Edmond

He expected to feel her breath tickling his skin, but of course she didn't breathe. The lemony fragrance of the soap they'd used earlier floated up, and he subtly inhaled it. Then Ysanne's lips touched his throat and he almost forgot how to breathe. Her lips were cool, soft, just like he'd imagined, but only for a moment and then she bit down, her fangs piercing his skin.

Edmond had thought it would hurt.

He had not imagined the sudden rush of warmth, the burst of pleasure at his core, the feeling like he was being filled up with light. A soft gasp escaped his lips, and his hand came up to clutch at her shoulder.

Never in his life had he felt anything like this.

His heart thumped, his breath rushed in and out of his lungs, his skin felt deliciously raw, like he was suddenly open to sensations that he'd almost forgotten existed. White lights sparked behind his eyes, and he shuddered against her.

He was on the verge of something he hadn't felt in a long time, something amazing, and then Ysanne pulled away from him, and that incredible feeling faded.

"Wait . . ." he mumbled, leaning towards her, wanting more, but Ysanne put both hands on his shoulders, holding him back.

"That's enough," she said.

Edmond put a hand up to his neck, touching the small puncture marks that Ysanne had left.

She guided his hands away, leaned in once more, and licked the small wounds. When Edmond touched them again, they were gone.

"Are you alright?" Ysanne asked, studying him.

Edmond nodded, unable to find words.

Lucy had given him pleasure before, in the ways that she would allow before their wedding, but it was different with Ysanne – more focused, less hesitant.

He couldn't wait to feel it again.

The next day, they finally planted Julien's apple tree.

Ysanne dug up the frozen earth with her bare hands, and Edmond winced as she scraped layers of skin from her fingertips, and drops of her blood speckled the ground, but Ysanne didn't seem to notice.

When the hole was deep enough, Ysanne lifted the little tree out of its pot and placed it in the ground.

Frankly, Edmond was surprised it had survived all these weeks, untended by the front door, but it was a hardy tree, and the fact that it had survived this far gave Edmond hope that it would survive for years to come, just as Ysanne wanted.

After she had patted the last of the disturbed earth back into place, burying the tree's roots, Ysanne sat back, her hands folded in her lap, her expression bleak.

They had lived together these long, cold weeks, and Edmond was sure that, right now, he knew Ysanne better than anyone else in the world, but they didn't touch often, unless it was necessary. But she had let him hold her hand last night. She had let him comfort her when she needed it.

He didn't decide to hug her.

It just . . . happened.

Ysanne stiffened against him, and he was sure that she would push him away, then a small tremble ran through her body and she sagged against him. She didn't hug him back, but she let him hold her, and that meant more to Edmond than he could say.

"Why did you become a vampire?" Edmond asked, several hours later, as they sat in front of the fire, peeling potatoes.

"It's a long story," Ysanne said.

"I've got all the time in the world."

Ysanne sat down her potato. "You don't, you know. Human lives are so short."

Edmond said nothing, just waited.

Finally Ysanne picked up her potato again. "After Richart died, I realised that I had lost the only future I had ever imagined. But even as I mourned him, something else was coming to life inside me. The battle in which Richart had died had been led by a woman. Joan of Arc." Ysanne shook her head. "I was raised to understand that my role in life was to please my husband and provide him with children, preferably male heirs. My place was in the home. Women did not fight in battles, and they certainly did not lead armies. But Joan did."

There was something in Ysanne's voice that Edmond had never heard before, a kind of deep admiration.

"Even though she led the battle that killed my husband, I found myself fascinated by her. Joan not only led our armies; she won the war. She secured victory for France, and even though that had cost Richart his life, I was glad that we had won. Richart had not died in vain."

She handed him the potato and Edmond cut it into chunks before dropping it into the pot of stew that was bubbling away in the fire.

"I was twenty-three when he died. I was still young, I had no children, and I was from a wealthy family, so a great many men were eager to become my second husband. My family urged me to remarry as soon as possible, but I realised that I didn't want to. As I explained to you, being a widow meant I had more rights and more freedoms than I'd ever had before, and I was not keen to hand those over to another husband. All my life I had been told there was only one path for me, and I had always accepted that, but suddenly it was as if a light shone down on me, and I could see that there were many paths, all around me, and I'd never even known they were there. I wanted to see the world."

Ysanne smiled wryly. "So I scandalised my parents by deciding that I wanted to travel France, rather than find myself another husband." Her smile faded. "It didn't go quite according to plan. I had plenty of money, but I was . . . naive. I didn't know just how dangerous this world is for girls and women. Travelling alone like that, I was a target. It wasn't long before I was attacked, robbed, and assaulted."

Anger lit a flame in Edmond's chest. It seemed impossible to think of Ysanne truly being hurt – her bloody fingers were already healed over – and even though she'd been injured when they first met, she'd soon healed after drinking his blood. But she'd been human once, as vulnerable as anyone. He hated to think of her like that.

Ysanne's hand tightened into fists. "My attacker had me pinned to the ground. There was nothing I could do to stop him from fumbling with my skirts, nothing I could do to keep him from trying to take whatever he wanted from me. And then she appeared out of nowhere, this strange woman dressed all in black. She strode over to us, and without saying a word, she snapped my attacker's neck. I was amazed, of course, and when the woman tried to leave, I threw myself in front of her and begged to know more. Who was this woman, who feared no man? How had she come by this incredible strength? I thought perhaps she was the mighty Joan of Arc herself, come to save me."

She started peeling another potato, her hands deft and quick. "But of course she wasn't Joan. I'll never know why she told me who she really was. She was old enough to know that a vampire's self-preservation often relies on being tight-lipped." The shadow of a smile touched her mouth. "Maybe she was lonely. I often wondered, and I often asked, but she never answered. But she did tell me what she was – a vampire. Her name was Agnes. In that moment I was sure that I wanted to be what she was. I wanted that strength, that power. I wanted to travel this world with nothing standing in my way. I wanted to strike my own fear across the face and watch it fall to the ground. I begged Agnes to turn me."

"And so she did," Edmond guessed.

"No. She warned me that a vampire's life was often a long, lonely affair. She told me that I hadn't lived enough of my own life to know if I really wanted to sacrifice it for a vampire one. She was not averse to turning me, but she would not do it then. She told me to go, to see more of the world, to think about I really wanted. But she did tell me where she was currently living, and I kept that information close to my heart. I did as she asked. I continued to travel – employing guards this time to protect me. For two years I wandered France. I came to understand more about our country, about how it worked, about the poverty that so many people lived in. I learned more in those years than I had ever thought possible. And while I travelled, Joan of Arc's name reached my ears once again. The English had captured her. They planned to burn her. There was a time when I imagined all sorts of scenarios in which I rescued her, this bold and brilliant woman, but they were childish fantasies. There was nothing I could do to help her. When they burned her at Rouen . . . I went to watch."

Ysanne's eyes narrowed as she stared at the fire, the flickering light reflected in her eyes.

"I don't know why I went. On some very strange level I felt that I owed her that much. She had saved France, and she had inspired me, and even though watching her burn to death wasn't the last memory I wanted to have of her, I didn't want her to die alone. It didn't matter that she didn't know me. I watched her die, and then I knew for certain: I did not ever want to be at the mercy of people again. I wanted to be a vampire. So I returned to Agnes and told her that I had made my decision. She reminded me again that a vampire's life is so often hard."

Ysanne's lips gave a bitter little twist.

"I reminded her that, in this world, a woman's life is always hard. But for once I wanted the strength to fight back. Eventually, she agreed to turn me."

Her hand crept up to her own throat, as if she was remembering the bite that Agnes had given her, so many years ago.

"What happened then?" Edmond prompted.

"We remained friends, and she taught me how to live and survive as a vampire. But I wanted to see more of the world. I had travelled throughout France, and there were many other countries I wanted to visit. I felt powerful, invincible even, and I wanted to use that to see everything there was to see. But Agnes didn't want to travel. She'd done enough of it in her time, she said, and everywhere it was the same. Humans destroying other humans, pain and suffering and war. She'd had enough of it. I think she wanted me to stay with her. I think that's probably why she turned me. But I could not be content with that life. So I said my farewells to her, and then I left."

Ysanne bowed her head, the light in her eyes dimming.

"I never saw her again."

"You don't know what happened to her?" Edmond asked.

"Years later, I returned to her house, but no one there knew her. She'd moved on long ago. I did look for her, but . . . there was never a trace of her. I cannot say for sure, but I do believe that she is dead."

Edmond bit his lip, wondering how to broach his next question, without sounding insensitive.

"Do you ever regret it? Becoming a vampire, I mean," he said.

"No. Agnes was right – it is a hard life, and I have suffered many things that I regret, but I have never regretted becoming a vampire."

Edmond mulled that over in his mind.

For the first time, he wondered what it would be like to be a vampire.

He wondered if Ysanne would ever offer to turn him.

He wondered what he would say if she did.