Page 19 of The Curse of Eternity
“Certainly,” he agreed, and I waited, assuming he would produce it from thin air like he had my denim jacket. “Unfortunately, I do not have it with me.”
“Damn,” I grumbled, turning back to the nachos to hide my grief. “Just, don’t lose it, okay? It has a lot of meaning…” Maybe it was stupid to reveal that to a potential enemy, but it wasn’t like he’d care—
“Why is that?”
Really should’ve expected that one.My eyes closed briefly, and I inhaled a deep breath to prepare for the words about to pour out of me like a dam. Unlike the tears I refused to cry. If he wanted to know, then so be it. Everyone had a sob story.
“It’s from the first beer I ever had, when I was thirteen. Olivia snuck them out of the fridge for us while my mom was in the hospital,” I explained, and my gaze lowered to my glass of tasteless water. “She was gone two months later. They caught the cancer too late.”
Readied for the onslaught—either pity or patronizing comments about how she’s ‘in a better place’—I wasn’t prepared for Drake’s response.
“It is unfortunate that she cannot see how beautifully her daughter has grown,” he said, voice even, leaving no room to be questioned. Slowly, my gaze rose to meet his. Understanding shone behind Drake’s eyes as his head tilted slightly. “That is a true tragedy.”
Moisture briefly blurred my vision until I blinked it away. The only people who’d come close to empathizing were Caleb and his siblings, but none of us liked bringing up the topic of our dead mothers. Elias had had to raise three kids into adulthood after his wife, Rosa, passed suddenly from a car accident.
It wasn’t like Mom’s death. Isabelle De Loera-Harker had died slowly. Drawn out by chemotherapy that just wasn’t working fast enough. As per usual, the thoughts threatened to drown me whenever it was brought up, obscuring everything else going on around me. This time, for whatever reason, I managed to focus on the intensity of Drake’s gaze.
The nearly black pools of his eyes were stifling, making it too easy to look past the shimmer of mirage concealing what he would really look like under direct sunlight.Shit,I couldn’t get lost in his allure, so I forced myself to lean away and cleared my throat.
“You don’t even really know me,” I accused, mild and perfunctory.
“Not so,” he replied, straightening up like he’d been unintentionally leaning closer. “I know that you are brave, determined, and—most importantly—a fan of mysteries.” Drake smiled, completely at ease while heat flamed my face at being given so many compliments in quick succession. “And, obviously, very selfless.” That made me snort.
“Yeah, right. I’m accepting a free meal, aren’t I? Running the risk of spilling guac and melted cheese on this borrowed dress.” I waved my hand up and down to further illustrate the point, but I didn’t expect his gaze to track the motion so closely. My body spiked hot to match my face when he took an unashamed second before looking me in the eye again. Swallowing hard, I tried to turn the conversation around. “So, your name really is Drake?”
“Yes, although admittedly, it is not my given name, but my last,” he answered, swirling the barely touched red liquid in hisglass by moving the stem with his forefinger and thumb. “In full, I am Ignatius Drake.”
“No middle name?” Teasing edged into my tone, and Drake briefly smirked.
“They were not very common when I was born. What about yourself?”
“My middle name is Joanna, but if you try to call me ‘MJ’ then you’ll be on the wrong end of my blade.” Despite my honest annoyance about the nickname, Drake laughed.
“I will steer clear of it, though I fear it will be tempting without knowing your family name.” The glint in his perceptive eyes was unmistakable, and I took a deep breath.
“It’s Harker,” I said, burying a wince the instant the name left my lips.
“Ah, how appropriate. Perhaps I ought to have guessed.”
Brows raised, I stared him down. “Because of Stoker’s work?”
“Indeed, though I glean from your attitude that you dislike its representation?”
“Vampire fiction doesn’t interest me. They never get anything right. Even Bram embellished.”
“Stories tend to require a level of ‘embellishing,’” Drake agreed, clearly amused while I pouted down at my empty food basket.
“What about you?” I asked, my gaze rising to meet his. “What’s your story?”
“Not nearly as exciting as your family history, I assure you.” He lifted the glass of wine to his lips, hardly taking a sip. Obviously avoiding my prying—which I wassonot going to let slide after his own probing questions—he surveyed the bustling pub, slowly emptying when the ‘responsible’ crowd started shuffling on home.
A forlorn expression came over his striking features while observing the people around us go about their lives. Following his line of sight, I watched a group leave through the main door.
“Did you want to go? Catch up with your buddies, or whatever it is you do together,” I asked, and my heart jolted when Drake’s focus slid back to me. The corners of his lips twitched, not quite smiling, but no longer frowning.
“While I enjoy their company, I confess that I maintain no close relationships with people.”
“Why?” I asked, and my brow pinched. After everything he’d been going on about, claiming he wasn’t a risk to anyone, it seemed like a major red flag.
