Page 50 of Wynter's Bite

Chapter Twenty

Justus couldn’t stop glancing at Bethany as they walked through the dark, sleepy village, an ache burrowing deep in his heart every time he beheld her beloved face and form. The memory of her reaction to his insistence that they wed echoed in his mind, a relentless litany of rejection. True, she hadn’t outright rejected him, but after years of imagining their wedding, the night he would at last be joined to her, physically and emotionally, her blatant uncertainty and wish to wait still stung and filled him with fear. What if after they became reacquainted, as she wished, she then decided she no longer loved him?

Another thought speared his soul like an icicle. What if she already no longer loved him?

As if sensing his turmoil, Bethany looked up at him, tenderness and trust radiating in her blue eyes. He forced a smile and took a deep breath. Her reasons for delaying wedlock were indeed practical. For now, he had no way of securing a special license to permit a legal nighttime ceremony and dismiss with reading the banns, and Gretna Green was in the opposite direction of their destination. Besides, what kind of wedding could they have on the run? Surely she deserved better than a covert ceremony and a quick dash to some cellar or crypt to spend their wedding night.

His shoulders slumped. She deserved so much more than he was able to offer her.

But at least he’d freed her from that dreadful asylum. Her talk of hours in a cell, deprived of books and company, made him want to run back to Manchester and dash that mad doctor’s brains into the wall. How strong she must have been, to suffer such isolation and deprivation and not have her mind broken.

His lips curled in a self-deprecating sneer. And here he was, sulking because she hadn’t leaped for joy at the prospect of rushing to the altar. Of course she needed time to grow accustomed to the world around her after her long imprisonment. He was an ass of gargantuan proportions. Hell, he hadn’t even thought to fetch her shoes or food before breaking her free from the asylum.

At least that catastrophe had been rectified. She wore sturdy shoes, and while she was in the bath, Justus had fed on a barmaid before dashing out back and stealing clothes from the wash line outside of what looked like a prosperous home. He’d then played a quick game of cards with a group of merchants in the back room of the inn and now had a few pounds to be able to buy more food. Stealing was easy, but it came with too much danger. Do it too often, and even the dimmest human would realize something was amiss. Not only that, but taking from others usually left a bad taste in his mouth. Who knew if a person had been reduced to their last shilling? But using his preternatural senses to best men at the gambling table? That never so much as pricked his conscience. Only fools played hazard with their coin over a silly deck of cards.

As if reading his mind, Bethany gazed up at him. “Where did these clothes come from?”

He chuckled and told her the tale.

Her eyes widened. “How did you do that so fast?”

“You’ve seen how fast I can be.” He grinned. “Now our next goal is to find shelter before dawn, so we shall have to run once we’re away from town.”

She sighed. “And I was so enjoying walking on my own.” Suddenly, she frowned. “Were you able to feed?”

He nodded, but didn’t tell her that ideally he should feed once more before dawn. That was another challenge of being a rogue. Balancing the need to hunt with finding safe shelter. He prayed the next place he found would be better than a crypt.

Thankfully, it was. An old cave whose previous inhabitant, some sort of animal, had long since vacated. After inspecting it to make certain it went deep enough to avoid the light, Justus led Bethany inside and quickly built a fire before going back out and gathering soft grass and moss to make a bed of sorts.

“I could have done that,” she told him as she laid the blanket on the nest he’d built.

“No need for you to dirty your hands,” Justus said, pleased that she looked far more comfortable than the previous evening, no longer shivering. “I enjoy caring for you.”

Something flashed in her eyes before she gave him a tremulous smile. “Thank you.” She removed the water skin from his pack and took a drink before removing the sandwiches he’d made her, the blunderbuss, and other objects that hindered the pack’s use as a pillow. “We are still heading south?”

Justus nodded and built up the fire. “We should reach Shrewsbury tomorrow. That should place us a third of the way to Cornwall, though I wonder if it would be safer to cross into Wales for a time, despite the delay that could cause. The nights are growing shorter, so I hope for us to be settled before June.”

“I hope for us to be settled at all.” Bethany’s gaze hardened on the fire before softening when she looked back at him. “Tell me about your time as a rogue.”

He took a deep breath and answered carefully, acknowledging the dangers of pursuit, while interlacing his tale with amusing incidents and sights he’d seen on his travels, such as the time he’d come across a troupe of travelling actors stranded in the mud and spent an evening helping them free their carriage while they all took turns acting out A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and an incident where he’d blackmailed a vampire who he’d seen visiting another territory without a writ of passage.

As he sensed the deadly approach of sunrise, Bethany patted the blanket beside her. “Lay beside me?”

Justus regarded her a moment. Her hair lay across his pack, gleaming gold in the firelight. Those large blue eyes glittered with an exquisite blend of warmth and intelligence. And her figure, he’d tried not to notice it, but now that she was garbed in that form-fitting dress, his gaze would not stop trailing over her body. Bethany’s curves had rounded further in some areas and slimmed in others since she was a maid of seventeen. At twenty-five, they’d become sculpted, the epitome of womanhood. Though she was much too thin from her imprisonment.

Desire roared through him in a blazing inferno. Memories of those soft curves pressed against him last morning, her tender kisses, and the potent scent of her arousal made his cock harden with need.

It had been agony not to make love to her then. But what kind of a monster would he be to ravish a maiden in the ruins of a crypt or a dark cave? He wanted their first joining, and every joining thereafter to be perfect.

Though the temptation was excruciating, Justus was helpless in the face of her soft plea. Unable to deny the pleasure of holding her, he lay down next to her and pulled her into his arms, breathing a sigh at the warmth of her body. They spoke in hushed tones before drifting off to sleep.

Justus’s rest was broken and plagued with worry. Not for the first time did he wonder if Cornwall was the best course. The Lord Vampire there was often called the “Devil Earl” by mortals, and “Mad Deveril” by vampires across the British Isles.

Had Gavin been right in recommending Justus go to such a vampire for solace? Alas, he and Bethany had no other option. At least Cornwall was a coastal region with many ships that could carry them away. That would open a whole new set of challenges, but he didn’t want to think that far ahead unless he had to.

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