Page 75 of The Shadow of the Count
Everything in this place was probably tainted, and giving the count even that much of a chance to come back somehow was too much.
They spilled out into the night air, coughing madly, and he cast about desperately for Peter and Jeb. “Please. Please be okay.”
“Peter’s a fool,” Clark snarled, but the expression on the lean face was one of utter loss.
“No. No, he is not, and he is not going to leave Jeb behind!” He pushed at Clark’s chest, not quite a punch. “They’re coming.” He had to believe that. Had to.
Clark shook his head. “That damned idiot of a Texan…”
“They’re coming!” Donnie roared. “I will not give up on them.”
He couldn’t. Not now. Not after they’d won.
“We need to get back to the car!” Yvgeny was pale, his mouth set in a hard line of pain. That blow the count had dealt him must have injured him more than he was letting on.
“I’m not leaving them. I can’t.”
“We must. We need rest, help, water.”
Richard nodded. “I need to check everyone out. All of you need medical attention.”
They didn’t understand. They didn’t. Together they had defeated the count. Him. Peter. He couldn’t leave Peter here again with no help.
He tore away when Clark tried to hold him, running around the side of the castle, dodging flaming debris as it fell. Peter would have brought Jeb out the way they’d gone in…
“Donald!” The others gave chase, but he would not desert his lover, his friend. He wouldnot.
He staggered to a stop and fell when the wolf from the road rose up in front of him like a specter out of the smoke.
“Yes. Take me to them. Please!”
The wolf turned and ran, leading him down on what looked to have been a path a century of rainstorms ago. Still, he followed, his eyes searching through the deluge for a hint of life.
The rain helped dampen the smoke, but it certainly didn’t put out the fire, and he prayed as he followed the wolf, his focus on putting one foot in the front of the other.
Just as he reached the bend around to the back entrance of the castle, the stairs they had scaled to find a way in collapsed with a creak and groan of timbers and a shower of flame and ash.
Donnie stopped, staring mutely. No. Oh God, no.
Wolf never slowed though. He just moved closer to the castle, almost disappearing in the fog and rain.
So Donnie stumbled after him, tearing away from Clark when he shouted and grabbed at Donnie’s arm. Tears streamed down his face, but he had to find them, even if they were—They deserved a burial if that was the case.
“Don—”
“Did you hear that?” He cocked his head, and the wolf tilted its head up to howl. It wasn’t a mournful sound, but a calling to pack.
He’d heard it too.
“Show me!”
He heard footsteps behind him, but he wasn’t worried about that. Clark could help him. He would need it.
The wolf surged forward through the rubble, and he saw it—a single singed hand.
Saying another prayer, he reached for that hand, starting to clear away debris before he dared to pull, in case there was something heavy pinning the man down. “Please. Please, God, let them be alive and whole. Please.”
Clark was right there with him, tossing stones and lumber like a mad man, helping him free what ended up being Peter’s arm.
