Gunwharf, England, 2005

Gideon Hartwright leaned against the bar and watched as the salsa instructor talked the beginners through the basic steps of the dance.

Outside the glass-fronted club, people milled about Gunwharf Quay, heading to and from clubs, restaurants, the cinema, and further out in the harbour itself, a ferry was pulling out to sea like a great white whale.

If Gideon was to step out of the club and walk around the corner, he would see the ongoing construction of what was apparently to be called the Spinnaker Tower, a landmark observation tower that would soar above the quays. He wondered if he'd still be living here when it was finally finished.

"You want another?" the bartender asked, smiling at Gideon beneath her eyelashes as she gestured to his empty glass.

He slid it across the bar to her. "Thank you."

Vampires couldn't drink alcohol, but he blended in better with a drink in his hand, and it was easy enough to fake trips to the toilet so he could pour beers away a little at a time.

The club, formerly the Havana, now rebranded as the Red Pearl, held salsa classes once a week, and each session was split in two. The first hour was for beginners, so they could start learning the basics, while the second hour was for more experienced dancers. When the sessions were over, the club would open properly for anyone who wanted to dance, and the experienced dancers usually stayed for most of the night.

When Gideon had first started coming here, he hadn't intended to dance. The throb of the music and the laughter coming from inside the club had enticed him in, and initially it had just seemed like a good place to hunt. Once the club opened properly, drinks were flowing, inhibitions were down, and it wasn't hard to coax people off to a darkened corner so Gideon could bite them.

But the more he watched the salsa classes, the more it intrigued him. Gideon had never been much of a dancer, but salsa was unlike any kind of dancing he'd ever seen before.

He'd started arriving at the club earlier and earlier, until one night he caught the attention of the instructor, Lisa, who'd invited him to join in, and though his instincts had been to say no, he'd found himself saying yes.

That was five months ago, and Gideon had attended every weekly class since. He told himself that it was still only to hunt for people he could drink from, but the reality was, he enjoyed it. It gave him a chance to interact with people without having to get too close to them. It allowed him to brush up against the edges of a world that he could never fully be a part of.

The bartender handed Gideon a fresh pint, her fingers brushing his, and he gave her what he hoped was a neutral smile.

Nearly thirty years had passed since Gideon had saved Jerry and the others from the burning squat, and in that time he hadn't even kissed another man. That part of himself was sealed away now, a flame long since snuffed out. It might never flare to life again, but that was alright, because at least it would save him the heartache of having to walk away from the people he cared about.

"Gideon," Lisa called, and he looked up to see her beckoning to him. "Do you think you could help me out?"

Leaving his drink on the bar, Gideon approached her.

He was never sure how old Lisa was – streaks of grey threaded through her hair but there wasn't a line on her face, and her body was as lean and flexible as a gymnast.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"I want everyone working in pairs, but I've got an odd number in today. Do you think you could partner up with my newest?" Lisa said.

Inwardly, Gideon narrowed his eyes. It wasn't unusual for Lisa to have an odd number of dancers, and she usually paired up with the odd one out herself. There must be a reason she wasn't doing it this time.

Then Lisa beckoned over a tall, willowy woman with a long mass of chestnut curls, and gave Gideon a knowing look, and suddenly it all became clear. Lisa could have paired up with the woman herself, but she was trying to set her up with Gideon.

"Is that okay?" Lisa asked, her voice innocent but her eyes gleaming.

Gideon just nodded.

This wasn't the first time Lisa had helpfully tried to nudge him towards women in the group, and maybe he needed to tell her that women really weren't his type. But not now. He didn't want to embarrass the chestnut-haired newcomer.

"Excellent," Lisa said, and patted the woman's shoulder. "You're in good hands, Isabeau." She strode into the middle of the room and commanded everyone to take their places.

"Thank you for doing this," Isabeau said.

"You're welcome," Gideon said.

Isabeau put her hand on Gideon's shoulder, and Gideon reached for her other hand, then froze, his eyes widening as something registered. Isabeau's expression mirrored his, her mouth shaping a little O of surprise.

She had no heartbeat.

Isabeau was a vampire.

The music started, and Gideon recovered himself, guiding Isabeau through the first steps.

She was smiling now. "I wasn't expecting to find another vampire here," she said.

"Neither was I," said Gideon. "Are you living in Gunwharf?"

"I moved here about a week ago. I assume you've been here longer?"

"A few months now." She had a trace of an accent, Gideon noticed. "You're French?"

Isabeau nodded, but her eyes darkened a little.

"How long have you lived in England?" Gideon asked.

"I first moved to the UK in 1794, then returned again in 1821 and I've been here ever since."

"1794? I wasn't even born then," Gideon said.

"How old are you?"

"I was born in 1820, turned in 1841."

"I was born in 1705, turned in 1730," Isabeau said.

They passed Lisa, who gave them a beaming smile.

"Why do I get the feeling that she planned this?" Isabeau asked.

"I think she wants me to find a nice woman. She thinks I'm lonely," Gideon said.

"Are you?"

"Yes," Gideon replied honestly.

"Well, you're very attractive, but I'm afraid you're not my type. I like women," Isabeau said.

Gideon couldn't help a smile. "You're not my type either. I like men."

Isabeau put a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. "Poor Lisa. She couldn't have made a worse pairing if she tried."

"Except for the fact that we're both vampires," Gideon pointed out.

"True." Isabeau sobered. "How long has it been since you've seen another vampire?"

"I don't even remember."

"That long?"

Gideon averted his eyes. "I haven't exactly been mingling with people these last few decades."

"It sounds like things have been hard," Isabeau said.

Gideon looked at her. There was such a wealth of empathy in her eyes, and he felt his walls cracking. Human beings could never understand how hard it was to be a vampire – not that he could admit what he really was – but another vampire did understand, especially one as old as Isabeau.

"When this class is over, do you want to talk about it?" Isabeau asked.

Gideon smiled thinly. "I should warn you, I've been keeping a lot of things bottled up for a long time."

"So have I. What are vampires without emotional baggage?"

They didn't talk much for the rest of the class, quietly danced with the blithely unaware humans, but knowing that he had someone to talk to, lifted Gideon's heart and made everything seem that little bit brighter, just like it had done when he'd met Jemima, all those years ago.

For once, he was actually looking forward to the end of the class.

When the salsa class finally ended, Gideon and Isabeau left the club together – though not before Gideon saw Lisa grinning and giving him two thumbs up. She obviously thought her match-making scheme had worked, and Gideon didn't have the heart to correct her.

They walked away from the club, and headed towards the small marina, tucked away alongside the half-finished Spinnaker Tower. The wooden docks were accessible by a locked gate, but two vampires could climb that in a flash, too fast for anyone to notice, and they walked down the nearest dock until they reached the end. The sea quietly lapped against the dock edges, and Gideon took off his shoes, dipping his feet into the water like he had done with Jemima.

Isabeau sat next to him and crossed her legs. Her curls fluttered in the breeze.

"How long have you been on your own?" she asked.

"Since 1977." The evening when he had seen Jerry for the last time.

"That's a long time," Isabeau said, and there was a heavy note in her voice.

"Has it been longer for you?"

She stared out to sea, her face pensive.

"It has, but not by much. There was a woman, and . . . I fell for her, but things didn't work out. That was in 1971."

"And you've never fully got over her," Gideon guessed.

Isabeau looked startled. "I have moved on . . . I mean . . ." She sighed. "Maybe you're right."

"What was her name?"

Isabeau's face softened. "Her name was Ysanne."

"It's a pretty name."

"Yes, well, she's gone now."

"Was she human?"

"No, she was a vampire, older even than me."

Gideon shook his head. "So many times I've thought that things might different if I could find a vampire to love, instead of always getting involved with humans, but the last vampires I met before you also liked women."

"You seem to attract us," Isabeau teased. "But you're not friends with them now?"

He shrugged and swirled his feet in the water. "I was living in a small town, they wanted a life in the city. Maybe I'll see them again one day, but vampires have to be so careful not to attract attention. Still, I hope they're happy. They'd been together a long time, and they'd been through a lot. They even worked the munitions factory, during World War One."

Isabeau sat up straighter, a strange look on her face. "What were their names?"

"Esther and Sarah," Gideon replied.

Isabeau let out a little cry, and he couldn't tell if it was happiness or grief.

"Do you know them?" Gideon said.

"I knew Esther, a long time ago. We were together once, before she met Sarah. They're still together?"

"As far as I know," said Gideon warily, hoping that Isabeau and Esther had parted on good terms.

Isabeau's mouth stretched into a broad grin. "That's great. I'm so happy for them." She nudged Gideon. "And I can't believe you know them."

"I don't really. I haven't seen them in nearly forty years," he pointed out.

Isabeau seized his hand, her eyes sparkling. "Tell me everything."

They talked until the sun started to spill over the horizon, turning the sea to molten gold, and then they went back to Gideon's flat, on the third-storey of a glass and steel block that looked out over the docks.

Neither of them had been able to hunt, and although he was hungry, Gideon didn't care.

He'd felt strangely comfortable every time he'd run into Jemima, and he felt the same way with Isabeau, only more so. Maybe it was because she was gay too.

When they'd exhausted themselves with sharing stories about their histories, Isabeau looked hesitantly around the flat.

Gideon didn't have much to his name, just some odd bits of furniture that other people had dumped on the kerbs outside their houses – a battered table and a wobbly chair, a sofa with a couple of holes in it that he hid with mismatched cushions, a wooden bed with a thin blanket, and he wondered if Isabeau lived the same way, or if she'd managed to amass more wealth and personal belongings during her much longer life.

"This might seem forward of me, but . . . would you mind if I stayed here today?" said Isabeau hesitantly.

"I don't mind, but why do you want to? Don't you have anywhere else to go?" Gideon asked.

"I have a small place in Portsmouth, about twenty minutes' walk from here, but . . ." She bit her lip. "I've been alone for so long, Gideon, and I thought I'd got used to it, but you've made me realise that I'm not, and I can't bear the thought of going back to an empty flat all by myself."

"I know that feeling," Gideon said softly. "Of course you can stay. I'll stay on the sofa, and you can have my bed."

"The bed's big enough for two, and it's not as if either of us are going to get the wrong idea about each other," said Isabeau.

Gideon smiled.

It had only been hours since he'd met Isabeau, and there was still so much about her he didn't know, but she'd kindled something inside him that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Friendship.

He hadn't had a friend since leaving Brixton in the seventies, and like Isabeau had said, he hadn't realised how much he missed it until it was right in front of him.

"If you're sure," he said.

"I am."

They curled up in bed together, neither of them touching, and though there could never be anything but platonic affection between them, Gideon felt calmer and more relaxed than he had in decades.

Twice Jemima had asked him if he wanted to travel with her, and twice he had refused because it hadn't been the right time. Last time he had said to her that maybe it would be different when they next met, but fate had sent Isabeau his way instead.

Maybe this friendship wouldn't last. Maybe they'd go their separate ways when they woke up, and it would be decades before they saw each other again, like it had been with Jemima – and that was assuming that they saw each other at all.

But Gideon felt like he had forged a real bond with Isabeau tonight, like there was something holding them together now. If Isabeau asked him to travel with her, he would do it. If she wanted to stay in Gunwharf, he would do that too.

Maybe, after all this time, he'd finally found the right friend at the right time.  

A/N: For those of you who didn't see the Instagram promo, Barnes & Noble is currently offering 25% off preorders, including Belle Morte. Today is the last day of the sale. If you are in US/Canada and you preorder a copy  before April 4th, then you are also eligible to receive a free, exclusive Belle Morte enamel pin. (Sorry to everyone who lives in other parts of the world, but due to shipping and legal restrictions, the publishers are only running this particular promo in North America). If you've already preordered, you can still apply to receive a pin, copying this link: http://www.formpl.us/form/2116186019 or by following the links in my bio :)