed in her house, hoping every day that she would return, but she never did, and in the end Edmond couldn't stay. There were too many desperate people who wouldn't hesitate to kill to get what they wanted, and Edmond couldn't defend the whole house by himself.

He'd hated leaving it, feeling like he was betraying Ysanne in some way.

Sometimes he was so angry with her for leaving without a word, for abandoning him after everything they'd shared. In his mind he'd gone over and over their time together, wondering what he'd done wrong.

Other times he just missed her.

He stared down at the brooch as it lay in his palm, a small heart set with diamonds that caught the sunlight.

Sooner or later he'd have to sell it. If he was smart he'd do it now – he needed food – but it was his last link to Ysanne and he couldn't bear to part with it just yet.

"That's a nice bauble you've got there," said a voice, and Edmond's head jerked up.

A man had stepped out of a cluster of trees nearby; Edmond hadn't realised he wasn't alone. The man's face was pinched and thin, his clothes ragged, his eyes greedily fixed on the brooch in Edmond's hands.

Edmond slid it back into his pocket, but it was too late.

The man approached him, and though he moved casually, there was a tense energy about him that Edmond didn't like.

His hand dropped to the knife he carried at his belt.

The man stopped, and his face hardened. "There's no need for that," he said.

"Isn't there?"

The man smiled thinly, and Edmond's instincts flared. He turned. Four men stood on the path behind him, fanning out and blocking his retreat. They'd crept up so silently that he briefly wondered if they were vampires. He'd never met another one – at least not that he knew of.

But their faces were too ruddy, and they moved like humans, unlike Ysanne's fluid grace.

Edmond looked back at the first man, his heart starting to pound.

The air was charged with building violence.

"You want to hand it over and save us the trouble of taking it from you?" the man said.

For a moment Edmond considered it.

He'd grown strong over that winter he'd spent with Ysanne, and in the years since they'd parted ways, he'd learned to defend himself against men like these.