Page 68 of The Shadow of the Count
A howl sounded from outside, and while wolf howls were normally eerie, this was…otherworldly.
Donnie whimpered softly. “What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to kill it.” Jeb stood like a statue, arms crossed.
“Are we?” His Donnie was shaken. Like he would be in Paris. It was… Scary to see.
“We are.” Clark nodded, eyes flashing. “We’re a team. This is what we do. We’ll get him.”
The howl sounded again, closer, and Donnie’s eyes rolled up in his head, his body starting to shake as if he was having a seizure.
“Don!” This time he did make a sound, and he threw himself over his lover, holding him down.
Clark took the holy water and slashed it across Donald’s forehead, and steam rose up, the flesh burning.
The sound Donnie made was awful. A shriek of pain, and of despair. He kicked and foamed at the mouth, and Peter held him, trying to keep him from hurting himself.
“Put this between his teeth,” Jeb said, handing him a leather belt.
He did, and Donnie bit down, grunting.
“You cannot have him!” Jeb said, as Clark prayed over Donnie.
No. No, no one could have Don. Donnie belonged to himself.
The windows rattled again, and an icy-sounding rain pelted the roof. He moaned, trying to shelter Donnie with his body.
There was no way he was letting this man go and allowing the damn count get to him.
Richard came to them, holding Donald down, helping him.
The shouting started again, Clark and Jeb praying, Yvgeny adding his voice to the mill. They were strong men, with a strong faith, but this might tax them too much.
They had to save enough to get them through tomorrow, through the fight with the count.
The storm outside worsened, the rain pelting the house, the walls feeling as if they would crumble. The shutters rattled, the sound of unholy wailing filling the air around them, almost drowning out the chanting that Clark had set up.
Clark appeared to be in a trance, standing strong in the middle of the whirlwind. Peter had never seen this side of their friend, who showed a facade of ennui to the world, and Peter watched with no small amount of awe.
Jeb was right there beside Clark, his guns at the ready, his eyes flashing blue fire. He was an oak in the middle of a pine forest, his strength something they could all pull from.
Peter was proud to be among them.
Donnie thrashed, his body bending in unnatural ways, and Peter wasn’t sure if he was trying to escape the storm or join it. He chewed the leather belt almost all the way through, his foam becoming pink with the blood he was bringing from his gums.
You will not have him!He tried to scream it, but he couldn’t hear his voice, not over the din of howling wind, screaming women, and the great beast who clearly paced outside.
“The dawn will come!” Richard called. He held a cross and was sprinkling more of the holy water Clark had produced around the windows and doors. “You are not welcome here.”
“Peter.” Donnie had spat out the belt and was now clutching the front of his shirt. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll kill me before you let them have me.”
Peter shook his head, the denial of that idea so strong as to make nausea rise in his throat. There was no way he could kill this beautiful, vibrant, intelligent man. His lover.
“Please. Peter, you must. I cannot live—like that. Please.” The strength in Donnie’s hands shocked him, for all that they shook.
He nodded, tears falling from his burning eyes. He swore. If it came to that, he would free his lover before damning him. He would be stronger than his pain.
“I love you.” Donnie held him close, wracked with feverish shivers.
