Page 78 of The Shadow of the Count
“Ah, here we are, my friends. We’ll get a hot meal on the train, but I have fruit and bread and butter.” Yvgeny came back into the chamber with a rough trencher filled with crusty bread, a clay pot, and the mentioned fruit. It was like a feast.
He watched Jeb eat, clumsy with his weak hand. Peter couldn’t believe the stubborn asshole had hidden a gunshot for an entire day. He thought Jeb had truly expected to die, so he hadn’t bothered to let them know he was injured during the night, the count’s men doing him dirty.
They’d all made it.
They had made it, and they were going back to London. There were no monsters there.
Well, not since the count had left…
He shook his head. No. No, he wasn’t going to think that way. If there were monsters in London, at least they were deep underground.
“Shh.” Donnie touched the back of his hand. “Eat, love. Get your strength back up. Then we can get on that train.”
“Yes. Yes, please.” They needed to leave the shadow of the count behind them.
“Come on, y’all. Strap on the feed bag and let’s roll.”
“Such a cowboy,” Clark murmured.
“I always wanted to meet one.” Yvgeny laughed.
“And now you have.” Clark winked over at Yvgeny. “There’s no one quite as… Texan.”
“No. Never.” Peter wrinkled his nose and they all laughed. He had initially had distaste for Jeb. Now the man was his hero.
“Come, my friends. We’ll eat on the way. I have thanked our hosts. I want to be away.”
Peter gritted his teeth and climbed out of the bed, as did they all. As one man, they headed out, stopping only to relieve themselves and thank their hosts.
It was time to leave Romania.
Twenty-Seven
Donnie watched Peter sleep in his bunk, the train rocking nice and slow, the motion hypnotic, steady and sure. It was the only sure thing in life—that and Peter’s regular breath.
There was a blessed silence in his mind now that the count was gone. Disappeared. Dead. And now he felt like he could breathe again.
Donnie wanted to get through Paris and get to Douglas. Make sure his brother was on the mend. Then he wanted to take Peter and spend some time together. Work be damned.
Donnie smiled slightly. That meant when they reached Paris they just needed to stay at the train station. No hotels. No going into town.
He was exhausted, and his lover—well, Peter’s body had been beaten and battered and bruised enough. That arm was never going to heal if he didn’t stop getting pounded into the ground…
When they got on the ferry, he would feel like he was safe, like he was heading somewhere he knew.
But for now, the train was soothing.
A low knock sounded on their compartment door, and his heart began to pound. So much for his hard-won calm.
He peered out the little window, expecting…he didn’t know who. A conductor maybe. But it was Clark.
He stepped into the hall, not wanting to wake Peter. “Is Jeb all right?”
“I slipped a little laudanum into his whiskey. He’s sleeping.” Clark smiled grimly. “Did you know Grant came to see you when we were on our way through Paris last time?”
“I don’t remember it at all, but I think it was mentioned.” And of course Peter hadn’t been able to tell him anything more. He’d had no voice.
“He was worried about you. He’s very fond of both you and Douglas.” Clark took his arm. “Come with me to the club car. I want to chat about a few things before we get back to London.”
