Page 45 of The Shadow of the Count
“Well, I started with the Sears and Roebuck catalog,” Jeb drawled. “But my people use that for the outhouse, so I moved on to creatures of the night.”
Clark’s laughter was somehow crass but merry at the same time. It broke the tension with an almost audible pop.
Don couldn’t even protest their gallows humor. They needed it to cope. “So we just wait?”
“Yes. And remember, Donnie. It isn’t Lyle. It’s a demon wearing his skin.”
“I believe you. I do.” He didn’t want to believe it. Not one bit. But he really needed this settled, and Lyle needed to rest.
It was somehow his fault too. That Lyle had passed on, been murdered by the monster. He’d brought this on his friend, and now he had to make it right. He had to.
Peter grasped his hand, squeezing, and he took a deep breath. He could see it on Peter’s face, that he was feeling guilty as hell as well.
They sat, the night getting darker and deeper, the sounds of the city so much louder here.
Charles was the most restless of them, but then he’d come the closest to being where Lyle was, being chosen by a mummy as the reincarnation of a dead lover.It was no wonder that he couldn’t sit still, and kept bouncing his leg and picking at his coat.
“Be at the ready, boys. The witching hour is upon us.”
Donnie jerked. He wasn’t sure if he’d dozed or just been in a fugue state. But they all heard the crypt door opening.
Peter was at his back, strong and solid.
“Donald. What are you doing here?” Lyle was…walking. He looked alive, but not. He was pale, and his eyes were like two holes burned in a blanket. There was a scent of death on him, sickly sweet, and an air of danger.
“Don’t listen to him, Don,” Peter whispered.
“Where were you?” Donnie blurted, hoping against hope that Lyle was himself.
“I was out looking for you, my dear friend. It’s cold in that coffin. I was looking for you. I was so very lonely.”
Donnie blinked. “I’m sorry, Lyle.” That was important. If any of his friend was still in this shell, that he know how much Donnie hated this. How sorry he was.
“Come hold me a moment, dear one. Please. I’ve taken a chill, and I never got the chance to tell you how much I love you, how I wished for you.”
Donnie almost started forward, but Peter held him fast. “He’ll hurt you, Don.”
“Never,” Lyle said, eyes flashing.
“Let me show you what he is, Donnie.” Clark pulled out a cross, brandishing it.
The hiss split the air like a buzz saw, the sound making Donnie cover his ears. Lyle’s eyes went from a warm brown to an unnatural icy blue, the fury in them nearly burning him. The most shocking thing was the two sharp fangs that dropped down over Lyle’s lower lip, gleaming in the low light. They were weapons, sure enough.
“Donnie! Donnie, help me. Please. They want to hurt me!” Lyle’s words made him sob, and he held his arms out, moving without a thought.
“No!” Peter jumped in front of him, a cross in his hand as well. “You will not have him.”
Donnie blinked and looked up toward his lover. Fierce and wild, he’d never seen Peter so utterly fervent. So ready to take on whatever threatened them. Him.
Lyle shrank back, hissing again, hands up to ward off the cross. “Stop. I can’t—Help me. Please. Just kill me, Donnie.”
“I’ll fix it, Lyle. I swear to you.”Donnie needed to take his courage in both hands and help Lyle through this transition.
Together, they drove Lyle back toward his casket, toward his final resting place. He cried and pleaded and growled like a great beast, but he climbed into the satin-lined box, his eyes begging Donnie to help.
“I will. I swear,” he whispered. “Close your eyes, dear. Please.”
Jeb was there with the stake and the hammer, and Don tried not to wince.
