Chapter 60
DRASKO
Oh, the wickedness of it all, the menace with which Uriah had crafted the game!
As a veil of moonlight draped the bedroom through the open curtains, the thoughts swirled like thick black tar in Drasko’s mind.
Grace was asleep, tucked under his arm. Reluctantly, he untangled himself from her. He needed time to think clearly, to come to terms with what was about to unfold in the next few days. Perhaps, tomorrow, at the auction.
The bloody auction!
Naked, Drasko padded to the open window and lit a cigarette. Drag after drag, the smoke scorched his lungs, for seconds at a time overshadowing the ache in his bruised heart.
He tried to figure out where it had all gone wrong. But there was no reasoning the actions of a ruthless man. When it came down to the night Drasko had agreed to this deal, he should have known that Uriah would take the most precious thing Drasko had.
But then, years ago, Drasko had nothing to lose.
Uriah had thought he had taught Drasko that everything was perishable, and power was the only thing worth fighting for. But Drasko always remembered what Rupesh had once said. “You can’t escape your heart. No matter how far you run.”
Would Drasko have agreed if he knew the gruesome secret behind the Crimson Tear? If he hadn’t, would Uriah carve it out regardless? Then Drasko would have no say. While now, he could save her.
A life for a life.
He heard Grace move and saw her sit up. The moonlight cast a perfect haunting glow on her naked body.
She was half-asleep, a mythical creature, her skin porcelain-like in the moonlight. Her luscious hair spilled down her breasts.
The ache inside him grew tenfold.
“Drasko?” she called out.
He walked up to the bed, then kneeled before her, and buried his face in her lap.
Her gentle hands sank into his hair. “Drasko, what is it?” she asked with worry.
He stayed silent, inhaled her scent, drowning in grief for their future, the grief that already was taking root deep inside him.
Was this the last time they would be together?
The time before the last?
How many more would they have, if any?
“Drasko? Talk to me? Please?” she begged in a whisper, her fingers stroking his head.
He was on his knees and wanted to weep at her touch, grieving it already. He didn’t answer, didn’t dare take away her hope. Those who lived in the fear of dying were already dead. And by God, did he want to live! With her!
“Talk,” she whispered again.
He couldn’t. How could he? What would he say? It’s either me or you, meri jaan? That wasn’t an option. Never was. Never could be. Not in a thousand years! He’d rather die than take a minuscule chance of losing her.
A coward? Yes, he was, selfish in his love for her. He would have given it all up, promised anything to the devil if he could only stay by her side for longer.
But death was a trading card. The devil was dead, too. Yet his plans were in full swing.
Drasko lifted his head and met her eyes, thankful for the dark that concealed his pain.
“It will be all right, Grace,” he said. He would protect her like he always had.
She cupped his face and shook her head, not believing a word. “It will not, will it? I can sense it. But you won’t tell me.”
His scars tingled with the memories of the past. The bets. The deals. The bargains. There was always a price for everything that he had ever cherished.
And his fearless Rakshasa gave out a tiny helpless whine.
“I shall always stay by your side,” she said. “Just promise me… That you will stay by mine.”
He should have said yes, one word, so short, so hard to say.
I wish.
He smiled. “I am yours, darling, remember?”
“And I am yours,” she promised, tracing his scars with her gentle fingers.
And he lied again. “Everything will be all right.”
Rakshasa roared, burning his back with the same despair he had felt the night he had killed the beast.
Except this nightmare was invisible. And Drasko didn’t have a weapon, except his own life.