Chapter 69
DRASKO
“Grace!” Drasko roared, his heart thundering, as he rushed through the smoky crowded street in front of the auction house.
The building was ablaze. The orange monstrosity of the fire clawed at the sky.
The street was crowded chaos.
The Metropolitan fire brigade was busy with hand pumps, blasting water at the entrance. A crowd of gawkers gathered to watch, but only a few helped the lords and ladies standing and sitting on the curb, charred, muddied, coughing and crying.
“Grace!” Drasko darted between them, shouldering the bystanders, frantically whipping around in search of the familiar silhouette. “Graaaace!” he roared.
“Everyone is out of the building, they say,” someone commented.
“There might be a few still trapped in the auction room,” another speculated.
Drasko’s heart pumped with anxiety as he shouted Grace’s name and grabbed the women who looked like her only to find unfamiliar faces.
Cries and wailing echoed amidst the shouting of the fire brigade workers and the policemen trying to control the crowd.
And no sight of Grace.
“Graaaaaace!” he roared, panic taking over him.
“Mr. Mawr!” a voice turned him around.
Julien looked like a coal miner, jacket off, his usually pristine shirt smudged with ashes. He sat on the ground and cradled a man in his arms as a doctor hovered above them.
“Elias?” Drasko recognized the familiar face on Julien’s lap.
“I need to—” Elias, seemingly in a daze, his clothes partially burned, pushed away the doctor and tried to rise from the ground but collapsed.
“Where is Grace?” Drasko demanded.
“I…” Elias groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. “I was helping others to exit. I was calling for her. She was there. It was smoky. And…”
He coughed into his arm, tried to get up again but collapsed into Julien’s arms.
“Oh, dear.” Julien touched Elias with trembling hands, then looked up at Drasko. “He was helping people to get out of the building. And then a beam collapsed on top of him. We dragged him out. But Grace… Mr. Mawr, I am not sure where she is. I?—”
Another crack of thunder spilt the night sky, and heavy raindrops started coming down.
“Get a line of people to pass the buckets!” a fireman shouted.
A whistle came. Then another. And another. Young boys and men started pouring from everywhere as Drasko’s gaze wildly scanned the crowd for the familiar face.
“She is not here. She is not here,” he repeated, searching the street. “I am going in.”
He rushed toward the entrance.
“Mr. Mawr!” Julien called out.
“Sir!” a fireman shouted at him as Drasko shielded his face from the billowing smoke rolling out of the entrance. “You cannot go in! It’s not safe! It’s about to collapse! Sir!”
But Drasko didn’t pay attention. She must be there. If she was, he would find her, even if it cost him his life.
“Mr. Mawr! Wait! Wait!” Julien caught up with him and yanked him back. “You’ll need this.”
Coughing, he snatched a bucket of water from one of the boys and poured it over Drasko, then did the same with one more. “Go!”
In a second, Drasko was at the entrance, wrapping his cravat over his nose and mouth.
In another, he darted inside, smoke burning his eyes.
The sudden heat, like a wall, assaulted him as he fought through the flames at the entrance.
The grand hall was thick with smoke. The curtains, the beams, and the artworks on the walls were in flames. So was the grand staircase that he took three steps at a time, shielding his face from the flames darting at him.
The second floor was worse.
He weaved among the smoldering furniture. It was hard to see, hard to breathe. But he’d been here before, knew the floor plan, and he veered among the collapsed debris into the main auction room.
“Grace!” he shouted as he ducked away from the falling flames that, like rockets, shot down from the ceiling. “Grace!”
The auction room was ablaze. The flames were everywhere. The displays were melting. The smoke suffocated him. His lungs wheezed, and his damp shirt hissed as the fires licked at it.
But there was no fire, no flames, no calamity that would stop him as he fought his way among the exploding jewelry displays and flaming rubble.
Rakshasa growled in determination.
For her.
For them.
For the only chance they had.
He wildly looked around.
Another charred beam crashed down, missing him only by an inch.
The Mawrs’ grandest display of wealth was up in flames that warped all around Drasko, yet the most precious thing was somewhere among it.
A blast of fire roared toward him, and he ducked and lunged to the side.
He saw her then, her motionless body on the floor, flames creeping up to her feet, her skirt already melting at the hem.
“Grace!” He rushed toward her and took her motionless body into his arms. “Grace, Grace, look at me!”
He wiped her ashy face and stroked her hair, willing her to wake up as his lungs screamed from the smoky assault.
She moved then. A tiny cough escaped her. Her eyes fluttered open as she tried to say something, but her head lolled onto his arm.
“Grace, I’m here,” he murmured, the sudden hope giving him wings.
He took off his soaked cravat and wrapped it around her mouth and nose. A cough was suffocating him. The air sizzled in his nostrils and throat. Sweat dripped down his face. Unbearable heat enveloped him.
But he disregarded the pain, lifted Grace into his arms, and marched through the flames that licked at his feet, scorching his skin and roaring at him, threatening to swallow them whole.
The blaze didn’t have a chance. Not when Drasko had gone through worse to protect what he loved.
He marched on, whispering love words to her, disregarding the smell of burned hair and the feeling of the clothes singing against his skin that sizzled with blisters.
“Stay with me, Grace,” he murmured, holding her tightly against him and shielding her from the roaring flames, as he stomped through the debris and walls of fire around him, down the stairs. “We need to go. We have to,” he kept saying like the prayer that Rupesh had tried to teach him once.
When he walked out of the auction house, he thought he was half-dead, half-blind, and burned to the bones. His lungs were shot, his skin scorched. He was dizzy, but his heart pounded with a relief that even the night he fought Rakshasa for little Grace could not compare to.
He had her.
“Another survivor!” someone shouted.
A fireman doused him with water, putting out the little flames that Drasko didn’t notice, his shirt smoldering off his body.
He carried Grace across the street and sank onto his knees.
“They are safe!” someone yelled.
A line of dozens of young boys and men snaked toward the building with buckets in their hands, working faster than the fire brigade.
Sirens, shouts, cries, and whimpers. Doctors, firemen, onlookers, and reporters.
Madness whirled around! Blankets were passed around. Water was brought from everywhere.
Rain drizzled, but it wouldn’t save the auction house.
“You are safe, you are safe, you are safe,” Drasko repeated, cradling Grace in his arms, and smiled when she stirred and coughed. “There you are, meri jaan . You are safe.”
He looked around at the gawking crowd, saw Rivka and Zeph, rushing in his direction.
Julien, looking like Prince Charming who had gone through an epic war battle, rushed up to Drasko. “How is she?”
“She should be fine,” Drasko said, stroking her hair. “Elias?”
“He is recovering. A lot of people would have been trapped inside if it weren’t for him. And so would I. I owe him my life.”
“Careful,” Drasko warned with a soft chuckle. “He might just take it too seriously.”
Mr. Kleinstein stood in the middle of the street, clutching his hair in alarm as he stared at the crumbling glory of his establishment.
The street was illuminated orange. The hypnotized faces, some horrified, some in awe, were lifted to the giant blaze that lit up the night sky, swallowing the sparkles and the whirls of smoke.
“There are no people inside! Everyone is safe!” a fireman shouted.
Zeph whistled to his boys. The whistles echoed through the crowd. In seconds, the line of boys and young men dropped the buckets, as if on cue, and started walking away.
The building director ran up to him. “Wh-what are you doing?” He waved at the empty place where the line of helpers had just been. “Those boys? I need them.”
“Well, they are mine, and they are not getting paid. Nor am I jeopardizing them for the sake of your enterprise.”
“But the fire!”
Zeph nodded at the lords and ladies, who gathered around like charred peacocks with their tails down. “Get them to put it out. This is their party.”
The Duke of Trent wobbled over. “Mr. Mawr, they got it! They got it! The Crimson Tear! The duchess got it! It is safe! Oh, the miracle! Mr. Mawr, the doctors are coming. They are?—”
Drasko wanted to throw the duke in the fire.
But the sound of his voice floated away as Drasko looked at Grace in his arms.
Ashes were falling heavily, getting caught in Grace’s hair like snowflakes.
“Grace, love, look at me.” He stroked her face, smudged with ashes, her hair singed at the edges. “Wake up, darling. You have to. We have plans, remember? Children, America. So much music to play. You hear me?”
Her eyelashes fluttered. She finally opened her eyes, blinking slowly, and coughed.
“I brought the diamond, Drasko. I had it,” she murmured.
He smiled, tears welling up at the sight of her coming to.
“I was on time,” she whispered as another little cough broke out of her. “But you weren’t there… And I didn’t want to leave… Because you weren’t there… I waited and waited… and waited…”
Her voice faded, and he kissed her face, a kiss for every word.
A deafening crash shook the street—the roof of the auction house collapsed and sent flames and sparkles like thousands of fireflies high into the smoky sky.
Another deafening crack followed—that of thunder, splitting the sky—and the rain came down in a merciless downpour.
It cooled Drasko’s wounds and soothed his aching heart. He grunted into the sky, thanking the universe for saving her .
Grace stirred, blinking away the rain, her eyes meeting his.
He tucked her in closer to him and leaned over her to shield her face from the rain. He kissed the raindrops off her lips, then kissed her fingers, one by one, making sure they weren’t damaged. Those beautiful fingers played the most wonderful music for his heart.
Her hand cupped his face. “I waited for you,” she said weakly.
Drasko wanted to roar at the horrific thought of what could’ve happened to her.
Her ashy fingers brushed against his lips. “And you came.”
He kissed her fingertips and cradled her in his arms.
Again, he was on his knees, but this time, grateful.
He buried his face in her hair.
“I did, love,” he whispered. “I did.”