Page 71 of Wynter's Bite

The vampire considered them in silence for a few moments before he sighed. “Well, her health won’t be improved lingering out in the open where the Somerset vampires can pounce. Come with me. There’s a no-man’s land at the coast about a mile. I have a shelter where she can rest and we can get a better look at her.”

“Thank you,” Justus said gratefully. He then looked down and stared so hard into Bethany’s eyes that she started to take a step back, but froze, trapped in his gaze. “Sleep,” he said softly.

She fell into his arms, darkness, pain and fragmented nightmares taunting her.

When she awoke, she lay in Justus’s lap in a cave that smelled of saltwater. The other rogue vampire sat beside them, next to a crackling fire, doing something with his shoulder.

“Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he said and extended his hand. “I’m Rhys Berwyn, formally of Manchester until my lord exiled me. Your husband has been telling me of your escape from the lunatic asylum.”

Bethany blinked in surprise. Justus had remained close-mouthed to everyone else regarding where she came from. She gave him a cautious nod and cringed when her neck throbbed.

“And I presume they drugged you there?” he inquired and flinched as he dug into his upper arm with what looked like a pair of pliers.

She frowned at his strange action, but didn’t pry. “Yes. Doctor Keene had a special tonic that tasted horrid and made me dizzy. I hated it.”

“But you want it,” he said flatly.

Revulsion prickled her arms. “No, I don’t!” And yet she remembered her dreams of Morningside, and her eagerness for the medicine. Doubt clouded her head, increasing her anxiety.

“You’re opium-sick, Lady de Wynter,” Rhys said. “I’ve seen plenty of it in my mortal days when I was a sailor on a trading expedition into the Orient, and you display all the signs: the shaking, sweating, bursts of temper, aches and complaints. You may not have been fond of the Doctor’s tonic, which likely contained laudanum, but your body became accustomed to it and demands more.” He dug the pliers deeper and pulled out a leaden ball with a groan of pain.

Bethany gaped at him. “You were shot?”

“Such is the fate of highwaymen. Fortunately, I heal faster than most.” He dropped the lead ball on the floor and withdrew a little brown bottle from his pocket. After taking a drink, he passed it to her. “Take a small sip, and your suffering will calm. You need to be weaned from the drug.”

She opened her mouth to refuse, but her hand reached for the bottle of its own volition and brought it to her mouth. The oh so familiar bitterness made her shudder even as an aching nostalgia and blinding relief washed over her. She passed Rhys the bottle, wanting it as far away from her as possible, but he handed it to Justus.

“I do not understand how this is possible,” Bethany said. Was it her imagination, or did the ache in her bones seem less severe? “I wasn’t drugged every day. Besides, I’m certain I would have suffered from the addiction sooner. It’s been seven nights since Justus rescued me from Morningside.” Doubt imbued her own words, since she had experienced tremors, aches and mild stomach upset ever since they left.

Rhys shrugged. “How often were you drugged when you were in that place?”

“About once a week. Sometimes more if the doctor decided I was ‘overstimulated,’ as he called it.” Foul memories of being denied the simplest comforts in life flashed before her eyes.

“Once a week is enough to do it,” Rhys said. “Your body is on a clock. That’s why you felt fine for the last few nights. Then, when you didn’t receive the good doctor’s tonic as scheduled, your body and mind made the disruption known.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t really felt exactly right, but still, those nights had been nothing close to the torment she’d endured this evening. Even more disturbing was that the truth of Rhys’s words became more apparent by the moment. The laudanum was making her feel better, giving her mind and body the calm that Doctor Keene always insisted upon. And devil take her, she wanted more.

Justus stroked her hair. “God, what I’d do to go back and put my fist through that bloody doctor’s teeth. Locking you up and depriving you of books wasn’t enough for him. He had to force opium sickness upon you too.”

She nodded in grim agreement. “I’d like to put that blunderbuss to use.” As the implications of her malady sank in, worry pulsed through her veins as she glanced back at Rhys. “Is it permanent?”

The rogue vampire shook his head. “No, and your escape from the asylum was the first and most important step for the cure. I’ve given your husband the rest of my laudanum, but you had best try not to ask for it for a few days. Go as long as you can without it, and soon enough, your body will forget about it if given the chance.”

Justus looked down at Bethany with pained eyes, though he spoke to Rhys. “Why couldn’t my blood cure her?”

Rhys shrugged, then winced as the movement irritated his wounded shoulder. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to do very much for addictions. I met a vampire who was a drunkard in his mortal days and fed his thirst by feeding off other drunkards. I knew another who smoked opium.”

The subject was much too depressing for Bethany. She changed the subject. “What made you decide to be a highwayman?”

“My mortal descendants are in danger of losing the family farm,” Rhys said. “So I rob from the aristocracy and give it to my poor family so they can pay the outrageous mortgage that my great grand-nephew took out on the property to support his wastrel lifestyle.”

“Oh, how terrible!” Bethany said, then realized she could be misconstrued. “About your family, that is. But how wonderful that you still look out for them. You’re like Robin Hood.”

Rhys laughed. “All I need is my Maid Marianne.”

“I am certain you shall find her someday.” Bethany liked this vampire. He had an irascible charm, and a kind heart.

“Lord, I hope not.” Rhys said with a look of mock horror. “Aside from women naturally being trouble, and I mean that in the kindest way possible, I have no desire to endanger myself nor anyone else with my situation in life. De Wynter here may not be an infamous criminal like I am, but he is a rogue all the same and you, my dear are a fugitive. I do not think I could bear the difficulties you both are enduring.”

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