The grip on her arm was soft this time. A squeeze. “Sure,” said Grace. “You can let her know you’ll be home soon.”
Home. Neha had no idea what that would look like after this. What anything would look like after this. The day after tomorrow, it might not look like anything at all.
* * *
DGS had been buzzing like a disturbed wasp’s nest all week. All three stories of the brownstone were a hive of activity. Associates pretending to focus on cases. Paralegals walking on eggshells. The assistants trying to keep everyone on task, because that was just what good assistants did. The partners weren’t happy. No, that was an understatement. The partners were pissed. The names had scheduled a vote for Monday—to fire Neha from the firm effective immediately, no matter that she might be floating facedown in the East River for all anyone knew. Nate wasn’t about to enlighten Spencer Dickenson, Hannah Gould, or Michael Smythe on her whereabouts. He and Dustin had, however, done their best to rally the rest of the non-name partners and fight for Neha’s right to return and face the music in person.
They still had all of tomorrow and the weekend to do some convincing, but Nate was just about rallied out now. He hurried through the foyer and down the brownstone’s front steps with his head full of snide remarks and eye rolls and complaints that Neha’s caseload had been divvied up among already overburdened junior and senior associates. “I’m so sorry her being shot at and kidnapped and potentially murdered is such an inconvenience to all of you. Your compassion is overwhelming.” He’d held on to his temper for the most part but snapped back at Dickenson, who was doing his level best to live up to the first part of that name. “Take a walk,” the baby boomer had snarled. “Or the next walk you take might be to the unemployment line.”
Nate had equity in the firm. They couldn’t actually fire him. There would have to be a buyout. But he’d taken the advice. Made a beeline to the sidewalk. Fueled by equal parts rage and worry, he was halfway to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade before he even realized it. Someone fell into line behind him, their footsteps eerily mirroring his. Mugger? No. He knew without turning around who it was. Finn Conlan, the private investigator who wasn’t a private investigator. The man who wasn’t just a man. And who’d made himself so comfortable in Nate’s home. He’d left with the same flourish with which he’d appeared…barely giving Nate time to process their conversation or Neha’s cryptic text messages, but offering him plenty of frustrated fantasy fodder later that night. What did he want now?
Nate slowed his gait just enough so that they were even, taking up space on the sidewalk like asshole tourists. “To what do I owe this visit, Mr. Conlan?”
The vampire didn’t bother purring pleasantries this time. He got right to the point. “There’s a private party at Kamchatka tomorrow night. I would like to be your date.” There was nothing romantic about the ask. His blue eyes were narrowed with focus, determination…ruthlessness.
Nate suppressed a shiver. “You’re making a big assumption…that I can get on the guest list. That they’d want me on the guest list, considering what my client did to Vasiliev’s men.”
“That’s precisely why they would welcome you. Curiosity, perversity, challenge, all wrapped in a tidy little bow. But not to worry: I’m on the guest list. I just need recognizable company. And I want witnesses. D’you understand? We need you there. A respected representative of the legal community. An advocate.” Finn’s intensity was startling. In such stark contrast to the flirtation he usually employed. It got the point across, though. Nate understood. The more people on their side in Vasiliev’s club, the less the likelihood of the narrative playing out in the vor’s favor. And the higher the stakes.
Still…Nate wasn’t exactly raring to don one of his favorite bespoke suits and walk right into the lion’s den. Bear’s den. Whatever supernatural den Kamchatka was rumored to be. “Why do you think I need to be involved in this? It’s a serious conflict of interest.”
“So was keeping your associate’s text messages to yourself,” the vampire pointed out. “And you did that, didn’t you? You didn’t run straight on to the police with those texts after I left.”
No. Nate had learned a long time ago, partially thanks to Dustin’s friendship, that running to the police wasn’t always the smartest option. But he didn’t appreciate what Finn was hinting at. “So this is blackmail?”
“Nothing so pedestrian as that. It’s a chance for you to see the real underbelly of this city,” Finn said sharply. “The things that go bump in the night, and the creatures that eat those things. The people who allow it all, who fund it, who keep the dirty wheels greased. They’re not just in your courtrooms, love.”
“I don’t know what you want from me.” A lie. Because he knew at least one thing Finn wanted from him. “Or why I should put myself at risk for this.”
Finn stopped below a streetlamp, shaking his head. As if he sensed the half-truths. “You know what it’s like…walking amongst people, knowing you’re different and they can’t tell,” he murmured, brilliant-blue eyes going distant with memory. “Unless you give something away. Then they turn on you. Pitchforks, torches. ‘How dare you try and live amongst us like you’re normal?’”
Nate’s spine prickled with instant discomfort. “Are you comparing being Jewish to being a vampire? Or my being gay? Because I’m not comfortable with that, and it’s not going to help your argument.”
The Oppression Olympics were alive and well in this day and age, especially with supernaturals thrown into the mix. And as much of an advocate as Nate was, there were certain things he just wouldn’t stand for. His grandparents hadn’t fled Poland to have fang-laden predators perfectly capable of defending themselves claim some sort of kinship via shared marginalization.
Finn visibly paled. An impressive feat, considering he was pale to begin with. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured. “I was speaking as a Catholic who’ll shag your brother, your sister, and your mum without a second thought. As a thrice-damned slut who got shoved into seminary to try and hide my ills and chase out my demons. Didn’t work, of course. Because I was a horny little queer who never believed in anything. Not until—” He cut himself off, as if realizing he’d revealed entirely too much about himself. “I contain multitudes, love,” he finished cockily, as if that made up for the slip.
There were stories there. Narratives Nate didn’t have a right to access. He didn’t know what to make of any of it. “Sounds like you’ve ‘shagged’ multitudes, too,” he said to try to maintain some distance.
“Is there a problem with that?” Finn crowded him against the lamppost. He leaned in—close, too close, close enough for Nate to consider doing something ludicrous like kiss him—before flinching back. “Oh. That’s new,” he observed with an odd sort of delight, frowning down at the singed flesh just below his collarbone. In the perfect shape of Nate’s Star of David.
Nate understood very little about the pathology of the modern nonfictional vampire, but he had to laugh. “What do you mean ‘that’s new’? Did you really think it would only be crosses?”
Light glinted off the edges of Finn’s canines as he bared his teeth in a macabre grin. “It’s never just crosses, Nathaniel. They always find something to burn. Do you want it to be your colleague and your client?”
The shiver he’d experienced earlier broke out into a full blast of cold. It would be easy to blame it on something Finn was doing with his vampirical powers, but Nate was smarter than that. He knew what his conscience felt like, what his fear felt like.
“Okay,” he said, finally. “Okay, I will go with you to this thing at Kamchatka. I’ll be a witness to whatever it is you want me to see.”
Finn’s frightening, glittering intensity seemed to instantly dim to an attractive glow. “I’d say that you won’t regret it, but I can’t make that promise.” He tilted forward, letting his full lips brush Nate’s jaw. “I don’t make promis
es to anyone anymore.”
Chapter 26
“No. Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Elijah’s dark eyes flashed gold with warning as he made the booming pronouncement.
It was the answer Danny had expected. Tossing and turning all night as he made his case to himself first. I have to be there. I need to know Yulia is safe. Flipping the arguments over and around in his head as he took the 7 train into Hudson Yards and then made the walk north to HQ. I know I’m not qualified for away missions yet, but this is different.
“It’s not different,” Elijah said when Danny made that particular point aloud. “In fact, it’s even more dangerous. You’re more of a liability than an asset. Vasiliev and his men know you. They can use you against Yulia and against us. Is that what you want? To be made the second you walk into that club?”
“That’s the last thing I want.” Danny squirmed in his seat. Elijah’s public-facing office was equipped with all sorts of creature comforts—ergonomic chairs and everything—but it felt like he was sitting on a bed of nails. Like the heat was on full blast. Angry sweat was beading his skin. He felt petty and small and young. “Neha Ahluwalia’s going in. She has no training whatsoever. How is that any less of a liability?”
Elijah leaned forward, interlacing his fingers on the gleaming granite desktop, looking for all the world like a principal about to give Danny detention. Hell, he’d taught school for a while; he probably had a lot of experience giving out detentions. “You have to look at the bigger picture, bruv. We don’t let her go, she raises a ruckus. Or she goes in on her own, half-cocked. We can’t risk that. We can’t risk letting this get out of hand. Because more than just our mission is at stake. If this goes sideways, there could be global consequences.”
Today was not the day to lecture Danny about the bigger picture. He was so sick of being reminded of that picture. “I know you care about everyone, Lije. You’re always doing things for the greater good. But have you ever, ever done something for just one person? Risked it all for them? Have you ever loved someone that much? That’s how I feel about Yulia.” In the short time he’d been moonlighting at Third Shift, Danny had never heard Lije talk about his personal life, never seen him go out on dates or even mention interest in someone. Meghna Saxena-Saunders was the only woman who existed for him…and that was just a job.
“Point taken.” Elijah accepted the direct hit with a curt nod. And because he was an exemplary boss, he didn’t hit back. He just sat with the accusation for a long minute. His face was sober, his hands still gripping each other tightly. And then he circled back to something that Danny couldn’t argue. “But if Yulia Vasilieva feels the same way, she’ll want you safe. She grew up in the life. She knows how to handle herself. She’s been doing it for decades. You’re not there yet.”
It was true. And it stung. He’d gone from beat cop to detective, but as far as 3S was concerned, he was still a rookie. And Yulia…Yulia had left her home, her job, a quiet life she’d loved—and him—all in exchange for safety. Lest Danny be killed or her bar burned to ashes. He didn’t know who he was madder at: Elijah, himself, or the world at large. “I want to get there,” he said wearily. “All I want is to get there so I can be there for her.”
“I know,” his boss said, untangling his hands so he could reach across and gently knock the back of Danny’s. “I’m not so hardhearted as all that.”
But neither was he softhearted enough to fall for someone.
Danny didn’t know whether to root for or dread the day he finally did.
* * *
Danny’s hand skated down her side, featherlight, before curling around her hip. She arched into him, welcoming his kiss, his dick, everything he had to give her. “Yulia,” he whispered, lowering himself into the cradle of her thighs. “Yulia, I want to make this good for you. Safe for you.”
And that was when the fantasy splintered, shattering like glass. Because there was nothing safe for her, was there? Not as long as she was bear and Danny was human. Yulia shook out of the ridiculous and ill-timed visions, willing the warmth from her bones and her sex. She gripped her smartphone, eyes once again darting across the street, watching the Brighton Beach MTA terminal for who might emerge.
Heard you have a staffing problem. Our agency will send over a sub ASAP, Danny had said. And that was more or less the end of all they’d dared say to each other. Brief. Impersonal. Somehow still as erotic as love letters. She’d deleted the messages immediately. Emptied the deleted messages box as well. She was not naive, not ignorant, despite so many impulses that might speak to the contrary. Bringing people into the club was reckless, dangerous. Effectively signing her own death warrant. But hadn’t she already given up her life when she left the Confessional? She’d signed her soul over to her brother. Anything that happened now would happen to someone living a half-life.
A wave of people came down from the elevated train tracks, surging down the steps like a wave of insects. She knew almost immediately who Danny’s people had sent. Tourists were easy to spot. Those who lived in the neighborhood, too. These women fell somewhere in between. Beautiful and brown-skinned, wearing their resting bitch faces so that they were largely unapproachable. And with carefully chosen accessories, they somehow managed to look like so many girls she knew from Eastern Europe. Animal-print jackets, garish blue eye shadow, stiletto heels. Perfect for the Pit. Anyone who wasn’t looking for something suspicious would be none the wiser. But she was trained to look beyond the normal. To see which average New Yorker wasn’t an average New Yorker at all.
They were humans, both of them. She detected no scent of a fellow predator. That did not mean they were prey. No, in fact, as they neared her, she could definitely say they were not prey. Like her, they were danger wrapped in deception.
“You are the girls from the agency, yes?” she said in lieu of a greeting, her accent just a bit exaggerated. Her best Boris-and-Natasha.
“Yes. We are to be helping you tonight and tomorrow,” one of the women replied in an Indian accent that could’ve been lifted from The Simpsons. “It is a very big show, hai na?” Yulia struggled not to laugh at the glint in her eye. This had to be Neha Ahluwalia, the woman who had been in hiding with Aleksei’s new guest.
“We’d like to start immediately. Get the lay of the land.” Her companion was not as amused and spoke with no inflection in her crisp tone. She wore her eyeshadow and bright lipstick like weapons. One of Danny’s colleagues, no doubt. “We don’t want to make any mistakes when your guests arrive.”
“Of course. We appreciate initiative.” Yulia reverted to her natural voice and gestured them forward, walking with them in the general direction of the club. She could’ve called a car, but she hardly trusted drivers in the area. There was no telling who was on her brother’s payroll. “Any phones will be locked in the employee safe for the length of your shift. Our patrons value discretion. No selfies. No cell-phone video. Nothing. You understand?”
“We didn’t bring phones,” the no-nonsense woman assured her, the lie nearly undetectable. She was taller than Neha and Yulia herself. Her curly ink-black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that only added to her imposing height, and her cheekbones were blade-sharp slashes in her striking face.
“What do I call you?” Yulia wondered.
“Maria,” she said, providing the alias in a way that indicated it was best to not call her anything at all.
“Aishwarya, but you can call me ‘Aish,’” Neha Ahluwalia added with another hint of laughter in her eyes. As if she was imparting a private joke. But her expression quickly sobered. “It’s important that we do a good job. Very important.”
Beyond important. Yulia felt the prickle of fur beneath her skin. The tease of extra teeth in her mouth and a growl building low in her throat. Her clan thought her weak, complacent, subservient. What happened on fight night, no matter which direction the wind blew, would change everything. There would be winn
ers and there would be losers. There would be the living and the dead. Hope or the very absence of it. Aleksei’s fall, or his continued rise. Were she and her two new friends all that stood between destruction and salvation…or the very force that would bring the roof down on all of their heads?
Yulia would find out soon enough.
Chapter 27
“Hey. We don’t have much time. But I had to see you. I had to make sure you’re okay.”
It was fucking weird. Like something out of a dream. Neha but not Neha. She sounded like herself, but her hair was some funky shade of almost-blond, cut blunt at her jawline. The dress she was wearing barely hit her knees. It was some shiny, slick material like leather or PVC. She looked like a brown version of that spy chick from Alias. But her palms smoothing over him, her eyes cataloging his cuts and bruises, that was familiar. That was her. And it pulled him out of the haze of the tranqs.
“Neha?” He focused on her hands, on her face, letting those beautiful things bring on the rest of the clarity he needed.
Her wig brushed his cheek as she felt around him for something. “Yeah, Joe. It’s me,” she confirmed. “Yulia Vasilieva got me a half hour in here with you. We rerouted the security cameras. But it’s not a rescue—not just yet, I’m sorry. Just some recon. You’re not the only one good at that after all.”
“You shouldn’t have come looking for me,” he said, struggling against the cuffs, torn between snuggling close and bucking her away from him.
Her hands closed over his wrists. For a second he thought she was trying—a futile effort—to hold him still. But no. She had a key or a pick or something. “Oh, Joe. You should know me better than that by now,” she murmured as she worked the lock on his restraints. “I had no choice.”
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