Page 52 of Wynter's Bite

He shook his head. “No. You are soaked to the skin. I don’t want you to fall ill. Besides, you can’t see out there.”

Her lower lip thrust out mutinously, but she didn’t argue. Justus went back out in the rain, and between foraging for dry wood, he also found a dried out well he could burrow inside to hide from the sun’s deadly rays.

That would mean leaving Bethany alone for the day, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Returning to the hovel, he built a meager fire.

“You should take off that wet cloak,” he told her, willing the small flames to grow.

She did so, hanging the sodden garment from a splintered beam. “And you should feed from me.”

With the cloak unfastened, her throat gleamed smooth and succulent in the firelight. Hunger roiled in his belly as he licked his fangs.

“I won’t.” The words came out more hesitant than he’d have liked.

She crossed the room and placed her hands on his shoulders, rising up on her toes. “But you must. You’re hungry and your strength is flagging.”

God, she smelled so good and sweet. Memories of the last time he fed from her haunted him, mercilessly. His upper lip peeled back of its own volition, revealing his fangs. Biting back a growl, he gently pushed her back. “I said no. I can find other food. A rat, an owl, maybe a deer.”

Her lips twisted in revulsion. “A rat?”

Face hot with embarrassment, he nodded stiffly. “One does what one needs to survive.”

Bethany’s gaze softened. “I realize that, but truly, you don’t have to resort to rodents. I’m right here.”

“I don’t want to drain you.” His hunger was so fierce that his eyes tracked her like prey, saliva filling his mouth at the thought of her taste. “Now get back near the fire and dry off. I’ll see if there’s a stream or pond nearby to refill the water skin.”

She nodded sullenly and withdrew a radish from the pack. “Will you fill that with water as well?” She pointed to a chipped and dusty crock in the corner. “I may be able to boil the turnips.”

Justus looked at the ancient thing doubtfully. Would it even hold water? But she looked so pitiful that he couldn’t refuse her again. “Of course.”

Before temptation overwhelmed him, Justus left the crude shelter and went out into the rainy night. Through the patter of raindrops, he did indeed detect the gurgle of a nearby stream. At last, something went right this night. Even better, he found a doe drinking from the moonlit water. No rats after all.

He set down the crock and was on the deer in a flash. Since he was unable to bespell it with his gaze, the damned creature bucked and kicked like a wild stallion, but Justus held tight and sank his fangs into its furry throat, drinking long and deep.

When Justus released the doe, she remained still and trembling before cautiously hobbling away, as if unable to believe she’d lived. Too bad he and Bethany lacked the time and resources to smoke and transport the meat, else he’d have butchered the deer. He did hope he hadn’t weakened the poor creature so it would be taken down by a wolf, but he’d needed the meal. It wasn’t enough to fully restore his strength. Only human blood provided all the nutrients his kind required, but he still felt ten times better than he had after fleeing from the Cheshire vampires.

Were they in Shrewsbury yet? He tried to calculate how far they’d traveled as he washed the dirty crock in the stream before filling it, surprised the vessel did not leak.

After filling the water skin and walking a quarter mile circle around Bethany’s shelter, he had no answer as to their whereabouts, but he did at least see what looked like a path to civilization off in the distance. Hopefully a town or even a small village.

When he returned to Bethany, the sky was already growing lighter. He watched her lifting her feet one in turn to dry her stockings by the fire and wanted nothing more than to curl up against her warmth. Damn these shortening nights. Dawn would come in little more than an hour.

“I cannot sleep with you this day,” he said as he handed her the crock of water.

Her head tilted to the side, disappointment glittering in her eyes. “You can’t?”

He spread his arms helplessly. “There is no shelter from the sun in here.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “Can’t you find another cave?”

Justus tried to hide his equal disappointment. What he would give to “There are none nearby and it’s nearly dawn. I found a dried up well. I can burrow in there.” He thought of the doe he’d fed on and the possibility of wolves, those on four legs as well as two. “Don’t stray far from the cabin and keep the blunderbuss close.” He found a rotting chair in the corner and ripped it to pieces, providing both firewood and an outlet to his frustration. “Keep the fire well fed.”

She nodded and took the blanket from the pack. His heart ached to know that she’d spend a miserable day sleeping on a hard floor in damp clothes. Worry gnawed at him at the feverish glaze in her eyes. Though the rain had chilled her, surely she couldn’t have fallen ill so quickly. Then the obvious became apparent. She was likely suffering a bit of a shock from being returned to the world. After years of isolation, all this fresh air, the bustle of encountering other people and villages and enduring such a hazardous journey had to have jarred her senses.

Before he did something foolish, like carry her to the well, he bent down and kissed her. “I will see you at dusk.”

He would do better tomorrow, he vowed. His Bethany would not spend another night or day in a mouldering crypt or wretched hovel. She wouldn’t be raiding a garden for radishes and wanting to boil turnips either. Somehow, some way, he would secure a full hot meal and a warm bed for her.

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