Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damen wasn’t used to being nervous. He found he didn't care for it, much.

He glanced around, ready to find some excuse—any excuse—he could blame this sudden flare of anxiety on, and met the eye of a very dead, very stuffed swordfish hanging on the wall. A bit macabre to have in a place like this, he thought, but something about the fish’s resolute unwillingness, or perhaps inability, to look anywhere but straight ahead buoyed his spirits, and he thanked the swordfish with a small nod before heading into the main hall of the aquarium.

Walking inside he assessed the area with a single glance. The khaki and polo clad denizens judged him harshly for his attire, a crime which he paid for with dubious looks and whispered speculations about why anyone would wear a full three piece suit to somewhere so humid. He ignored them. It was bad enough he had agreed to come here unarmed; showing up without his armor on would have been unthinkable. Multiple levels of walkways criss-crossed through the space, giving guests different heights from which to view the animals. It would be impossible to navigate this space in a fight—not that there would be one, both sides had agreed to no violence—but Damen couldn't help analyze it in that context anyway. While the decorative flora planted throughout the exhibits might provide some spotty cover, the real advantage would be height. His gaze drifted up, instinctively searching for the most favorable vantage point, where he met the cool blue gaze of the only other man here as overdressed as he was. He smiled, throwing a roguish salute.

Nothing. No response, not even the slightest hint of a smile. Perhaps it was just hard to see from this distance. Damen briefly considered trying to communicate through a series of charades—Should I go up there? No? Meet down here?—before deciding he didn't need to antagonize the man before they even had a chance to speak, and looked for the nearest set of stairs.

After a brief detour to watch some river otters frolic, Damen reached the highest walkway where Laurent de Vere was waiting for him, leaning against the railing. He gazed fixedly on the water below as if entirely unconcerned that anyone might be joining him, although Damen guessed from the slight way Laurent's shoulders tensed that his presence must have been noted. He didn't wait for any sort of acknowledgment, figuring it wouldn't come, and went to stand next to him. From this vantage the aquarium was even more impressive; the manufactured cliff wall against the southern edge of the building was adorned with vines of violently blooming flowers, beautifully framing the three-story waterfall that tumbled into a tank below. From this distance whatever animals lived in that tank appeared only as shapeless blobs gliding through the water, sending an uncomfortable, primeval sort of terror through Damen's gut. Brightly colored birds swooped overhead to check out the well-placed feeding stations scattered around before returning to their homes. A small island was home to a tree tall enough to nearly reach their high walkway, the branches quivering and chittering. After a moment Damen saw what was causing the disruption: tiny monkeys, jumping from branch to branch, strategically distanced from the walkways so that none of the creatures had any hope of leaping to freedom.

Damen turned, leaning with one arm against the railing as he looked at de Vere. The photos Damen's recon team had managed to acquire—blurry, at a distance and almost exclusively at night and in profile—had not prepared him for how handsome he was in person. Damen had ordered those pictures because he wanted physical proof that Laurent was a man and not some spirit that had been created only to annoy and obstruct him at every turn, but now that he was here he found it hard to believe that Laurent hadn't been created to cater specifically to his tastes, with his flashing blue eyes, swept back blond hair and cheekbones sharp enough to cut.

The silence between them was growing awkward. He knew the fact that de Vere hadn't greeted him or spoken to him yet was a power play. He knew that he would have to speak first if they were going to speak at all, and that whatever he said would dictate the rest of their interaction here today, which meant he would have to tread carefully, judiciously.

"Beautiful place," he said, arming himself with his most charming smile. "It would make a great spot for a first date."

Icy blue eyes flicked over to him, briefly, as if he was barely worth the show of annoyance.

"I suppose it could be," came the clipped response. "If I'm ever here with someone I don't loathe I'll keep it in mind."

"Come on now," Damen said, smiling. Honestly that had gone as well as he could have hoped for—he hadn't been pushed over the railing yet, at least, and he was going to take that as the success it was. "We're here as friends, remember?"

"We're here as temporarily defanged enemies. I assume you're unarmed."

"That was the order from above," Damen said, agreeably cheerful.

De Vere's eyes narrowed. He took a moment to look Damen up and down, a gaze that Damen would almost call leering if he didn't know better. Apparently satisfied by what he saw there—or perhaps what he didn't see, because even though Damen had purposefully avoided answering his question he had come unarmed—he nodded.

"That was the order," de Vere said, just as agreeable but noticeably less cheerful. "I suppose no one considered the fact that you're just as dangerous without a gun."

Damen let his smile turn a little sharper.

"If I thought this might turn into a brawl I'd say that's something to be worried about, sure," said Damen, absorbing the unimpressed look de Vere sent him, though Damen hadn't been boasting. "As it is, I think you have the upper hand."

"And how's that?"

"I have a natural instinct to preserve works of art."

The unimpressed look deepened.

"And your face—"

"I get it," de Vere said, holding up a hand to halt the rest of that sentence. "I've heard every line in the book, Damianos, trust me. You are nowhere near as charming as you think you are."

"So you say. But if I'm not, why are you blushing?"

The flush that had appeared on Laurent's cheeks continued to spread, and he made a quick, abortive movement with his head, as if realizing too late that turning away would only expose him further. After a chilly moment, he said, carefully, "It's warm in here, Damianos. Something you and your wilting suit would agree with, I think."

"You should call me Damen."

This earned him another narrow-eyed glare. Obviously unable to come up with a motive for such a request, he asked, warily, "Why would I do that?"

Damen shrugged. "It's what my friends call me."

"We are not—"

"We're here to negotiate a truce," Damen said, interrupting him as gently as possible. "And I intend to do that in good faith. So even though our organizations have had…differences, let's say, over the years—"

"Two months ago you had one of our most popular casinos raided and cost us ten million in revenue."

"—I intend to come to some sort of deal today. And I think that would be easier if we were friends. Even if it's just for today." After a moment of consideration which was in no way careful, Damen couldn't help but add, "And you stole away our biggest chalis distributor last month, which cost us a lot more than ten million. If you're counting."

"I'm always counting. Did you think I could afford to just let your raid go unanswered? You hit us, so I hit you. That's all there was to it."

"I know that," Damen said. "I knew that you'd retaliate even when I ordered it. But I couldn't—"

He stopped.

"You couldn't what?" De Vere noted his hesitation, and focused in on it with singular intent. "Oh, but we're friends now, Damen. Surely that means you could let me in on private family business. I can't possibly see what reservations you would have about that."

Damen straightened up, considering the man next to him. Laurent de Vere, twenty-one years old, third in line to inherit the enormous wealth the Veretian crime family had amassed over the years. Possibly the most beautiful man Damen had ever seen. Definitely the most dangerous; it was not out of the question that Damen had already inadvertently given him enough information to bring down the entire Akielon organization.

But Damen had come here with a purpose today, and he was never one to give up easily.

"The cops had information on one of my men," Damen said, and he watched de Vere's eyes grow wide; he probably hadn't expected to get the truth. "Damning information, if you can believe that. We tried our usual methods to make the problem go away, but we were facing some strangely unbribable men. So we cut a deal."

"One of my gambling halls for your man," de Vere supplied. He made a show of considering, and said, "Short sighted. Now that the authorities know you'll crumble under pressure they'll squeeze you until you've got nothing left. You might know some of our locations, but not nearly all. They'll have you scrambling to give up your own locations by the end of the month."

"You're right," Damen said. The surprise on de Vere's face was milder this time, but now that Damen knew what it looked like he clocked it more readily. "Which is why my men took advantage of a relatively empty police station to gather said damning evidence while everyone was busy raiding your gambling hall. A gambling hall, I might point out, that had no obvious connections to any of your other businesses. Even the bouncers were all new hires. Unlike, say," Damen waved a hand airily, "your laundry business over on Arles Avenue, which I have on good authority is storing….well. Let's just be polite and call it questionable material. It's closer to the police station, too."

De Vere tipped his head, acknowledging the hit. Eventually he said, either a concession or a thanks for not giving up the laundromat, Damen couldn't tell: "Your unbribable cop will have backups of the evidence.”

"Yeah," Damen said, nodding. "Right again. He did. His old partner did, too."

Another inscrutable look, but Damen didn't think he was imagining the tiniest sliver of appreciation lurking at the edge of it.

"I suppose you think I should be impressed by the fact that you're not only physically imposing but moderately clever as well."

"And not as charming as I think," Damen said helpfully. "Don't forget that."

"Don't worry, Damen. I didn't forget."

Damen gave him a slow, unhurried smile. He was beginning to understand how de Vere worked, how he inspired the kind of confidence in his men that had frustrated Damen's plans more than once. And so he said, "I didn't think you would, Laurent."

The moment stretched out between them. The glass dome of the atrium reflected every color of the sunset and washed both of them in purples, pinks, yellows. Laurent's hair shone in the light, a beacon that warned more than guided. His eyes glittered dangerously, a sapphire blue promising pain to anyone bold enough to meet his eye. Damen couldn't tear his gaze away. He tried to imagine what Laurent would look like if he wasn't carrying that constant tension in his shoulders, and wasn't quite able to complete the tableau.

"What's your offer?" Laurent asked, breaking the silence between them.

Damen saw little advantage to prevaricating.

"Give up your holdings in Delpha. The loan shark business, the betting hall. In return," Damen said, as Laurent let out an affronted breath, "we'll do the same. Obviously."

"And leave Delfeur empty for some two-bit criminal to set up shop," Laurent said.

"And leave us to make a coalition," Damen corrected, "to make sure that Delpha stays neutral. Which in turn would serve as a very clear buffer zone between our two organizations."

Laurent eyed him warily.

"A coalition," he said slowly. "What would that—look like? If I was even considering that insane plan, which I'm not."

Damen smiled. "Ten men from each of us. Rotating weekly shifts with one of yours and one of mine working together on each shift to make sure everything stays friendly and no new players move in. A safe house for both sides, for those men only, in the middle of Delpha. We split the maintenance costs equally." That was the extent of the agreement Damen had been given, and even that grudgingly; however, after quick deliberation he added, "And we should stay in touch. The two of us. A monthly meeting—just to make sure everything is running smoothly."

"Oh, sure," said Laurent, his voice low and mocking. "I can't foresee any problems with the two of us meeting up every month. Surely there won't be any blowback from either one of our organizations on that front. And I suppose you'll want to meet somewhere nice. A fancy restaurant, perhaps."

"Laurent," Damen said, batting his eyelashes theatrically, "are you asking me out?"

"It won't work," Laurent said dismissively. "My uncle won't give up anything north of sixty-second street."

"Sixty-second street is squarely in Marlas," Damen said, frowning. "That's not even your territory."

"And he'll never agree to give up even one man for this cute little buddy system you have in mind. In fact, I doubt he'll agree to anything you offer, except a full takeover of your holdings."

Damen's frown deepened. His father had told him. Told him it was stupid to try and reason with a Veretian, that the best he could hope for was them feeding him with one hand while they stabbed him with the other. But Damen didn't think he'd imagined the glint in Laurent's eye when he spoke about joining forces, and he was certain he hadn't imagined the steel in his voice when he spoke about his uncle.

"Why did you come here today, Laurent?"

Laurent hummed, a non-committal noise, and pushed himself away from the railing. In a quick and almost certainly incessantly practiced move he fell into a readied stance on the balls of his feet, looking Damen up and down again. It was similar to his first glance, but his eyes were darker this time, sharper.

"You could take me," Laurent said, finally.

Damen blinked.

"Sorry?"

"If we can't come to any sort of agreement. You'd be mad that it all fell through, and you're known for having a temper. No one could really blame you. Or—they could, I suppose. Would."

"Blame me?"

"Exactly. But I'm expendable. And it would be an honorable death. No hard feelings. A deal gone bad; it happens all the time. Auguste might have been able to beat you. But they didn’t send him, did they? They sent me. I wonder why?"

It sounded like babbling. Damen might have written it off as nothing more than that if Laurent wasn't speaking with the cadence of someone who had just discovered the last piece of an almost complete puzzle.

"I'm not going to fight you, Laurent," Damen said slowly. "Even if we leave here with no accord between us, I'm not going to fight. We agreed—no weapons, no violence. I intend to honor that."

“And what does honor mean to a man like you?”

Damen couldn't help it—he bristled, and then took a deep breath, and then another until the shades of red fell away from his eyes.

“You are trying,” he said, “to make me angry. It won’t work.”

“Oh, Damen. I think it will work. Tell me, why do you think we were sent here today? Instead of, say, your father. My uncle. The men with the real power to make these kinds of decisions. Why are we here, and not them?”

Damen frowned. “They’re busy men—”

“I’m a busy man,” Laurent said. “Arguably busier than my uncle, if we’re talking about actual work. And—if I had to guess, I would say that you had to cancel…” Laurent paused, his gaze contemplative as his eyes raked over Damen again, as if he could see some sort of schedule etched into his admittedly wilted suit. “Four. Four important meetings today, just to do this.”

“This is important to me,” Damen said, his cheeks flushing for some unaccountable reason. He had only had to move around three meetings, but he wasn’t about to tell Laurent that. “I came here because I thought the two of us could make a real difference in our organizations. If I had known you were just going to treat it as a game—”

“Oh, it’s not a game,” Laurent said. “Not to me. I wouldn’t have come if the only intention was to meet you in person and rile you up, although that has been rather fun.”

“Glad I can accommodate,” Damen said dryly.

“I just think it would behoove us both to consider why we were sent, rather than anyone else, to discuss this truce that is certainly never going to go anywhere. I can think of plenty of reasons why I’m here. The only thing that would make my uncle happier than hearing I’ve been murdered by an Akielon thug is if someone offered him a permanent position at an orphanage for pre-pubescent boys. But you—you’re more of a conundrum. Second son, but always known as your father’s favorite. The anticipated successor to the empire once he steps down.” Laurent cocked his head, his gaze piercing. “What’s your relationship with your older brother like?”

“You can’t ever talk in a straight line, can you?” Damen said. He knew his teeth were clenched; he could hear it in the gravel pitch of his voice. “It’s always insinuations and underhanded lies with you, isn’t it?”

Laurent shrugged. “I’m trying to solve a mystery, that’s all. But you don't need to play along if you don't want to. I think we'll figure out the answer eventually. We could start with asking them, maybe.”

Damen was too experienced to turn when Laurent pointed behind him. He’d been sucker punched exactly once in his life, and he wasn’t about to expose himself to it again. Besides, he was relatively certain that Laurent wasn’t dissembling; Damen could hear footsteps behind him, and he recognized the confident, purposeful stride of someone on a mission.

“Mr. de Vere,” the person behind him said. Damen turned to face the intruders, moving backwards until he stood next to Laurent, shoulder to shoulder. “Mr. Vallis. Could you come with us, please?”

Never a good sign when someone already knew your name. Damen didn’t bother glancing behind him; he already knew there was nowhere else to go. The walkway they were on ended at the cliff, giving a closeup view of the waterfall. The wall itself could be climbed, probably, if there weren’t two armed women five feet away from them who would prevent them from doing so. Damen could probably jump off the walkway into the tank of water below without much damage, but a quick glance over the side told him that possibility had already been accounted for. He counted five guards waiting for them there; instinct told him there was at least that number again just out of sight. 

"Actually," Damen said, setting a hand against the small of Laurent's back, "there’s no need. We were just leaving."

Neither woman moved. Damen recognized their stares; the implacable boredom of soldiers following orders, hoping the job they were tasked to do wasn't going to be harder than it already was.

"If you'll come with us, please."

Two against two; Damen liked those odds, guns notwithstanding. Even if Laurent couldn't be counted on to help—and Damen figured he probably couldn't—two against one wasn't the worst odds he had ever fought against and come out victorious. It would have been the obvious solution to their problem—if only the aquarium wasn't still open to visitors. Damen glanced down at the levels below them and saw families, groups of friends, young couples strolling together. One bullet going a little too wide would be all it took to change their lives forever.

He shared a glance with Laurent, who shook his head once, tightly. He had seen what Damen had, then, and had come to the same conclusion. Knowing they had no other choice they did what they were told.

The guards led them down to the ground level, avoiding the other guests by keeping to the staff only areas. Announcements warning guests about the imminent closing time played over the intercom, and Damen took advantage of the noise to lean close to Laurent and whisper, "Since when do aquarium workers carry guns?"

"Maybe they have particularly aggressive trout," Laurent whispered back, and then a warning glance silenced them both, and they continued without further comment.

Damen didn't see any more guests as they were led across the aquarium. Either everyone had strictly obeyed the closing announcements or there were other guards clearing the way; out of the corner of his eye Damen saw movement, heard the crackle of a radio, and assumed the latter. Birds called out above them, bright feathers flashing as they flew with unerring accuracy between the trees, and in the distance something chittered. Damen might almost believe that they were inside a real jungle, except for the glass walls caging them in.

By the time they reached the other end of the aquarium, Damen's curiosity had graduated to annoyance. The only reason he had stayed his hand earlier was because he didn't want any innocents to get caught up in their mess; now that the aquarium was closed and there were no more guests around, that reason was no longer relevant. When their group came to a stop in front of a large, cascading waterfall tumbling into a shallow pool where a few dozen flamingos grazed and dozed, Damen planted his feet and turned to his captors.

"Well, this has been fun," Damen said, letting a hint of displeasure infuse his voice. It was enough to make Laurent wince, even though the statement hadn't been directed at him, and the two guards took an involuntary step back. "And I thank you for this impromptu tour. But I'm afraid we're both busy men, as my friend here reminded me earlier, and we have other pressing matters to deal with. So we're just going to—"

To what, exactly, Damen didn't get a chance to expound on. The flamingos, who had a moment ago been quiet and sleepy, began to honk in protest of some new threat, flapping their wings restlessly. They scuttled away from the waterfall at the end of their pool, and after a moment Damen saw why—the waterfall was beginning to shift and move, drawing aside like a curtain. Some complicated mechanics were likely responsible for such a feat, but the spray of the water obscured any engineering, while the honking of the flamingos covered any noise the crashing water didn't, making the entire operation look like magic. As the water moved out of the way a hidden door was revealed, neatly painted to blend in even without the water covering it.

"If you'll just come with us," the guard said, gesturing to the door.

"We go down there, we're not coming back," Damen said, planting his feet. "I know how this plays out. I'll take my chances up here, thanks."

This development prompted the guards to stop for a moment and listen to the instructions coming through their earpieces. Laurent took advantage of their distraction and leaned over to Damen, whispering, "What do you think you're doing?"

Their two captors straightened as one, and turned to Damen.

"Our mistress would very much like to meet the two of you," the guard closest to him said. "However, she understands your apprehension. If you'd like this to be the final stop in your journey today, she has no problem speaking to Mr. de Vere alone."

"'Final stop' is a pretty way to say something so unpleasant," Damen said, unable to keep the wryness out of his voice. A flash in the corner of the room drew his eye—he recognized the glint of a sniper's scope, almost certainly revealed to him on purpose in case he required any further incentive. He traded a look with Laurent; he had caught the motion too.

"Come on," Laurent said, nodding to the waiting door. He lowered his voice, barely loud enough for Damen to hear over the honking of the last few flamingos who hadn't settled yet. "Trust me. I'll get us out of this."

Damen went, as if he had any other choice. The flamingos scattered as the humans invaded their space, squawking in futile protest as their peace was once again disturbed. Damen and Laurent followed the guards through the shallow pool, their feet staying dry as they walked on the clear acrylic maintenance path that blended seamlessly into the water, past the the temporarily drawn back waterfall, through the painted door—now that Damen was close enough he could see it was made of impenetrable steel—and down a flight of stairs. The door closed behind them with a loud clang that Damen could feel through his feet, either an unfortunate result of construction or an additional reminder they weren't going to be able to leave easily, he had no idea. Next to him Laurent appeared entirely unbothered, and Damen struggled to match his affect as much as he struggled to understand why he trusted Laurent—a man who had not once, but twice intercepted Damen's shipment of priceless antique cars, absconding both times with an elegant, candy-apple red convertible that Damen had earmarked for himself —to get them out of here.

They were marched through a maze of stark, utilitarian corridors. No more carefully placed decorative flora here; a tangle of criss-crossing pipes and cables ran overhead, and the walls were largely unadorned save for bright warning signs that were completely gibberish to Damen and yet somehow still ominous. He glimpsed inside rooms as they passed, saw people hunched over tables, lab equipment in the background, guards moving about. He shared a look with Laurent and knew they were thinking the same thing: We're being allowed to see this because we're not getting out of here.

They stopped in front of a door that wouldn't have been out of place in a bank vault, all steel and cogs and pistons. The guards opened it with a loud groan of metal against metal to reveal a room unlike any of the others they had passed. Where the other rooms had been functional and practical this room was gaudy and excessive; a tank, easily twenty, thirty feet tall and twice as wide, sat at the other end of the room. It was probably the most water Damen had ever seen outside of the ocean. The other side must be visible in the part of the aquarium accessible to visitors, but a large, intricate reef blocked any view that would confirm that suspicion. Schools of brightly colored fish flashed in the dim blue light of the tank, and Damen had the feeling of something huge lurking in the water just beyond his view. An elegant desk sat in front of the tank, looking like a piece of doll furniture against the enormous backdrop. Two chairs sat opposite of the desk, empty; with a nod from the guards, Damen understood this was where they were to sit.

He took a moment to look around as they crossed the marble floor. To the right of them was a wall of monitors, their screens visible only in a flash as they moved past the filters that kept wandering eyes from seeing too much. It was enough of a glimpse to let him know what was there—live camera feeds of every square inch of the aquarium, including all the rooms they had just seen—but not enough for him to figure out how to get to the nearest exit. Five women monitored the screens, sparing the two of them not even a glance as they passed. With that kind of coverage, he and Laurent must have been made the moment they bought their tickets.

They sat down at the empty chairs, and they waited. Another power play, Damen knew, but he was hardly in any position to complain. He glanced over at Laurent, sitting next to him with a casual, almost bored air, one ankle resting on his knee as he stared at the tank in front of them, no more concerned than if he were waiting for appetizers to be delivered to his dinner table.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

Damen turned towards the voice. The woman walking up to them was stout, with a build that spoke of a fighting background. Likely she had been a proper menace twenty, thirty years ago in her prime; even now Damen had the feeling that tangling with her would be a messy and painful affair. Her eyes were dark, like shark eyes: black and hungry.

"My tank," she clarified, sitting down at the desk and gesturing to the behemoth behind her, as if there was any confusion to what she was referring to. "The largest in Artes by nearly a million gallons, if you believe it."

"It's impressive," Laurent said, his foot bouncing once, twice before settling. "Nice of you to give us this private viewing, especially after operating hours. In fact, I've already let my people know how accommodating you've been, and how grateful we are to have been treated so well. They're on the way over here right now to give you their thanks in person."

The woman laughed, her eyes belying her amusement as she leveled a cool, calculating look at the two of them, a smile playing on her lips.

"I might take that as a threat, Veretian, if we hadn't jammed your devices the moment you walked in. Do you think me some kind of simpleton?"

"I don't," Laurent said, his voice tight. "I think you're a smart, business-minded individual. And tangling with us—that's not a smart move, Halvik."

Halvik. The name sparked some distant recognition in Damen's brain, although it took him a moment to place exactly where he had heard it before. A few containers of low grade merchandise down at the docks had gone missing a few months ago— Halvik's name had been thrown around then. Damen's father had assumed she was a new player in town, most likely operating under Veretian control; judging by the way she was treating Laurent, and the enormous, expansive tank behind her, Damen figured his father had been wrong on both counts.

"You understand the position you put me in, though," she said patiently, just short of condescending. "The silver-tongued serpent prince and the heir to the Akielon throne of thugs, together, in my territory? I'm right to be a bit suspicious of that, I think."

"There's nothing wrong with being suspicious," Damen said. "As long as it doesn't lead to doing anything rash."

"Now some threats from the Akielon," she said, her attention swinging over to him. She pointed a finger at him, nodding. "You. You I would be interested to see in a fight. How do you feel about going up against some of my girls?"

"Halvik. You know who we are, you know who our families are," Laurent said. "This doesn't need to get complicated."

"It already got complicated when the two of you decided to use my headquarters as your personal meeting space. I haven't gotten to where I am today by leaving loose ends. And the two of you?" She shrugged, as if she was sorry there was only one logical conclusion to come to. "Loose ends, both of you."

"Laurent and I came here today to negotiate a truce," Damen said. "If you make us disappear, you'll succeed in finalizing that truce. You'll have all the strength and power of both of our organizations teaming up to take you down."

Halvik stared at him, considering. It wasn't an empty threat; surely Nik was already wondering where he was, although it wouldn't be the first time Damen had turned off his phone and disappeared for a night. But he couldn't imagine that either organization would ignore two of their top brass just vanishing into the night, never to be seen again.

"I don't know if that's exactly how it would play out," Halvik said, nodding slowly. "You two may have been here for that purpose, or maybe not. But I've not had anyone come sniffing here before today, and I'd like to keep it that way."

"If you'd just let us leave like we were about to do we would have never known about any of this," Laurent said.

"Maybe," she said. "But that ship has sailed, hasn't it? So it hardly matters anymore."

"So what does that mean for us, then?" Damen said, opening his hands. "We're not the kind to kiss and tell. Both of us know how to keep secrets; you have to, in our line of work. Let us go, we leave and never look back, and you won't have any problems."

"That sounds like a loose end to me," she said. "And I just told you how I feel about that. You two have put me in a bad spot. I need to watch out for my own business without getting all tangled in the inherent drama that comes from dealing with your families. And I don't want to constantly worry about looking over my shoulder, waiting for one of you to come after me, because I'm sure one of you would eventually. You know what they say—three can keep a secret if two of them are dead."

"A brilliant business model," Laurent drawled. "I don't know why I haven't thought of it before. Oh, wait, I actually do know why. Because it's a terrible idea."

"You're in no position to judge, Veretian," Halvik said dryly. She pointed to Damen. "This one? He's a dangerous one, violent, known to have a temper. Would sooner beat fifty men into the ground than take a bad deal."

Damen frowned. It wasn't true; people knew not to mess with him, not to try and get one over on him, but he was hardly the vicious attack beast Halvik was making him out to be. Still, he thought it more in his favor to keep quiet on the matter, and Halvik turned her attention to Laurent.

"But you? You're worse," she said, and even though it was a condemnation she appeared impressed. "Everyone has heard stories of your ruthlessness. No one would be surprised to hear you stabbed a potential ally in the back. I think you'd stab your own brother if you thought you could get something out of it."

Laurent bristled, his insouciant posture gone rigid, both feet pressed against the floor as if he was readying himself to leap across the desk.

"How dare you—"

"So here's what's going to happen," Halvik said, cutting him off. "The two of you met today, for business or a truce or to plan a coup or whatever the hell you were actually doing— and that meeting went belly up. It's not a totally unexpected outcome whenever Veretians and Akielons end up within five feet of each other; most people won't bat an eye when they hear it. And for those who doubt it—well. Luckily I've got the camera footage to prove my side of the story—or, I will, shortly. The two of you fought, you see. After all the employees left for the day, in this empty, boring aquarium that most definitely doesn't hide any other secrets. And it was a valiant fight. A good fight."

Guards assembled behind them as she talked, ready to neutralize any resistance. Laurent was still seething, and without thinking Damen reached over to put a calming hand on his arm. Laurent flinched at the touch but he didn't brush Damen off, and he slowly, minutely, began to relax.

Halvik continued. "Unfortunately for both of you it was one of those fights without a clear winner. One of you was shot—the lucky one, I think, fatal but quick—and the other one—well, the other one, unfortunately, was wounded and ended up in the shark tank. Still fatal. Eventually."

"You're insane," Damen said bluntly.

"I'm protecting my interests," Halvik said. "And I'll have camera footage to back up my side of the story if anyone questions my side of things. But honestly," she said, lowering her voice and whispering theatrically, "I don't think anyone will. Might make some good money off the fight, too, if I'm lucky."

"You can't do this," Laurent said, his voice shaky. He stood up, but his legs were wobbly and he swayed as if drunk. He put his hands on the desk to stabilize himself, but his voice was still cracked, sounding broken when he said, "You can't—you don't know—my brother will—"

And then he fainted.

Damen was able to catch him before his head hit the edge of the desk, just barely. Laurent wasn't a slight man, and Damen grunted as he absorbed the dead weight and sank down with him to the floor. All around them people were shouting, yelling orders, but Damen tuned them all out as he stared at Laurent's face, watching the quick up and down movement of his chest.

Laurent opened his eyes a second later; the intense blue of his gaze was startling. Damen had forgotten how bright they were, how piercing, in the three seconds when they had been closed.

"Help me up," Laurent croaked, his hands still shaking.

Damen did. The guards around him tensed as he hauled Laurent to his feet, many of them with their hands on their weapons, a few with their guns already drawn. Damen moved slowly so as not to spook them and Laurent wobbled, once, and then slumped against him.

"I wouldn't have expected you to be the type," Halvik said, her lip curling in distaste. "Unfortunately if you're trying to appeal to my sympathies you have moved in the wrong direction. I don't like weaklings. Come on, now. Time to set the stage."

With Laurent still clinging to him, Damen followed. They made their way to the top of the tank—slowly, as Laurent's feet were dragging, stumbling. Damen had to work to keep him upright and he wondered if this was just a way for Laurent to sap his strength so that he would have an advantage during the fight; he wouldn't put it past him.

He wondered that—but he didn't push him off.

Once they got to the top Damen was surprised to see a relatively large, open space. It made sense, he supposed; this was a functioning aquarium, after all. Divers needed to clean the tanks, mechanics needed to be able to access whatever filtration systems kept the water clean, along with probably the myriad other jobs and people that kept this place running. He wondered what would happen when someone found a human femur at the bottom of the tank, or if anyone would ever notice. Maybe the guards doubled as aquarium workers when they weren't out kidnapping the heirs to the two biggest organized crime rings in Artes.

He and Laurent were left on a platform that tilted slightly to the water, mimicking a beach, while their captors retreated to the catwalks and pathways that ran above them. Damen counted at least five separate guns pointed at them, all with clear shots; running would be out of the question, although it might provide a quicker death if he thought getting eaten by sharks was a possibility. Cameras were mounted to the bottom of the walkways, which meant any guards standing on top wouldn't be seen. If the footage were reviewed it would look like he and Laurent were here alone, after hours just like Halvik had said. Laurent still clung to him, hanging on his arm with the ferocity of one of those little suckers that attached themselves to the bottom of sharks. The sharks that would likely soon be eating one of them.

"Well? Go ahead," Halvik said, leaning against the railing on the catwalk above them. Damen saw some of the guards—the ones not currently pointing guns at them—pass money to each other, and he realized with some annoyance they were betting on the outcome of the fight. "We don't have all night."

"We—we're not going to fight," Laurent said, his voice still shaky. Damen glanced down at him, but Laurent only tightened his grip on Damen's arm in warning.

Disappointed sighs came from the walkways above them, and money moved hands again. Damen frowned.

"If you forfeit, Veretian," Halvik warned him, "that means you're shark bait."

"I don't care," Laurent said, shaking his head defiantly. "I'd rather get eaten by a thousand sharks than be forced to kill the man I love."

The grip around Damen's arm was so tight that he barely reacted to the words, preoccupied as he was hiding a grimace of pain. He bowed his head close to Laurent's ear, realizing only after the fact that it made them look like two lovers trading endearments, and said, "Laurent, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Shut up," Laurent answered softly, smiling sweetly at him.

"Ah," Halvik said, nodding sagely. Someone in the back of the room let out a wolf whistle. "So finally it is revealed. The real reason you were here today—a lover's meeting. I see the need for secrecy. I can't imagine what your families would do if they found out about this."

"I don't care what they would do," Laurent said. Damen thought it sounded rather heroic, if he ignored the part where it was all a lie. "Nothing can keep us from being together."

"Well. I am not a heartless woman," Halvik said, her hand on her chest as she bowed her head to them. "If you prefer, I will allow the two of you to fuck instead of fight. Whoever cums first gets fed to the sharks."

This was, judging by the reaction of the guards, the preferable option over fighting. Money started trading hands again, this time with more relish, and the murmurs of the crowd grew louder.

"Laurent—"

"Damen," Laurent said, dropping his grip on Damen's arm and turning towards him. He put his hands on either side of his face, gently pressing against his cheeks. "Trust me. Don't open your eyes until I say so."

And then Laurent reached up and kissed him.

Damen had no time to consider if Laurent was actually entertaining Halvik's offer; from the little he knew about Laurent he couldn't imagine anything about it would tempt him even if they were actually lovers, which they certainly weren't. It could be a ruse, a way to force an advantage in a fight that Damen would very obviously win under normal circumstances, a distraction that would be rewarded at any second with an agonizing punch to the kidneys, or worse—and he still couldn't rule out the option that Laurent was just insane and might very possibly be having some sort of mental breakdown right now.

Whatever the real reason, every single coherent thought fled from Damen's brain the moment Laurent's lips touched his.

Laurent was his family's enemy. His lips were as soft as fresh powdery snow. Laurent was scheming, ruthless. When Damen's hands moved naturally to his hips, Laurent leaned into the touch. Since Laurent had starting working for the family business he had personally cost the Akielons over fifty million dollars in damages. When Damen pushed roughly against Laurent's mouth he made a gasping sound that Damen swallowed hungrily, and he felt Laurent's tongue pressing against his lips, searching for permission to enter.

So distracted was he that he barely heard the distant pop, the strange silence that descended on them as all the constantly moving machinery around them stopped—hell, he barely heard the startled shouts of all the people above, and might not have ever noticed except that Laurent pushed him away, suddenly, violently breaking them apart.

Damen opened his eyes to complete darkness. But no, not complete—he could make out Laurent standing in front of him, barely a silhouette, and behind him he could see the general shapes of the guards on the catwalks. His eyes were better adjusted to the dark after being closed, a slight advantage he was almost too dazed to make use of. There was the sound of a gun firing and Damen shied away instinctively, and he heard the bullet ricochet somewhere a few feet away from him.

When Laurent ran, Damen had enough sense—and sight—to follow.

Behind them he could hear Halvik shouting at her guards to not fire blindly into the dark, but the rest of her orders were lost as he and Laurent raced towards the nearest door. Damen had noted the closest exits the moment they entered and it was obvious that Laurent had too; however, once they had passed that hurdle he had no idea where to go or what direction would lead them out of here. The door closed decisively behind them. Damen was certain their exit would have been heard by at least one person even if no one saw them leave.

"Any ideas?" Damen asked.

"I got us this far," Laurent said, his breath coming out in short, controlled bursts even though they had barely run twenty feet. "It's your turn."

Damen nodded, picked a direction, and ran.

Luck was the only reason the door they ultimately went through deposited them in the aquarium proper and not back in the underground tunnels. Damen quickly recognized where they were—somewhere between the manta ray tunnel and the octopus exhibit. The enormous tank full of sharks that just had their dinner denied was close; Damen angled them in the opposite direction.

They had only the moonlight coming in from the windows to navigate by. Even the emergency lights were off and the doors, when they reached them, wouldn't open. They tried three emergency exits with the same amount of success before Damen heard noises behind them, saw flashes of light.

"They found flashlights," Damen whispered, crouching down. "And I'm guessing they're still armed."

"We should—is there anywhere we can hide?" Laurent asked. His lips were close to Damen's ear, and Damen pushed away every thought he had about Laurent's mouth. "None of the doors will work until the backup power comes on. That could be a while."

"I think I have an idea," Damen said.

It was a tense, quiet journey back up to the walkway where he and Laurent first met, made more difficult by the myriad of problems thrown their way—the dark, the nervous hooting of the animals, the guards that were trying to hunt and kill them. But they made it with a little effort, sticking to the shadows and moving only when they were certain they were clear. Their enemies were easy enough to see, flickering in the dark like fireflies, and weren't nearly so concerned with being quiet.

"Now what?" Laurent asked once they reached the end of the walkway. "We've got no cover here."

"Now up," Damen said, gesturing to the cliff next to them.

Laurent's unimpressed stare was obvious even in the near dark.

"You expect me to climb this thing?" Laurent asked, looking up.

"No, I'll boost you up so you don't have to do more than grab the top, and then I'll climb up that thing. The waterfall will hide any noise we make," Damen said, before Laurent could protest. "And the foliage up there will hide us even if they turn a spotlight directly on our location. It'll work, Laurent."

Laurent's mouth pursed into a fine line but he nodded once, tightly. Damen grinned as he crouched and readied his hands for the boost, enjoying Laurent's sour expression as he put a foot against Damen's palms and his hands on Damen's shoulders for balance.

Damen didn't linger once they were in that position. He lifted Laurent up and then, after Laurent had successfully scrambled over the top, followed him up, his feet finding the small holes and grips with ease. Once he made it over he flattened against the ground, wanting to hide his silhouette, but the palm fronds planted up here were expansive and broad, and hid them both from sight even without that concession.

"We can stay here until the emergency lights come back on," Damen said, finding that he needed to talk at almost a normal volume to be heard over the waterfall. They would be almost impossible to hear even if someone was directly below them. "And it's a good spot to see where they're positioning themselves." Beneath them flashlights bobbed up and down in the darkness, and Damen watched as three of the lights converged and then scattered again. He turned back to Laurent. "What the hell did you do? Why aren't the lights working?"

"EMP," Laurent said, and then frowned at whatever expression he saw on Damen's face. "What? It was a small one. Shouldn't affect any buildings except this one."

"I just—why were you even carrying one?"

"I should ask why you're not carrying one," Laurent said mulishly. "I don't know if you were aware, but I had a meeting today with someone who might arguably be called my nemesis, and I wasn't allowed to carry my usual assortment of weapons to protect myself. You think I came totally unprepared?"

Damen wanted to ask Laurent what he thought an EMP was if not a weapon, but he found himself saying, instead, "Nemesis? Are you flirting with me, Mr. de Vere?"

With only the scant moonlight coming in from the glass ceiling it was hard to see much, but the blush on Laurent's face was radiant. Damen was certain he'd be able to see it even in pure darkness.

"Don't get any ideas about what happened tonight," Laurent hissed.

"What happened tonight?" Damen asked innocently.

Laurent glared at him. "I needed to buy time. The EMP was set to go off soon, and I knew that if we started fighting, a great brute like you would knock me out in two seconds. I thought explaining the ridiculous story about us being lovers would buy me enough time. I miscalculated."

"No, I get it, I get it," Damen said, hands up in surrender. For a moment they were silent, the tension as thick as the humidity, and then: "It's just—"

"What," Laurent snarled.

"Well. If you were just buying time—and I'm not saying you weren't," Damen said quickly as Laurent opened his mouth to protest. "It was a great plan, it worked, and I owe you for it. It's only—for what was supposed to only be a cover, you didn't need it to be so convincing."

"When the price of failure is death, I think I did need it to be," Laurent said coldly. "But if we get captured again, which I'm sure we will as long as we continue to follow your lead, I'll make a different decision next time. Being eaten by sharks is starting to look like the preferable alternative."

"I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it," Damen said, trying not to smile at how endearing he found Laurent's protests. "Because I did. You're quite a good kisser."

"Feel free to dream about it the next time you're with some miserable new lover," Laurent said.

"All I was trying to say," Damen said patiently, "was that for what was only supposed to be cover, I'm not sure you needed to use so much tongue. I appreciated it, of course, and if I had known that was acceptable to you I would have reciprocated—"

Damen caught the object launched at his head without thinking. It was heavy and spiky in his palm, and he peered at it; some kind of seed pod, fallen off one of the nearby trees. It would have left a nice goose egg on his head if it had hit.

"That wasn't very nice."

"I told you not to get any ideas about it," Laurent said. "I thought a reminder of exactly why you shouldn't might help."

"You didn't really faint, did you?" Damen asked, although he was certain he already knew the answer. "In Halvik's office."

Laurent scoffed. "If I fainted every time someone threatened to kill me I'd be dead a hundred times over. It gave me enough time to plant the EMP without anyone noticing. That was all I needed."

Damen was peering at the seedpod Laurent had thrown at him, wondering if any of the birds around here ate them, or if they ever fell into the water and hit the fish on the head. He said, distractedly, "You're lucky I caught you before you hit your head on the edge of the desk."

"I knew you'd catch me."

Damen looked up, startled that Laurent would admit such a thing, and found Laurent staring back at him with wide eyes, as though he was equally surprised by the admission.

"I know you have—good reflexes," Laurent said quickly, gesturing at the seedpod. "I've heard people talk about how you fight. You don't get that kind of reputation without having good—reflexes."

"I see," Damen said, nodding. "One might also think that under those circumstances someone like that—someone with my kind of reputation for fighting, I mean—might take advantage of his nemesis hurting himself, and the fact that he didn't means that maybe they're not enemies at all, but closer to friends."

"Well I didn't say I heard you were smart," Laurent said.

Damen winced. Laurent's aim with seedpods and verbal attacks was devastating, even if so far one had been easier to avoid than the other.

"I'm—" Laurent stopped short of actually saying sorry, and he sighed heavily. "That was uncalled for. I realize you didn't have to go along with my plan, as half-baked as it was, and I'm—" he paused again; Damen got the feeling that Laurent had perhaps missed that day in kindergarten when they taught words like thank you, sorry, you're welcome, and was floundering without that foundation. "You're different than I thought you'd be. Based on the rumors I've heard, I thought—it doesn't matter. You're different, is all."

"I've heard a lot about you too," Damen said, plucking a flower next to him, toying with the petals. "Ruthless. Cunning. Has blackmailed nearly every member of the police force, commissioner, city council member and then some."

"People shouldn't do so many bad things if they didn't want me to use it against them," Laurent said, shrugging. "It's a very easy trap to avoid, really."

"Not that easy, apparently. My second warned me against coming today, you know."

"Nikandros?"

"Yes," Damen said, and then, just to let Laurent know that he had done his homework as well, "Don't tell me Auguste and Jord didn't warn you too."

"They did," Laurent said shortly. "What did Nikandros say about me?"

"That you were a snake who would stab me in the back the moment I was fool enough to trust you."

Laurent considered this for a moment and said, "Jord said that you would kidnap me and try to ransom me back to my family."

Damen laughed quietly, and in the darkness he swore he could see a smile on Laurent's lips.

"You're nothing like everyone said you'd be either," Damen said.

"I can only imagine the things your barbarian crew said about me," Laurent said dryly. "Do I even want to hear it? Let me guess. The hair, the eyes, blah blah blah everyone wants to fuck me, I know."

"Not just that," Damen said, because he couldn't deny that he had heard all those things.

"Oh, well if it's not just that."

"The way you act around other people is different. They said you'd be cold, calculating. That you make only logical choices, that you don't have a heart. But I don't think that's true."

"That's such an insightful observation," Laurent purred, batting his eyelashes. Despite the low stirring of arousal his tone garnered Damen stayed back, suspicious. "You've seen past the facade, haven't you? And you already know I'm a good kisser, isn't that right?"

"I do remember something about that," Damen said warily.

Laurent dropped the sultry act as quickly as a cat shaking water from its paws. "If you start spreading that around I might just have to prove your second correct in his assumptions about what I'll do to you."

"Noted," Damen said. When Laurent continued to glare at him to drive home the point he said, "No, seriously. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize you in that way. I know how important our reputations are. The mythology we create around ourselves."

Laurent's gaze was piercing, shrewd. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "But?"

Damen blinked; he hadn't realized there was more to say, but now that Laurent had prompted him more words came spilling out.

"But it's hard, isn't it?" Damen asked, not expecting Laurent to answer. "Always acting how others expect you to, because if you don't keep up the appearance you've cultivated you can't keep yourself safe. Everyone always sees you through a lens, a very carefully crafted lens, and hardly anyone has any interest looking behind it, let alone the ability to do so. Which is good, I guess, because if they did they'd be able to see—everything. And it's just so—" tiring, he wanted to say, but that wasn't exactly right. Lonely, maybe. But he could hardly admit such a thing to someone like Laurent.

For a moment they sat, the darkness around them intermittently washed away when light from the high powered flashlights scanned across the aquarium. The shadows did nothing more than highlight Laurent's steely grace, the knife sharp definition of his cheekbones, the devastating fall of his hair. Damen had the brief thought that even if they did somehow make it out of here without any permanent injuries, the memories of Laurent's face would scar him for the rest of his life.

"Why did you come here today, Damen?" Laurent asked quietly.

To negotiate a truce with your organization and make my father proud, was the first answer that came to mind. It's what he should say—straight, to the point, with a bit of sentiment thrown in at the end in case the logical part didn't hit hard enough. The second answer came unbidden, and he kept this one quiet too: I wanted to meet the only other man as steeped in his own mythology as I was. I wanted look behind that facade to see if there was something in him that I recognized.

He had been silent for too long. Laurent's expression was turning alarmingly soft, as if he had somehow intuited everything Damen couldn't bring himself to say. He cleared his throat. "So. How long until the power comes back on, do you think?"

Laurent's mouth twitched, his gaze unrelenting. Damen thought he might press the issue, but eventually he looked away, shrugging.

"I have no idea," he said. "My organization has shielded backup generators to protect against these kind of attacks, so we don't have to worry about this. Assuming it didn't completely fry their systems…" Laurent shrugged. "Could be anything. A few more minutes. A few hours. I don't know."

"Do you think the animals will be okay?"

This time Laurent didn't need to answer; as if on cue, the lights in the aquarium surged on. For a moment the brightness was almost overwhelming, but by the time his eyes adjusted he saw that only the emergency lighting had turned on, illuminating the exits and giving some of the bigger tanks a faint blue glow. The main overheads were still off, and he could hear disappointed grunts coming from the goons below. A soft whirring he hadn't realized was missing until it kicked back on hummed in the distance; the water filters in the tanks were working again.

"I think they'll be fine," Laurent said dryly. "The two of us, on the other hand, are currently stranded on top of a waterfall."

"Not stranded," Damen said, looking down over the edge of the cliff. The monkeys on the small island below them shrieked, the branches of the tree shaking as the furry little creatures ran and chased each other in the marginally brighter space. "Waiting. For an opportunity."

Laurent's gaze followed his, and for a moment they watched the excited movements of the monkeys. Damen picked up a dried palm frond from the floor, and began twisting it into something resembling a rope. Laurent watched him for a moment and then let out a small, disbelieving laugh.

"Damen," he said, moving out of the way as Damen grabbed another frond. "You're not seriously considering what I think you are."

"After tonight I think I'm considering a lot of things," Damen said. "Now. How about we get out of here?"

The plan was simple: find a suitable exit, wait for the distraction that would allow them to get past the guards, and get out. Now that the emergency power was back on they shouldn't have any problem getting the doors to open—a wonderful security measure Damen was going to alert the fire marshal about as soon as they got out of here—and the distraction was in motion, which meant the only thing they had to worry about now were the guards.

And there were a lot of guards.

In the underground area by the shark tank Damen had seen only women, all as similarly built and well-equipped as the two who had brought him and Laurent in—an elite, well-trained and well-armed group of soldiers who Damen had come to realize would be difficult to beat one-on-one, let alone in any greater numbers. He could still see those women making rounds throughout the aquarium, carrying what looked to be spotlights as they searched for their missing captives—but now the cannon fodder was out as well.

Four extremely large men stood in front of the door, the same as all the other exits they had already checked. Every exit in this building, apparently, had a wall of seemingly immovable giants standing between them and freedom.

"They're all going to be like this," Laurent whispered once they were in their new hiding place on the ground floor. Tiny spotted manta rays splashed in the tank next to them while spotlights swept over their heads. "What now? You get the two on the right, I'll take the two on the left?"

"We'd never make it," Damen said, nodding towards the guards. "Look. They all have tasers. And that's if they don't just shoot us in the face as soon as we stand up."

"So we wait," Laurent said, obviously not thrilled with the option. "We wait until either our distraction actually starts to work or until…what. The aquarium opens for business in the morning and we just blend in with the crowd?"

The second option was actually quite tempting, even if Damen was certain that Halvik would close the aquarium for emergency maintenance or some other excuse before letting it reopen without having found them. The first option though—Damen looked back at the tree where the monkeys lived, imprisoned on their little island. He was so certain it would have worked.

"It was a good plan," Laurent said, following his gaze. "And I appreciate your tendency to favor chaos. But we just didn't have the supplies to do what we—wait. Wait, I think I see something. Cover me."

Damen wasn't certain exactly how he was supposed to give any cover without a weapon, but he did his best to disguise Laurent's movements as he twisted around their small hiding spot to get a better view of whatever had caught his attention.

"Look," Laurent whispered into Damen's ear, gesturing towards something in the dark. Damen tried to focus his attention on whatever Laurent was pointing to and not on the fact that Laurent's lips were just inches away from him, his breath tickling the side of Damen's face. "See? Over there."

"I don't see anything," Damen murmured.

Damen startled a bit as two fingers pressed against his chin; Laurent was touching him there, gently, exerting the barest amount of pressure to control Damen's eye line.

"There," Laurent whispered, pointing. "Look. The ropes we made came loose."

Damen was reluctant to observe anything that wasn't the lock of blond hair that kept falling into Laurent's eyes or the way his crouched position highlighted the curve of his ass, but eventually he managed to focus his attention on the monkey tree that held their one hope of escape. The ropes they had fashioned out of fallen palm leaves—aided by some zip ties Laurent had stashed in his inner pocket for no reason he would admit to—weren't pretty, but they did the job. Or, they would have, if the monkeys hadn't apparently flung them off the branches.

"Okay, so what now?" Damen asked quietly. "Our distraction isn't going to work. We can fight our way out if you want, but it won't be fun."

"No, we need that distraction," Laurent said, and then looked over at the monkeys. "Something that will divert the attention of at least half the guards." His lips pursed into a tight line as he considered, and then he turned to Damen, resolute in whatever insane decision he had come to. "I'm going to fix the ropes."

"Fix them?" Damen repeated, alarmed, his voice louder than was wise. He took a deep breath and lowered his voice before saying, "It's a wonder they didn't see us the first time. We can't risk another trip out into the open like that. We can think of something else, I promise."

"You're right, we can't risk a trip," Laurent said, his expression hard. "That's why I'm going to do it by myself."

For a moment Damen considered how much of a distraction it would be to yell at Laurent as loudly as he wanted to do right now. Before he could give into that temptation he said, "You're not going alone."

"I'm faster than you," Laurent said, his tone brokering no argument. "I can stay in the shadows. One of us is less likely to get caught than both of us. Besides, it's not like you're going to abandon me and leave without me, right?"

It was meant to be an arrogant, cool, haughty question. Maybe even slightly aggravating. But the night had been long, and Damen knew him better now, and he could hear the trepidation Laurent was a bit too tired to hide.

"No, I'm not going to leave you," Damen said. "We'll get out of here together. I promise."

Laurent nodded once, tightly. Then, reluctantly, as if giving into an impulse he knew was better left ignored, he reached forward and kissed Damen on the cheek.

"For luck," he said, and then he was gone.

His touch burned Damen's skin, even though the pressure had been whisper light. The abruptness of the motion meant Damen had no time for anything except shock; he assumed that was at least half the charm. He could do nothing but watch as Laurent moved silently across the darkened aquarium, deftly avoiding the guards making the rounds, standing perfectly still whenever the spotlights came near. He should have looked ridiculous, scurrying across the floor in a full crumpled suit and dress shoes, but Damen couldn't help but think he looked incredibly dashing. Damen glanced nervously between him and the guards by the door, but they didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary and they continued to stand unbothered, bored and implacable.

Laurent was nearly at the tree now. The part of the rope tied to the railings was still intact, so all he needed to do was throw the loose end back up to the monkeys and hope they didn't get pushed off so quickly this time. He threw the closest one first, but even though it landed solidly in the tree the monkeys ignored it, scattering away as it landed. The second gave him a bit of an issue, but he abandoned it quickly, moving on to the third rope. This one he threw further than the others, and more forcefully, and it tangled in the branches on his first try.

Which is when the monkeys finally noticed what he was doing. If they had been scared or hesitant the first time he and Laurent had tried this they weren't now; as a single unit they took up the rope and screeched, their calls echoing throughout the atrium. It took just a few seconds for them to scramble across the newly installed exit, landing on the railing right next to a startled Laurent. The screeching didn't cease once they had escaped—if anything it increased in volume—which in turn drew the attention of every guard in the building straight to where Laurent was currently trying to hide.

"I see him! Over there!"

Laurent's head snapped over to the sound, and then he turned to look at Damen. Their eyes met for a brief moment, something complicated and understanding passing between them—and then Laurent turned and ran. The guards were torn between trying to contain the monkeys and trying to catch him, with half choosing one option while the other half chose the other.

There was only one guard in front of their exit now.

Damen was never one to let an opportunity pass him by. He used the general chaos and the guard's distracted attention to sneak around and take him out; barely a fight, the guard's surprised blows coming too obviously and too slow to present any sort of challenge. He went down easily, and Damen stepped over the unconscious body and pushed on the door.

It opened easily. It wasn't even locked. The fresh night air washed over him, cool and crisp against the humidity he'd been swimming in all night. His foot was on the concrete outside. Behind him brief flashes of light sparkled off the dome of the atrium and someone yelled to find a cage, and Damen could only hope they intended it for the monkeys. He looked outside. He could leave—no, he should leave. Laurent could take care of himself; he had shown himself to be capable and clever and cunning, and Damen was certain he'd be able to escape from whatever situation he found himself in. Damen hadn't gotten this far in life by being sympathetic to his enemies. And that's what Laurent was—his enemy. A thorn in his side since the day he had come on the scene, always two steps ahead of every move Damen tried to make. Damen needed to think of himself and himself only. He needed to take care of the only thing that mattered.

Damen heard the soft click of the door closing before he realized it wasn't even really a choice. He was going to have to take everything that happened tonight to his grave—which hopefully he wouldn't be seeing in ten minutes at the bottom of a shark tank—because Nik would kill him if he ever found out Damen chose to willingly go back inside when escape was so close.

Throwing himself back into the fray he learned quickly that he couldn't trust the noise to lead him to Laurent; Laurent had been busy. The birds, gone to sleep when the lights turned off, came out now in force, squawking and flying around as they swooped for the food that someone had spread across the floor in wide swaths of nuts and berries. Damen nearly tripped over himself when he stopped to avoid colliding with a penguin waddling casually across the concrete floor, honking softly to itself.

There was other evidence of Laurent's presence as well. A guard on the floor, clutching his throat as he tried to breathe, his windpipe crushed. Someone else spluttering in the water and trying to swim to an exit as two friendly manatees checked out their new tank buddy. Damen made one complete round across the aquarium without running into either the guards or Laurent, and ended up back where he had started. Not just where he had started his search after deciding to throw all logical thought to the wind, but where he had started the day— across from him, the implacable gaze of the stuffed swordfish caught his eye, still resolutely looking forward down the line of his long, pointy nose.

Once again Damen followed that gaze—which is when he finally located Laurent. On the other side of the aquarium, near the enormous tank that housed two manatees and the still flailing guard trying not to drown. Laurent's back was against the glass, and a huge, hulking guard stood in front of him, gun in one hand and a radio in the other.

Damen understood what was going to happen in an instant. Laurent couldn't fight back or he'd be shot; the man was going to radio for assistance, and then everyone else would converge on their location. Damen couldn't make it across the aquarium in time to stop it even if he was the fastest sprinter on the planet, and he had no weapon, so he did the only thing he could think of. As the man pressed down the button on the radio to call for help Damen lunged forward, wrenching the swordfish from the hooks on the wall, strengthened his grip, and threw.

It was, emphatically, not a throwing fish. Fifteen pounds of painted plaster, sailing through the air in a grotesque mockery of what it would have looked like alive. It had been a long night, and his strength wasn't what it usually was, and he was however many feet away with a moving target that was too close to Laurent for comfort.

It took the guard squarely through the chest, sending him sailing over the edge of the tank. Before he hit the water Laurent snatched out and grabbed the radio, thumbing it on as Damen ran up to him.

"They're near the flamingos," he said in a disguised voice. "All units head to the flamingos—" He thumbed it off again and threw it in the tank, and then looked over at Damen. The flamingos were on the other side of the aquarium; Damen could already see shapes in the dark heading that way, ignoring the two of them completely.

"Are you okay?" Damen asked. Laurent only nodded once and then, as if regaining his sense of surety, nodded again with more certainty. Without speaking he reached out; Damen grasped his hand and they ran towards the exit, together.

They didn't stop running once they were outside. Through the parking lot, past the sign shaped like a seal advertising the aquarium's hours of operation, past the billboard advertising the biggest shark tank in Artes, and soon the aquarium behind them was small enough to fit in the palm of their hand and their breaths were coming in short, controlled bursts, chests heaving under the exertion. It was still dark out but the world around them was starting to come to life; early morning commuters were beginning to clog the roads, trains and busses honking and roaring in the city across the river, the sound tinny and small from this distance. They slowed down to a walk, breaths slowly returning to normal, and found a footpath along the river that seemed as good a path as any to follow. They stayed to the left so that any enthusiastic early joggers could run around them.

"That was—" Laurent said breathlessly, and then stopped. He looked over at Damen. "That was certainly not how I thought this meeting would go."

"At least the monkeys finally decided to help us."

"Did they?" Laurent asked, laughing once, shortly. "Seems to me they nearly got me captured. I thought—"

Damen glanced at him. Laurent had somehow survived this encounter looking even more dashing than when Damen had first seen him, his slightly disheveled hair giving him a rakish quality, the smudge of dirt on his face highlighting the curve of his cheekbone.

"What?" Damen asked. He was fairly certain Laurent had trailed off and not said anything, but it was entirely possible he had been talking this entire time. Damen had been a bit distracted.

"I thought," Laurent said, and then made a vaguely irritated sound. "I thought a lot of things. I didn't think you were coming back. I saw the door, and I saw the guard was down, and I—"

"I promised we'd leave together," Damen said.

"And do you always keep promises to your enemies?"

Damen stopped, and turned. Laurent was looking at him, but Damen didn't think he was waiting for an answer. In unison they turned to look back at the aquarium. Barely discernible in the distance, obscured by closer buildings—and then at once all the lights came back on, blazing brightly against the dawn sky.

"Looks like they got things working again," Damen murmured. "Halvik will be looking for us."

"Maybe," Laurent said, as if he had absolutely no fear of a shark-wielding maniac hunting them for sport. "So what do we do now? Our phones are fried. We're on the wrong side of the river to run into any of our allies and we look like two businessmen returning from an all night bender."

Ahead of them was a recessed viewing area, out of view of the street. Laurent may not be concerned about Halvik coming after them, but that didn't mean they had to be careless. Damen guided Laurent there, resisting the urge to sink down on the steps and go to sleep.

"We finish what we started," Damen said. "Our deal."

"There's no deal, Damen," Laurent said. He sounded tired. Whatever adrenaline had been sustaining them was starting to falter; it was morning, and they had been up all night. "There was never meant to be any deal. We were sent there because someone knew Halvik was there, and they knew she would end us. The whole thing was just an excuse to throw us into the lion's den. Or, the sea lion's den, I suppose."

"It doesn't matter. They tried to trick us," Damen said, trying very hard not to think about who on his side was complicit in this, "and they failed. They wanted to get us out of the way but they failed at that too. As far as I'm concerned they can continue on their journey of failure while we do what's best for our organizations."

"Why?" Laurent asked, and then, realizing how that sounded, "Why is this so important to you?"

"It makes sense, business-wise," Damen answered. "It would benefit both of our organizations, allow us to allocate our resources more freely. If we didn't have to expend so much attention towards each other—"

Laurent cut him off with a gesture. "The logistics—I understand that. I'm not interested in that. Or—I am, but you know what I mean. I want to know why it matters to you so much. Why you care about pursuing this even after—everything."

Damen turned and looked out over the river. From here he could just make out the top of Vallis tower, sparkling against the skyline; he wondered which person there was celebrating his expected death, congratulating themselves on a job well done. Laurent joined him, following his gaze. They were so close their shoulders brushed together, but neither seemed interested in putting more distance between them.

"Do you remember last year, when you set fire to that mattress store of ours? The front over on Sicyon Avenue."

"I've personally never lit a fire in my life—"

"Laurent."

Laurent sighed, and then nodded. "Yes. October 14th, 3 a.m., no causalities. From either side. Although I believe it was quite expensive for you."

"Oh, you believe that?" Damen asked, unable to muster up the annoyance that he should have been feeling over the few million Laurent had cost him with that stunt. "2.3 was quite costly, yes."

"I had it at 1.8. I'll have to update my books," Laurent said, without any trace of apology or regret in his voice. Damen thought it should make him angry, but the emotion that swept through him wasn't anger. "A sum that small shouldn't make you want to restructure your entire organization, though. Both of our organizations."

"It wasn't that," Damen said. He remembered the night he had gotten the message about the attack, how annoyed he'd been. They'd have to move locations, set up a new front—a whole mess of paperwork that he didn't want to deal with. But Laurent was right; it was hardly a large enough loss to make him reconsider everything.

Laurent was waiting for him to continue. Damen said, "Do you know what shops were next to ours? Next to the one that burned down, I mean."

Surprise flickered across Laurent's face; Damen knew what the answer would be even before he said, "No, I—I have no idea. It was irrelevant, as yours was the only target we intended to hurt. My men made sure the fire department was alerted before they even lit anything; it should have been easily contained."

"It was," Damen said, "contained. As much as fire can be. But the shop to the right—it was a small bookstore. Nothing was burned, and there wasn't even any water damage to their merchandise. But their books smelled like smoke, and nothing they did could get that smell out. I guess—I didn't think it would matter. Or I assumed they would air out, something like that. But their entire stock was ruined, and their insurance wouldn't cover it because everything was physically fine. Some fine print loophole on some hundred page document, I don't know. But no one wanted to buy books that smelled like fire."

"That's where the extra .5 million came from," Laurent murmured. Damen nodded.

"I did what I could. The owners—a couple of old hippies, they'd been there for nearly thirty years—I think they took the money because the only people they hated more than the insurance company was me. And—I know what we're doing isn't changing any lives for the better. Money laundering, counterfeit production, smuggling, gambling—it's not honest work, I know that. But—I like it. I'm good at it, and I like being good at it. I like the power, I like the money, I like the influence it buys. I won't deny any of that. But I also don't want to make honest folk's lives harder. And when we fight, innocent people get caught in our shrapnel."

Damen expected some quip from Laurent about him going soft, about not being cut out for this life anymore. It wasn't like Damen hadn't thought that about himself once or twice. But Laurent didn't say anything. He only considered Damen with a gaze more confused than derisive, brow furrowed in the tiniest line. Damen found himself frazzled with nerves again, and tried not to consider why it was so easy for Laurent to pull this utterly alien feeling out of him so easily. He said, "I know it's probably not the kind of business decision you're used to making, but—"

"I'll talk to Auguste."

Damen blinked. "You will?"

Laurent nodded, his mind obviously elsewhere. "He listens to me, and I don't ask him for much. He'll know it's important just based on the fact I'm bringing it up. And Jord, and Orlant—they'll follow my lead. I have some blackmail on Guion I've been waiting to use; this seems as good a time as any to dredge it up. With that kind of support, my uncle won't dare make a stink about it."

"So—you'll do it?" Damen asked. He had made a lot of business deals in his life, had bribed and coerced and persuaded people using various means to join his cause and go his way. But the triumphant feeling in him now was new, stronger and more potent than anything he'd experienced before.

Laurent shrugged, as if he didn't care. "If it means so much to you, I'll do it. I'll never hear the end of it otherwise, I think."

The early dawn light was more conducive to identifying the faint blush on Laurent's cheek than the inky darkness of the aquarium. Damen endured a suffocating, crushing feeling in his chest as he realized that he wanted, needed to see Laurent flush under every kind of light: fluorescent, chandelier, neon, candlelight, starlight. On the wave of this feeling he found himself saying, voice strung tight, "And—the other part?"

"What other part?" Laurent asked innocently.

"The part where we keep in touch to make sure everything goes smoothly," Damen said. "It would look good for both our sides. Our men would be able to see we're serious about the alliance."

"Oh, it's an alliance now?" Laurent asked. "I thought it was just a truce."

"It'll show we're serious," Damen tried again, "about whatever we want to call it. And it'll give us a chance to work out any potential problems. We work well together, Laurent. I know you feel that too."

"And that's the only reason," Laurent said, disbelief evident in the cadence of his voice. His electric blue gaze pinned Damen to the spot. "The only reason you want to keep meeting. To discuss—business."

"You know it's not," Damen said gently. He recognized a challenge when it was given to him; he had never backed down from one before, and he wasn't about to start now. "I think there's something between us that extends beyond how well we work together. I want to see you again. I want to see you again when we're not running for our lives. I want to see what it looks like when you're not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"You want to see me without anything at all on my shoulders, I'd wager," Laurent said dryly.

"What kind of man do you take me for?" Damen said, putting a hand against his heart. "I don't put out until at least the third date."

Laurent rolled his eyes, pushing away from Damen and walking away; if he had been aiming for offended or annoyed, the smile playing about his lips exposed him as neither. Damen followed, and they fell into step together. Even though Laurent hadn't answered his question Damen didn't think the situation was hopeless. Their first kiss he could explain as a distraction technique and nothing more, but the second—the good luck kiss Laurent had given him before he ran off to try and save the both of them—there was only one explanation for that.

The city around them was slowly waking up. Damen didn't come over to this side of town very often—it was out of familiar territory and mostly filled with residential buildings—but it was pleasant enough, with broad trees lining streets filled with cute little brownstones. He and Laurent probably did look like a couple of lost investment bankers coming back from a night on the town, but there was something charming about walking together past little breakfast nooks and trinket shops and laundromats that looked like they actually did laundry.

They had gone a few blocks when Laurent broke the silence and asked him, "Do you have any cash?"

The question could be a case study in calculated disinterest. Damen didn't look over at him as he pulled out his wallet—it was a miracle he still had it on him, in all honesty—and flipped through the billfold.

"A few hundred. Why?"

Laurent lifted his chin, gesturing down the street. The block they were currently on was a residential one, but the street ahead of them was busy, cars and busses moving quickly down multiple lanes. On the corner sat a hotel, accessible from both the busier street and the quieter one, and Damen's gaze caught on the sign advertising vacancy.

"It might be a good idea to get cleaned up," Laurent said, gesturing to their suits. "And have a place where we can formulate a plan on how we're going to get back to our respective territories."

"In a hotel room," Damen clarified.

"It's private. There will be a shower, a phone."

"A bed."

"That too," Laurent said, his gaze raking up and down Damen's body. "You do look tired."

And because Damen could hear just the barest whisper of a question in Laurent's words, could feel the heat of his gaze against his skin, Damen said, "I'm not tired."

A pleased hum met those words, but nothing else. For a moment Damen thought he might have missed something as they made their way closer to the hotel, but then Laurent stopped, suddenly, right before they hit the main street, and turned to face Damen.

"I can hold my own in a fight, you know," Laurent said.

It wasn't quite a warning, but the change of topic was abrupt and a bit confusing. Damen figured that honesty would serve him best here and so he agreed, nodding.

"I saw the men you took down; I tripped over their bodies as I chased after you. I figured you had some sort of training."

"Probably for the best we never had to fight to determine which one of us would get eaten by sharks," Laurent said. "It might not have gone in the direction you were thinking."

"I don't think any part of last night went in the direction I was thinking."

"Probably good we weren't forced to fuck, either," Laurent said, steadily moving towards whatever point he was trying to make. "I think that outcome would have landed you in the shark tank as well."

Halvik's words echoed in Damen's ears: Whoever cums first gets fed to the sharks.

The air between them crackled, the tension pressing painfully against Damen's ribs; he couldn't tear his eyes away from Laurent's fearless gaze.

"Is that so," Damen said, his voice low.

"It is," Laurent responded, like he was unable to do anything but tell the truth. "My willpower is as strong as steel. I never let my body do anything I don't want. Never let anyone manipulate it in ways I don't consent to. And so—" he shrugged carelessly, even though his gaze burned like fire when he looked at Damen. "It's just a good thing, is all."

They were nearly at the hotel entrance, just around the corner from the busy street. The sun had decidedly risen by now; off in the distance, Damen thought he could hear someone's alarm going off. Maybe it was just in his head. Either way he ignored it. Next to them was an alley that ran behind the hotel, and in a sharp, quick movement Damen moved off the street, pulling Laurent with him and crowding him against the brick wall. This space was deserted, and away from any prying eyes; the smell of fresh laundry wafted through the air, steam rising from the array of vents along the wall.

"Is that so," Damen murmured again. His hand was pressed against the wall, close to Laurent's head. He looked at Damen with darkened eyes; in this position it would be easy enough for Laurent to take him down without much effort, but he didn't move to do so. His eyes kept flicking down to Damen's lips, and when their gazes met again Damen could see hunger there, and knew it was reflected in his own expression. Damen placed his other hand on Laurent's hip while Laurent used his foot to hook around Damen's leg and bring him closer, pressing their bodies flush against each other.

"For luck," Damen said, and then reached in to kiss the smile on Laurent's lips.