by Brooklyn Ann
The vampire named Jacob, who Justus gathered to be Ridley’s second in command, approached with a glowing red poker. From scenting his power, it seemed he was younger than Justus, but that didn’t matter so long as Justus was restrained.
Ridley took the poker with a smile like an eager child receiving a sweet from the cook. “I’m going to give you one more chance to do this the easy way. “Where were you taking the woman?”
“It is not of your concern,” Justus said as mildly as if they were discussing the weather over tea. He doubted Ridley even cared what he was doing with Bethany in the first place. Likely he just wanted an excuse to torture him. But he wouldn’t tell in case Ridley decided to go after Bethany.
Blazing pain exploded in his side, the smell of burnt fabric and charred flesh making his gorge rise. If he’d had a substantial breakfast, he would have cast up his accounts. Justus gritted his teeth against the agony, refusing to give Ridley the satisfaction of a scream.
Ridley frowned, as if his metaphorical sweet lacked sugar. “Did you not understand the question, rogue? Where were you taking her?”
Again, Justus remained silent and again, Ridley seared him like a side of beef.
“Maybe next I’ll have to burn your pretty face,” Ridley snarled, though his eyes shone with delight at the notion. “Let’s try another question, shall we? Is the woman truly the daughter of the Baron of Wickshire?”
Having no reason to lie, he nodded. “Yes, but they have been estranged. However, fathers always have a soft spot for their daughters, so I’m quite sure he would be very vexed if any harm came to her.
Ridley pursed his narrow lips, as if considering arguing and deciding on another course. “And neither father nor daughter know what you are?”
“No.” It was only a half lie.
“I don’t believe you.” Ridley pressed the poker to Justus’s cheek, but it was only warm. Still, Justus flinched reflexively. The squire grinned. “We’ll have to continue this discussion tomorrow. It is past my meal time and I have more important affairs to attend to.” Once more, he grasped the locket.
“Please,” Justus croaked. “Let me keep it.”
Ridley’s lips twisted in a mocking smirk and for a moment he looked as if he would yank the locket from Justus’s neck, but then he let it drop back beneath Justus’s shirt. “Very well. I suppose I can wait to collect it from your corpse later.”
When Justus was left alone in the dark cell, he slumped in his chains with mingled relief and despair. Though his torment had ended, the reprieve was only temporary. Tomorrow, Ridley would begin torturing him in earnest. And since the vampire was seeking information on Bethany that Justus would die before revealing, he would endure pain greater than he could possibly imagine.
Drowning in desperation, Justus tugged and twisted in his shackles, looking for the slightest increment of yield. His heart sank the longer the shackles held. Ridley may not have put forth much effort in upkeep for his dungeon as Gavin did, but he clearly spared no expense with his restraints. A pity, because the bars of his cell appeared rusted and weak enough to snap.
Hopelessness settled over him like a leaden shroud. Torture and death awaited him tomorrow at nightfall, and he would never see Bethany again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bethany jerked the reins, cursing the mule who’d stopped yet again to nibble on the grass. Irritation and anger roared through her being, and it took every vestige of her will not to take it out on the animal. But if the beast kept at this rate, it would be dark before she arrived at Ridley house. Sweat poured down her back. The homespun gown she wore was too thick for the May sun, though perfect for the cool nights. Her whole body ached from her trek to find Justus and her dash back to the inn. Her eyes burned with lack of sleep, and there was an odd burning sensation in the back of her throat. But her jaw clenched with determination. She would save Justus as he’d saved her— or die trying.
She reached into the satchel beside her and withdrew a roll to nibble on. It taken all the coins in Justus’s purse as well as her nicest gown to purchase the rickety cart and cantankerous mule who’d likely been put out to pasture a year or more ago. But there was no help for it. She needed this cart, along with the battered trunk inside that she’d recovered from an alley.
Eventually, Ridley House came into view, much smaller than it had seemed in the darkness last night. It sat almost hunched and aloof from its neighbors, like a child wanting to sit at the dining room table with its elders. Such was often the case with squires, to hear her father talk of them.
The lowest ranking of the peerage, squires were often either kowtowing sycophants or stuffy prigs who hid their insecurities about their status with snobbery. Looking at the hideous gilded architecture, Bethany expected the latter, especially since this particular squire was the Lord Vampire of an entire county. What power he lacked among humans, he likely wielded like a club amongst his own kind.
She urged the mule around the back to the servants’ entrance, securing the cart as close to the door as possible. Her foolhardy plan depended on so many unconcluded variables, the main being that like Justus said most vampires tended to do, Ridley likely had few servants to lessen the chances of humans learning his secret.
The mule cropped at a clump of overgrown weeds, lending hope to her supposition. A decent gardener would have cleared those out. Swinging Justus’s satchel over her shoulder, she dropped down from her perch on the wagon and strode to the door.
Keeping one hand on the satchel, she pounded on the door. A stooped, elderly cook answered and blinked at her myopically.
“I ’ave a delivery for Squire Ridley,” Bethany said, trying to fake a Cockney accent.
“What is it?”
“Mead,” she said, and gestured to the trunk. “If you or a footman can help me carry it down to the wine cellar, I’d be most obliged.”
The cook pursed her lips. “I didn’t receive any word that the Squire was expecting any mead.”
“Ah, that is because he won it at cards the other night,” Bethany recited her prepared excuse. “Do tell him that my master apologizes for the delay.”
“And who is your master?”
Bethany bit back a groan of impatience. If this woman refused to get out of the way, she just might have to box her ears. “Mr. Bingley, the owner of the Duck and Barrel.” If anyone was likely to play cards and gamble mead, it would be the proprietor of the inn she’d stayed at. She’d been certain to gather up all the local gossip about who was whom in the area before setting out on her mission.
For a tense moment, the cook remained silent before she finally nodded. “I’ll get Ames to help you unload that thing. You’ll have to take a handle, though. He has bad knees and cannot manage on his own.”
Bethany blinked and suppressed a wry smile at how different women in the lower classes were treated compared to her idle, sheltered upbringing. They were expected to do actual work, be useful for more than overseeing households, hosting parties, and birthing heirs. And though her aching muscles protested the prospect of bearing more weight, a giddy delight teased her senses. She would handle Justus’s rescue with her own hands and the strength of her back.
Though if the servants grew hostile… She shook away the impending dread and remorse. It was too late to go back now.
When the footman emerged and helped her unload the trunk, Bethany saw that poor old Ames had more than bad knees. His hands shook with palsy, making her writhe with guilt for what she may have to do even more unbearable.
They carried the trunk down into the wine cellar. Bethany’s shoulders ached with the strain and her own hands shook. She’d filled the trunk with stones to give it weight, but it would be even heavier on her way out. Once down in the cellar, she strode toward a thick door reinforced with iron.
A trembling hand fell on her shoulder. “We’re never supposed to go in there,” Ames said.
Bethany sighed and pulled the blunderbuss from the satchel. “I’m very s
orry, but I must. Now, please open the door. I truly do not wish to hurt you.”
Ames jerked away from her like she’d burned him, his jaw gaping like a fish’s. His hands shaking like windblown leaves, he fumbled with the locks and catches on the door. Once it swung open, he unbelievably scurried back to Bethany’s side, as if she would protect him from what lay ahead. And perhaps she would.
“Bring the lantern,” she ordered, before plunging into the dark passage.
The servant’s quivering hands shook so hard the light flickered like angry lightning. Bethany hoped her own tremors wouldn’t return. Still, she made out the unmistakable shape of barred cells lining the walls.
Ames’s shuddering breathing echoed in the damp stone walls. “We’re not supposed to be in here,” he wailed in a feeble, thin voice. “I don’t even know what’s down here. Only that it is forbidden.”
“Hush,” she said, turning the blunderbuss toward him, though not having the heart to aim it. “If you’re not supposed to know, you should be able to plead ignorance of this entire matter. Light these cells, please.”
Ames shuffled closer, his wobbling light steadying enough for her to see an achingly familiar glint of red from the depths of one of the dank cells.
“Justus!” she whispered loudly, shuffling forward.
He hung from shackles on the wall, his head resting on his chest in what must be an uncomfortable angle.
Ames gasped behind her, clearly not expecting to find a dungeon beneath his master’s forbidden door.
“Do you have the keys?” Bethany asked without much hope.
The elderly footman shook his head. “I told you, Miss, we’re not permitted back here! What is this place? Is it some sort of prison? Or is the Squire like the Marquis de Sade?”
Bethany cursed under her breath. How in the devil was she supposed to unlock the cell door? Much less the shackles?
“Bethany?” Justus lifted his head and peered at her with groggy, unfocused eyes. He was often lethargic like this during their days together, but she still couldn’t fight off a pang of worry that his captors had tortured him. “W-what are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to rescue you,” she said flatly.
A bubble of laughter escaped his lips. “Maybe you are mad. Please, leave this place before they find you as well. Go to Cornwall… to the Earl of—”
Justus cursed as another door slammed open and one of the vampires who’d captured Justus strode out, looking cross, yet also bleary-eyed. “What in bloody hell is going on here?” His eyes lit with recognition when he saw Bethany. “I knew you were wise to our kind. We should have taken you as well.”
Fear cascaded through her being like storm-tossed arctic waves. It was then that the full awareness of where she was doing struck her. She was under the roof of other vampires. Though she knew Justus would never hurt her, to the rest of his kind, she was food. Her basest instincts felt the vampire guard’s appraisal of her. He was a predator, she was prey.
But fear would not aid her in this mission. She brought back the alien anger that had taken residence in her soul and nurtured it.
Bethany aimed the blunderbuss at his chest. “Unlock him, or I will blast a hole in your heart.”
The vampire sneered. “Foolish human. Do you really believe you are fast or strong enough to stop me from wringing your neck?”
“I have people waiting for me,” Bethany said coolly. “If I have not returned with my cart in one hour, they will bring the constable here. I know the squire would not appreciate that sort of scrutiny.”
“The constable will find nothing here when I’m done with you.” The vampire charged, a blur of speed.
Bethany pulled the trigger of the blunderbuss.
The blast roared in her ears as she jolted backwards. Her head slammed against the stone floor, making white spots flare like exploding stars in her vision. Her breath left her battered lungs in a whoosh as smoke filled the air.
Her ears rang like church bells as she struggled to sit up. When the smoke dissipated, she saw the vampire lying on the floor, his chest a gaping wound of blood and viscera. And yet he still breathed.
“You killed him!” Ames squeaked. He sounded a hundred miles away, though she saw him cowering against another cell wall.
“He’ll likely live,” Justus said coldly from his prison. “Now fetch his keys. They are on his belt.”
Bethany crawled over to the sprawled vampire, her gorge rising in her throat at his injuries. She kept her weapon trained on him as she removed the ring of keys from his belt loop.
It took multiple tries to find the right key as Justus stared at Bethany as if she’d sprouted an extra head and Ames continued to cower in the corner, praying for salvation. No one else came charging down here, though surely someone upstairs had to have heard the shot.
Finally, the correct key slid into the lock, turning the rusty tumblers. Bethany pulled the cell door open and ran to her love. “Did they hurt you?”
“They were saving that particular pleasure for tonight,” he said as she once more tested keys in the locks on his shackles. “I cannot believe you’ve done this mad thing.”
“Why not?” she replied, sighing in relief as she found the right key. “You saved me. I am simply returning the favor.”
When she unlocked the shackles, Justus yanked his wrists from the restraints and pulled her into his arms. “I thought I’d never see you again. But it’s still daylight. I’m trapped here. You should leave before Ridley comes down.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Bethany said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve brought a trunk for you to hide in and a wagon to carry you.”
“A trunk?” Justus laughed as they walked out of the cell. “Well, that will have to do, I suppose.”
When they left the cell, the vampire Bethany had shot glared at them, his chest wound already healing. “You’ll never make it to Cornwall,” he snarled between gasps of pain. “And His Lordship will have you begging for death long before he grants your wish.”
Bethany and Justus ignored him and headed to the trunk, quickly removing the stones before Justus climbed in and she secured the clasps. Ames tried to protest helping her carry Justus, but Bethany convinced him with the blunderbuss.
“I’ll have to report this to the constable,” he huffed.
Justus knocked on the lid of the trunk, so Bethany opened it. “Your master would not appreciate the involvement of the law in his affairs. Of this, I swear. You would do better to give notice and find a master with less dangerous proclivities. And speaking of…” He fixed the elderly footman with his gaze. “You will help her carry this trunk and you will not tell anyone what happened down here. In fact, you will forget this whole ordeal as soon as your task is finished.”
“I will forget,” Ames repeated dully.
“Very good,” Justus said and closed himself back in the trunk.
With Bethany’s thin arms and Ames’s palsy, their progress with the trunk was slow and cumbersome. The vampire guard cursed behind them and Bethany breathed a sigh of relief as they closed the door to the hidden dungeon, silencing that vengeful voice and entering the safety of a shaft of sunlight bathing the cellar stairs. She hoped the crate was sealed tight and would not let any light in to burn Justus.
The servants gave them wide-eyed looks when they emerged, but at Ames’s quick shake of his head, they went back to their duties.
Once the trunk was loaded onto the cart, Bethany turned to Ames. “I truly am sorry I had to put you through such a disagreeable ordeal, but please believe me when I tell you that the man you helped me save was innocent of any crime.”
The old footman regarded her with a skeptical frown. “I do hope so, Miss, but either way, I’ll be glad to see the back of you.” With that he shambled back to the manor.
At first, the mule refused to move, but with some agitated coaxing, they were at last on their way.
After five long plodding miles, Bethany’s neck ache
d from craning around to look for pursuers. A deep ache throbbed in her throat, spreading to her chest, a maddening need for something, but aside from freedom, she didn’t know what.
She didn’t breathe again until they arrived in the next county.
Chapter Twenty-six
Justus sucked in a gulp of air as Bethany opened the trunk. Her face, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “My dashing rescuer.” He took her hand. “I owe you my life. How far have we gone?”
Her brilliant smile illuminated his soul. “We made it to Somerset.”
A measure of the tension in his jaw eased. They were safe from Ridley at least. “One more county to cross after this one.” He climbed out of the trunk, his muscles sore and stiff from being cramped in such a tight space. Exhaustion weighted his limbs and hunger chewed at his insides. Not to mention the burning pain in his side from being burned by Ridley’s poker. If he didn’t feed soon, the wounds would scar. He should be grateful for the slow healing, since that was the only thing keeping burnt linen from being permanently embedded in his flesh. As it was, he had to keep pulling his shirt from his wounds. The garment would have to come off at the soonest opportunity.
“Somerset?” He couldn’t hide his astonishment at the distance she’d covered with a mere cart. “You must have driven the mule all day.” The beast was now unhooked from the wagon and lying in the tall grass, idly cropping at the green blades.
She nodded and he noticed her ashen face and forgot about his own aches and weariness.
He could only imagine how Bethany felt after carrying out her daring rescue and then driving this rickety mule cart all day long.
“I wish we could run now, but we should find shelter close by.” Justus eyed the dark circles under Bethany’s eyes with concern. “You need to rest.”