Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Charlotte

Montrèsor, France,1694

The sun was warm on Edmond Dantès's skin and he tilted his face, closing his eyes.

Twenty-three years had passed since he'd become a vampire, and though he couldn't stay out in the sun as long as Ysanne or François had been able to, he was grateful for what he could get.

Close by, he could hear the soft music of the Indrois river, running through the middle of the village. The life he'd settled into here was so different to the one he'd lived in Paris with François, or while he was travelling with Ysanne. He was still wealthy, thanks to the fortune he'd made with Ysanne – shared between them when they'd parted ways – but he was more careful with money than he'd been in the past.

After François's death, he'd been left with nothing, and he would have been on the streets if not for Ysanne. He didn't ever want to go back to that.

These days, he was content with a quiet, simple life.

He opened his eyes at the sound of loud squawking. A chicken was racing towards him, feathers puffed out, a young woman running frantically after it. As the chicken reached him, Edmond calmly scooped it up, tucking it under one arm.

The woman skidded to a halt.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, her eyes widening as she took him in.

Edmond might live simply, but it was clear to everyone that he was no peasant – thanks to François's lessons, everyone who met Edmond assumed that he'd been born into wealth and nobility.

"No harm done. Would you like your chicken back?" Edmond asked, lifting the bird.

The woman's cheeks blazed with colour, and she quickly took the chicken. "I'm sorry," she said again, trying not to meet his eyes.

Edmond just stared at her, only now realising how beautiful she was. Dark curls tumbled around freckled skin, framing a full mouth and brown eyes fringed with thick lashes. There was a smear of dirt on one cheek, and Edmond wanted to gently clean it away.

"What's your name?" he said.

"Charlotte," she mumbled, still trying not to look at him.

He hadn't seen her around the village before, but he hadn't lived here for very long.

"Do you live here?" he asked.

"My family have a farm outside the village," she said.

The chicken protested, and she shifted it under her arm.

"Did you chase this troublemaker all the way from the farm?" Edmond asked, smiling.

She shook her head, and her curls flew around her face. Edmond tried not to imagine them spread across his pillow.

"I've come to sell eggs at the market," she said.

Edmond studied her again. He hadn't seen it before, but Charlotte's dress hung loosely from her frame, and her face was too thin.

Recent crop failures had led to famine in some parts of France, killing swathes of people, and Edmond felt a pang of guilt. Famine would never affect him, and he couldn't save all the people it was destroying, but maybe he could help this woman and her family.

"How many eggs do you have to sell?" he asked.

She blinked, surprised.

"I'd like to buy them," he clarified.

"All . . . all of them?"

"Yes."

Another baffled blink.