Page 43 of Wynter's Bite

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.

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