Belle Morte Bites (Belle Morte 4.3)

The Fishing Village Murders: Part Two

The wind was stronger on the top of the cliff, whipping Ysanne's hair around her face. She smelled salt and sea, and pitch from the boats in the harbour, and musk from the animals that had scent-marked the area. No blood yet.

Jemima prowled ahead of her, head high, scenting the air.

"How long will you house those vampires?" Ysanne asked.

"As long as they need it."

"And then?"

"That's up to them, isn't it? If they want to leave and make their own way in the world, I won't hold them back. But if they choose to stay with me, I'll be glad of the company." She gave Ysanne a sidelong look. "What about you?"

"I'll stay as long as you need me, then I'll move on."

Jemima stopped. "You don't have to, you know. You're welcome to stay with us."

Ysanne moved past her, not meeting the other woman's eyes.

"Seriously." Jemima hurried after her. "There's –"

Ysanne held up a hand. "Do you smell that?"

The faint whiff of blood, drifting on the wind.

Jemima's face darkened. "It's human."

"And it's fresh."

They crept forward, following the smell until they came to a patch of grass that was churned and flattened, as if a struggle had taken place. The smell of blood was strongest here, and when Ysanne looked closer, she could detect spots of it, clinging to the crushed thistles and tussocks of grass.

"This is where he must have attacked her." She gazed around, her ears pricked, but there was nothing but the moan of the wind and the restless thrash of the waves hundreds of feet below.

"There's more blood over here," Jemima reported from a few feet away.

Ysanne looked back the way they'd come. "Catherine was desperate with thirst when I found her, so she must have come through the turn very quickly. Either he carried her back to the village, or she made her own way there, so if there's a blood trail heading in the opposite direction, it's coming from him, not her."

"Agreed." Jemima's eyes gleamed. "Let's keep going, see what we can find."

They walked for miles, following every drop of blood, until the trail tapered off. Ahead of them, a jagged hump of rock rose up, huge and solid black against the moonlit sky.

"What's that?" Ysanne asked, pitching her voice as low as possible.

"Hartland Point."

Ysanne stood very still and listened. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing was any different to how it had been when they left the village, but something prickled along her skin, some primal feeling that they weren't alone out here.

She pressed a finger to her lips, and Jemima nodded.

Ysanne surveyed the area.

Hartland Point itself was bare rock – nowhere for anyone to hide – but the ground sloped down towards a small cove, too dark and too far down for even a vampire to see it clearly.

Ysanne lifted a questioning eyebrow, and Jemima shrugged.

They made their way down to the cove, each step careful and precise and quiet. The sea was loud, waves crashing over the rocky shore, but neither of them were taking any chances.

The cliffs soared overhead, but a short distance in front of them, the rock-face was pocked by a black hole – a cave.

Fluid as shadows, they crept towards it. When they were almost there, Ysanne signalled for them to split up, each of them taking one side of the cave entrance. She couldn't smell blood anymore, and the roar of the sea drowned out any other noises.