Page 70 of Wynter's Bite

She nodded, embarrassed at making such a goose of herself. The shivers and sweats were probably just a reaction to dreaming about Morningside. Revulsion filled her as she recalled her ludicrous happiness to see Keene and his horrid tonic.

Bethany made her way up the stairs, her heart sad that Justus couldn’t accompany her. A measure of her melancholy ebbed when she once more laid eyes on the tall Maplewood shelves filled with leather backed books and gilded spines. She browsed each section, searching for Medieval verses and tales she’d always held so dear. When she came upon a copy of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, she held the volume to her breast, savoring its weight. Then, to her delight, she saw a copy of Chaucer’s Book of the Duchess. Long ago, Justus had said that was his favorite.

She wished she could take more books, but knew they couldn’t carry that many. When she returned to the cellar, Justus read her regret.

“Don’t worry, my love. Soon we will have our own library.” The determination in his eyes refuted any doubt, despite the tenuousness of their situation.

“Which one shall we read?” she asked, handing him the books.

His face lit with delight at the copy of Book of the Duchess. “Let’s save this one for a better time and read Sir Gawain. It has been so many years since I’ve read that one.”

“And I as well,” she replied, though for her it had only been a decade while he could have meant a whole century.

They took turns reading and Bethany fidgeted in her seat, trying to focus on the story and not the alternating bouts of pain and restlessness. Alarm creeped over her like a shadow. What was wrong with her?

Justus closed the book and cocked his head to the side, peering at her with a frown. “You haven’t paid attention to the last two pages I’ve read.”

“Yes, I have!” she argued in a shrewish tone that made her clap her hand over her mouth in shock. This wasn’t her. If Doctor Keene had heard her he would have sent her straight to her room with a dram of his tonic. She salivated even as a deep ache gnawed at her bones and tore at her belly.

“You’re suffering.” He stood and packed the book in one of their satchels. “Whatever this malady is, my blood isn’t helping. The sun has set. Let us go and we’ll see if we can rouse a doctor for you.”

“No doctor.” She shook her head. “You said that it would be too dangerous. I’m likely just overwhelmed with yesterday’s unpleasantness. I’m sure I’ll be all right once we’re well on our way.”

“You’re suffering.” His implacable gaze refuted any lies.

“Oh Justus,” she whimpered as another flare of pain roared through her body. “It hurts! My bones hurt, my stomach is roiling, and I feel so desperate, but I don’t know why.”

He sighed and held out his hand, pulling her to her feet when her fingers intertwined with his. “I will feed and then I will find help for you. Somehow.”

She hated the worry in his face. She’d been so proud of herself for rescuing him and now she needed him to save her yet again. Would she ever be strong and capable again?

On shaking legs, she followed him up the stairs and out of the book shop, casting the place one last longing glance. If only she hadn’t been feeling so wretched she could have enjoyed its wonders more fully.

Before she could protest, Justus lifted her in his arms and ran. The wind on her cheeks burned at his urgent speed and her stomach heaved. When at last he stopped in the next town, she bit back a sob of relief.

Justus set her down at the mouth of a crooked alley, where a drunkard was relieving himself against the crumbling brick wall. She swayed like she was drunk herself as Justus launched himself on the man, bespelling him and drinking deeply. She barely had the time to gather her bearings before he lifted her and they were off again.

He ran for another mile before Bethany dug her nails in his arm. “Stop, please.”

He halted immediately in a hay field and the world tilted and dipped before her eyes. When he put her down, she cast up her accounts.

“My God,” Justus whispered. “You’ve gotten worse.”

“I know,” she admitted miserably. “I hurt all over.”

He reached for her. “We need to—”

“What do we have here?” a voice rang out.

Bethany froze in dread as a vampire emerged from the shadows. He was dressed all in black and a rakish slouch hat covered his head. “A rogue and a drunken wench cavorting in a hay field. Now that is a sight. Though I think she’s imbibed overmuch on the spirits.”

“I’m not drunk,” Bethany snapped, humiliated as well as afraid.

“Please,” Justus said. “She is ill. I need to find a doctor to help her. Leave us be and we will leave your lord’s territory.”

The vampire stepped closer. “Lucky for you, I have no lord. I’m a rogue, same as you.” His nostrils flared and he frowned. “She doesn’t smell of illness. Not of drink, either.”

Justus sighed. “I know.”

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