Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

Valentine's Day: Part Five

A single rose petal lay on the floor of the ballroom, looking like a smear of blood against the white marble. Ysanne Moreau bent to pick it up. Over a year had passed since this ballroom had been turned into a battlefield, and even though every trace of blood had been scrubbed clean, Ysanne would never forget the carnage that had been wrought here. Belle Morte carried scars now, the same way that vampires themselves did.

The click of high heels sounded behind her, but Ysanne didn't need to turn to see who'd come into the room. She knew Isabeau's steps as well as she knew her own.

Isabeau kissed Ysanne's shoulder, on the oval of bare skin peeking out from the holes cut into her glittering cape. "Are you alright?" she said.

Ysanne stared down at the red rose petal. "We really did come close to losing everything, didn't we?"

Isabeau reached over Ysanne's shoulder and plucked a rose from one of the glass tables that had been brought in for tonight's charity dinner. Normally, any decorations like these would be cleared away as soon as an event was over, but Ysanne had decided to leave the ballroom as it was until the roses started to die.

"But we didn't," Isabeau said.

She moved around Ysanne, and trailed the rose down Ysanne's forehead and over her nose.

"Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?" Isabeau asked.

Ysanne smiled. She had no patience for empty flattery, but compliments from the woman she loved were different. She'd never get tired of those.

She put her hands on Isabeau's hips. "You look like an angel," she said.

Isabeau batted her eyelashes.

She really did look extraordinary tonight, in a column dress of palest grey, embellished all over with silver thread and tiny crystals. Her chestnut curls were half-up, held in place with diamond pins, and half-down, spilling around her shoulders, and she wore a simple silver bracelet on one wrist.

Ysanne thought back to the first night they'd met, in the Marquee in London, amid sweaty, dancing humans. They'd both come a long way since then.

She took Isabeau's hand. "Dance with me," she said softly.

Eagerness shone in Isabeau's eyes. She tucked the rose into Ysanne's hair, then she pulled Ysanne into the middle of the room, where there was enough space for them to move. She took Ysanne's hand and curled her other arm around Ysanne's neck. Ysanne kept her hand on the curve of Isabeau's hip.

"Are you happy with how everything went tonight?" Isabeau said.

Ysanne glanced around at the roses, the round tables, their white tablecloths now marred here and there with bits of food and drops of wine, the crystal flutes and cut-glass tumblers, their rims now imprinted with various shades of lipstick, the candles burning low, wax dribbling over the candlesticks and pooling around the bases.

"I think so," she said.

"Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves," Isabeau said. "I'll show you the photos once I've gone through them and cleared out any bad ones."

Ysanne lifted an eyebrow. "Don't think I didn't notice you taking pictures of me when you thought I wasn't looking."

Isabeau gave her an angelic smile. "Can you blame me? The most beautiful woman in the world is all mine, and I'm supposed to not take photos of her?"

The rose in Ysanne's hair slipped, and Isabeau pushed it back into place.

"Besides, you've got that painting of me in your office," Isabeau said, dipping her head to brush her lips across Ysanne's, feather-soft.