Beastly Passions (30 page)

Grigoriy swallowed and did himself the courtesy of locking stares with his offspring. He then found the strength to mockingly smile and say, “The day I stumbled across you on my doorstep I asked myself if you truly belonged in my care or if I should find you a home elsewhere because I knew from looking at you that I would never love you. I felt no connection. No joy. I was not happy to discover that I was a father. I was not happy to have this new burden. Yet here you are standing tall and strong before me, fearlessly ready to see to my death. And disgustingly enough, I am impressed. No matter what it is that you have convinced yourself I did to you, boy, some part of you,”—he jabbed a finger towards Taras’ chest—“in there, knows that I am the reason you are the man you have become.”

His son smiled. It was sharp and it was dismaying. He lifted a hand and patted Grigoriy on the cheek, assuring him, “Each day that I rise from the comfort of my wife’s arms to stare at my reflection, I realize and acknowledge that you are the precise reason I am who I am.
You
are at the core; the very beginning.” Angling forward, Taras whispered, “And I would like to thank you.”

Eyes widening in shock, Grigoriy murmured, “Thank me?”

“Yes, Papa,” the boy confirmed.

Wariness eased up his spine. “Why?”

“Because otherwise, I would not have strength enough to do this.”

He wasn’t given a chance to inquire what Taras spoke of. The words were never even given the opportunity to stammer from his tongue. Because before he could loose them, before his lips parted, the boy’s hand moved, a blade flashed and a gaping slit gouged his throat wide open.

Grigoriy hit his knees, gasping but unable to breathe. As the room darkened, he faintly heard Taras whisper, “Thank you.”

***

He’d spent
several dank days in a prison created by his in-law, contemplating his life, his choices. Nirav had meditated on the daunting thought that there would truly be no escape from his decisions. He would die where he’d been forced to lay, thinking about his last moments with his mate and pride.

They’d taken him off the street just as he’d expected they would, leaving him unable to say his good-byes; his only solace was knowing that Karan would carry his message to Taras and Asha. Just when any hope he’d had was extinguished, salvation did indeed come. And accompanying it was his son-in-law.

Taras had been the one to open the basement door and softly say, “Come.”

Nirav had staggered to his feet without question and followed. Hours later, the helicopter he’d been escorted to was touching down on Verochka land and he was given his freedom. It had been but mere minutes later that he’d climbed out and heard his wife’s voice.

“
Nirav!”

With his heart hammering, he turned towards her call and met her halfway as she ran to him, catching her the second she landed in his arms.

“You lied to me,” Ishana tearfully accused against his shoulder.

“And I am so sorry,” he confessed, taking her face into his hands. “I will
never
do it again.”

“Good,” another familiar voice said.

He looked away from his wife to find his daughter just a few feet behind and his son at a distance, watching warily.

“Asha.” Nirav broke away from Ishana and went to his daughter, wrapping his arms around her. “Asha I—” He stopped in realizing that she did not return his embrace. She was stiff where she stood. Pulling back, he searched her face, perturbed by the coldness of her usually warm eyes. “Asha?”

“Take your wife and your son and leave my land,” she commanded in a sotto voice.

His stomach roiled. “I don’t understand.” Was she not pleased to see him alive? Had she not sent her husband all the way to safely retrieve and return him?

“Then allow me to repeat myself a second time,” his daughter retorted in that same tone, still unmoved at the sight of him. “Take your wife. Take your son.
Leave.”

With a turn, she was walking away from her. He attempted to follow, but Taras blocked his way. “Asha!”

She stopped, faced him again and waited in obvious expectation.

Nirav glanced up at the hard planes of Taras’ face, nervously shifting about on his feet. “Why would you be so dismissive?”

“Why?” she copied, tilting her head. “
Why?”

“Yes, I know we have had our differences. That perhaps I made some missteps in our relationship, behaved unfairly at times, but it seems that you’re happy here, right? Are you not happy?” He looked to Taras again. “Is she not happy?”

He didn’t answer.

“It is because I am happy that I did not leave you to rot in the basement of that home, father,” Asha finally retorted, advancing on him. “It is because I am happy that I did not ask my husband to throw you from the helicopter on your way here. It is because I am happy
that I have not removed your spine with my bare hands before beating your corpse with it!”

“That does
not
sound happy,” one of the males standing behind Asha muttered.

She glared in his direction and he lifted his hands in surrender.

Nirav didn’t focus on the exchange, but reviewed his daughter’s words. “You are angry with me?”

Asha barked out a laugh. “Did you think I wouldn’t be after what you attempted? That I would be somehow overjoyed at your presence?”

He simply stood there in search of a response.

“I want you to listen to this closely now,” she said in Kannada. “Because I never want to have to speak these words again. What you did—no matter your regrets—was irreparable. My life, my
husband’s
life, is not toy, but you treated it as such when you placed it in the hands of that lunatic, Grigoriy. You had such little care, such little love, for me that you were willing to see my mate
dead
in order to be what? Rich?” Her eyes raked him in total hostility and he could smell the hatred wafting from her pores. “My happiness was almost interfered with. One of the sole things I possess, my love for him, was almost tampered with because of
you.
Always you. Selfish and unfeeling unless it concerns someone who you are not intimidated by.” Asha stepped forward, her voice dropping to a rasp. “No more, father. I will take no more.”

“Asha—”

“Do not speak my name again,” she interrupted. Stepping backwards, she yelled, “Hear me all of you who are under Nirav and Ishana Shankur, I no longer know you. I no longer care for you. Whatever you have sucked from me, enjoy the last of it because there will be nothing else.” Asha looked him squarely in the eye and told him, “You are dead to me. And if I should so ever have to bear the load of gazing upon your face again, I will make that a reality as opposed to figurative.” Sweeping her arm to the side, she commanded for a third time, “Take your wife, and your son and leave.”

With his heart inexplicably heavy, Nirav stared on hopelessly as she left his sight. A small hand took up with his own and he turned his attention to his wife. She wore her heartbreak openly. “Let’s go now.”

He nodded numbly and allowed her to take him away. Just as he’d done in the basement, Nirav meditated on his mistakes once again. As they left Verochka territories, he knew his biggest one was making his daughter an enemy instead of an ally.

“Asha?”

She turned away from watching the tree line move to look at her husband.

His hand, as gentle as ever, moved across the curve of her jaw and his thumb swiped away what had spilled from her eyes. “He isn’t in the ground alongside Grigoriy but somehow it feels the same. I wanted it to be clean, Taras.”

Her separation from him had caused enough anxiety. Waiting for his return had been torment of the highest order. But she couldn’t take the true elation in it that she wanted because of what she’d been forced to do.

“This,”—he responded, his fingers beneath her chin—“this
is
clean. You shed your tears. You mourn. And you continue on. It will be a while before you can simply lock him away,
lock
all of them away, like they never existed. But I swear, the time will come when you are able to, and there will be a freedom in it that cannot be matched.”

Taking his wrist, she turned his hand and placed a kiss on his palm. “It can be matched,” she argued. “I feel that same freedom the moment I hear your voice.”

He smiled and brushed his lips between her brows. “Do you know what could help?”

She noticed the gleam in his eye. “Are you going to say fishing? Please don’t say fishing.”
 

“All right,” he agreed mildly. “I won’t say fishing.” To their driver, he called out, “Dmitry? The lake please?”

Asha let out a heavy sigh and sat back in her seat.

“You know you enjoy it each time. I don’t know why you fight it so.”

“You’re such a nuisance. An awful, awful nuisance.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, kissing her temple. “As you continue to remind me daily.”

Epilogue

Years later, Morrison, Colorado…

“
We
call this
child
Kala
; meaning art.” Taras’ oldest boy’s voice rang out loudly, carrying around the open space of the Colorado woods. “
We
name
her after what moves and inspires others.
We
name
her after something so beautifully and effortlessly created.” He paused, locked eyes with his wife and mate Kamali, smiling. “
We
name
her after the reason she’s here. Her mother took advantage of my vulnerable desire to be immortalized on canvas. She put paint where paint shouldn’t have gone and I haven’t felt clean since.”

Laughter went up and Kamali made a face over the head of their daughter while her son Callum who was standing next to his father chuckled and Taras and Asha both rolled their eyes. Naresh—their youngest—snickered, Basanti—their niece—bit her lip and Dublhainn—a befriended canine—openly smirked. Tigers, wolves and lions alike all stood around them, watching intently as
Kala
’s naming ceremony commenced. Taras’ daughter-in-law, who he’d heard to be as strong and resilient as his own wife, had become a blubbering mess at the suggestion that they follow such a coveted tradition of her people.

They had taken to the newest additions to their pride happily, as it wasn’t every day that men like Taras found the one person willing to love them through their many faults. And Kaisal Verochka was most certainly a man like Taras.

It had concerned him, seeing his oldest boy grow to be so fearsome and merciless. He’d worried on many a day that he would end up as dark as Taras himself. Yet, all Asha ever did was gently remind him,
“I was responsible for half of that child’s DNA. Believe me, he will be more than fine
.”

Her faith, as usual, had been unerring. Through the years she’d maintained that same incomprehensible ability to force him into seeing himself as more than a man who could still put the fear of the gods into others. Never did she stray from that. Never did she falter. It was because of that adoration, that love, that he had two sons that he could be nothing else but proud of. Strong. Intelligent. Talented. Ethical. Those were the qualities he had always desired to see and that was exactly what he’d received. Whereas Kaisal had seemingly taken on more of his rougher attributes when angry, he typically had his mother’s gentler nature when calm. And Naresh had retained the better parts of her bluntness while following Taras’ intellect.

Additionally, there was Basanti. The daughter they had never expected to receive or raise but took in anyway when her parents had died fatally and suddenly, leaving her behind. Because the Shankur pride’s selfish ways had no more changed than his wife’s ageless face, Asha had been the one to take on the duty of raising the girl as though she were their own. It was something that Taras had willingly given his all to because he understood what it was to be abandoned unexpectedly. And he was often times blamed for
all
of Basanti’s attributes. However, in her he saw Asha. Cheeky. Bold. Precocious. Funny. She was also incredibly good with a blade.

Their lives had not been easy ones over the last few decades but it seemed that they were finally beginning to see a reward.

“Would you like to hold her,
sayin baba?”

Taras felt his lips curve as Kamali approached him, Kala in her arms. The child could only be described as beautiful. A blend of both parents that had created something incredible.

He held out his hands, happy to oblige and Kamali placed her daughter there. His hold was gentle as he rocked her.

“She has your eyes, husband,” Asha voiced, coming to his side.

“Some would say this is a bad thing,” he joked, watching Kala as she took in every sight and sound around her.

“They would be wrong,” Kaisal announced, reaching them. “Because I
also
have your eyes. And as told by my wife, I am a very pretty kitty.”

Taras stared at his son. “Is there a metal plate in your head that I am unaware of?”