Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Ruth: Part Two

Isabeau hurried home as fast as she could, running her tongue over her fangs to get rid of any lingering taste of rabbit blood. Ruth knew what Isabeau had to do to survive, and she'd never reacted badly to it, but it would hardly be pleasant for her to kiss Isabeau and taste the animal that Isabeau had just killed.

Their little cottage materialised through the darkness, the whitewashed walls almost overshadowed by the jut of the thatched roof. They'd been here for four years now, living in the Austrian countryside a few miles from Vienna, where there were few people around to bother them.

Ruth grew her own vegetables in a little plot of land behind the house, and they kept chickens and goats so she could have eggs and milk, and occasionally meat. Sometimes they traded with people in small towns, but they were mostly self-sufficient, which was how they both liked it.

Every night Isabeau went out to hunt for food, and every night Ruth waited for her in a wooden chair by the front door, even during the winter months, when she would bundle herself in a thick woollen blanket. Isabeau had assured her it wasn't necessary to wait like this, but Ruth insisted.

She was there tonight, but she was paler than normal, and when she got up to greet Isabeau, she winced.

"Are you alright?" Isabeau asked.

Ruth waved away her concern. "My back hurts, but it's probably from gardening. It'll be better tomorrow."

"You've been working too hard," Isabeau admonished, opening the front door and ushering Ruth inside.

"You worry too much," Ruth said, kissing Isabeau.

There was some truth in that.

As a vampire, Isabeau was acutely aware of how much more fragile humans were, and that included Ruth. The only time they ever argued was when Ruth felt that Isabeau was being overprotective – which she sometimes was. But she couldn't help it. Ruth was the most precious thing in her world.

Ruth had cooked a vegetable stew for her dinner, and she sat at the kitchen table to eat, but after a few bites, she frowned and put a hand to her head.

"A bit of a headache too," she said, smiling wanly at Isabeau. "Perhaps I caught the sun."

If she'd caught the sun, she wouldn't be so pale, but if Isabeau pointed that out, Ruth would tell her that she was fussing.

"Maybe you should go and lie down," Isabeau suggested.

Ruth stared down at her bowl of stew, then pulled a face and pushed it away. "You may be right," she agreed.

"You go ahead. I'll clear up here," Isabeau said, gesturing to the kitchen.

"Thank you."

Ruth went through to their small bedroom and changed into a loose nightdress before climbing into bed.

"I'm sure I'll feel better in the morning," she said, yawning.

"I hope so." Isabeau kissed Ruth's forehead.

Was it her imagination or did Ruth's skin feel warmer than usual?

Ruth did not feel better in the morning.

Instead her headache and back pain got worse, and she couldn't face eating breakfast. Isabeau insisted that Ruth stay in bed, despite Ruth's protestations about tending to the animals, and brought her plenty of fresh water to drink. It wasn't the first time that Ruth had fallen ill, nor the first time that Isabeau had nursed her through it, so she wasn't particularly worried at first. It was never pleasant seeing the woman you loved suffering, but Ruth was tough – she'd shake this off in a day or two.