Page 61 of The Shadow of the Count
Peter came to him, hand on his shoulder, concern in his dark eyes.
“I have to fix this. You all know I do. I need to make this right.”
Peter shook his head, fear clear on his face, but Donnie knew better.
He had to go.
“We were planning an excursion at any rate,” Clark said. “I suppose you can come with us.” Peter glared at Clark, who shrugged. “He’ll only follow us, Hilliard.”
Jeb nodded. “Better have him under our eyes than causing trouble in the back.” Jeb’s wink was pure wickedness, and Donnie wanted to hug him.
Peter could make noise. A gusty sigh sounded. Then he nodded.
“Thank you. I have to help. He broke Douglas. That bastard broke him!”
“He’ll heal,” Clark said firmly. “However, I feel much the same. This kind of abomination cannot be borne, and he hurt us and those we love.” That strong jaw firmed up even more. Clark understood.
Lyle would never heal, though, and Donald would miss his kindness, his generosity, his laughter.
His love and care.
Peter squeezed his hand, the bruises on his face and throat so lurid, his arm in a sling. God, this was a mess.
“Can we go before I lose my nerve?” he asked.If they waited, he would send them off and hide with his brother.
“Not until you tell Douglas,” Jeb said. “We owe him that.”
“If Charles allows anyone in, maybe.” Charles was livid.
“He’ll let us see Douglas. Come along.”
Peter nodded, wrapping an arm around Donnie’s waist. The good one. He wanted to just cry. This was how they’d felt in the desert when Jeb was so injured, and Charles was out of his mind with—with being possessed by a spirit.
And just like then, his Peter had his back, supporting him.
They went to Douglas’s room. He’d been moved off the ward once people had realized who he was. By the time they got there, Donald was panting, his body shaking. But he could sleep on the train.
“Donnie?” Charles stood, frowned. “What’s wrong? Why are you up?”
“We’re going to Romania.” He blurted it right out because it was better to tear away the dried blood bandage than to soak it off gently.
“What?” That came from Douglas, who sounded groggy from whatever they were giving him to help him sleep. “Donnie? Are you mad? I thought you were just feverish yesterday when you suggested it.”
More mad than Douglas could know. “Yes. Yes, I’m furious, but we have to fix this. We have to stop him now, before he can hurt one more person.”
“You can’t—You’ve seen what he can do, and he wants you. Let the others go.”
“Douglas!” He stared, shocked. “The others happen to be our friends.”
Douglas had the grace to look ashamed. “They are. I’m sorry. But Clark, surely Grant can send someone else. He has to have other teams. The man has fingers in pots all over the world.”
Clark snorted. “He would only tell me we must exploit his weakness for Donnie.”
“I’m going. I love you, and I will be back with help, but you have to heal. You and Charles. I’m going with the others, with Peter.” Douglas needed to understand.
Douglas gave him an agonized look. “I love you. Be safe.” Then he turned his head.
“I love you.”
