Page 76 of The Shadow of the Count
“Peter! Peter, can you hear me! Oh God.” Donnie was sobbing, trying not to hurt his lover in his fury and frenzy. Yvgeny was there, too, helping by pushing the debris farther away, and they were all shouting at Peter so loud he almost missed the breath of a groan he heard.
He spun around. “Jeb?”
Clark looked up, eyes seeming to blaze. “Where?”
“I heard…” He pointed to another pile of timbers, where the wolf was pawing at the detritus, and Clark went to work like a terrier after a rat, digging madly.
Donnie finally pulled his bent, bleeding lover out of the pile, and Peter was pale as milk, his eyes closed. It was all he could do not to shake Peter hard. “Love. Wake up. Look at me. Richard! Help me!”
He needed the doctor. Now.
“Donnie. Donnie, I love you.” The words were spoken through split lips, and he groaned, shaking his head.
“If you love me, prove it. Stay with me.”
“I’m here.” That sooty hand clutched his shirtfront. “The count.”
“Dead. We did it. Now we’re going to make sure this place is a greasy spot on the road.” Yvgeny’s people would come salt the earth. That much he knew.
“Jeb!” The agonized cry had him looking over the top of Peter’s head, his heart clenching at the sound. Did that mean—
Richard plowed past him, and Donnie couldn’t blame him. Peter was talking. Jeb looked… He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Let me help him, Clark,” Richard barked, proving he was in his element as a doctor more than a warrior.
“Please.” Clark’s voice was more broken than Peter’s ever had been.
Richard went to work, and Donnie started checking Peter over. That poor broken arm was back to a strange angle, the splints and sling gone, and he was bleeding from a dozen cuts, blisters on his face and chest.
“Is he out? I tried my best. My fault…”
No. No, it was not Peter’s fault.
“He’ll be fine,” Donnie soothed. A quick glance showed him that Richard was bending to breathe into Jeb’s mouth, holding his nose closed. He hoped he wasn’t lying.
Jeb was one of them.
“I tried, Don. I tried.”
“You saved him. Can you sit up? We need to get to the car.”
“I’m not sure.” Peter pushed up, and he was relieved to see his back and legs were moving fine. After Douglas’s injury, that was his first worry.
A terrible coughing sound came from Jeb, but that made a happy sob issue from Clark. He was alive. He was breathing.
“How are we going to get him to the car?” Peter managed to get to his feet, swaying dangerously.
“I don’t know.”
“We’ll make a litter and pull him if we must.” That was Yvgeny. “I would go get the car, but the road is blocked.”
“Doesn’t the count have something?” Donnie asked. “A carriage or a car? Something?”
“I can look.” Yvgeny pelted off toward what had to be outbuildings, and he hoped the count’s guards had fled and weren’t waiting to ambush them again. Without the count’s influence, Donnie hoped they were free to leave.
He helped Peter over to sit on a low fence, easing him down to rest. They were going to make it. They had to. They deserved to rest now.
Jeb was leaning on Clark, but he was sitting up, wheezing for breath, and he grinned. “You did it, love. You got him out.”
