Wynter's Bite | Historical Paranormal Romance: Vampires (Scandals With Bite Book 5)

by Brooklyn Ann

  “Justus!” she shouted, hoping he could still hear her. “Justus!”

  As she rounded the corner, she crashed headlong into Nurse Bronson. The nurse emitted a garbled cry as they tumbled to the floor.

  Before Bethany could utter an apology, her arms were seized and she was roughly yanked to her feet and dragged back down the corridor to the quiet room. Nurse Bronson followed behind with the enormous ring of clanking keys, her lips clamped in a severe frown.

  Bethany struggled and called out Justus’s name, but it was all in vain. As the nurse unlocked the door, a sharp needle pierced the tender flesh of the crook of her arm.

  “No,” she whispered, horrified. Some of the patients received injections to subdue them when they grew unruly, but Bethany had never been subjected to one. She was only given Keene’s tonic.

  A wave of dizziness buckled her knees and her jaw went slack as she tried to call out. Only a feeble moan emerged, and to her humiliation, a stream of spittle trickled down her chin. Greeves squeezed her bosom painfully before shoving her into the dark, padded cell.

  Keene looked down at her with quizzical, pitying eyes. “I’ll look in on you before I depart for my holiday. In the meantime, you must strive to calm yourself.”

  As the door slid shut, She heard Greeves ask the doctor, “What do you suppose she meant when she was screaming for justice? Does she imagine she’s been subjected to some criminal mistreatment? This lot is pampered like spoilt children, I say.”

  Keene sighed. “Who can fathom what goes on in the minds of the insane? We can only do our best to keep them calm and protect them from themselves and others.” His voice faded as the door latched and the lock clicked. “Now, let’s see to the poor patients that Miss Mead disturbed with her episode.”

  Darkness pressed around Bethany like a leaden blanket, ominous and suffocating. She shifted only slightly and her back met the wall. Only the size of a closet, the quiet room was the most hated thing in this asylum. Its purpose may be to calm people, but the cramped cell made Bethany feel like a trapped animal. Her heart pounded in terror and she always felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  Under the sway of the drug Keene injected her with, it was even worse. Her muscles felt like jelly and she couldn’t control even the most basic movements of her body. And Justus was out there.

  Another grievous wail escaped her lips. If she was going to be locked in here until Keene’s departure, there was no way Justus could free her before Greeves fulfilled his dastardly promise.

  Bethany closed her eyes as an unnerving spinning sensation engulfed her. But that only intensified the topsy-turvy feeling and made her stomach lurch. Her eyes sapped open, but the darkness pressed on her eyelids like lead weights, making her feel sleepy. Shaking her head, she willed herself to stay awake, just in case Justus would be able to get inside the asylum and find her.

  But it was no use. The drug pulled her down into a pool of black unconsciousness.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Justus clenched his teeth so hard his jaw made a cracking sound as Bethany was hauled away screaming. He wanted to rip the bars out of this accursed window and slaughter everyone who’d made her cry out like that. But this rescue demanded a degree of discretion. If he burst through an eighth story window with his eyes glowing and fangs flashing, he’d have more than the Manchester vampires to be concerned with.

  Suddenly, a realization struck that made his lips peel back in a savage grin. As long as he didn’t present himself as a vampire, perhaps he wouldn’t have to be so discreet.

  Mind turning with countless plans, Justus scrambled down the side of the building and dashed back to the ramshackle village where he took his daytime refuge. First, he visited the crypt and gathered up his meager possessions, stopping to cover his hair with a dark woolen cap and hide the lower half of his face with a scarf, then he left the shelter without a backward glance. He had no affinity for the cold, barren shelter.

  His next destination was the home of the unscrupulous vicar. The man was asleep, but he’d left his window open. Justus made his way through, crept through the house, and found the vicar in a drunken slumber in his bedroom. Striding across the carpeted rug to the bed, Justus seized the vicar’s shoulders and captured his gaze to place him in a trance. He then sank his fangs in his throat and drank until he was full, not giving a tinker’s damn whether the cretin lived or died. After healing the puncture wounds, he then left the room and grabbed an old blunderbuss hanging over the hearth and loaded it. Lord knew whether or not the antique would fire or not, but it would suit his purpose.

  Keeping his senses open for the Manchester vampires, Justus returned to the asylum twice as fast, the strength from his feeding pulsing through his being. Strength he would need to break Bethany out of this horrid place and get them far away from here.

  Instead of climbing up the side of the red brick monstrosity, Justus strode down the gravel drive, up the stone steps and to the thick oak front door. With a swift, hard kick, the door cracked and toppled inward from broken hinges. The ensuing thud echoed through the high vaulted ceilings. Immediately, shouts and footsteps hurtled down the long staircase towards him, but Justus did not mind. The more people who were away from Bethany, the better.

  Four hulking men dashed into the foyer, two of them in their sleeping gowns. A wiry man with graying hair and wearing a tweed suit followed them, eyeing Justus with a puzzled frown. From the black satchel he carried, Justus surmised that he was the doctor. The one who’d ordered Bethany hauled away somewhere. The one who’d made her scream.

  Ignoring the guards, he trained the blunderbuss at the doctor. “Halt, or the good doctor will be missing the top of his skull.”

  The guards looked at each other and froze. Their shoulders slumped and lips thrust out with petulant pouts. Justus wondered how many patients these brutes had tackled, and how many times that patient had been Bethany. He was beyond tempted to blast them all away.

  But that wasn’t his primary goal. Keeping the weapon aimed at the doctor, he growled. “Where is Miss Bethany Mead?”

  “Who are you?” the doctor warbled.

  “Never mind that!” Justus roared. “Where is Bethany?”

  The doctor swallowed. “The quiet room. She’d had an outburst, talking to people who weren’t there, suffering delusions...”

  “She was talking to me, you blithering idiot,” Justus snapped, striding towards the doctor. One of the guards lunged forward and Justus slammed the cur into the wall with a slight push. “And I am no delusion. Now get her out of there and bring her to me, or I will kill you and anyone else who stands in my way.”

  The doctor held up his hands and shook his head. “I don’t have the key.”

  Justus shoved the barrel of his weapon under the doctor’s chin. “Then take me to the one who does.”

  Slowly, they made their way up the stairs and Justus sniffed the air for the essence of his love. The doctor knocked rapidly on a door, darting nervous glances at Justus. “Bronson, come out here straight away!”

  The door opened and a surly looking woman emerged with a cheroot clamped between her yellowed teeth. Then she caught a glimpse of Justus with his blunderbuss and her jaw dropped. The smoking cheroot fell to the floor and Justus stomped on it before the rug caught fire. “Release Miss Bethany Mead at once, or you and the good doctor will die.”

  The woman nodded, face pale and clutched a ring of keys at her waist. Keeping an eye over his shoulder, Justus followed Bronson and the doctor up another winding staircase. Groans, whimpers, and hair-raising screams reached his ears, sounds of illimitable suffering. The fact that Bethany had spent eight years in this literal madhouse made Justus’s soul contort in agony.

  Two of the four guards lurked behind about twenty paces, but Justus was fully prepared to shove them down the stairs if they drew too close. The screams and howls of the inmates grew louder, accompanied by pounding on the walls and doors.

  The doctor cast Justus a glare. “
You’re upsetting my patients.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” he bit out.

  The man’s face reddened. “I do not know what you presume to accomplish from this menacing crime. If you think Miss Mead’s parents will pay a ransom, you will be deeply disappointed. They haven’t written so much as a letter to her in three years.”

  “I don’t want any bloody money,” Justus growled, appalled that her own family had abandoned her like that. “Just her.” He didn’t elaborate, as the less people knew about Bethany’s liberation, the better. He did not doubt that this incident would spread to the London papers. But as long as nothing preternatural was assumed, he could manage.

  At last, Bronson and the doctor turned down a shadowy corridor and stopped in front of a narrow oak door secured with a massive iron lock.

  The keys clanked and rattled as Bronson unlocked the door with shaking hands. Justus kept the blunderbuss fixed on her and the doctor as the door slid open to reveal a dark, closet-sized room lined floor to ceiling with yellowing padding. Bethany lay on the floor in a crumpled heap.

  “Bethany!” Justus called out, praying she was unhurt.

  “Justus?” she groaned, voice slurred.

  “Come to me,” he said. “Let us leave this place. Hurry.”

  She lifted herself on her elbows and blinked at him hazily, eyes dilated and confused.

  Justus rounded on the doctor. “You drugged her.”

  “She was hysterical,” he protested.

  “I should kill you,” Justus growled before turning back to Bethany. “Come to me,” he repeated. If he put down the blunderbuss, he had no doubt that the louts behind him would tackle him. Not that it wouldn’t be easy to dispense with them, but it was imperative that these idiot humans believed him to be a mortal.

  Bethany grasped the padded wall and tried to pull herself to her feet, but fell back to her knees. “I’m so dizzy and my limbs won’t obey me.”

  “You must try,” he said, willing her to have strength.

  Inch by painful inch, she crawled towards him as Justus backed into the doorway of the cell so he could keep an eye on the doctor and his cohorts while she reached him. When he felt her delicate fingers grasp his leg, he knelt and scooped her up with one arm. The angle was awkward, but he cursed under his breath at how light and frail Bethany felt in his grip. Had they starved her here as well?

  Another set of footsteps clattered down the hall.

  “Doctor,” an irritated voice called from around the corner. “What in the bloody hell is going on? This place sounds like a, well... madhouse.” A wiry, rat-faced man came into view. His eyes bulged out of his sockets at the sight of Justus holding Bethany, armed with the blunderbuss.

  But it was Bethany’s reaction that made him take note of the newcomer. “Greeves,” she whimpered with a cringe and clung tighter to Justus.

  “He’s the one who was going to assault you when the doctor left town?” Justus snarled. He pointed the weapon at Greeves. “I’ll kill him!”

  “No!” Bethany cried out the same time as the doctor gasped.

  “What do you mean assault?” The doctor narrowed his gaze at Greeves.

  Justus looked between the doctor, Greeves, and Bethany.

  “I’d kill him myself,” she whispered, “but then we’d be wanted for murder.”

  Justus sighed. She was right. However, there was a way to at least ensure this worm never harmed another patient again. Capturing Greeves’s gaze, he commanded, “Tell the doctor what you do to his patients when he is not around.”

  Greeves flinched like a whipped cur and launched into a sordid confession, his chin wobbling like a jelly mold. The things he said he’d done to defenseless people made the doctor suck in a breath and inflamed Justus’s urge to kill him even more.

  The doctor recovered first. “You will leave this place at once! You’re relieved from your position here and you will not receive a reference.”

  “But Doctor Keene,” Greeves protested. “Don’t you need my assistance with this man holding you at gunpoint?”

  “Never mind that.” Keene actually sounded bored. “Since he is not willing to kill you, I assume I am quite safe. The authorities will be searching for him at once at any rate.”

  While that was true, Justus planned on leaving the area so fast that they’d be long gone before the constable made it to the asylum to hear Keene’s tale. And with any luck, they’d be safe in Cornwall before the story was printed in the papers.

  Still, nervousness churned in his gut and he resisted the urge to reach up and make certain that no stray red hairs had escaped his woolen cap.

  Just then, a sharp point dug into his neck. Justus seized Keene’s hand before the doctor could depress the plunger of the syringe. Bones crunched beneath his grasp, making Keene cry out like an injured rabbit.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” Justus snarled.

  “H-how did you move so quickly?” Keene cried, clutching his broken hand.

  Damn! Justus cursed inwardly and lied. “I’m an accomplished fencer.”

  The woman called Bronson glared at Justus before turning to the doctor to examine his hand. “You foolish man. Now we’ll have to summon a bonesetter along with the constable.”

  Justus decided that was their prompt to leave. “We’ll be going now.” He adjusted his grip on Bethany and slowly headed down the corridor. The guards shrank back, and Greeves suddenly remembered that he’d been sacked and scurried off in the opposite direction.

  Keeping hold of the blunderbuss, he carried Bethany down the endless flights of stairs as fast as possible while still trying to appear human. One of the guards and a few servants lurked in the corners of the main floor, but they did not try to stop him as he took his precious love out the broken front door.

  The gate squealed open after a swift kick to the rusting iron and as he crossed the threshold, Bethany looked up at the moon and laughed. “I’m free. I cannot believe it. Lord in heaven, please don’t let this be a dream.”

  He paused to press a kiss to her forehead. “No dream, I promise. You will never have to go back to that place again.” He then carried her to the cluster of bushes where he’d hidden his pack. Still maintaining hold of Bethany with one arm, he slid the blunderbuss into the pack and then switched her to his other arm to get the straps over his shoulders. Then, cradling her with both arms at last, he sighed at the feel of her. “Hold onto me tightly. We’re going to run faster than we did the first time.”

  She complied, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist, making him bite back a groan of desire at her softness pressing against his groin.

  When he took off, her breath hitched near his ear. They covered the ground in a blur of motion, dodging trees and boulders. Bethany trembled at the furious speed, but there was nothing to be done for it. They had to get as far away from Manchester as possible.

  As if conjured by the thought, a shout echoed behind him, followed by the sound of pursuit at the same pace he ran. The Manchester vampires had spotted him.

  But the border was only a few kilometers away. If he could elude them a little longer, they’d be in Cheshire and out of their reach. And hopefully there were no Cheshire vampires about. Silently praying to whatever deity favored damned souls like his, Justus mustered every ounce of strength his last feeding had given him, and quickened his stride.

  The Manchester vampires drew closer, until Justus swore he could feel their breath on the back of his neck.

  “He’s got a human!” one of them shouted.

  “Hurry up then, before he gets away!”

  Lungs heaving, Justus kept running, willing his body to move even faster. A tree branch whipped his cheek, slicing a burning gash, but still he pressed on. The road turning to Cheshire came into view and he focused on it like it was a beacon in the darkness.

  Just as he sensed that one of the vampires was about to lunge for him, he crossed the border. The Manchester vampires cursed. According to
Rochester’s spies, the Lord of Cheshire despised the Lord of Manchester and forbade any of his vampires from entering. Justus prayed that would continue to work to his advantage, but there was likely no hope that the Cheshire vampires would be any kinder to him. Thankfully, he didn’t sense any of them around.

  Though his chest burned, Justus did not dare slow down. Eyes darting around for shelter, he continued his punishing dash even though the Manchester vampires had given up their chase. After four more miles, he saw piles of old stone ruins.

  “Thank you, God,” he breathed. It was an old church razed in one of England’s countless wars. Which meant there would be a cellar, maybe a crypt.

  Ducking under the crumbling arch, he searched until he found a stairwell at the far end of what used to be the south transept, almost completely buried in rubble.

  “Bethany,” he whispered. “Can you stand a moment? I need to clear the way.”

  She murmured, but didn’t stir. The drugs still held sway over her.

  As gently as possible, Justus laid her on the floor and set to moving chunks of charred wood and broken marble out of the stairwell. When the path was clear, he lifted her and carried her down.

  Even with his preternatural vision, the chamber below was almost too dark to see. Hopefully, that meant the sunlight would not penetrate. And to his further optimism, he did not detect the slightest scent of another vampire, or any living being, for that matter.

  “Justus?” Bethany’s teeth chattered in his ear as she spoke. “It’s so dark in here. And so cold.”

  Concern squeezed his heart. It had to be pitch black to her. Focusing his vision, he looked around until he saw the vague outline of a slab and what looked like catacombs. It was a crypt, thank heavens. He carried her to the slab and brushed off the dust, grateful that there weren’t any bones on the marble surface.