Page 18 of The Shadow of the Count
By the time the fire was burning, Richard was back with two plates, loaded with food. Once he laid them down, Richard closed the bedroom door and went to check on Lyle.
Donnie nibbled some kind of bun, watching Richard check pulses and such. When Richard joined him by the fire, he smiled slightly. “Is he all right?”
“He seems to be fine. He just had a scare. We all react to those differently, don’t we?”
“We do. Very much.” He rubbed his arms, trying to ward off the chill despite the fire. “Thank you for the food. Did you see anyone about?”
“I think they’re all belowstairs waiting out the storm.”
“Mmm.” That could mean more than one thing. “Do you think we’re okay up here?”
“I don’t see why not. This place must have withstood worse.”
“I’m sure.” The house was an old one, a manor rather than a townhouse in the more modern sense, an oasis in the city with its own grounds. Still…this storm seemed otherworldly, and he was half-convinced toads would start falling from the sky.
“Mmm.” Richard moved a little closer, and they both ate as if there was no tomorrow.
Donnie just hoped that was only a saying.
Eight
Peter was lost.
His feet ached, the cold seeped into his bones, and he was out of water. He’d managed to get out of the count’s castle, and he’d taken the road down the mountain, but he had no idea once he got to the main road which way he should go.
He was very afraid he’d turned the wrong way, and night would fall soon.
Night was the worst part, he’d found at the castle, because night was when the women ranged this land, spreading their poison.
Hopefully, they would not follow him this far and find him, but how could he know? He needed to be ready.
He kept moving, praying that he would find a hovel, somewhere to hide and rest.
Peter staggered, going down to one knee. “Damn it! Ow!” That hurt. He was bleeding. That was all he needed, was to attract predators with the smell of fresh blood.
This was nonsense. Why had he left his Don? Why had he run like a coward? If he had the chance, he would tell his lover everything about how he felt, about what he wanted.
So stop whining, you ass, and walk!
He could almost hear Don’s voice.
Peter leaped to his feet, limping but moving. He had to believe he was going in the right direction, and as the sun started to go down, he topped a small rise and saw what he thought was a lighted window in the distance.
Oh. Heavens. Surely it was a farm or an inn. Something on this deserted hell of a road.
“Peter.” His name was a whisper. “You’re lost and alone. Let me warm you.”
“No!” He wanted to clap his hands over his ear, but he needed his arms for running. He sprinted, pumping his fists to give him momentum, thinking how these women were far worse than the mummy in the desert. That beast had wanted to kill them. These wanted to devour his soul whole.
His breath gusted from his mouth, and his heart thundered on his ears. Was he strong enough to evade them?
It felt like they were right behind him, just a breath away, and if he dared to turn around and look, he’d be lost.
Suddenly he saw it again, that light in the darkness, which was falling over the land like a blanket. Yes. He cut off the road, which curved too much away from the home, as he could tell it was a farm now, and he dug in with all he had.
“You will not have me!”
“We already have you, beloved one. We have you and we will make you ours.”
