Page 79 of The Highwayman's Bite

Berwyn Farm was lost to his family, Emily and her children would be tossed out into the cold, and Rhys would die in vain.

“I did it for love,” Rhys muttered. “Every bit of it.”

“Save your prattle for when I question you,” Aldric growled before he shoved Rhys into the luggage boot of his carriage.

Rhys closed his eyes and sighed with yearning as he detected a hint of Vivian’s scent. At least she’d been brought home safe. Had her uncle Changed her yet? Rhys doubted it, for there wouldn’t have been much time between the transformation and the first feeding before Aldric had tracked Rhys down and arrested him. Not to mention that Lord Thornton would have been weakened by the process. From how easily the vampire had restrained Rhys, he must have conserved his strength thus far.

When the carriage halted, Rhys was hauled outside. For the first time in his life, the sight of Thornton Manor did not inspire a sense of hatred. Instead, abject longing emanated from his heart like a beacon before a storm-swept ship. Rhys lifted his head and smelled the air, desperate to take in his last scent of Vivian. She was here, his senses screamed, and every cell of his being surged to break free and go to her. He caught Madame Renarde’s scent as well, faint, and not as sickly as before. Thank God Aldric hadn’t killed her. Vivian’s love would have twisted to loathing if he’d been responsible for the demise of her dearest friend. He looked up at the windows, wishing more than anything for one last glimpse of Vivian.

Aldric’s fingers clamped down on the back of his neck, breaking off Rhys’s search. “If you make a sound, I will forego your trial and put a bullet in your brain.”

A trial?A jagged laugh caught in Rhys’s throat. What was the point? He was guilty as sin. The Lord of Blackpool must be a stuffed shirt indeed to bother with such an empty formality. Unless, Rhys thought with dawning horror, Blackpool’s idea of a trial involved torture.

Yet still, Rhys did not struggle, for in case Vivian was peering through the window, he didn’t want her to see him killed right then and there.

Lord Thornton led him to a stone staircase at the rear of the house and hefted Rhys over his shoulder so suddenly, it knocked the wind out of Rhys’s lungs.

He carried Rhys down the steps with one arm as if he weighed no more than thistledown. Rhys probably could have struggled free, but the smell of a gun—no doubt holstered near Thornton’s free hand—told him what would happen if he tried.

Instead, Rhys remained still as Aldric unlocked an iron door and carried him into a pitch-black cellar. Even with preternatural sight, it was hard for Rhys to make out the details of his surroundings, though the creak of metal hinges was familiar enough.

Without warning, Aldric tossed Rhys across the room. Rhys’s back slammed against a solid wall and he grunted, the wind knocked out of him.

Stars danced before his eyes as he heard the strike of a match. Lord Thornton’s unforgiving features were illuminated as he lit a lantern outside the bars of the cell he’d tossed Rhys into. Rhys glanced around at the sturdy, stone walls and blinked in surprise at the sight of a pallet on the floor and the clean floor. Blackpool’s dungeon was far more comfortable than Manchester’s.

Still, Rhys noted the thick iron rings bolted into the ceiling, made for suspending a captive in the air. Comfort did not promise mercy.

Aldric reinforced the notion when he strode across the dungeon and opened a cabinet, pulling out a massive gun meant to shoot elephants on safari. He entered Rhys’s cell and aimed the gun at his chest. “Why were you exiled by your original lord?”

The question threw Rhys off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

“I am asking how you came to be a rogue,” Blackpool snapped from behind the enormous gun barrel.

Rhys leaned against the wall, unable to see why it mattered. “Because I continued to leave my lord’s territory without a writ of passage.”

Lord Thornton raised one eyebrow. “Why?”

“My great-grand niece needed me.” Rhys glared at the other vampire. “Her wastrel husband had mortgaged the family farm before cocking up his toes. I was giving her money so that she could stave off eviction. I thought you already knew this, being that you hold the mortgage and denied my application to move to Blackpool so that I could help her.”

“I’ve received dozens of applications over the last decade.” Aldric’s frown deepened. “I can only accept so many, since my territory can only safely sustain a limited number of vampires. If your disobedience was mentioned, or if you had no references to recommend you, I would have issued my standard rejection.”

Rhys’s former best friend, John, was supposed to have written a commending reference. Now Rhys realized that John had betrayed him. There could be no other explanation, as Rhys had obeyed his lord until his application to Blackpool had been denied. And now, Aldric’s indifferent tone rubbed further salt in the old wound. Rhys’s future and the fate of his family had been nothing but a jot of discarded paper to him.

“Who was your former lord anyway?” Thornton asked, oblivious to Rhys’s pain.

“Manchester,” Rhys spat the name. “Are you going to turn me over to him?” If so, then at least perhaps he could curse John to the lowest circle of hell before he was executed.

“And deprive myself of making you answer for your crimes against me?” Aldric snorted. “I think not.” He stalked around Rhys like an angry lion, keeping the elephant gun trained on him the entire time. “It is unfortunate that you chose robbery and extortion as your effort to help your family. Although I frown on disobedience, I would have been willing to listen to an appeal, and at the very least, granted your niece an extra year to catch up on her payments. I am not an unreasonable man.”

“How was I supposed to know that? You rejected my petition when I thought you knew that I had mortal kin in your territory who needed my help.” Rhys pulled at his chains. “You care for your family, why don’t you understand that I care for mine?”

Lord Thornton regarded him with an imperious glare. “If you truly cared for them, you would have done something other than extort the money needed from the very Lord Vampire who held the mortgage. A Lord Vampire who was bound to catch you in the end. Your spite won over your reason.” He pointed the gun like a wagging finger of condemnation. “Did you target me because you thought it clever to bilk me out of the money for a mortgage that I held, or was it out of anger that I denied your petition for citizenship?”

“Both.” The admission tore from his lips.

Crippling humiliation forced Rhys to his knees. Lord Thornton was right. Rhys’s pride and anger had made the choice to target the Lord Vampire of Blackpool for ransom money. If he’d set aside his anger for one moment, he would have chosen a safer course of action. Robbed a mortal nobleman, perhaps. Hell, he could have sneaked into one of London’s hallowed clubs and cheated a thick-pocketed earl in a game of cards.

But Lord Thornton wasn’t finished with his castigations. “And on top of all that, you forced my niece into our world, thus destroying any hope of a normal future for her. You defiled her body and broke her heart.”

“I did not rape her!” Rhys would not allow that untruthful abomination to be laid at his feet. “She gave herself to me willingly. If I could have wed her first, I would have gladly. I love her!”

Lord Thornton bared his fangs and growled. “The thought of a union between my precious Vivian and a low-born, thieving scoundrel like you makes me ill!” He strode toward Rhys, eyes glowing red with unholy wrath. “Bloody hell, I can still smell her on you.” The vampire closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, visibly struggling to collect himself. “I think I’ve questioned you enough. “I, Aldric Cadell, the Lord Vampire of Blackpool charge you, Rhys Berwyn, of kidnapping, extortion, theft, trespassing, and revealing the secrets of our kind.” Thornton pressed the gun barrel to Rhys’s heart. “How do you plead?”

“Guilty,” Rhys stated flatly. “To all charges.”

He closed his eyes, awaiting death. “Goodbye Vivian,” he whispered.

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