Pretty Little Lion by Suleikha Snyder
17
When Finian arrived at the Tick Tock Diner alone, Tavi felt the closest thing to satisfaction he’d experienced in a long time. At last, success in one small endeavor. His old lover standing in the aisle of the Thirty-Fourth Street tourist trap, surveying the tables and booths—looking both beautiful and mistrustful. One of those things could, and would, be changed. Finn would trust him again. Or die. Those were the options. He couldn’t allow for anything else. Hence the unfortunate professional distraction that had lured the lovely Grace away from this meeting.
Alone, without his formidable female companion, Finian Conlan was every inch the vulnerable prey he’d been sixty years ago…but also something else. Something new. And not just because of the twenty-first-century clothing. Distressed blue denim and long-sleeved black T-shirt. A puffy down vest—also black. No pretense of a winter coat to ward off the crisp November air. He looked…comfortable. Like he’d lived, truly lived, in the youthful skin that Tavi had both cursed and blessed him to inhabit. Their gazes locked and Finian swiftly moved toward Tavi’s booth by the Eighth Avenue windows, Starbucks holiday cup in one hand and mobile phone in the other. The consummate millennial New Yorker—save for the flash of his razor-sharp canines.
“Tav. Still early, I see. Casing the joint or what?”
“Finn.” The new nickname was more natural on his tongue than it should have been. “Still suspicious, I see.” He sat back, one arm across the back of the banquette, his favorite pose of indolent disinterest.
It didn’t fool his protégé one bit. “The fires,” Finian said, dangerously soft. Too soft for anyone but a fellow vampire to hear. “The movie star. Did you do it? Was that your call?” There was fury in the questions. And disapproval. “Because I’ve nothing to say to someone who would see an innocent man shot to further his own goals.”
Always that core of Catholic morality with this one. It had never taken root with Tavi. He was too cynical to be spiritual, too practical to be moral. And revolution had been his first and only religion. “You really are determined to believe the worst of me, aren’t you? No. I had nothing to do with yesterday’s unfortunate events. I was just a bystander to the orders for the woman’s properties. And the target practice was handled entirely outside of my hearing range.”
Finian snorted. “Likely story.”
“True story,” Tavi corrected gently. “I can be trusted in this, amigo.”
“Leopard shifters don’t change their spots. Neither do vampires like us.” Finian set down his coffee—likely something full of sugar and caramel, achingly sweet—and slid into the bench seat across from him. “I’m not your bloody ‘amigo.’ We were never friends,” he growled, apparently remembering those years far differently than Tavi did. “Talk,” he added tersely.
“No pancakes?” Tavi raised his brows, mock-wounded. Young human Finian had quite the sweet tooth. Pancakes drenched in maple syrup, loaded Belgian waffles, pastelitos de guayaba or piña. Watching him tear into treats had given Tavi such joy. No wonder he’d taught him to tear into throats.
“I’ve lost the taste for them. Wonder who I have to blame for that?” Finn’s eyes flickered to the expansive menus the waitress had left after seating Tavi fifteen minutes ago. There was something like longing there in his expression. And it was gone when he focused on Tavi once more. “Get to it,” he snapped.
“What? No pleasantries either, mi amor?” The deliberate needling was immature. Poorly done of him. Tavi didn’t much care. This was the most genuine fun he’d had in a long time. As innocent and diverting as he was allowed to be.
It was the same feeling he’d had in 1961, alight and alive because of this man. This man who was now scowling at him. “Pleasantries were last night. And don’t think I don’t know that whatever called Gracie away was your doing,” Finn accused, annoyingly on target. “You wanted me here by myself. Well, you’ve got me. Now let’s see your cards, mate.”
“Not here.” Tavi had more than just cards to show. His hand was bigger, more dangerous than that, and the pot far more valuable than money. He slid out of his seat, tossing a few bills on the table for the waitress’s trouble. “Let’s go,” he said. “If you want to turn me, then you have to come with me.”
Finian snorted, shaking his head. “Nearly every mistake I’ve made in my miserable life is because I followed you somewhere I oughtn’t’ve.”
Tavi laughed. “Is that a no?”
“It’s not a no. It is a ‘fuck you, you fucking fucker.’” His opinion of the matter eloquently delivered, Finian joined Tavi in a brisk, eye-contactless departure from the diner. Their seats would be filled quickly, but it was still best not to acknowledge that they’d wasted the establishment’s time.
New York City was only just struggling back to normalcy after several years in chaos. Working out its Sanctuary City laws. Recovering from one crisis after another in the wake of 2016. Police corruption. Natural disasters and epidemics. Jails closing. And, of course, the emergence of supernaturals in every walk of life. In offices, hospitals, the theaters, and City Hall. Tavi loved this place. How it throbbed and sang and seethed. Every few months, some hack would write an op-ed about how NYC was “over” or “dying.” They couldn’t be more wrong. New York City was here, breathing him and Finian in as they descended into the nearest subway station. Welcoming them into the belly of the beast. Or maybe into its veins.
They swiped through the turnstiles with their respective Metrocards, and Tavi had to laugh at the sheer humanity of it. Vampires at diners while the sun was still in the sky. Vampires taking the subway. Such mundanities. Somewhere, a goth teenager was experiencing a keen yet inexplicable sense of disappointment over two creatures of the night hopping on an A train to Fulton Street. But this was what supernaturals did. For thousands of years. Existing alongside humans, navigating human society, with none the wiser. Were it within his power, Tavi would curse the day humans had discovered the truth and decided that they could exploit it for their own gain. Men like Mirko Aston, already a blight upon the world, had moved in quickly.
“What new scheme have you got knocking ’round in that head of yours?” Finn leaned one shoulder against the wall of the train car, a scowl etching his face.
“The same scheme as before,” Tavi said with a shrug.
They both stayed stationary, balanced, as the ancient train bumped over the subterranean tracks, a few hard jerks startling the handful of other passengers spread across the car. “So you’re leading me into a trap then?” It sounded like a question, but it was more like a certainty. Finian’s brooding expression turned into a feral smile. “Taking me away from all that I know and hold dear all in the name of power and glory?”
Was that what he’d promised when he gave Finn the gift of an extended life? Tavi winced. Basura. Just complete trash. His recall of the past clearly had a few holes in it. As for the present… “There’s no power and glory in this.” Not for him at any rate. That wasn’t why he’d signed on with Mirko. Why he’d seemingly thrown out the few ideals that had fed him during his youth in Havana.
The rest of the trip downtown was made in silence—discounting the busker who got on at Fourteenth Street and warbled an off-key rendition of “Hallelujah” while he strummed a ukulele. As if that song hadn’t been abused enough since the death of Leonard Cohen. Tavi moved to stand by the door after a crowd got off at West Fourth. And then Finian followed him off the train at Fulton Street.
Mirko had many meeting spots all over the city. He loved conducting business in Midtown because thousands did, affording his international cronies effortless anonymity. But his home base was the Financial District. It held all the hallmarks of the legitimacy he ultimately craved. He had a suite at the Cipriani, like several Wall Street bigwigs and media personalities, in the hopes that rubbing elbows would let him come away with some of their cachet. If it didn’t work…well, that was of no matter. Because Aston would surpass them, or destroy them, in the end. He wanted to stamp out the rich, the poor, the liberal, the intellectual elite, the brown, the devout, and the atheists alike. When all was said and done, he wanted a world that looked like him…and that followed his rules.
That meant Tavi’s days with Mirko were numbered. They had been from the start. Could he trust Finian Conlan with that knowledge, with more, when the man couldn’t even trust him? Tavi was just coming to an answer when he felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck and his limbs atrophied. “Sorry, mate,” he heard Finian whisper as everything went dark. “I’ve learned my lessons. Maybe you will, too.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
* * *
A slew of lawyers worked for Third Shift. Grace could have called any one of them to walk into the emergency meeting with her. Neha Ahluwalia, for one, was raring to prove herself as an official member of the team. But Grace knew better than to cross-contaminate her two careers, to allow even the most tenuous connection. So it was Nathaniel Feinberg who went with her into the den full of white lions, who helped her deflect the bullshit Octavio Estrada had strewn in her path. Not because Tavi cared in particular about her medical career or the consequences but because it got her out of the way. Away from Finn. While they’d been trying to turn Aston’s pet vampire, he’d been plotting to steal away her partner. She could almost admire it.
In less than twenty-four hours, he’d fabricated several documents indicating that she’d practiced medicine at another independent hospital—performed two emergency surgeries on days she hadn’t been scheduled at Queensboro. If she’d actually done so, it would be a blatant breach of her contract and grounds for immediate dismissal. Grace took in the charges without blinking. Sitting ramrod straight in the uncomfortable conference room chair—the ones in 3S Command were way more ergonomic—and looking from pale face to pale face. The chief of staff and three out of five hospital board members. “Have I ever given you any indication that I would be so incompetent and so careless?” she asked them icily. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone falsified these papers in order to discredit me and force my resignation before my contract renegotiation.”
No one sitting at the far end of the long table was the person in question, but it didn’t stop them from fidgeting like they were guilty. Chief Davidson cleared his throat, cheeks going pink above his white beard. The cardiologist played Santa every year for the children’s ward, but that was the sum total of the man’s resemblance to a cheery and beloved saint. “You know we value your work, Dr. Leung. Queensboro Community Hospital has been very lucky to have you with us for the past several years. Surely you can’t think we’d attempt such a thing.”
Nate, who’d been letting her run the show thus far, leaned forward just slightly in his seat on her left. He grinned like a shark. “Let’s hope that’s not the case, Mr. Davidson,” he said with deliberate arrogance. “Because if my client is wrongfully ousted from her position here, you will be hearing from me.”
The meeting went on for a grand total of fifteen minutes after that nicely leveled threat. Grace didn’t even bother offering explanations for where she’d actually been on the two dates in question. All she gave them was her terse assurance that she was Not Pleased at being summoned and would be happy to warn other Queensboro surgeons of this sort of behavior. With that, she and Nate said their goodbyes and made a beeline for the elevators.
“Finn was right,” Nate murmured as soon as the doors closed behind them, awe in his voice and mirth twinkling in his eyes. The brief hesitation—the awkwardness—that had laced their interaction before they walked into the conference room together was gone. “You are a badass.”
“Because I’ve had to be. Because I didn’t have any other choice.” The words bubbled up from some hidden spring six layers beneath her skin. From the river of fire that ran through her center. From the vault she’d kept locked as she sat in front of the board. “Not Chinese enough for some people. Not Black enough for others. ‘What are you?’ and ‘Where are you from?’ from assholes who don’t know what to make of my face and think they have a right to a definition. The only thing I could ever control was being strong. Being smart. Being the best in my field. The best in the field. Ice Maiden Grace. Dr. Freeze. The one Elijah can count on in the middle of his Lost Boys. I’ve never had the luxury of weakness. Of being shielded or protected from everything awful in the world.”
If Nate was shocked by her outburst, all it manifested as was warmth radiating from his entire besuited body. The warmth he’d shared with them in Finn’s bed before he fled it. “You deserve to be taken care of.” He came off the side of the elevator car and joined her in one long stride. “You deserve a soft place to land.”
She did. She really did. “You and Finn were my soft place not too long ago. My safe place, too.” Grace held his gaze. Did he see his departure and distance in question form on her face?
Maybe so. Because he wasted no time before drawing her into his arms. “We’ll take care of you,” he murmured as his lips feathered her temple. “I’ll take care of you,” he said against her skin. An absolute breach of attorney-client ethics. Grace hoped whoever was watching the elevator’s CCTV got their jollies. She just let herself be held. Let herself believe, for a few seconds, that she was safe.
Was this how Finn felt around Nate? Secure? Grounded? Human? Was that what scared him so much that he’d let Nate keep his distance for weeks? Had it driven him to Tavi Estrada? She wasn’t the only one with pertinent questions, it turned out. “So, uh…what exactly is the deal with you and Conlan? Open relationship?” Nate asked when they were safely ensconced on the N train and making their way west, back toward Third Shift HQ.
“No.” She hadn’t whiled away years pining for Finn. There was no secret flame she’d been tending since their first meeting six years before. No throbbing core of unrequited lust between coworkers to deal with. She’d, frankly, spent more time wanting to stab him with the nearest sharp object than wanting to kiss him. A reaction he inspired in many, not just her. And she had the proud distinction of being someone who’d actually done it. March 2018. She’d jabbed a ballpoint pen right through his hand after he wolf-whistled at the surveillance photo of an attractive South American couple who were running weapons while pretending to be art dealers. “Oi! What was that for?” “Midmeeting inappropriate behavior. And terrible taste.” She’d bandaged him up in short order, and he’d stopped being salacious during briefings for almost two weeks. There was nothing about their relationship to open, because they were never closed.
Grace knew what Nate wanted to hear. A simple explanation. One that fit society’s heteronormative definitions. “He’s my best friend. My partner in every meaningful way.” Finn listened to her. He deferred to her. He craved the boundaries she set for him, albeit not necessarily in the form of periodic stabbing. It was nothing as defined as a formal BDSM relationship. She didn’t spank him on alternate Wednesdays, though she’d definitely had the urge. It was like a tether between them. A flexible band of give and take, of mutual respect and frequent teasing. One look or one touch conveyed a thousand things. I trust you. I’ve got you. I love you. I’m not amused by your eyebrow gymnastics, so please knock it off this instant.
“I’ve been with other people. Finn’s been with…everyone.” She laughed ruefully. “But none of that changes us.”
Nate frowned speculatively. “Because he feeds from you?”
She’d asked herself that same question early on. And dismissed it. “Because we draw from each other. Not blood, Nate. Strength.”
He digested that and sat with it for a while. She could see him turning it over in his mind, this handsome white-haired man with a thoughtful, faraway expression. “That’s how I feel about me and Dustin,” he said finally, reminding her of his law partner, his own best friend. “But it’s more than that with you and Finn. You have to admit.”
“What’s ‘more’ in this instance?” Grace countered. “If you mean sex…the first time I kissed him was that night at his place. You and I found out together how he tastes. And what he’s like in bed.”
The faraway look in Nate’s eyes this time was decidedly more heated. As if he, like her, was recalling all of the ways they’d touched each other, learned each other. Tongues, lips, fingers, sighs, and whispers. “It doesn’t bother you at all that he might be sharing all of those things with Estrada right now?”
“Of course it does.” She was practical and realistic, not entirely impervious. “But not because I’m jealous. I know my place in Finn’s life. I’m confident in it. I’m worried for him. For what Estrada will drag him into. What feelings he’ll stir up in him. Finian has a good life now. Friends. A purpose. A future. Tavi is his past. And the past is like quicksand.” It felt strange to articulate aloud the fears she’d been mulling internally. Strange but…right. “I don’t want him to get caught up in it with no way out.”
Nate’s cross-examination of her was cut short by the N train arriving at Times Square–Forty-Second Street. They hurried off the car and into the humid bowels of the station. It was still that nebulous period between fall and winter, but the heat was already cranked up. Grace was relieved to emerge aboveground a few minutes later, with the crisp breeze cooling the sweat on her face and easing her choice of lightly lined trench coats. She’d thrown the knee-length tan trench on over a severe black pantsuit. And she noticed now that Nate was dressed nearly identically. His own suit had pinstripes and his trench was longer, but they’d coordinated nonetheless. Right down to the blue ties that matched the shade of Finn’s eyes.
“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Nate marveled, the tenor of his thoughts clearly on the same scale as hers. “To inspire such loyalty from you. To turn me inside out in a matter of days. How does he do it? Why do we fall for it?”
Grace had to laugh. More questions. Of course he had more questions. “Why do I feel like I’m on the stand, Councillor? It’s been nothing but interrogation since we left the hospital.”
“Because I want to understand.” Nate shrugged helplessly. He was so adorably bewildered. So adorable in general. No wonder Finn had been infatuated by him before they’d even met. “Not just him. All of it. Why you are the way you are. Why you both do the things you do.”
“We’ve already shown you that.” In Aleksei Vasiliev’s warehouse when they’d fought for their lives and the lives of innocents. And yes, in one another’s arms. “You know exactly who we are. The next step is on you. You can accept it, accept us. Or you can choose not to…” She mimicked his shrug.
He flinched. As if the very idea of the latter was unthinkable. It was a good sign, all things considered. It was an even better sign when he followed her through HQ’s front entrance, hands in pockets, handsome face a mask of quiet contemplation, and let her swipe him in.
“Well?” she prompted gently when they stood in front of the elevator bank. “Has the jury returned a verdict, Councillor? It’s all right if they’re not ready.”
“They’re ready. I’m ready.” One of his perfectly manicured hands emerged from his trouser pocket. He used it to reach for hers. To squeeze her fingers. It was a small gesture that felt as big as the hug he’d given her back at Queensboro. “I wouldn’t have answered your call if I wasn’t.”