Page 39 of The Shadow of the Count
“Can I help you, sir?” someone intoned.
“Yes, please. Can I have a tray delivered for Master Donald and myself, please?”
“Of course. Would you prefer a meal or a light repast?”
“Whatever you have that resembled breakfast.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send up a tray.”
“Thank you.”
Peter grinned a little. He could get used to this. Then he sobered, reminding himself he was there because Don’s friend had died.That was no reason to rejoice in their living circumstances.
He was fortunate that it hadn’t been him that had passed away. He was afraid that it had been too close. The count’s “wives” could have taken him at any time.
Thank goodness for Yvgeny’s friendship, the man taking him in when he escaped.
He went to the window, staring out into the courtyard. The roses were beautiful, barring a patch of dead plants leading up to the manor. He frowned following the path with his eyes, all the way to the balustrade from his dreams. Right up to the terrace.
He’d known he wasn’t insane, but this was incontrovertible proof that he hadn’t simply been dreaming. He would point it out to Clark. Maybe it would help with finding and eliminating the count.
Maybe they could follow the trail back to him.
The monster spread disease and death wherever he went. They had to stop him. Just as they had stopped the mummy. Peter rarely even thought his name, just in case he invoked a demon.
Don moaned, reaching across the bed, searching for him.
“I’m right here, darling.” He went to Don, taking those searching hands in his. “Sleep, love. Rest. I’ve called for food.”
“Don’t leave me.” Don’s blue eyes opened just enough to catch his gaze.
“No. No, I won’t.” He could bathe later. He would sit and watch over Don. “No one will harm you. I vow my life on it.”
“I wish you would have been there in Paris. I think you might have saved me.”
He squeezed Don’s hand. “I would have. I would have given my soul to do so.”
“I should never have let you go to the count.”
“Shhh. I am headstrong, Don. I felt it was something I had to do. You would not have convinced me.” He stroked the back of Don’s hand, wanting to soothe him, but he knew with the kind of heartache his lover was experiencing, time was the only remedy.
“In Paris, I was trapped in the catacombs, in the darkness. The bones came to life and hunted us down, one by one. I was the last one.” The stark explanation was the closest Donnie had come to sharing his experiences there, and there was a horror to it, a chill that went beyond the oversimplification of facts.
“Donnie.” He stared at Don’s face, but those eyes squeezed shut tight.
“I thought Douglas was dead, and I was trapped. I—I lost my nerve some, I think.” Don swallowed hard. “When Douglas reached for me through the darkness, I was a jabbering lunatic.”
“I’m so sorry, love.” He tugged Don up into his arms. “But you made it through.”
“Some of me did.” The shame in his lover’s voice broke his heart. “Part of me died there, I think. I was so convinced I had lost everything.”
“Yes, well. This adventure took at least a year off my life,” he teased gently. “In all seriousness, I almost gave up and just let them starve me to death. It was you who pulled me out, just like Douglas did for you. And for Charles.”
“I wasn’t there.”
“You were. Your image is in that horrible place.” Peter couldn’t explain it. Not at all. But Donnie had been his foundation, his reason to stay alive and find his way home. His only reason.
“How? It sounds mad, love, but I do believe you.” Now Don clung to him, shaking a bit.
