Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Isaac

Stratford-upon-Avon, England,1887

The forge was stiflingly hot; if Gideon Hartwright had been human he would have been drowning in his own sweat by now. He was sure that his employer thought it odd that Gideon never sweated at all, but he'd never said anything about it.

He crouched down to examine the glowing slag at the bottom of the furnace, feeling the heat blast his face. It looked about ready to work with. Using a large pair of tongs, he pulled the slag from the hot coals and carried it over to the anvil where he could start hammering it into shape.

Thanks to his vampire strength, he could do it in now time at all – which was probably why Lonnie Cudd, the man who owned the forge, had given him a job, despite his lack of prior experience.

Gideon had learned quickly over the months that he'd been here.

He'd just finished fashioning the molten slag into a horseshoe when he heard the sound of clopping hooves outside, and a little thrill ran through him.

Lonnie was training him to be a blacksmith, but Lonnie was also an experienced farrier, and his forge often dealt with horses from one of the nearby coaching inns.

An inn where a certain ostler worked.

Putting the horseshoe down, Gideon hurried out of the forge, shielding his eyes against the brightness of the sun – all the brighter after the windowless dark of the forge.

He'd been a vampire for nearly fifty years now, long enough to have built up some resistance to the sun. He couldn't stay out for hours on end, but he no longer had to fear it the way he once had.

In the paved area in front of the forge, Lonnie was talking a slim young man with a head of dark curls, who was holding the reins of a big, black horse.

Gideon's stomach fluttered, just as it always did whenever he laid eyes on Isaac Ebbs. Isaac noticed him looking, and gave him a small smile, one that meant nothing to Lonnie and everything to Gideon.

"Are you here for a reshoeing?" he asked, as if Isaac was just another customer, and not the man that was creeping into Gideon's heart.

Isaac patted the horse's neck. "I think his hooves need a trim."

Lonnie lifted one of the horse's front legs and examined the hoof. "You're right about that," he said. "Gideon, fetch me the hoof stand."

Gideon obeyed. As he bent to put it on the ground, Isaac's hand brushed his hip, a movement so tiny that Lonnie couldn't see it, but enough to make Gideon close his eyes. He could barely feel Isaac's hand through his trousers, but it wasn't the touch itself that was important, as much as the promise of what was to come later on. He glanced at Isaac from the corner of his eye, and Isaac gave him another little smile.

Sometimes, Gideon thought Isaac wasn't careful enough, and it was worrying. It was like Isaac didn't truly understand what would happen if they were caught.

Gideon watched as Lonnie lifted the horse's hoof onto the stand and got to work with the nippers, the tool used to cut off excess hoof growth. Gideon had already proved himself a capable blacksmith, and he hoped that one day Lonnie would start teaching him how to be a farrier too. It seemed like a useful skill to possess, and over the last couple of decades he'd spent plenty of time doing general labour for farmers across the country, including working with their horses. By this point, he liked and understood the horses well enough to believe he could work with them in a different capacity.

Lonnie glanced up, realising Gideon was still watching him. "Haven't you got work to do, boy?" he said, not unkindly, and Gideon nodded.

He looked at Isaac once more before going back into the forge, and Isaac mouthed a single word at him.