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.

"But . . ." Charlotte didn't seem to know how to finish that sentence.

"I'm serious," Edmond said.

He'd buy every damn egg in the world if it meant he could keep talking to this woman.

Tears shone in Charlotte's eyes; she blinked them away and set her jaw, as if trying to hide what this meant to her.

"You'd better come with me then," she said.

Of course Edmond couldn't eat the eggs he'd bought, so he waited until it got dark and then he quietly distributed them among the poorest households in the village.

Next time he'd buy more – maybe some of the chickens too.

He couldn't save everyone from poverty, but he could ease the strain on some of these people. And it would give him a chance to see Charlotte again.

As days turned to weeks, he saw her more and more often, and each time, he fell that little bit harder.

She'd been nervous around him at first, perhaps because of what she perceived as their class difference, but gradually those nerves melted away and he started to get a glimpse at the real Charlotte.

She was funny and warm and teasing, she cared fiercely for her family, and in what felt like no time at all, Edmond was ready to give her his whole heart.

They started meeting in secret, and at first they talked and got to know each other, curled up in front of the fire in Edmond's living room.

Charlotte was open and honest with him right from the start; it frustrated Edmond that he couldn't be the same with her.

But how could he?

How was he supposed to tell her that, although he still looked twenty-two, the age he'd been when he'd died, he'd been around for nearly fifty years?

Or that he never actually ate any of the food he bought from her farm because he couldn't, because blood was the only thing that could sustain him?

Or that he could never give her a normal life?

Even as their relationship developed, and hours spent talking in front of the fire turned to hours of kissing, Charlotte still didn't seem to mind that he evaded questions about himself. Edmond suspected that that wouldn't last.

He was right.

One night when Charlotte arrived at his house, late enough that no one would see them, there was something different about her. Her pulse was hammering, her skin sweetly flushed, and her eyes glittering.

"What's going on?" Edmond asked.

Charlotte threw herself into his arms and kissed him, knocking him against the wall.

The sound of her heartbeat was a delicious drumbeat in Edmond's ears.

"I want to be with you," Charlotte whispered. "I've never felt this way about anyone, Edmond."

"Are you sure this isn't too soon?" Edmond asked.

They'd done nothing but kiss so far, and Edmond hadn't anticipated that changing any time soon, but now Charlotte was pressed against him, her body so soft and warm, her heart thumping, her breath ragged in the most beautiful way, and he couldn't stop himself from hardening at the feel of her.

Heat filled Charlotte's eyes. "I don't think you think it's too soon," she said.

Edmond groaned her hips pushed against his. God, he wanted this woman. She was all he could think about, every day, all day.

Still – "What's brought this on?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

Charlotte shook her head. "I've wanted you since the moment I saw you, and I've been waiting all this time. I can't wait anymore." She grabbed his hand and guided it between her legs, and Edmond closed his eyes.

"You're everything I've ever wanted," she said, stroking his cheek. "Please make love to me, Edmond."

His control snapped.

He lifted her off her feet and carried her through to the living room, where the fire turned the walls to patterns of flickering shadows, and tossed a thick blanket onto the floor. He laid her down and gazed down at her. Charlotte's dark curls were splayed around her head like a halo, and her chest heaved with each breath. She had freckles there too, and Edmond tasted them with his tongue, dipping into the bodice of her dress.

"Edmond," she gasped.

He wanted to take his time with her, savour their first time, but every part of him ached for her, and though he meant to undress her slowly, he ended up ripping her dress off with both hands.

She was even more beautiful than he'd imagined.

"Charlotte," he whispered.

His hands shook as he touched her, rewarded by her soft sigh, and when he slid his fingers inside, her eyes flared wide with surprise.

"Is this alright?" Edmond asked, pausing.

She nodded eagerly. "I've never done this before."

Edmond kissed her, his fingers gently moving, slowly at first, getting her used to this new sensation, and then faster until her thighs trembled and she clung hard to his shoulders.

When the first orgasm rippled through her, Edmond felt a fierce surge of pride. He'd given her that.

He wanted to give her more.

As she lay in his arms, panting, Edmond shifted between her thighs, watching her eyes flare as he slid inside.

They made love by the fire, until Charlotte was shuddering and crying out again, and this time Edmond joined her. He slumped onto her chest, listening to the frenzied sound of her heart, while her fingers idly played with his hair.

"Is it always that good?" Charlotte asked.

"I'll always do whatever I can to make it that good for you," Edmond promised her.

He lifted his head.

Charlotte's freckled skin gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat and her cheeks were flushed.

"I –" he started to say, then stopped, because he couldn't actually say this, could he?

"What?" Charlotte asked.

"You'll think me a fool."

"As if I could. Tell me."

Edmond gazed at her a little longer, absorbing every detail of this incredible woman that he hadn't known he needed until she ran into his life.

"I love you," he said. "I know it seems very soon to say it, but I do. I've fallen in love with you."

Charlotte smiled and twisted a strand of his hair around her finger. "I really hoped you'd say that."

Ysanne had warned Edmond about the dangers of relationships with humans, but even vampires couldn't choose who they fell in love with. Edmond could never give Charlotte a normal life, but if they were to have any future together, then he needed to be completely honest with her.

"Charlotte," he said. "There's something I need to tell you."

At first Charlotte didn't believe him. Vampire wasn't a word she was familiar with, and she didn't understand what he was trying to say.

So Edmond showed her. He demonstrated his strength and his speed. He took a knife and cut a shallow slice in his arm so she could watch it heal. He explained to her that he needed human blood to survive, and showed her his fangs and his red eyes.

It felt so freeing.

He'd felt like he was lying to her throughout their whole relationship, and now he didn't have to.

But Charlotte didn't say anything.

Edmond's elation faded.

Had he heaped too much on her at once?

Should he only have introduced one aspect of his vampire nature, and showed her the rest later?

Ysanne hadn't taught him what to do in this situation, and he'd never thought to ask.

"Charlotte," he said, and reached for her, but she recoiled.

Edmond froze.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He'd expected shock, maybe even a little fear, but not this . . . blankness.

"Charlotte, please say something."

Finally she lifted her gaze to his, and her eyes were so cold she might have been a vampire herself.

"I have to go," she said.

"No, please don't." Edmond ran to the door, blocking her path.

"Will you stop me from leaving? Is that what vampires do?" she said.

"What? Of course not."

"Then let me past."

Edmond stepped aside, an awful feeling gathering in his chest.

"I love you," he said, and Charlotte paused on the threshold.

He had no idea how to interpret what he saw in her eyes.

She left without another word, and the sound of the door closing seemed to echo through the whole house.

Edmond went back into the living room and sat down in front of the fire. The blanket was still rumpled from their lovemaking, and he could smell the sweetness of Charlotte's skin.

What had just happened?

He tried reassuring himself that she needed time to process everything he'd told her, and that she'd come back once she had, but all the reassurances in the world did nothing to ease the tight knot of unease in his chest.

Charlotte didn't come back that night, and there was no sign of her in the village. Edmond knew where her farm was – though he'd never been there – but if she needed space then he had no right to intrude. Arriving at her family home, unannounced, when she obviously wouldn't want him to, was a step too far.

But he found himself looking out of the window constantly all day, hoping to catch a glimpse of her dark curls, or hear her knocking at the door. But she didn't come.

Every now and then he noticed flurries of activity, people gathered in small groups, earnestly talking, but he didn't go out to see what was going on. All he could think about was Charlotte.

He spent the day trying to rehearse what he'd say when he saw her next, but it was near impossible when he didn't know what she was thinking or feeling.

Was she angry that he hadn't told her before?

Was she angry that they couldn't have a normal life together?

Did she regret their relationship?

Edmond would give her as much time as she needed, but he couldn't help wondering how long that would be. His brain was in knots, and the only way to untie them would be to know what was going on.

The sun was just starting to set when someone pounded on the door.

Edmond's heart leaped.

Charlotte?

The knocking was louder and more aggressive than he'd expected, and he braced himself as he went to the door, ready for whatever she had to say.

Only he wasn't ready.

Not at all.

Charlotte hadn't come alone.

She stood outside the house, at the head of a group of men – Edmond recognised many of them from the village and the market. Others were strangers, but they all wore a look that he'd seen before.

Ice crawled over his skin, and in that moment he wasn't standing in his own house in Montrèsor. He was back in Paris, in François's lavish home, staring down a furious mob.

Those men had come because François had become a killer.

But Edmond hadn't killed anyone.

Why would this mob . . .

Edmond looked at Charlotte, at the contempt hardening the mouth he'd kissed just yesterday, and awful realisation sunk in.

Charlotte had brought this mob.

"I don't . . . why?" he said.

"Monster," she spat, and the eyes that had been so warm and loving yesterday were hard as flint.

The pain in Edmond's chest was so sharp and so severe, he almost thought he'd been stabbed – he actually looked down to check. But there was no blade, just the agony of heartbreak.

"Charlotte," he whispered.

Even the sound of her name on his lips made her recoil.

How could she look at him like that?

How could everything they'd shared suddenly mean nothing?

How could she hate him?

"You're not welcome here, demon," called a man in the crowd, but Edmond couldn't tear his eyes away from Charlotte.

He loved her so much, but there was nothing in her face but loathing and contempt. She'd brought this mob to drive him out of town – maybe even kill him.

The pain in his chest grew sharper, and he felt like he'd become human again, struggling to suck air into his lungs.

He'd trusted her enough to share his biggest secret with her, and she wanted him dead because of it.

The mob moved forwards, cautious – Charlotte must have told them of his great strength – but growing bolder.

François flashed through Edmond's head – the man he'd been, and the bloody ruin that the mob had reduced him to. This mob would do the same to Edmond if he gave them a chance.

He slammed the door, and locked it, then dragged a heavy wooden chest across it. But as the mob started pounding on the door, angry voices roaring, he realised that nothing would hold them back for long.

Edmond stared around the house. It hadn't been home for long, and it wouldn't hurt to leave it behind but . . . there was a difference in choosing to move on, the way vampires always had to, and being forced out by people who wanted him dead.

Angry tears pricked his eyes, but there was no time to wallow.

Sooner rather than later, that mob would break down the door or come in through the windows, and Edmond didn't want to be here when they did.

He moved quickly around the house, packing what he could. Most of his possessions would have to be abandoned, but not the money he'd saved. Without it, he'd be back on the streets, and he'd do anything to avoid that.

A loud crash downstairs told him the mob had broken in.

Edmond looked around his bedroom once more, checking that he hadn't missed anything, then he climbed out of the window, dropping to the ground and landing in a fluid crouch.

The mob had gathered at the front of the house – no one was around to see him.

Twilight was gathering pace, the shadows thickening and stretching, and Edmond took advantage of them. He slipped into the darkness like a ghost, carrying only a small bag and the pieces of his broken heart.

Next week, we're catching up with Ludovic :)