Page 50 of The Shadow of the Count
“I know.” He wanted to be the one to stay, but Douglas would be stronger on his own than Peter ever could be. “Keep him safe for me.”
“I’ll guard him with my life.” Douglas’s blue eyes flashed with resolve.
“I’ll make sure the count doesn’t have a place to rest his head tonight.”
“Good. Burn it to the ground and salt the earth.”
He nodded grimly and left with the others, who were gathering in the main hall, armed with guns, shovels, and more once again. “I’ll carry your exorcism bag, Clark.”
“I’ll need your help blessing the land, so please.”
He nodded. Right. Burn it to the ground and salt it.
That he could do.
Now they just had to find the count’s abbey and do their jobs.
Seventeen
Donnie tossed and turned, his body feeling feverish.
He kept dreaming, terrifying dreams of red eyes and fangs dripping with blood. He dreamed of his flesh being rent and shredded, his body torn to pieces and tossed from the heights of a great castle.
“Donald? Donald-love? Come out and see the moon with me.”
“No!” He rocked his head from side to side. “Peter? Peter!”
“He’s gone. He’s left you. Didn’t you know? He left with that boy—the farmer.”
“No. No, he wouldn’t.” He knew Peter wouldn’t do that. He’d been so jealous of Yvgeny on the ferry, but he and Peter had come to an understanding since then. They were for each other now. There was no doubt in his mind. “Liar! You lie.”
A dark shadow poured across the room, seeming to suck the air away and leaving him pinned to the damp sheets. He tried to fight it off, but whatever force held him, it was too strong.
He opened his eyes, because this was no dream. He was being attacked.
This half-man, half-beast stood at the foot of his bed, ivory fangs glowing.
Donnie shook his head, scrambling back against the headboard, his fingers scrabbling for a weapon.
He needed someone to come, someone to help. He needed Peter. Where was his lover? He was supposed to be there.
“I have waited for you. I have ached so from missing you.” The words came out a little garbled, but still understandable.
“I’m not yours.” Whoever this…creature thought he was, he wasn’t.
“Yes, you are. You have always been mine, and you will always be.”
“Help!” He tried to scream, but it was less than that, as if the air had all been sucked out of the room, and there wasn’t enough to draw in to use for a scream.
“Donnie?” The doorknob rattled, and the beast waved his hand, the turning stopped.
“Douglas! Douglas, help!” His brother was out there, and it gave Donnie the strength to leap out of bed and run for the door as if whatever spell held him was broken.
“Donnie! Unlock the door!” Douglas was banging furiously.
“I’m coming.” Something hit the backs of his legs like a ton of bricks, and he screamed out his rage and fear as he went down. He felt the sharp fangs tearing into his throat, the touch agonizing, fierce enough to make him wail.
Donnie pounded on the beast’s back with all his strength, and he heard a crashing at the door, Douglas clearly throwing himself against it. The whole room seemed to fade, his strength wilting right away as his blood flowed, the smell of copper mixing with the stench of the beast, who smelled of the grave.
